#i want him to smash me like a concrete brick

[thelovelylolly]

Ok-ok, open requests, so hear me out:

Hobie Brown x nb russian reader

And reader is, like, a chill bassist, and they go to play some rock and cause dispute to the rich, and then they go to draw some graffiti and makeout 👉👈

(yes that's extremely specific, so pretty please 🙏)

Noise Complaint

Summary: Your band gets a noise complaint for playing too loud, but you and Hobie sneak away before the police show up. Warnings: police mentions, make out (oooooooo), non-binary reader, not proof read (let me know if i miss any!) Word count: 748 Notes: i know you requested the reader to be russian, but im going to leave it pretty open i hope you enjoy it still (and ofc thank you for the request!) <3

Nights like these were your favorite. Playing on a stage in a crowded and loud bar with Hobie and the rest of your band. You and Hobie were towards the front since you played bass and he played guitar, and you two always made the crowd come alive. You loved the energy of the crowd, their cheers always made you and the rest of the band play louder and louder.

It wasn't until you, Hobie, and the rest of the band wandered backstage for a break that you found out just how loud you were. One of the bar's owners hurried back stage where you were leaning against Hobie and wiping sweat of your forehead with a rag.

"I hate to tell you guys this, but the police showed up with a noise complaint. They're trying to clear out the bar and got some people riled up," the owner said, her arms crossed in front of her as she looked between your little group.

"A complaint from who? We're not bothering anyone," Hobie quickly replied.

"I don't know, some rich asshole who said we were interrupting their quiet night."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, tossing the rag you were using to the side. "They can't do anything, we weren't doing anything illegal," you said.

"You guys were getting the crowd riled up, so they could blame you."

"Whatever," Hobie sighed as he grabbed your hand and started to lead you out the back door, "c'mon, babe, let's get out of here."

The two of you slipped into the back alley, the blue and red lights from the cop cars bouncing off the brick walls around you. You looked around the alley out of curiosity and spotted an abandoned bag filled with spray paints on the ground. You smirked and nudged Hobie.

"How 'bout we cause a bit more trouble, huh? Really push their buttons," you asked, pointing at the bag.

Hobie looked at the bag then back at you, matching your smirk. "I already know what to write."

You two went over to the bag, grabbing the colors you wanted before finding a large enough space to use. You quickly got to work, doing a rough outline of your design in white before adding bright and bold colors. You wanted anyone who passed by to see what you had to say. Once the words were done, you started to add little details like stars and such.

"Hey! I think I heard something over here!"

You glanced at the end of the alley as you heard footsteps approaching. "Oh, shit," you muttered.

Hobie also heard them coming and dropped the spray paints in his hands. He reached for you and quickly took the spray paints from your hands, dropping them next to his.

"Hobs, what are-"

He pinned you against the concrete wall and smashed his lips to yours, cutting you off. The metal of his lip piercing was a sharp contrast to his warm lips. You melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer. His hands were on either side of your head, hiding your faces from the officers that were appraoching.

"What's going on- oh. Uh..." A police officer said, stopping when he saw the two of you. "C-carry on."

He turned and left the alleyway, mumbling curses as he did.

Hobie pulled away to catch his breath, a smirk on his lips. "I think that worked, huh, babe?"

You laughed. "Definitely worked."

He stepped back, but reached for your hand. He intertwined his ringed fingers with yours, turning to see your works. You smiled as you looked at yours.

Wear earplugs!

Maybe if you had more time, you would've thought of something better, but you wished you could yell that at whatever rich assholes called in a noise complaint. If they had a problem with your music, they could just plug their ears. You weren't gonna stop.

"Cute," Hobie teased before directing your attention to his.

F*!K THE RICH :)

More straightforward than yours, but he censored himself with big, bright characters. You laughed then kissed his cheek. "Cute," you replied, doing a bad impression of his voice.

He smiled at you and pulled you towards the back of the alley where the shadows were darker and the police wouldn't see you two as well. You quickly caught on to what he was doing and spun him around, pinning him to the wall.

"Now," you said quietly, "where were we?"

[stealingyourbones]

DP×DC prompt: Ghost King Danny has to stay in the ghost zone unless summoned due to various ancient ghost bureaucracy bs policies coming into effect at once; Jazz promised to summon him if her life is threatened (threatened-- not in danger, those are separate things), she works at Arkham.

(I know you wanted just characters, but at least it's only one sentence?)

Response to this post

Homie I don’t mind this works just fine! It’s vague enough that I can expand on it and it’s not a keyboard smash of typos that’s illegible so it works for me.

Danny is pissed that he’s stuck in the GZ but honestly at this point it’s completely out of his hands. Pariah Dark didn’t act as a King for thousands of years and the political structure of the Ghost Zone is in complete shambles. The Observers insist that Danny mustn’t leave the GZ until baseline treaties and building back up the old government structure happens once more.

Only issue is that these one eye fucks keep everything old school so the amount of paperwork he has to go through is truly ridiculous and is almost glued to his desk signing and writing all day.

Danny had no idea how long time has passed. It may have been weeks in the real world, it may be years. Time is strange in the ghost zone and it fluctuates wildly without any rhyme or reason. You could stay in the Zone for a year and exit to the mortal plane and figure out that only a few minutes have passed from their point of view.

Danny is reading the bill of what feels like the kazillionth piece of paperwork he has gone through today when he feels a tug at his core. Someone was summoning him. The conflicting emotions of joy and fear swirl in his stomach. The only people who he gave his summoning sigil to was his friends and his sister. He was grateful that he could finally take a break and see them again and yet the only reason he told them to summon him was if they were in significant peril.

Danny closed his eyes and let the tugging of his core carry him to the mortal plane.

Opening his eyes he sees Jazz in some form of a concrete brick office. Her hair had grown much longer than when he last saw her and she looked a lot older… how long was he in the Zone?! She’s crouched behind her desk and a majority of the furniture in the room is pressed up against the door barricading herself inside. Her eyes are darting around the room watching for any sign of movement as her hands grip a Pocket Fenton Blaster. Her hands were as steady as a surgeon as she held her gun but the rest of her body was shaking with tremors.

Just before Danny was about to ask what was going on, a large bang came from the office door that left the steel door with a fist sized dent. Someone was trying to break in.

Danny stood to his full height. He dropped his human form. A mass of arms and eyes and green electricity swirled like a fucked up undead biblical angel over Jazz. His crowns flame turned a almost glacial blue as another strike from outside caused the doors hinges to buckle and creak. Whoever was trying to break in is going to regret that choice for the rest of their afterlife.

[agirlcandream84]

Crush | Henry Cavill x Reader

You and Henry have history but a fevered moment finally unleashes what you both have always denied yourselves.  

Henry Cavill x Reader (written inclusively) 

Word Count: 799 

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Minors DNI.  pure smut, P in V, slight size kink

The crush of him, like a concrete block on a bed of flowers, would have been alarming if it weren’t so utterly blissful.  He was made of steel and brick and stone and every square inch of your body was pinned beneath his, the sweet crush from his body leaving room for nothing but submission.  His elbows were propped on either side of your head and his hands were free to cradle your skull, urgently directing your lips to his, his nostrils flaring with a rushed inhale like he was consuming you and not air.  His lungs growing full of you and his broad chest smashed against your pert nipples, he grunts with his lips in your ear and he snakes his arm between your bodies and grabs the thick girth of his cock.  

You let out a mewl in anticipation of him.  The millions of moments -- complicated, sorrowful, wretched, hopeful moments-- led you this beautiful crush.  It was him or death.  Him or misery.  Him or perpetual solitude.  Only him.  In the sweet submission of his arms you see now how it was always destined to end this way and your agony was for naught.  You were built, like God’s hands immersed in pliable clay, for him and he for you.  His urgency was your confirmation.  

Despite the pleasant sting of your lungs begging for air, you manage to spread your legs wider, almost unconsciously, your body welcoming the only fate it was made for.  You feel the bulbous head of his rod kiss the wetness of your ready folds before pushing further, the stretch of him leaving you gasping for air.  His lips consume yours, faces smashed and muffled moans escaping only when you emerge for breath.  He pushes in slowly, knowing his own intimidating size, and you feel the pleasant glide of his steely cock in your canal.  His back is hunched as his hips find their final seat firmly against your wetness, his heavy balls settled against your folds and the base of his cock kissing your swollen nub.   

He pauses here, his cock warmed in your pink walls but still, but his lips don’t stop their lustful consumption.  You whimper as he consumes you, desperate for his force.  You want to be torn.  Ripped.  Annihilated.  Devoured.  

“please,” you whisper between kisses.  “Hen please,” you beg again, surprised at the wobble in your voice, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes.  

“Breathe love,” he commands you and you take a shake breath as he begins his thrusts in earnest.  His face is painted in restraint, a man aware of his size and force and afraid of his own desire.  His jaw clenches as he ruts deeply into you, the movements even and measured.  He forbids himself from succumbing to the parts of him that want to plunder you as if he were rabid.

But he was rabid.  His mind is scrambled at the ways your lush cunt is hugging his rigid cock.  The way your pink mouth gasps for air under him.  The way your tits are smashed into his chest, your pebbled nipples begging for attention.  The way your legs lace around his back like a vine anchoring an abandoned house back to the Earth.  

Your body bounces rhythmically under him, already emitting tiny whimpers at the force of him.  You squeeze your eyes shut at each punch of his head into your cervix.  But you sense his restraint.  His reverence of you is like a wall cast in stone long ago- built for safety and protection but isolating and distancing.  

“Hen” you breathe out, opening your eyes to find him.  You see the set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow - masking a lust he feared would harm you.  “Hen,” you repeat, taking your hands to either side of his face.  His eyes open and find yours, his grunts still escaping his lips.  

“fuck me,” you beg.  “please.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he replies.  “I can’t hurt you again,” he says, a testimonial to the days and months and years that brought you to this moment.  

“please,” you urge him, “I want you to fuck me.”

“If I start I won’t be able to stop myself,” he admits and you know he’s truthful.  You fear his power but crave it.  Crave the destruction.  

“I don’t want you to,” you answer.

For a flash, his expression is pained, the torment of the pain he knows he’ll inflict. But as soon as it’s come it’s gone again, his eyes growing dark as he submits to the lust lapping at him.  Animalistic, he pounds into you, a carnal gasp escaping your lips as the air is pressed from your lungs under him.  

He fucks you.  And the delicious crush of him tips you into bliss.

[itjazzbicch]

Looking Out For You

Pairing: Draken x Fem Reader

Summary: Being a girl in a gang is unusual in the readers conditions, but she uses that to her advantage, specifically in a fighting ring between gangs where she earns herself money, but also makes some enemies and when she thinks she’s done for, her friends come to save the day, Draken being the one to take care of her…

Warnings: Swearing, Male x Female fight, mentions of blood

Word Count: 3.6k

I DO NOT OWN THIS GIF:

“You gotta be kidding me!”

All of the guys at the fight were laughing hysterically whenever I stepped up, all of them pointing at me, some small girl, popping bubble gum with my hands in my pockets.

It looked like I was lost, but this exactly what I wanted.

“Who would bet on you, shorty?!” This guy was sure he had this fighting in the bag, poking my forehead to send me back some before going into stance, “I’m gonna get a whole lot of money out of this one.”

“Don’t go easy on me,” Pop went my bubble gum, shooting a smile as he ran after me.

All of these guys were so typical and easy to read. They were just street fighters, the crowd cheering him on as they thought he had the advantage:

“Show her who’s boss! Kick her little a-“

That boy threw his punch and it was so easy to dodge, raising up my knee and spinning to the side with my left, leaving the back of his head wide open for my right leg to shoot up and kick him in the head.

Silence fell as he dropped like a ton of bricks, knocked out cold, slumped murmurs falling out of his mouth with drool onto the concrete.

“What was that about kicking my ass?” I snickered, blowing another bubble, “Didn’t even lose any flavor in this gum yet!”

“Wha- Did she just knock him out?!”

They were all flabbergasted, meanwhile I was smiling, eyes locking onto my next contestant.

“You got lucky! But that won’t work on me, girly!”

Some shaved head idiot started raging toward me and right as he approached me, one kick up right under the chin.

He was tougher than the last guy, that one didn’t knock him out, but it wasn’t done just yet, smashing his head with an elbow and that one did the trick, having him falling to the ground just like his friend.

“Anyone here actually gonna give me a challenge?”

Looking around, all of the guys here we frozen, jaws on the ground with all eyes on me.

“No?” I popped my gum again, shaking my head, “What a shame. Make sure you’re all ready for next time. You haven’t seen the last of me!”

This was such an easy game. Considering my mother worked all night long and still didn’t make much money, I fought in these little tournaments between gangs to earn some money.

No one would ever bet on me because I was the only girl who would stepped up to a man, let alone gang members too.

I was a member of the Tokyo Majin Gang, but I rarely showed my face, so I was a mere stranger to everyone.

But I had a friend on the inside. He’d bet the money, I win the fights, we split the profit and we both get good money from it.

“You never fail, Y/N! Look how much yen we got this time!”

Heading over with Joko down the alley we always took home, he sure had a bright smile on his face and it went right onto mine.

“Oh hell yeah!” I smiled, taking my half, “Just imagine all cash we’ll get if we keep it up!”

“No kidding, sis!” He laughed, cheering as he skipped down the alley, but suddenly coming to a halt as he stumbled into a tall stature.

“Oh, hey Draken,” I nodded up at him, but his face was as stone cold as ever. Something told me that he wasn’t happy with me.

“Excuse me! I’m so sorry, sir!” Joko immediately bowed his head and kept posture.

I was close to Draken, so I didn’t bother, but did stay still whenever Draken commanded to Joko:

“You go on ahead home. Y/N and I need to have a talk. I’ll walk her home.”

“Yes, sir!” Joko bowed once more before waving to me and running off.

“Aww, Kenny. If you missed me that’s all you had to say,” I giggled, joining his side as we began our walk.

“What did I tell you about calling me that?!” He growled, making me laugh more:

“Don’t be so serious, my man! Anywho, what we do we need to talk about?”

“You can wait till we get to your place,” He murmured, hands in his pockets and following me along.

That wasn’t a good sign. Was something happening with the gang that I needed to know about?

Regardless, during our walk I prepared myself. Thank goodness my mother left already, heading in and getting us two colas , sliding on to him over the counter.

“So, we’re here. What’s the deal?” Some cola eased my nerves a bit, and finally Draken spoke his mind:

“So, why do I still keep hearing about a some short girl, who likes to pop bubble gum, showing up at gang fights for money?”

“Uhhh-,” I giggled softly, sipping my cola and clearly lying, “I have no idea! She sounds dangerous.”

“What did I tell you about fighting in those little rings, huh?” Draken wasn’t messing around this time.

Just great.

“That’s what this is about, man?” Why was he so worried about this?! “You know that I’m a taijutsu master! Those guys are so easy to beat! It’s easy money that I put towards the gang and take care of myself with. You know I don’t have it easy, Draken!”

“I get that, but it’s dangerous,” He glared deep into my eyes, he seriously didn’t want me doing this and I already knew why, “You’re a-“

“Girl?” I shot an intense glare right back at him. I hated whenever someone told me not to do something because I’m a girl. It’s such bullshit.

“And one of these days, you’re gonna run into a big dude that you might not take down!” Draken slammed his hands on the counter, already towering over me and that made him feel even bigger, “Or you’re gonna piss them off so bad that they’re going it try and jump you!”

“Like that’ll happen!” I slammed my hands down right in front of him and attempted to size him up, “I get why you worry, but come on! You’ve seen me fight!”

“For fucks sake, Y/N! What would you do if one day those guys get you alone, huh? And you have to fight a whole group of them without Joko or someone else with you? Tell me!”

His scenario did make me think and I truly didn’t know what I would do. Even my cockiness wouldn’t kick in while thinking about it.

“Listen,” Draken sighed deeply, trying to settle the tension between us, “I just want you to be careful, okay? You’re fighting between multiple gangs and I don’t want this to turn into a big issues when it’s stupid.”

Again, I just stayed quiet. I guess there were other ways I could earn myself some money, but fighting is one thing I’ve always known and it was the easiest route.

Coming around the counter, he placed his hand on my shoulder, looking down into my eyes:

“Do you at least understand where I’m coming from?”

“Yeah, I understand,” I whispered softly, staring at the floor till his fingertips lifted my chin so our gaze reconnected:

“I know you can kick ass, Y/N. You are a badass, you just can’t be so reckless.”

“Aww,” I couldn’t stand the seriousness anymore, getting him tongue tied when I twirled the strand of blonde hair in his face, “Who knew you were such a big softy.”

“Softly?! How dare you!” He growled, swatting my hand away, making me laugh more:

“Chill, man! You’re blushing, by the way.”

“Blushing?!” That only made his face more red and I held my stomach from laughing so much!

“It’s kinda cute though,” I just had to keep poking at him, till he booped my forehead:

“Whatever. I’ll see you later, shorty.”

“No hug goodbye? How rude!” I teased, thinking I’d get a cold shoulder, till he wrapped one arm around my shoulder and side hugged me:

“There? Happy now?”

That made me smile, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Draken hug anyone, let alone me!

“Yeah,” I smiled softly, stopping him before he walked out of the door, “And hey, I promise I’ll call it quits with the fighting ring for a while You did make a good point.”

“I always do,” He smiled softly, looking away for a moment thinking, and he made me smile even more, “Tomorrow the guys and I are gonna go for a ride and do some talking. Tag along, I know that bike of yours can ride.”

“Faster than yours,” I giggled, left smiling as he rolled his eyes, shutting the door:

“Whatever you say, shorty!”

*the next day*

Today was as typical as any other. School was easy, I went to taijutsu practice after and on the way out, I got the text to meet up so we could have some fun racing before the meeting.

I wasn’t paying attention while walking out the back door into the parking lot, sending Draken a text that I was leaving practice, but my head jumped up as I heard metal crashing.

My bike! That asshole I knocked out yesterday was smashing it with a bat!

“You dick!” I yelled at him, charging right for him till I felt someone grab me by the hair.

“What do you think you’re doing, huh?! Haha!”

The other guy I knocked out too?! I quickly grabbed his wrist, pulling his arm down and elbowing him in the joint as hard as I could.

That was enough to make him let go, backing away quickly to see that I was surrounded. That guy and all of his buddies were here.

Shit, this was bad. Very bad. To think Draken was right about this.

“You think we were just gonna let you off the hook after the stunt you pulled yesterday, huh?”

This was the first time in a long time I had to take my fighting stance in a real fight. I was surrounded, all of them closing in on me.

In that moment, I thought of what Draken said, what was I gonna do?

Looking around the circle, I was left with only one option. I picked out the smallest guy and punched his lights out to kick off the fight:

“I don’t go down easy! Bring it on, bitches!”

It’s been a while since I’ve been in a situation like this, but I didn’t go down without a fight. I actually took out a good bit of them.

It was just so hard to watch my back, that being the one disadvantage when I felt my hair get gripped up tight.

The grip left a burn in my scalp, but I wasn’t giving up, trying to kick the one guys away, but he kicked my knee out then kneed me right in the ribs.

That instantly knocked all of the wind out of me, about coughing up a lung, eyes heavy and head woozy whenever he picked my head up by the hair again:

“Told ya we’d teach you a lesson! Coming to our fight club and thinking you own the place!”

A punch right to my gut made me collapse, but he kept me up by the hair. All I could try to do in that moment was breathe, but the sound of motorcycle engines caught my attention.

Tires screeching made everyone come to a halt, hearing from behind me:

“Y/N!!”

Baji?

“You get your damn hands off of her!”

There was Draken right in front of me and he sent that dude into another atmosphere with just one punch.

Finally, I was let go and I fell to the concrete, curled up into a ball, coughing and heavily panting. Those punches and knee strikes were so strong I still couldn’t breathe right.

“Wait? She’s with the Tokyo Majin Gang?!”

That sure took them all by surprise. Glancing upward briefly, Draken, Baji, and Mikey were kicking all of their asses.

“Hey, Y/N! You gotta breathe! Don’t worry, I got you,” Mitsuya scooped me up in his arms softly and I tried my best.

Along with his coaching, I was finally breathing right, but damn did I feel like crap.

“You listen to me!” Everyone stopped what they were doing, all of those guys beat up and on the ground while Draken had their leader by the shirt.

I’ve never seen Draken so intimidating and terrifying before, that guy about pissing himself, shaking in fear as Draken growled in his face:

“If you ever even come near her again, it’ll be the last thing you ever do!”

“Now, fuck off!” Baji made sure to get one last hit in, laughing while they all picked themselves off and ran for their lives.

“How is she?” Mikey was the next to come over and I hated that they had to see me like this.

This was the first time someone managed to put me down in a brawl, attempting to stand up as I groaned:

“I-I’m fine.”

The moment I stood up, I collapsed again, but Draken was there, holding me in his arms:

“No you’re not, Y/N. You got a bloody lip and all.”

“And they destroyed your bike?” Mitsuya observed, and I was defeated, just laying my head against Draken’s chest:

“I have no idea how they found out where the dojo is. They completely blindsided me.”

“Baji, Mitsuya! Take care of her bike. I’m gonna take her home.”

“On it,” Mitsuya and Baji both came to my sides, helping me up to my feet.

“Don’t worry, I can hang on to your bike,” Holding my stomach, I limped alongside Draken, making sure to thank them all, “You guys really came in the Knick of time huh?”

“We planned on meeting up here after all, it’s a good racing start,” Mitsuya informed me, “Good thing we came when we did.”

“You know we always have your back, sis,” Baji smiled softly, Mikey smiling at me too:

“Always.”

“Thanks guys,” I said softly, head down as I went to Draken’s bike.

“You sure you’ll be okay for the ride?” Draken was hesitant to hop on because of my condition, but I climbed right on and just nodded.

This pain was like burning in hell. I was clinging onto Draken for dear life during that ride and it wasn’t even five minutes.

I was so grateful that my mom worked nights, if I came home like this and she saw me? Dear goodness, she’d lose her shit.

When we walked in the door, I had my back turned, ready to take care of myself alone, telling Draken:

“Thanks for bringing me home. I’ll take care of myself, I promise.”

“Y/N,” He sighed, shaking his head, “You can’t even walk.”

“Barely, but I’m still walking,” I went to take another step forward, but Draken shut and locked the door, coming and scooping me softly.

“You got anything to clean that cut?” He asked, taking me to my room and sitting me on the bed softly.

“Bathroom on the shelf,” I whispered softly, sitting there trying to hold back tears from how my ribs hurt.

I was so pissed that I allowed this to happen to me, that Draken was right about the bad side to this fighting ring stuff.

I never lost a fight and the fact that they had to jump me? What cowards.

“Alright, I got some wraps for your ribs too. I can tell they’re banged up,” Draken came back to me, kneeling in front of me as I sat on the edge of the bed.

“No kidding, guess I’ll just get it over with,” I went to take the wraps, but I stopped as he instructed:

“Lift your shirt up. It’s gonna be hard to do yourself.”

“O-Oh, okay-“

Why was I so nervous all of a sudden? On top of that, it hurt like hell when I lifted my arms up, biting my lip to hide the cry trying to come out of me.

“Here,” Draken slipped my shirt off like it was nothing, leaving me in my sports bra and when he looked down at me, gosh my cheeks were hot.

“T-Thanks,” No one ever made me stutter like this, I hope I wasn’t being too awkward, but it was like nothing to him:

“You’re welcome. I’m gonna try to be as easy as I can. You should ice this too.”

Running his large hand across my side, his hands were soft, which surprised me a little, the both of us noticing the bruises forming on me already.

“Ready?” Draken looked up to me for assurance before wrapping up my ribs and I just nodded, sucking in a breath, eyes shut tight but it didn’t stop the tears.

Even when he was as gentle as possible, the stings and pains were a lot.

“Hey, all done. It’s okay,” My eyes were still closed, but I felt his thumb wipe away the tears running down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Draken,” I cried softly, wiping the rest of my tears, “I should’ve have listened to you. I tried to fight, but there was just too many of them. I would’ve been dead if it weren’t for you and the guys.”

“It’s not your fault those guys are a bunch of punks,” Draken sighed, trying to help just because I was crying but I shook my head:

“You told me to stop fighting before something like this happened and I didn’t listen. I’m so stupid!”

“Listen, all that matters is that, we got you out of that fight,” When I felt him holding the side of my face, I finally looked him in the eyes, his gaze settling me along with his deepening voice, “There’s nothing we can do to change it, but it’s all gonna be alright.”

Nodding softly, I whispered softly, “Thanks again, Draken. I don’t think I can thank you guys enough.”

“Like Baji and Mikey said, we always have your back. Always.”

That put a small smile on my face and it was nice to get a smile back from him. It made all of the bad emotions start to drift away.

“Need anything else? Don’t worry about the little meeting. We can handle it another time,” I was so appreciative of him taking care of me and I did want to ask him something, but I was so nervous.

I always had the, fuck it, mentality, so I went ahead and asked softly:

“Do you mind s-staying the night?”

“Your moms not gonna get pissed, is she?”

Wait, he’s cool with it? That about made my eyes pop out of my head, snapping out of it a bit to reply:

“She crashes in her room as soon as she comes home. Literally always. I’m not worried about it. It’s just-“

“Just what?” No one’s ever seen me like this and I think that’s why Draken was being so understanding, extremely hard to get off my chest:

“That was the first time in my life I think, that I was truly scared. You know how some of these gangs are and what they do to girls. Let alone one who kicked their asses.”

“Now, you know I’d never let anything like that happen to you,” He assured, hugging me softly as he stood up, “Let’s get you laid down, you need to relax.”

That I surely agreed on, fixing my pillows and laying back as softly as I could, groaning through some pain, but relaxation waved over me as Draken turned off the lights, trying not to watch him too much as he tossed off his shirt, left in his tank top and shorts, definitely not admiring his tall, muscular stature.

He got into bed next to me as softly as he could, but the little bounce from his weight made my head hurt more, and he noticed how hard I closed my eyes.

“I’m sor-“

“It’s alright,” I cooed quickly, fixing my hair, “That guy about ripped my hair out and it still hurts.”

Everything came to a sudden halt, the pain I was feeling, my heart, time almost, whenever Draken scooted closer to me, kissing the top of my head softly.

“Hair pulling is such a bitch move.”

I went to speak, but nothing came out, my heart going double time as pet the top of my head softly, slicking my hair back.

“You alright?”

Sometimes he was so oblivious to others feelings, and I managed to get something out when I whispered:

“Is it okay if I tell you something?”

“What’s up?”

Again, completely oblivious. Hopefully, my actions made things more clear as I took his arm that was close to me, placing it over me softly, fighting tears again as I admitted to him:

“I feel so safe with you. Like nothing could ever hurt me.”

“That’s because you are,” Another kiss, but on my forehead, made those tears happy ones, feeling the drowsiness guiding me to sleep along with his whisper: “I’ll always protect you, Y/N.”

[heavenlyakin]

Mine

Phinks x Fem!Reader

--

wc: 3.7k

Warnings: fem reader, fingering, vaginal sex, protected sex, violence in a scene (not against reader), and yandere themes. You can always message me to add more warnings!

This was a commission so some aspects were made to fit the commissioner. If you're interested in commissioning me, just shoot me a message!

--

A faint flame from a cigarette lighter catches your eye from across the alley. Shifting your gaze up from your phone you see the man who lit a fresh one. The smell of smoke tingles your nose, and you inhale deeply. It’s been a while since you’ve had one; in fact, it might have been around this time last year when your best friend stole a pack from her shitty ex before moving across the country.

You’re not sure what it is: the man with the cigarette or the smell of it. Whichever, they have your attention now. He towers over you, crouched down on a milk crate during your break from the restaurant you’ve been at for the last year. His face isn’t particularly friendly, actually, he has a rather scary look graced upon his face. His frown would scare most people away, but you’re too busy looking at his dark eyes and blonde hair to really give yourself a chance to feel anything.

“What are you looking at?” He asks, aggression clear in his tone.

“You, obviously,” you shoot back. Today has been rough enough with rude customers, a shitty manager, and two of the kitchen staff walking out. “Why are you even in this alleyway? You don’t work here.”

He blows smoke out, a cloud covering his face. You suppose that’s the only answer you’re going to get. He finishes another long drag then tosses the burnt-out cigarette to the ground, smashing it into the concrete with the toe of his black shoes.

“Whatever dude, just don’t hang out here too long. My boss comes out here and shoos people away with brooms if they’re not supposed to be here.” You stand up, dusting off the back of your pants and looking up at the man who towers over you, even standing at your tallest.

Something between a laugh and a scoff leaves his body, but you ignore it. It’s his problem if Brad decides to give him hell later.

--

The rest of your shift drags with so few customers. What feels like an hour turns out to have been only ten minutes, and on and on and on. You make it to your last break before closing with your sanity barely intact. You hang up your server apron and step outside into the alleyway to take your break out in the cool night air.

You stop midway through the entry, noticing the strange man is still there, leaning against the brick wall of the boutique next door. After a moment of frowning at him, you go to your favorite spot on the milk crate across from him and fast enough away from the dumpster that you won’t get sick to your stomach.

“I see you’re still waiting here,” you say leaning your elbows onto your knees and holding your chin up.

“And you’re here again,” he adds, seeming somewhat more friendly than before.

“I’m shocked Brad didn’t come run you off,” you comment.

“He knows better than to do that,” he tells you, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a near empty pack of cigarettes. “The prick hasn’t shown his face all afternoon. I’m getting impatient.”

“You’re waiting on him?” Your curiosity is getting the best of you.  “What could you possibly want with Brad?”

Not to shit on him, but he’s not the most charismatic guy. Nor is he someone who would go looking for trouble. Which you assume this man in the alley is.

“He owes my boss a debt,” is all he says and then outs the half-smoked cigarette out on the brick behind him. He takes a step forward and kneels down to your level, so he’s face to face with you. “So, tell me, is he even in that shithole restaurant or not?”

“I haven’t seen him all day, but he could be in the office.” You shrug, then hold out your hand. “For a cigarette, I’ll go get him for you.”

The blonde frowns, “What if he’s not there?”

“I’ll give you his phone number and you can harass him that way, I guess.”

“Wow,” he laughs, a smile creeping on his cheeks. “You’d sell out your boss for a single cigarette. I can only imagine what my boss would think of this.”

You shrug and smile. “It’s not like Brad inspires loyalty here. Like you said, it’s a shithole. So, are you giving me one or not?”

He holds out the pack and you take one, his last one. “Thanks, now let me have a light.” You tuck it between your lips as he lights the end for you.

The first taste of nicotine and smoke secures your decision. It is worth it.   

--

“Hey Brad, can you help me out back? Someone flipped the dumpster over again and I can’t get it back on my own,” you ask sweetly, leaning against the door frame of his office.

“Jesus Christ, why does this keep happening?” He rubs his face in frustration then stands up.

You let him lead the way through the kitchen and out the back. Brad freezes in the doorway and you laugh, making him turn around and look at you. He looks furious, but he steps outside anyway. You follow him, curious to see what’s going to happen with the stranger and Brad.

It’s quick, so quick you barely see it. One second Brad is standing, the next he’s on the ground with a clearly broken jaw. Before you can register more, a foot is in his stomach and he’s coughing up blood. Brad isn’t exactly the best boss in the world, but you’re not sure if he deserves this. Then again, you don’t know what he’s done to elicit this sort of response from the stranger.

“You should leave,” he barks out after another kick to Brads stomach.

You look up and see he’s smiling, actually smiling. You smile back, unsure why you’re reacting this way. You’re not even sure if it’s out of character for you really, but maybe you’re just in shock.  

Brad is a bloody mess after another ten minutes of being beat. Whatever he did, you’re sure he won’t do it again. You watch the whole time, not really sure why you’re so interested. You’ve never hated your boss, but something about this is so horrific you can’t look away. The blonde man’s knuckles are covered in blood by the time he’s done, he leans back against the brick wall.

“Cigarette?” He asks, offering up a fresh pack from his back pocket.

You nod, taking another and his lighter with it. “So, what did Brad do to deserve that?” You ask, tossing the lighter back to him.

“He owes my boss a lot of money.” He shrugs then pulls out a rag from his pocket to wipe his hands off with.

“I have to close up the restaurant, so if you want you can wash them off inside.” You offer, blowing smoke towards him. “Afterall, I’m sure he won’t say anything about it.” You point at Brad on the ground. You can see his chest barely rising and falling.

“Alright,” he shrugs and walks through the kitchen door and into the restaurant.

You follow him in, tossing the cigarette butt on the ground. The man is already washing his hands in the dish sink when you’re inside, so you lock the back door to start closing. “Should I call someone to help Brad?”

“I don’t care what you do. Just don’t say I was here, or you’ll regret it.” The threat comes out of him so smoothly you almost don’t realize that it is one.

“Alright,” you decide against calling an ambulance or the police. Whatever mess he got himself into, he can get himself out of it.

Before you give yourself time to ponder what kind of person that thought process makes you, you grab a broom and go about your normal closing tasks. After a few minutes your mind is heavier than ever with thoughts about today’s sequence of events. The restaurant is fully swept by the time the stranger comes out of the kitchen and into the dining room. With Brad gone, it’s just you and this man in the entire place.

“What’s your name,” you ask, emptying the dustpan into the garbage by the kitchen door.

He gives you a suspicious look but answers, “Phinks.”

“I’m -----,” you tell him before he leaves, not looking back.

--

Weeks pass and you’re not surprised to find out that Brad was let go from the Restaurant, making it chaotic to function until they found his replacement. Phinks crosses your mind every time you go out to take a break behind the building, but you haven’t seen him since that night he showed up. You’re not exactly sure why he crosses your mind so often, but you do find yourself fantasizing about the way his hair would feel tangled in your fingers.

Today is one of those days.

It’s been a slow afternoon. Plus, your new manager, Theresa, has been on everyone’s asses about side work. It seems redundant since everyone knows what they need to do anyway. It’s days like this where you actually miss Brad’s laidback management style, even with all his faults.

However, your breaks seem to come faster now that you’re busier. When you step outside, you can’t help but glance around, looking for Phinks. As usual, he’s not there. You take a seat on your trust milkcrate and pull up twitter on your phone. Part of you wants to search his name, knowing there can’t be too many people with it, but the other part is calling you a crazy stalker.

“Smoke?” A gruff voice breaks you from your train of thought and you look up to see none other than the man you considered cyber stalking.

“Please,” you reply, a bit breathless. He hands you a cigarette and the lighter he offered. “Here to commit another crime?” You tease with the cigarette between your lips.

“Not today. Just passing by.” He tells you, taking a seat on another milk crate.

The quite tension between you builds with each second passes with neither of you speaking. It’s apparent he wasn’t just passing by since you’ve never seen him in this area before. Considering you spend nearly every day within a few blocks of the restaurant or your apartment nearby, you just know he’s had to gone out of his way to come here.

You put out the cigarette on the concrete below. “So, why are you here?”

He rolls his eyes, not speaking still.

“Are you stalking me?” You ask, half joking.

“Totally, I just can’t get enough of you.” He says smoothly with a glimmer in his eye.

“I guess I should be scared then,” you lean forward, your face now only a few inches from him.

“Most people are scared when I’m around, that wouldn’t surprise me.”

You grin as he starts to smirk. “I’m not, though.”

“You must be incredibly stupid then,” he adds, leaning even closer to you. You’re face to face with him now.

“Or,” you roll your eyes, ignoring the fact he just insulted you, “you’re not as scary as you think.”

He pulls back, and you feel like you’ve said the wrong thing. However, you notice he starts to look around. Almost like he’s checking for something. Before you can take another breath, his hand has moved to your face, fingers gripping you sternly but somehow without hurting you.

You feel his lips brush against yours, and you inhale quickly before you’re able to react. Slowly, you allow yourself to give in, kissing him back. He tastes like cigarettes and mint, something you hadn’t expected. He must have been chewing gum earlier today, or it’s the taste of his toothpaste. The thought almost makes you giggle.

He pulls away, “Let’s get out of here.” A statement, not a question.

Without hesitation you follow him. Fuck working and fuck that bitch Theresa.

Phinks lead you a way down the street, not looking ack to see if you’re following. He must trust that you would have followed him despite not giving an answer. He brings you down another alley and to a sleek black car. He’s opening the door before you can try and see what kind of car it is, not that it matters now.

You slide in the backseat, and he follows you, pushing you back against the seat. The door slams shut as he hovers over you, looking at you like you’re the most glorious thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. You reach up, pulling him down onto you by his shirt. He kisses you again and your body ignites. Heat flutters through you from your head to toes.

His body is heavy against you. Your hands wander down his chest and to his stomach, feeling each crevice of his abs. You moan as he bites your bottom lip gently, pulling it between his teeth and releasing it. Your eyes flutter open, and you realize what’s going to happen next.

“Please tell me you have a condom.”

“Shut up, I’m not that stupid.” He grumbles, reaching to the front seat. He drops the condom on your stomach and smirks. “My lady,” he teases.

“You shut up now.” You roll your eyes and start to pull his shirt over his head.

He helps you, shrugging it off and tossing it to the front seats. You can’t help but stare at his form laid bare in front of you. Every bit of his skin is smooth and toned to perfection. You can only imagine how he’s managed to get his body in this shape, but that just makes your mind start to run wild with images of him hot and sweaty in the gym. 

He reaches for your top; his fingers are cold on your skin as he starts to pull it up off you. Sitting up, you grab his arms to pull yourself up. As your top comes off, you let go, falling back against the leather seats of his car.

Phinks smiles at you, taking you in as you manage to unclasp your bra behind you. He leans down, kissing your neck. Slowly, your body reacts, a rush flowing through you and making your toes curl.

How long has it been since you’ve done this? You can’t remember. Your body knows it’s been too long and is reacting faster than you can think. Part of you is embarrassed by the way you feel like moaning already, but the other is screaming for you to let it out. So, you do.

Your moan cuts through the quiet sounds of his lips on your skin and you feel him throb against your stomach. You’re glad you let that out.

“Fuck this,” he growls in your ear while forcing his pants down his thighs.

You follow, wiggling under him to manage to get out of your work jeans. You struggle getting them off your ankles; Phinks pulls them off and drops them on the floorboard. Now you’re left in your underwear, and Phinks is completely nude on top of you. You take a few moments to admire his body above yours, toned and golden.

With his right hand, he grazes his fingers down your side, sending shockwaves through your body. His fingers loop through the waistband of your underwear and he smiles wickedly.

“I like these,” he snaps the black fabric against your skin, and you laugh. “But, not enough to keep them.”

With both hands, he grips your panties, pulling them apart and ripping them off your body in one tug. If you hadn’t already been aroused, this would have surely done it for you. His fingers tease your clit, surprising you at his first move to tease you. You bite your bottom lip, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling.

“No, I want you to watch,” he stops moving his fingers, and you whine but open your eyes. “That’s better, pretty girl.”

You watch as his fingers slide down, teasing your entrance and glistening with your wetness. His middle fingers slides in first, just a few centimeters and you feel the urge to close your eyes and just lay back and let him do whatever he wants, but you don’t. You bite back a moan and watch as he pleases you.

He pumps his finger fully in you, and out, and then back in again. You moan loudly, fingers digging into the leather seat of his car. Your chest rises and falls as he keeps teasing you, adding another finger and filling you up more. You grip his wrist with your right hand, your left steadying you on the seat as his fingers move faster, fucking you harder.

“Fuck,” you whimper breathlessly.

Phinks leans forward and kisses you, his tongue slipping between your lips while he finger fucks you. You kiss him back, desperate for the closeness. His fingers pull out of you quickly, leaving you gasping for air against his lips and clenching around nothing.

“Fuck you,” you say quietly, looking at his stupid grin that’s full of excitement. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Oh, I will.” You feel the tip of his cock prod at you between your legs and you grin.

He’s so much thicker than you expected, even after seeing him. You gasp as he slides in you, adjusting to his size while tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Stretching around his cock, you moan feeling that oh so familiar pleasant sting. He thrusts in you a few times, slowly letting you adjust. You’d be insulted with anyone else, but you desperately need to adjust to the mass of him.

After a few rough thrusts Phinks wraps his arms around you, and you hook your legs around his waist. You almost yelp as he readjusts you so you’re ready to ride him as he sits back. The arrogant smile on his lips doesn’t piss you off but challenges you instead. You know you’re going to give him the best ride he’s ever had.

Slowly, you grip his shoulders, pressing your breasts up close to his face and his smile turns down with a more serious gaze. You rise up once, feeling his cock slip out of you slowly almost until it’s ready to fall out until taking it back in, to the hilt.

Now, it’s his turn to tip his head back and let out the most glorious sound you’ve ever heard. His moans fill the silence in the car, and you clench around his cock. It only makes him moan louder, a glorious sound coming from deep inside his throat.  You smile, pressing a kiss you his neck and running your tongue across the soft skin.

You feel his body shiver under you, and you want to whine at the pure satisfaction of it all. Something about Phinks looking completely at your whim now is so opposite of what you’d seen of him before. It’s thrilling really, knowing you have all the power even if he could snap you in half if he wanted; but instead, he wants to let you pleasure him while you get off on his cock.

“I’m not going to make it much longer,” you whimper, your pace now consistent as you ride him. “I need to cum, now.”

“You can wait,” he coos, slipping his hands down to your hips and slowing your pace. He guides you his fingers digging into your skin.

His lips are on yours again and he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting hard. You cry out as he laughs, but a surge of energy goes through you making you tingle all over. Your toes curl as he thrusts up into you, shocking you.

“Fuck, oh fuck” you moan as he continues to fuck you while holding your hips still. Maybe this is really why he wanted you on top because now he has all the control. All that’s left to do is hold onto his shoulders and hope your nails aren’t hurting him too badly.

“Cum,” he says quietly, just against your ear before nipping at the lope with his teeth. It takes you off guard.

You cum, crying out a mix of his name and fuck, not really sure where one ends and the other begins. Your toes curl and your legs go weak. If you weren’t on top of him, with his hands steadying you, you’re sure you would have collapsed.

He’s still fucking you, only slower now and you start to wonder if he’s going to cum soon. Or if he’s someone who could go on forever until you’re a babbling mess unable to form a single thought from being so overstimulated. Part of you wants to see if he could accomplish that but the other part knows you desperately want to make him cum now.

As you’re lost in the afterglow of pleasure and thought, you feel his cock twitch. He’s going to cum, you realize. It makes you force another soft moan, wanting to encourage him but unable to formulate words.

Phinks cums, or at least you suspect since he stops fucking you. The condom didn’t bust at least, you think. It’s a few moments before he settles you down on his lap after pulling out of you and removing the condom. You don’t pay attention to what he does with it, just hoping he didn’t liter and throw it outside of the car.

You let your body relax against his, the warmth radiating off you both. It’s silent for the most part, besides the quiet pants Phinks lets out every other breath. You relish in it, knowing this could either be the first or last time this happens. Either way, you’re happy with what’s happened even if you were limited to the space of the car.

His loss, you think.

“You’re not going back to that damned restaurant, alright?” He breaks the silence, and you furrow your brows.

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, knowing he can’t see your reaction with your cheek against his chest and eyes looking down away from his face.

“I’m serious,” he laughs this time. “Fuck, you’re so much better than I imagined.”

You laugh this time, was he getting himself off imagining this over the last few weeks? “Weirdo,” you comment, not meaning it at all.

A few more minutes pass until he moves you off his lap and onto the seat beside him. He wraps his arms around your shoulder. “You’re mine now.”

[brandtner]

which yugotalia character would you smash? 😳

All of them.

I think the smashing I would enjoy the most would be that of Bosnia. He simply has a very "smashing" face. You know what I mean? Let's just pin him against the nearest wall and let the fun carry us. Same goes for Slovenia and Monte.

Honestly I wouldn't want to go anywhere near Srbija now that I think about it. I don't know why. Common sense. Too crazy

Croatia... I'm going to have to pass as well. Too scary. Deathwish. I feel like he would torture me with posvojne zamenice (my nemezis)

I'd leave out the girls, too. Their faces are too pretty to get ruined.

And you, Anon? Who would you smash with a brick? Against a wall? The concrete floor sounds fun too, I remember grazing my knees on that type of surface when I was a kid, oh, the skin just gets grated, it was terrible.

[umedaifuku]

Hello, if you write angst or hurt/comfort, may I request a any character you want x reader, where in the process of time travel, they lost reader. It can end in angst or be hurt/comfort, whichever you want.

However if you don't wrote angst, may i request a short reader headcanon with whoever you like.

Lost Voice (Nightmare)

Mentions: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Lore style fic?, slight blood, harm (please comment what mentions are in this) , Fem!reader

A/N I'm sorry for this late post. I had to go over it so many times till I thought this was good. Moving on I hope this is good.

'Why can't we all get along?' Slowly sinking to the bottom of the deep blue a young girl is half conscious.

Now lay me down to sleep

'We're humans.' Crimson bubbles escape her mouth.

'It's so dark like an abyss....I'm scared.'

If I shall die before I wake

Y/N began to choke on water. Attempting to swim to the surface the shadows began to drag her down with them. Frailing her arms and kicking the water, she fought to get up. Not wanting to meet her end.

'Please... let me see him... one last time.'

I pray the lord my soul to take

In an alleyway, the sounds of clanging and glass shattering echoed. Y/N threw metal dumpsters against brick walls, spilling the contents. And smashed beer bottles onto the concrete ground.

'What did I do to them?! All I did was tell a family to evacuate their home and they blame me for so called brainwashing them.' Y/N leans against the wall and slides down. Hugging her knees, tears began to slide down her cheeks.

Then she saw it. Something that can help end it all. Y/N picked up the smashed piece of glass and held it in her hand.

'I wish I never had this voice,' she spoke softly. Y/N took deep breaths.

'I can get rid of it,' she closed her eyes tightly. Aiming for her voice box, she hoped it would tear and hurt her badly.

It never came.

'Huh,' Y/N slowly opens her eyes to a pair of cloudy blue eyes. The male looked down at her with his eyes crinkled as he held the piece of glass in his hands.

'Why did you stop me,' she trembled.

'You were going to hurt your voice,' he replied.

'You shoulda' let it happen,' she scoffs. The cloudy blue eyes kneels down at Y/N's figure.

'No one cares. All they care about is me brainwashing them. You're only here to tell them how I'm a freak. A monster. Just leave me,' Y/N commanded. But he didn't leave or move a bit.

'Why isn't my voice working,' Y/N touches her throat with a surprised face.

'Your voice doesn't work on me because I have my headphones on,' he indeed had his headphones on. Y/N didn't notice.

'You know you can be anything you want to be because this world is full of hope. Use your voice to help them,' the cloudy blue eyes smiles.

'Help them... I'll do it... even if they don't want to accept them,' Y/N declares. The male nods.

'Do you want to do this together?' The male lends a hand for her to take. She takes it, and both walk out.

'Um, what's your name? I never got it,' The male turns his head, facing Y/N.

'Yugo Asuma,' Yugo beams. Y/N's lips curl slightly. For the first time, this felt natural to her.

'Y/N Sirene,' She responds softly.

I remember this.. after that Yugo and I were inseparable. We never left each other's sides. I didn't think that this would bloom into something else...

'Yugo you ready for this?' Y/N adjusted the microphone piece closer to her mouth. Yugo smirks and puts his headphones on.

'ARE YOU READY!' Yugo began to turn his turntable and remixed the song that Y/N wrote. Y/N took a breath and began to sing.

'Someone like me can be a real nightmare, completely aware' But I'd rather be a real nightmare than die unaware, yeah Someone like me can be a real nightmare, completely aware But I'm glad to be a real nightmare, so save me your prayers

I, I keep a record of the wreckage of my life I gotta recognize the weapon in my mind They talk shit, but I love it every time And I realize!

Y/N slammed her foot on the stage.

I've tasted blood and it is sweet! I've had the rug pulled beneath my feet I've trusted lies and trusted tech

Broke down and put myself back together again Stared in the mirror and punched it to shatters Collected the pieces and picked out a dagger I've pinched my skin in between my two fingers And wished I could cut some parts off with some scissors

"Come on, little lady, give us a smile" No, I ain't got nothin' to smile about I got no one to smile for, I waited a while for

A helicopter from above hovered over them gaining both of their attention. But Y/N continued.

A moment to say I don't owe you a goddamn-

Before Yugo and Y/N could react the androids smashed their tech equipment causing the crowd to flee.

'OI, OI, OI WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING HERE,' Yugo yelled at the red police.

'DID YOU REALLY CRASH HAVE TO CRASH THE PARTY!' Y/N roars.

'Dj, Singer. We've warned both you several times. And we also told there wouldn't be a next time,' The androids report.

'Haha we're following your rules,' Y/N smiles.

'What's your problem?' Yugo pulls down his headphones. The android projects the rule that was broken.

'A new statutory provision has been established. Article 277 of the android regime under the National Protection Act, records the mental records the mental state of the nation and manages this. The fifth states that in order to record and regulate humanity's mental state, It is strictly prohibited to have more than a certain number of entertainment activities. It has been determined that you are both doing more than the regulated number. Therefore both of you have been determined to be targets of the purge,' The android concludes.

'Do you really think you can manage people's minds like that? No! That's why your going to keep making weird rules, again! You don't understand humans at all,' Yugo says.

'What is this 'The Giver' (a book) because the difference between humans and robots are. That human can make their own decisions and live the way they want. You rust buckets rely on stupid programming,' Y/N sticks her tongue out.

'This has been implemented based on past statistical data and human behavior. We do not need programming overall,' The android adds the last part.

'You don't know why the reason why we're stuck in this place.'

'There is no hope or someone to lead them to the light.'

'You know there's no hope. But we're still playing hard. We need tomorrow too. Come on, we need this freedom.'

'Don't take it,' Y/N and Yugo declare together.

'Whoever refuses to accept out commands will be eliminated. This is our policy.'

'Shut up and listen! You make zero sense! Listen to the people this place is free !' Y/N screams.

'Stay silent and do not disturb the order. Submit to our voice. Know your place, humans,'

'If I have to give up on what I wanna do. I'd rather leave this world,' Yugo smiles sticking his tongue out.

'Baka!' the androids let fire aiming for his eye. Collapsing.

'Yugo!' Y/N ran over to check on him, finding him losing his consciousness.

'Submit to us human or you'll also be eliminated,' the android push the gun towards her throat.

'Fuck off,' Y/N uses her voice to control them. They began to pull the trigger. On her knees her throat was bloody.

'Any last words?' Y/N grabbed Yugo and ran with the androids trailing behind her. She ran to the dock with a dead end. without any choice, she dove down.

This world is cruel... We can't get along people will continue to bud heads... This world is hard to live in...

Y/N towed Yugo somewhere. She tried to cover up her wound but it never stopped flowing. The raging sea broke them apart.

But we can contribute slowly even if it means nothing. Yugo what do you say?

Y/N slowly opens her eyes. Immediately shielding her eyes with her hands from the bright place. She blinks a couple of times and hears children chattering. And people getting along. Y/N began to smile and got onto her feet and ran around the streets. Giggles escape her lips.

'Haha this is a utopia!' she smiles. She turned a corner and found the familiar figure in front of her.

'Yugo! Wait up!' Y/N gently grabs onto his shoulder with a bright smile. That suddenly disappeared.

'Yugo? Who's Yugo?'

I hope you liked this! And sorry for the long story!

[yeslieutenant]

Introductions

Welp. Here it is. Chapter 1. Let's remeet the characters I suppose?

A/N: Just to clarify, Eric is not given traits because he is pretty much only in this chapter. He was not forgotten, just isn't in a majority of the story. Y/N stands for Your Name. Y/N/N stands for Your Nickname!

Series Warnings: Violence, swearing, gore, slow horror build up, possibly smut in epilogue, character death, drinking, panic attacks, PTSD.

Chapter Warnings: Argument between father and son, swearing, drinking, otherwise, this chapter should be pretty wholesome.

Word Count: 4,140 (sheesh this took forever)

Link to Prologue

May 27th, 2005

6:21 PM

United Kingdom

Zain

The breeze rustled my short brown locks, goosebumps breaking out along my exposed arms. Tariq said the day was going to be perfect for a t-shirt, but I can’t help but shiver in the crisp 15-degree weather.

“Zain!” I turn to see the liar himself striding towards me, his white wife-beater practically glowing among the spring colors.

Zain Othman

College Student

19

Inquisitive

Reckless

“Tariq! You told me it was supposed to be warm today!” I wrap my arms around myself to emphasize my point.

“It is warm! You feel that warm May air?” He exclaims, sticking his arms out wide. Tariq always was one for dramatics. “Hey wait, isn’t your birthday coming up in a few days?” He asks, his arms dropping back down to his sides with a smack.

“Yup,” I hate my birthday. I know Dad does too. It reminds him of the incident back in Iraq. He never goes into detail, only that it was an experience he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He talks about the people though. The Americans he teamed up with. Jason. Y/N. Nick. Eric. I hope to meet them one day. I am knocked out of my thoughts as Tariq’s hand makes contact with the back of my head.

“Earth to Zain! You in there?” He chuckles, his smile bright.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just zoned out, sorry.”

“I asked what you wanted to do for your birthday! We could go get smashed!” He suggests, raising his left eyebrow with that mischievous glint shining in his brown eyes.

“We still have class the next day. My birthday falls on a Monday this year, Sadiqaa.” I laugh, my fist landing lazily against his bare arm. We begin the trek back to our respective housing. Tariq lives in the dorms with 3 other boys our age. They are all pretty nice, albeit a bit loud. Tariq fits in perfectly with them.

“You sure you don’t wanna come in, play some Halo?” He questions and I shrug.

“You know I’d like to, but I promised my alab I’d be home for dinner,” I reply before continuing on.

“Wadaeaan, Zain!” Tariq calls, his voice echoing along the rows of old brick buildings.

“Wadaeaan, Tariq!” I really am glad Tariq got accepted to the same university as me, although sometimes, I really wish I could escape his hyperactive personality. I survey the campus around me; The greens are starting to emerge from the trees around me, fresh rain and recently bloomed flowers’ scents permeating the air. The United Kingdom really is lovely. The red bricks that make up all of the campus buildings stand as a testament to their age, and it’s hard not to notice the bustle of students around me as it nears the end of the day. I glance down at my sneakers as I walk, the childish urge to not step on a crack bringing a smile to my face.

I suddenly snap back to reality as I feel a body into mine and fall to the hard concrete, landing flat on my ass. I release a puff of air from my mouth as I use my hands to break my fall, my palms scraping the rough terrain.

“I am so sorry! I was in such a rush, I didn’t even see you there!” I look up to see a hand extended out to me. I grab it without thinking, allowing the stranger to help me to my feet.

“It’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going either,” I admit, my eyes landing on the stranger. He’s caucasian, black aviators covering his eyes. His mousey brown hair is ruffled as if he was running his fingers through it repeatedly.

“Do you happen to know your way around?” The stranger asks, disoriented and off-track. 

He’s definitely lost.

“I do. Where are you looking to go?”

“I’m actually looking for someone in particular. Zain Othman. Do you happen to know him?” I blink for a brief moment before I chuckle.

“You actually found him. I’m Zain.” He looks surprised for a moment before chuckling himself.

“Oh good. Your professors recommended you, so I’ve been on campus for an hour looking for you.” He admits, scratching the side of his beard sheepishly.

“Recommended me for what?” This stranger has definitely piqued my interest. I wonder which professors he spoke to…

“An expedition. To a location just south of here?” My jaw drops at the mention. An expedition? Here? “My colleague may have found evidence of the US Government covering up Tír Na Nóg.” He is. The Land of Youth. But I thought that was in Ireland? I feel my jaw go slack at the mention. The Land of Youth. Here. “Sorry, I’m so rude. My name is Christopher Cook, but my friends call me Chris.” He offers his hand to shake and I snap myself out of my reverie, gripping his hand firmly. I felt the palm of my hand sting, momentarily forgetting the abrasions my hands had just received. I feel like my eyes are about to bulge out of my head.

“I’m sure you have lots of questions, but-”

“It’s Winterfold Forest, right? To the South East of Stonehenge?” The question leaves my mouth unbidden, and I watch his eyebrows raise over the line of his sunglasses. His fingers grasp the rim of his sunglasses and pull them down over his eyes, a smile gracing his features as he nods.

“How you feel about a little adventure, kid?”

The door flies open as I bolt into the house.

“Alab, I brought company!” I shout, dropping my bag by the door of our flat, as they call them here.

“Tariq?” I hear my father shout, presumably from his bedroom. Probably grading papers, like always.

“Um, no, Alab. Can you come out here?” I hear the chair scrape against the floor, followed by the thumping of his footsteps on the wooden floor. He rounds the corner from the hallway and his dark eyes immediately find Chris’, and his expression quickly shows one of confusion. 

Salim Othman

Foreign Language Teacher

42

Practical

Stubborn

Chris definitely doesn’t look like a college student. His sky blue t-shirt is hidden under a black leather jacket and his blue jeans are worn and frayed on the edges. Chris raises his hand in my father’s direction.

“Mr. Othman, Pleasure.” But dad makes no move to respond.

“Zain, who is this?” He questions, his eyes finding mine.

“His name is Christopher Cook. He’s leading an expedition to Winterfold Forest! They may have found something, just like I said!” I say, excitement laced in each word. “He wants me to come with him, Alab, My professors all recommended me!” I say, my excitement impossible to contain. But, one look at my father and my excitement withers away.. I know the answer. His brows are furrowed, his mouth already forming the dreaded word.

“No. Zain, you can’t be serious?” He asks, astounded at my audacious behavior.

“Alab, he showed me his credentials. He is being truthful,” I defend.

“Zain, you are not going on some goose chase at the drop of a hat.” I feel the anger swell in my chest at his refusal. “I apologize, Mr. Cook, but my son will not be going with you. You will need to find someone else.”

“I respect your authority, Mr. Othman, but Zain is the only one who knew exactly what I was talking about before I even said it. There is no one else who knows this info like your son.”

“I understand that Zain is knowledgeable, but he is still a young boy-”

“I am going, Alab.” I finally say, finding my voice. The look on his face is that of pure shock. “I am 20 years old, I think I’m fit to make my own choices.” I proclaim, turning on my heel and striding into my room, finishing the conversation before my father has a chance to protest.

May 29th, 2005

6:58PM

Washington DC, United States of America

Y/N

I glance at the digital clock on the dashboard of my car, finding I am just barely early. ‘Eric is probably inside already’ I think to myself as I place my heeled low stiletto on the pavement. I grab my purse, slinging it over my shoulder before closing the door quickly. I lock the car before walking towards the restaurant.

Y/N King

Trauma Nurse

25

Caring

Anxious

Eric always picks some upscale place in downtown DC for this stupid meet-up. I love the guys, and I find myself missing them more and more lately. Especially when I arise from bed, screams dying in my throat and my skin covered in a cold sweat. PTSD. Iraq. I shiver at the memory of the winged beasts ripping Rachel to shreds in front of our eyes. I shake my head, almost comically, to clear the image from behind my eyes. The breeze picks up and I feel my yellow cotton sundress flutter around, thankfully not enough for me to be concerned about flashing anyone. I pull open the wooden door and almost immediately I am bombarded by the smell of freshly grilled meat and falsely scented candles. The hostess looks at me expectantly.

“Reservation for 4. The name should be King.” She nods and smiles, gesturing me to follow behind her as she weaves between tables. The beige walls act like soundproofing, the voices and clinking glasses bouncing off of them to stay contained within this large space.

“Mr. King insisted your table be seated outside.” Thank God for Eric’s big brain. The patio door opens and it already feels much calmer. A light jazzy tune slips through the speakers as my eyes find my brother. He is dressed in blue jeans and an untucked button-down that has what I assume to be pineapples on it. His dirty blonde hair is unkempt and he has a light dusting of facial hair beginning to grow on his jaw. He turns his head as I approach and his face lights up in a full toothy grin. He stands, his arms spread wide, inviting me into a hug.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you,” he says, his arms wrapping around my small frame.

“Likewise,” I smile warmly, my arms wrapping around his back to return the hug. We pull back and he smiles as he gestures to the seat next to him. I sit gratefully as we make idle chat, ordering the first round of drinks.

“Think Nick’ll show?” Eric asks, a teasing tone in his voice, but I know there will always be a part of him that disagrees with Nick. That crack is far too wide to bridge over by now.

“He will be. I talked to him just yesterday and he said he’d be here,” I answer truthfully.

“Have you talked to Jason recently?” At the mention of the Lieutenant, I feel my cheeks heat up.

“Yeah, we talked a while ago.”

“Still got the hots for him, I see.” Eric teases. The blush on my cheeks darkens and I punch his arm playfully. He chuckles. “I don’t know why you don’t say something to him. He’s obviously into you.” Eric continues.

“He’s seeing someone right now,” I say, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. Now is not the time to let the little green monster take over, Y/N. Eric’s face briefly registers shock before morphing into a small frown.

“I’m sorry, Y/N/N.”

“It’s fine. I want him to be happy. If Kelsey makes him happy, then I’m good with that,” Keep the venom out of your words, Y/N. I plaster on a fake smile and I know Eric can see right through it. He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by none other than Sergeant Nicolas Kay shouting over the tin of the music.

Nicolas Kay

Recently Discharged Marine Sergeant

32

Defensive

Romantic

“Y/N! Eric!” He smiles and waves. He hasn’t lost any of his muscle definition since deciding not to reenlist, and the hostess not so subtly gives his exposed arms a once over as he approaches the table. I stand quickly as Nick wraps those arms around me, spinning me in a dramatic circle.

“Nicky! Put me down!” The protest comes out in the form of a giggle, and he sets my feet safely down on the wooden patio before laughing himself.

“How’ve you been Y/N/N?”

“Good! And you? I mean, it’s been so long since we last spoke.” The sarcasm drips off of my words and he laughs again.

“SO long, Ms. King. I’m good. The airport was hell though,” he admits, rolling his eyes so hard I swear they almost fell out. Nick has on a black tank top and board shorts, proving he expected it to feel like summer, when, as soon as the sun sinks below the horizon, the temperature quickly drops. He has what looks like a fresh buzz cut, and I realize I have hardly ever seen him without his signature Boonie hat.

“Nick. Good to see you.” Eric stands and reaches his hand out for a shake, which Nick gratefully accepts. At least they are civil.

“Likewise, man.” Eric sits back down and I follow suit. Nick moves to take the chair next to me. I watch as a sly smile crosses his lips as he moves past the seat, choosing the one next to Eric instead. I mock pout for a moment.

“You don’t wanna sit by me, Nicky?”

“I think you’d prefer someone else sit there.” The smirk on his face is enough to bring the blush back in full force, resting brightly on my cheeks and making the “artificial” blush I put on completely irrelevant. I hear Eric release a breath that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle.

“Something funny, Colonel?” I ask, my eyes glaring daggers at my older brother.

“Nope. Nothing.” He clears his throat, exchanging a glance with Nick. Just as soon as he thinks my eyes have reverted back to the menu, he leans over for a fist bump, which Nick happily obliges.

“I saw that,” I mumble, rolling my eyes playfully. 

“So Y/N/N, what are we drinking?” Nick inquires, his eyes landing on my light orange gradient drink.

“Sex on the Beach,” I reply, dramatically winking at the marine. He laughs and Eric rolls his eyes.

“You drink that fruity crap? Kinda a girly drink, don’t you think?”

“Well last I checked, I am a girl. And you go ahead, drink your bread water that’ll take at least 6 drinks for you to feel anything. I am drinking liquefied tipsy juice. It’ll take me maybe 2 drinks. It’s called efficiency, Nicky.” He immediately bursts out laughing.

“Shit. Maybe I should get me one of those.” I raise my eyebrows, challenging his statement.

“Are you man enough to drink a girl drink?” I laugh, and Nick opens his mouth to retort before his eyes catch something that just walked through the door onto the patio. Or someone. I turn towards whatever has grabbed Nick’s attention and feel my breath hitch in my throat. Jason. Nick stands, walking toward Jason, a smile on his lips.

How can someone look exactly the same but so different at the same time? Jason’s donning a pale blue button-down, unbuttoned to reveal a white v-neck beneath, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, perfectly showing off the tattoo on his left forearm. His jeans look worn, but not unkempt, and his hair is conveniently covered by that damned hat. 

CENTCOM took everything we were wearing after the incident in the temple and incinerated it, for “safety”, of course, which included Jason’s beloved hat. While walking through the bustling DC streets about a year ago, I found one that was practically identical, minus all the wear and tear, and knew I couldn’t ignore it. I bought it and mailed it to him in Kentucky, and he called me the next night, excitement in his voice as he told me how perfectly it fits and how grateful he was.

As he approaches, I stand from my seat and as his dark chocolate eyes find mine, he smiles, those adorable dimples making indents in his cheeks as he firmly wraps me in a hug.

Jason Kolchek

Recently discharged Marine Lieutenant

32

Confident

Isolated

“It’s real good to see you, Y/N/N.” He says, and I smile shyly at how easy it was for me to forget how sexy his accent is. He smells like fresh pine and aftershave, although from a quick glance at him as we pull back from the hug, it’s clear he hasn’t shaved. It’s not overwhelming, just enough to know it’s there, but more pronounced than it was in Iraq.

“Likewise, Jase,” I say, trying not to stutter like my heart is. I plop my ass back in my chair and receive a wink from Nick out of the corner of my eye as Jason takes the seat next to me. I shoot him a glare. If looks could kill, Nick.

After a few rounds of drinks, we’ve all loosened up quite a bit. I feel the muscles in my cheeks sting from how long I’ve been smiling and laughing, but I do nothing to stop the next joke pouring from Nick’s intoxicated tongue.

“They say that during sex you burn off as many calories as running eight miles. Who the hell runs eight miles in 30 seconds?” It’s a terrible joke, but we’re all tipsy enough that it may as well have come from a comedian.

I giggle, a small hiccup breaching my throat and I quickly cover my mouth. They all notice though, and Eric looks at me, a dorky grin on his face.

“Y/N used to hiccup every time she laughed when we were kids, but her friends teased her about it, so she taught herself how to laugh without hiccuping over the course of the summer.”

“Eric, don’t tell them that!” I say, smacking him on the arm again.

“Aw, I think it’s cute, Y/N/N,” Jason says, his muscular arms crossing over his chest.

“Cute, huh? I think it’s dorky, which conveniently, is just like you,” Nick adds, leaning his elbows on the table. I feel the warmth returning to my cheeks and attempt to hide it by lifting my drink and taking a sip. We fall into a comfortable silence, the music still playing through the mounted speakers. Eric clears his throat before speaking.

“So Jason, Y/N mentioned that you’re dating. How’s that?” At the mention, Jason rubs the back of his neck, and Nick and I exchange a glance. His nervous tick.

“Um, it was okay. I ended things a few months back. Kinda hard to find someone with similar experiences. I couldn’t open up to her, and it felt wrong to leave her in the dark.” He explains, a small frown appearing on his pink lips.

“Doesn’t help that you weren’t THAT into her in the first place, LT.” Nick tacks on.

“Definitely not.” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck again. He’s blushing now. Nick and Jason continue their joking banter when Eric grabs my attention. Similar experiences? He mouths, winking in my direction. I quickly shake my head no, hoping he’ll drop it, with no such luck, of course.

“Y/N, you tried dating a while back, right?” Eric asks, a mischevious smile appearing. I smile, wide and fake in Eric’s direction before turning to the table. Jason and Nick are both looking at me expectantly, and I shrug.

“Yeah. Didn’t work out,” I admit, before gesturing to Jason nonchalantly. “Similar experiences and all that.” I mumble as I sip my drink. Nick chuckles, and I pray he shuts up before he says something stupid.

“I bet Jason could take you on a hell of a date, Y/N/N.” That. That was something stupid. Asshole. My cheeks must be the same shade as the tomatoes on Eric’s plate as I glare at Nick. Jason clears his throat next to me and I risk a glance at the Lieutenant. His cheeks are as red as mine are, even in the fading sunlight. His tongue darts out to lick his lips as he looks to me. I look away just as fast, hoping he didn’t catch me as chew on the inside of my lower lip. Eric speaks, slicing through the almost tangible tension. 

“Yeah, he could take ya fishin’, Y/N/N.” He teases, his voice rising in a crude imitation of Jason’s accent.

“Hey, don’t hate on fishin. It’s relaxin.” Jason defends, his lips forming a crooked smile, one dimple appearing in the corner of his mouth.

“I used to love fishing with dad, unlike you.” It’s one of my favorite memories with our dad.

“Dad had to bait the hooks for you and everything.” He laughs.

“Yeah. I was 5!”

“Do you know how to bait a hook now, Y/N?” He questions, an accusatory smile on his face. I open my mouth to snap back and realize I have nothing to say. My lips slowly seal shut in a guilty smile as the table bursts into laughter. Jason taps me on the arm.

“If you find yourself in Kentucky, I’ll take you fishin, Y/N/N. I’ll even bait the hook for you.” He winks, and my mouth goes bone dry before I quickly find my voice.

“You got yourself a deal, Kolchek.” Point 1- Eric and Nick.

As soon as the sun goes down, I find myself shivering as the spring air cools rapidly, my arms coming up to rub over my arms.

“You cold, Y/N/N?” Jason leans over, whispering in my direction, as not to disturb the conversation between Nick and Eric. I shake my head quickly.

“No, I’m good.” I lie, but the obvious shiver that runs down my spine betrays me. He chuckles, a low sound that forces another shiver through me, though for a very different reason. Eric is waving his hands, talking animatedly about some mission he was on a few weeks prior when I feel fabric drape over my shoulders. I glance down and see the pale blue shirt Jason had on resting comfortably on my shoulders and I look up at the marine with a smile. His responding smile warms my heart and I slip my arms into the sleeves as his scent reaches my nose. I definitely don’t take a long moment to admire how his biceps look in the tight white v-neck he is sporting. Not at all. I would never. The evening winds down to a close after about 30 more minutes of laughing and sipping on water. We all give hugs and say our goodbyes, and Eric gives a joking “see you next year” as he walks to his vehicle. Nick heads to his rental, with a wave and a promise to call ASAP. Jason begins to walk me to my car.

“You don’t have to do that, Jase.”

“I don’t mind walking a lady to her car. Besides, I think I’m parked next to you.” 

I chuckle.

“What?”

“Lady?” The question rolls off my tongue before I can stop it, and Jason reacts with a chuckle of his own.

“Look doll, Just cause you can fight off alien vampires don’t mean you’re not a lady.”

“I could show you just how unladylike I can be.” What the fuck am I saying?! “Fishing. Very unladylike,” Smooth, Y/N/N. Smooth.

“Definitely. I figured that’s what you meant,” a sly smile on his face, and he winks again. We reach my car door and I unlock it quickly before turning, pulling my arms out of Jason’s shirt before he stops me with a hand on my arm. “You hold onto it. You need it more than I do.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’m sure I’ll see you again before I head back south. Nick and I are in town for a few days. Maybe we could grab coffee one of those days?” I couldn’t say no to that face even if I wanted to. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just some newfound confidence, but I lean up on my toes and place a light kiss on his cheek before replying.

“I could probably squeeze you in.” I immediately panic, my words coming out in a jumbled mess. “Into my schedule, coffee, with you, and Nick! Squeeze you guys into my schedule. For coffee.” That dimpled grin is on his face again, and he leans in, his soft lips landing on my cheek for a brief second, the same as I had just done to him.

“See you soon then, Ms. King.”

Chapter 2

Tags: @kawaiiwitch224 @yellowroseskolchek @house-of-kolchek @lorebite @buttermykolchek @katsufairies @kassiekolchek22

Tag list is open! Message me if you would like to be added.

[jodilin65]

We decided our first weapon of defense against Ray’s TV (we suspect he got a new surround system or something since this is a new twist on things), would be to put back up the soundproofing material on the outer bedroom and closet walls. Admittedly, I’ve been wanting to do it anyway because it would be good for other sounds like mowers, traffic, planes, and storms.

I don’t know why he’s doing this shit all of a sudden since many times I’d be outside and not hear anything from over there but this is still so typical like I said in my last entry with good neighbors getting noisy.

If this doesn’t work - and I have my doubts - I will talk to him. At first I was hesitant to even think of that because past experiences really put a complex on me and I know that most people don’t take well to complaints no matter how reasonable they may be. I have every right not to hear his TV in my home. I know that and he probably knows it too but that’s likely not how he’s going to react. If he’s like most people, he’ll react as if I asked him to kill all his loved ones and then himself. If he doesn’t and he does turn it down, it will likely only be temporary and there’s a chance he may do something else to annoy me like get a yappy dog or a loud vehicle even if it’s a subconscious thing he doesn’t even realize he’s doing.

If he continues to be a problem after soundproofing and talking to him, I’ll go to the office. If they won’t help, then I’ll go over there and smash the fucking thing. LOL, okay, maybe I won’t go that far but I’ll have to do something if matters are going to be left in my own hands. Really hope it doesn’t come to that, though! The last thing I want to do is go back to dealing with an annoying neighbor I have to listen to hour after hour. He’s not as loud as the guy at the old place that blasted his TV before he died but right now I’m lying in bed, the air cleaner in the living room is up high which is not too far outside the bedroom door, yet I can still make it out.

Again, past experiences backfiring on me made me hesitant to say anything but if we can’t block him out, I’m not gonna let the assholes of the past win and say nothing either. When one of my Facebook friends said she was participating in a women’s rights rally, I asked her what the point was since protests and rallies never do any good. She said it was all about being heard and making their thoughts known, and that the more people that speak up, the more others will know what’s really on people’s minds. If everyone assumes their one voice won’t make a difference and keeps quiet, then there’s less hope of any change for the better in the future.

The guy’s not home as much as we are but he’s home a lot and all he does when he’s awake from what I can tell is watch TV. He doesn’t crash till around 11:00. There’s a gap in the side of our blinds in the window that faces his living room and I can usually tell when he’s up at night. I can make out the faint flickering of the TV. But now I know when it’s on just because I can hear the damn thing in here and I would really like him to return to his old self where he was too good to be true.

I don’t know for sure if it’s a new TV or if it’s just that typical ‘I’m here, I’m settled, and now I’m going to do what I want and fuck everyone around me’ attitude so many people have after they move. The question is whether or not the soundproofing is going to be enough. I sure hope so but manufactured homes are pretty flimsy and they let sound in so easily. Remember, we’re not even on a concrete slab so sound can also come up through the floor or ceiling, and it’s all wood and no brick or stucco or anything like that.

I’m just tired of having to do this or do that in my own house because of neighbors. Even so, we talked about putting the soundproofing blanket in the window above the built-in desk because we’re not soundproofing that area, and I can’t use that computer with the larger screen until after the damn cock goes to bed. That’s not as big of a deal because I’m not usually out there until around midnight anyway because of the planes. Right now I’m in my closet office with Alexa playing nature sounds.

I opened my sound measuring app. When turning off all the fans and air cleaners inside the house, it registered at about 35 decibels in the closet and 33 in the bedroom, since we already have soundproofing material in the windows.

Good and bad health news, as usual. I slept surprisingly well last night despite swearing a thump woke me up for a second early in the morning, and have had good energy throughout the day and was able to sort some stuff in the second bathroom like I’ve been planning to do for a while.

The not-so-good news is that I finally broke down and scheduled an appointment with the GYN for the 24th because I’m still burning.

Also, my weight is up half a pound so it likely was the medication ramping up in my system that pushed it down in the first place just like I always suspected. At least I had no problems with the new brand of losartan.

[ltbarnes]

I’ll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm

[Stark U #2]

Summary: People are awful and you’re just trying to prove to Bucky how loved he is. If that happens in an impulse decision when you’re drunk and tired, so be it.

Pairing: college!Bucky x reader, appearance of college!Sam x reader

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: language, a lot of self-deprecating and doubt, Bucky hating himself and reader being very sweet, mention of near-death experience, under-age drinking? I haven’t decided reader’s age yet

[Takes place in the same AU as With a Little Help From Your Friends & I Hit My Peak at Seven]

A/N: This might be the shortest thing I’ve written. I clearly don’t know how to write anything under a thousand words. And thank you so much for all the support I’ve received on my previous fics, every comment makes me a giddy mess even if it’s just a thumbs up lol

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You find Bucky leaning his forehead against the brick wall outside. A smashed glass bottle lays discarded right behind him, littering the ground with thousand of splinters from when he threw it into the concrete.

He can hear your steps moving across the grovel, you're sure of that, but he makes no move to acknowledge you. He's embarrassed, usually, when any of you witness even an ounce of emotion he didn't want you to see.

You stop just two feet away from him, solemn gaze and hands wrapped around your torso to shield your dress-clad body from the raw wind sweeping across the alley.

"Bucky?" You try hesitantly, moving forward a step, slowly in case he wants distance. "Hey, talk to me. What happened?" You ask, laying a hand on his shoulder.

You see the effort he has to put in to not flinch away from your touch. You only let it linger for a second or two before sliding it down to your side once more. Bucky sighs, jaw clenched tightly in anger and what looks like grief.

When he turns around he doesn't look at you, leans his head back against the wall as he towers over you despite your heels. Despite how small he feels.

"'S nothing," he mumbles, running the palms of his hands over his face with a tired groan.

"I'm not fucking stupid, Bucky. There's no form of 'fine' that looks like this," you say while gesturing towards the broken glass right next to you. "Was it another panic attack?" You ask, softening your voice.

He shakes his head. "No, no," he mutters. "There was...this girl," he forces out of himself.

You nod, rubbing your hands up and down your partly exposed arms, now riddled with goosebumps. January is a fucking bitch.

"Dot, from pre-med."

You know who he means. He's been interested in her for a while, even caught him smiling at his phone when her name lit up his screen with a text. Despite not knowing her at all, still keeping your natural suspicion, you tried to be happy for him, that he had someone he cared for like that.

"She, uh, doesn't want to be with me," he says. "Says it's too much of a burden, you know." He gestures to himself in the same moment your heart breaks.

You swallow down thickly, taking a deep breath before you say something that will only make him more upset. God fucking damnit.

"She doesn't like my arm and all the scarring and things like that. Apparently she expected something else, I guess. Didn't want to deal with all the shit that comes with me," he grits out through his teeth in bitterness.

"What?" You breathe out, gazing up at his fallen expression with one of your own.

"I understand. It's fucking impossible to like all those things, I know that." He kicks at a stone on the ground, clinking against the shards of glass.

"That's not true. You have to know that," you say. There's so many things running trough your mind, so much that you can't find the right thing to say.

He scoffs, a bitter smile on his face. "Well, yeah, it's hard to believe that."

"Bucky, I had the worst crush on you for like two months after we had met. It was horrible," you say. "You are not unlikeable. And maybe that's a shallow thing to say right now, but—all I'm gonna say is that you should be flattered, because I've only had two crushes in my entire life."

Bucky's eyes widen for just a second, warmth spreading up his cheeks that you thankfully can't see in the dark, before he clears his throat. "And then you got to know me?" He mutters with an attempt of a smile.

"Yes. You have a horrible personality," you answer.

Bucky glances up at you, his smile falling while his blue eyes search your face for an explanation. You catch his sullen expression in an instant, rolling your eyes with a sigh.

"Oh my god, Bucky. Sarcasm," you groan. "How do you even survive?"

He gives you a grunt in response, his ears flaring red in harmony with his flushed cheeks.

"C'mon, let's go home and go to sleep. Without staying up for hours grumbling over it, I mean it." You lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," he sighs.

You lower your hand from him, and he instantly finds himself missing the tenderness of it, how delicately you handled him, as soon as it's gone. Taking a step back from him, without looking where you're going, you stumble over a rock that leaves you falling towards the ground.

Cold metal grasps your waist, steadying you until you're on your feet again with a raise in heartbeat. You blink your eyes open, savoring the careful touch of Bucky's hands running up your arms until they land on your shoulders.

"Oh, god. I really shouldn't have gulped down those last two shots," you wince, clearing your throat to get rid of the alcohol-induced blur.

Bucky fights back an amused smile, shaking his head in relief of the attention deflected from him, even if just for a moment. "You can't handle your alcohol. Would've been all cut up from the glass." He glances over at the broken bottle on the ground, wincing at the thought of your skin meeting the aftermaths of his outburst. “Gotta be more careful, Y/n.”

"Well, you sure saved me from it. Not all bad, huh?" You throw over your shoulder with a playful grin as you head inside again.

Bucky stares at your figure disappearing into the tightly knit crowd inside of the crammed house. You’re so easy, so carefree in a way that he’s never going to be. And maybe not all people would call you carefree—you worry and grumble and procrastinate more than the average person, but you let it go. You don’t let it sink you down and drown you. Not like Bucky does.

That night he stays up for hours, despite how much he wants to listen to your word, staring up at the ceiling while his restless eyes blink in desperate attempt to get him asleep. Hands resting on his chest and the familiar ache in his shoulder, he can't think about anything else but the truth in the girl's words.

You're too much work, Bucky. It's a burden. I don't deserve that.

Turning on his side for the thirtieth time, he puffs out an exhausted breath. How can he ever view himself as worthy of anything when he is like this? Does he even have the right to expect love if his problems will never go away, if they'll remain as permanent as the disgusting attachment to where his arm used to be?

The image of everytime someone has looked at the mess of scars on his left shoulder with disgust, with reluctance and disappointment, plays in his mind on a torturous loop, a CD-player stuck on the same track. He can’t switch it off.

It's the ever present disappointment that is always there, reminding him of however normal he tries to appear, people will always find out in the end. He can't escape it, not even when he should be long asleep.

It doesn't matter that this Dot wasn't exactly the love of his life, or even that interesting to begin with. It hurts the same, that deep ache that threatens to uproot his life and force him to stay home and away from everybody else.

His clock shows 4:23 am when he checks it with a sigh. There's no use in attempting to fall asleep when the sun is about to go up in an hour or two, rendering him unable to close his eyes with the reminder of the blinding light shining through his window. His laptop is grabbed from the bedside table, still left in the middle of the episode he watched the day before. 

The sound of footsteps outside of his door leaves him tense, sitting up straight in his bed with his finger resting on the mouse. It's your footsteps. Sam doesn't know how to walk quietly, Steve tries but fails due to his build, Natasha leaves no sound behind her at all. It’s you, and you disappear just as quickly again, leaving behind an envelope sliding under his door.

Two minutes he stares at the white paper, his name scribbled on it in your slightly crooked cursive, before he takes a step out of his bed. It feels heavy in his hands as he picks it up, heavy with the content of the envelope and whatever words you have chosen to immortalize on that piece of paper. Words disappear, they fizzle out as soon as they leave someone's mouth. This—this letter is permanent. What you have to say is going to be permanent after he opens up your letter, permanent enough for you to stay awake all night for the sake of it.

He feels stupid while he glances down at his trembling fingers opening the envelope. How can a piece of weightless paper pull that anxiety out of him? How can the thought of someone's final verdict on a conversation he had hours ago have the impact it has on his body?

He almost hears your voice while he reads the first three words, like you're reading it aloud to him. Just beside him, sitting in his bed with your back resting against the headboard.

Wonderful, stupid, Bucky,

I like writing letters. Just for the sake of it. I have a lot to say and nothing at all, but for the purpose of making myself feel better and the hope of making you feel better I'm writing this in hope to make up for the words I couldn't come up with in person. I am good at writing, however I am not as good at talking. Therefore, with my fancy words better fitted for an English essay than a 21st century letter to my friend, I will speak in written letters. I just had to add that I know this is very dramatic I'm sorry I'm tired and still a little drunk.

You're an idiot. It is idiotic, really, that you choose to let these words coming from insecure and shallow assholes dictate how you live. It makes me quite upset actually, because here I am thinking that you are so ridiculously good and handsome and funny and caring, while you mean to tell me my perception of you is totally wrong. Is that what you mean to say when you come home, doubting yourself into misery?

I have no understanding of why in the world your beautiful arm could ever make someone see you as anything else but strong. Not only because that arm is capable of throwing another 200 pound human through a window, or break assholes' noses when they hurt the people you care about (thank you for that, by the way), but because it shows you survived. You survived and you got back on your feet, one real arm less but with your life in behold. That fucking vibranium arm is the reason I can have you next to me on the couch every Friday, watching over me and Nat during awful frat parties, putting on the tv to watch those goddamn cars race and wake me up at ridiculous hours in the morning. Also, 8 is not an acceptable time to wake up on Saturdays. Don't do that this morning, I will commit murder. I'm going to be very hungover.

What I mean to say, despite my ability to ramble even in writing, is that I have a thought or two of murdering that girl in any of the ways Nat can teach me. But I can't do that to every person who has or will do something hurtful to my best friend. So you'll have to believe me, please do, when I say that you are not unworthy of love just because you don't look like everybody else, or because you are a deeply mistrustful person with slight anger issues and nightmares and anxiety attacks. I love you for all of those things, not just in spite, but because of them.

Nat, Sam and Steve all love you for what you are and not as well. So despite your lack of luck in the fucking disaster that is college dating, you do have someone you can rely on to always accept you and your little arm. In case that unluckiness lingers on until we're 35, and I remain unsuccessful in that department as well, you have my full permission to whisk me off into the sunset.

Now go tell Stevie for me that I have a paper I have to write and I'm stupid and need help. Sam also needs to clean up the dishes after him I will kill him with the fucking kitchen knife if I find another dirty plate in the living room. My hand hurts also I have not written this much since I was 13

Do that after 9 am btw not now because you are alseep. I know I spelt spelled asleep wrong I can't find the eraser

Bucky sets down the letter in his lap, leaning his head back against the headboard with his eyes stuck on the ceiling. How you manage to pull that kind of smile out of him without even being present in the room scares him. How do you even know exactly which order to put the words in, how to always get it right even when you misspell and forget comma signs, even when you're still drunk and tired? He never knew he needed your words as much as he finds himself doing now. Your words are the best thing Bucky knows.

He stares at that ceiling until his eyes drift close. Until he finally falls asleep, after three hours of not being able to. Just because you wrote a goddamn letter in the 21st century, when your phone lays right beside you. When his room is 10 feet away from yours. You're so fucking soft it unnerves him. He's thankful like hell that you wrote that letter—he never knows what to say. Always responds in grunts and snarls, quiet hums and glares. You deserve more than that in answer.

You groan loudly as you saunter into the kitchen, dragging your feet behind you while fumbling for the coffee pot. Why you insist on drinking when you know what follows after is beyond you. You've begged Natasha to remind you several times what the morning after looks like before you decide to go out and drink at some dumb party, but it seems like you never listen.

You've had three hours of sleep as well. The letter you wrote to Bucky seemed like a good idea at three in the morning, but now you're just nervous he'll be upset with you. Your wrist is certainly not thanking you for sitting up for an hour and a half writing a goddamn letter that should have taken only half the time. If you didn't nod off sleeping every other minute, that is.

"I know you feel like shit, but can you please stop groaning?" Sam asks, hunched over the table with a coffee cup in his hand.

You blink, staring at the tile in front of you without finding the energy to answer. Being silent should be enough.

"Why were you awake at 4 in the morning?" Steve asks, sitting with his newspaper like always. The crossword is probably interesting today. It apparently is on Saturdays, according to old man in the corner.

"Do you always hear everything that's going on in the loft? I was quiet," you say while glaring at him, gulping down your coffee frantically.

"You knocked down all of the books from the coffee table, Y/n." Steve raises an eyebrow, leaving you blinking in confusion while trying to regain your memory of said incident.

You set down your empty cup on the counter, walking into the living room to observe the scene. The books are neatly stacked on top of the table again, most likely courtesy of Steve, but you have no recollection of it whatsoever. You have no idea how you could have written that long of a letter if you were drunk enough to forget what you did.

Bucky's door opens. You turn around to see him close it gently, glancing up to meet your eyes. You can't read his expression as he walks towards you, becoming bigger the smaller the distance is. It's not until you have to crane your neck just slightly that you worry he might have taken your attempt to cheer him up as offense.

You let out a harrumphed yelp when you're picked up by the waist, cold metal wrapping your legs around his hips while the other holds your face into his neck.

"Bucky!" you yell through a whisper, a shocked chuckle sounding from your mouth while you let your own arms enclose around him. "What's going on?" you ask softly into his ear, letting your chin rest on his shoulder.

You refrain from shivering at the coolness of his left arm spreading throughout your thigh, simply because you're quite sure you've never been hugged this way. Close and tightly, warm and desperate. You hadn't even thought he was capable of carrying you with such ease, and the thought of him being so much stronger than you assumed almost scares you.

"Thank you." The whisper is grovelly and almost painfully low, sending another wave of shivers down your skin.

You realize then what the hug is about. You hold onto him a little tighter.

"Is there something going on here, huh?"

Sam's voice makes you turn around, unnuzzling yourself from Bucky's neck to look at the man who’s eyebrow is raised in question.

Bucky releases his hold around you, setting you down on the floor carefully while letting his hands linger just a second longer on your waist before you break apart.

"No, I was just really excited to see Bucky," you say with a smile. You feel him glancing down at you with an unsure expression, but makes no move to contradict the words that came out of your mouth.

"Now, how come I never get that greeting? Feel like you're gathering favorites here, Princess," Sam throws over his back while returning to the kitchen.

A small smile reaches up to Bucky, disappearing from his sight when you follow Sam back to your empty coffee cup.

The paper lies neatly on your bed, folded in half. It’s torn from a bigger paper, you see it on the frayed and uneven edges. Your name is scribbled on top of it, handwriting messy but still readable. It seems like he hasn’t written your name much before.

Sam didn't put away his dishes. I tried. And you're not stupid, you can write that goddamn essay on your own. I’m sorry for being so bad at words. You always know what to say, and you’re so good at showing you care. I don’t know how to do that. I do care, though. I promise you that I care so fucking much I feel like I’m going to go under.

P.S. I can whisk you off into the sunset if that's what you want. As long as I don't have to wait fifteen years for it.

[luna-writes-stuff]

Thank you for taking my request!! I loved it and if you’re willing to do another one for Kaz, could you write Kaz headcanons about his crush aka reader getting injured on a heist because of an accidentally mishap by Jesper? Thank you either way!!

Oops?, Kaz Brekker

Injured s/o might be my favorite trope. Got a bit carried away while writing. Sorry in advance.

Headcanons, genderneutral s/o

Tw: Angst, descriptions of a fight, being smashed into a wall, blood, injuries, stabwound, concussion….basically the whole shebang. Shooting, killing, breaking someone’s bones, Jesper did an oops, passing out, worried Kaz (that’s new), throwing up, Kaz touches hands with reader. That seems like enough, don’t you think?

- This job wouldn’t even be that difficult or complicated. All you had to do, was to steal a key for a heist that would occur at the same evening. It was a small pickpocket job. One that Kaz could’ve easily done if he hadn’t been busy helping Wylan get hold to a bunch of bombs.

- So there you stood, with Jesper, in the middle of a busy street. The people were swarming around you, but it would only make the job of stealing easier. Jesper’s job had been to distract the victim as you slid past him, grabbing the key from his pocket. Jesper had even gotten lined from Kaz to ensure that he wouldn’t screw up.

- “There he is.” Jesper had announced, pointing towards a man with an awfully obvious mustache, walking towards the pair of you. You quickly separated from Jesper before the target would see you. Just then, you fellow crow put on his disguise as a lost boy.

- “Excuse me,” he had started, walking up to the confused man. “but do you happen to know where the docks are? I fear I’ve gotten myself lost a bit.”

- You rolled your eyes at Jesper’s attempt of appearing lost. If you had not known him, you would’ve perhaps believed him, but right now, it was just stupid to look at.

- You found yourself placed on the other side of the street, behind the man. Without attracting too much attention to yourself, you walked along with the crowd, now approaching his back. With a quick hand, you fished something out of his pockets, walking away just as quick as you had approached. Your steps not wavering.

- But just then, a second voice was heard; “That does not belong to you, girl.”

- You did not stop your pace, only speeding up a bit, but not too much, just in case the speech had not been directed towards you.

- But it had been.

- You see….Jesper had been talking to the wrong person. It was another man with a big mustache, but not the one he should’ve been looking for. You however, had found the right man, but now, there was no distraction.

- Suddenly, you got grabbed by your arm, being dragged into a side-alley. Quickly, you feigned a confused expression, turning towards the man, pretending to speak another language.

- “It doesn’t matter what language you speak; you have something that belongs to me.” At those words, he held up the key you were looking for.

- “This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Looking down towards your hand, you found a blunt piece of metal, the same weight and size as a key, but not so much the shape of one. It had been a decoy.

- “Who sent you, girl?” He question, taking a threatening step towards you. You didn’t move one step. Instead, you fiddled with the metal, trying to find a sharp piece to attack him with, but when you found none, disappointment struck you.

- “I asked you a question, dear.” With that, you dropped the metal, punching the man in his face. It worked, but only for a minute. He wavered but came to his senses as quickly as it went.

- From behind you, someone pinned your arms, throwing you towards the nearest wall. The man had been expecting this and had even gotten back-up. And Jesper was still talking to a random civilian, probably wondering why you haven’t shown up yet.

- The impact with the wall caused the air to leave your lungs, the back of your head hitting the concrete. A loud ringing had filled your ears, leaving you incapable of hearing anything else at the moment. But you were smart. Rolling away quickly, you pulled the man down to the floor.

- Climbing over him, you grabbed one of the knives Inej had so kindly gifted you once. Without hesitation, you plunged it into his neck, ensuring he wouldn’t attack you anymore.

- You hadn’t been given time to get back up. A sharp pain suddenly filled your side, the feeling as if a cut brick had been thrown against it.

- “You’re not the only one with knives on you.” The target growled, now kneeling down to come face to face with you. Your vision became blurry. Whether that was because of your earlier impact with the wall or the blood seeping out from your body, you didn’t know.

- “I don’t need knives.” You managed to get out, grabbing the man’s hand that held onto the dagger, pushing his pinky back, effectively breaking it.

- While he fell back in pain, you crawled away from the scene, trying to stay hidden. With your current state, defense was something that would only slow more over time. From corner of your eye, you saw the target getting back up, but he fell down the moment both feet touched the ground, a loud bang following his fall.

- “Saints, Kaz is never going to live this one down.” A familiar voice mumbled, quickly nearing you. “You stay awake or we’ll both be in big trouble, okay?”

- No answer came out of you. The spinning in your head made you nauseous beyond belief. You had already started to lean down, feeling the vomit coming up. The last thing you remembered were Jesper’s hands holding your hair back while you threw the nausea out.

- You had woken up in your own room a few hours later. Your waist had been covered in bandages while semi-wet towel rested beside your head, which had probably fallen off during your sleep. Nina’s perfume hung in the air, letting you knew she had been here not too long ago.

- As your eyes tried focusing on the room, a sting hit your side, causing you to turn over and grunt in annoyance.

- “Don’t move. We just changed the bandages.”

- The voice made you freeze, halting your movements to your side, instead laying back down. You had expected Nina or Inej to be here, maybe even Jesper, but not Kaz.

- “And don’t think too much or try to talk. You’ve suffered a heavy concussion.” If your eyes could’ve allowed you to roll them, you would have. But it hurt like hell at the moment, so you deemed it wise to not use them too much.

- “Would you rather I fall back asleep?” You mumbled teasingly, yet the sound of sleep did come off as appealing. Passing out was not like sleeping at all. You felt exhausted, but you could not pass an opportunity to annoy Kaz.

- “That would be wise, yes.” Was his simple response. You slowly turned your head towards his voice, scanning your surroundings at his side of the room.

- “Tough luck, Brekker.” He did not respond to that comment. You took it as a sign to continue; “Did Jesper get the key?”

- “Along with three weeks of cleaning duty, yes.”

- When silence overtook the room once again, he slowly reached for your hand, placing his on top of yours before linking your thumbs together. The entire action left you frozen, scared to move even the slightest bit.

- “Go to sleep. You need to recover. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Was all he said, before slumping back in his seat on the chair beside you, his hand not once straying for yours.

- The need to annoy him had now completely subsided and had instead been replaced with the annoying feeling of bubbles in your stomach. That tickling feeling that was nowhere near funny, but could only make you stop your train of thought.

- Perhaps it was best for you to close your eyes. You mission had succeeded and judging on Kaz’ comments, so had the heist at the same evening. You were too tired to ask how long you were out and whether the heist succeeded or not. You started to obey Kaz’s command, closing your eyes, focusing on the feeling of Kaz’s hand on yours, no gloves or piece of fabric separating you. It was just you and him. And for now, that was enough.

[polaroid15]

Parker Luck

Summary: Two weeks after the Vulture-incident, Tony buys a parenting book. Too bad there isn't a chapter on Parker luck.

Read on Ao3 HERE :)

------

Two weeks after the Vulture fiasco, Tony buys a book called ‘Parenting for Dummies’.

He almost immediately regrets the purchase and hides it in a drawer in the lab, not yet brave enough to face it. Then one day he spends three hours squished against Peter’s side, listening to the boy ramble about everything under the sun while they adjust his web shooters. It hits Tony like a brick wall, and when Peter bounces out of the lab after teaching Tony a complicated handshake he knows he’ll never remember, he swears under his breath.

He shouldn’t be surprised, really. He had known it from that very first moment in the kid’s bedroom in Queens.

For once, denial has gotten him nowhere.

After his eyes ache from staring at the door Peter had disappeared from, Tony stands, stretches out a kink in his lower back, and grabs the book from the drawer before he can lose his nerve. Still standing, he traces his thumb over the word Parenting on the cover.

Retreat, his mind begs. Stop. Before it’s too late.

But deep down, he knows he’s already in too deep.

With a heavy sigh and a pressing warmth in his chest, Tony flips the pages to chapter one.

--------

Peter calls it ‘Parker luck’.

Tony calls it the source of his ever-increasing gray hair.

When Peter stumbles into the Tower covered in blood and delirious from a nasty hit to the head, Tony thinks he’ll pass out from the sudden weight of his worry. It only takes some gentle coaxing and seven stitches to make it better, but the unease sits in Tony’s gut long after Peter falls asleep. When the boy wakes up, he apologizes until Tony snaps at him not too.

“It’s the Parker luck, Mr. Stark,” Peter tells him, his head wrapped like a mummy on halloween. “It gets me everytime.”

Parenting for Dummies Chapter Three: Listen. “A nasty concussion doesn’t exactly sound like luck to me, kid.”

“Oh, well it’s not good luck,” Peter clarifies with a weak smile. “In fact it’s really bad luck. Exceptionally bad.”

“You’re killing me here.”

“Did you know that I slipped on a banana peel once? A banana peel. I was on crutches for three weeks in middle school.”

Tony’s worry melts into a hesitant amusement. He sits back on his stiff medbay chair and makes a distant note to invest in a better one. “That is pretty lousy luck, kiddo.”

“And it just keeps getting worse,” Peter says. “Getting bitten by a radioactive spider, crashing Flash’s car, or the fact that I spent homecoming destroying a plane while fighting my date’s dad.”

“I hope this Parker luck of yours isn’t contagious,” Tony jokes, but something in Peter’s eyes darkens. He leans back against the white sheets, chewing on his bottom lip. Tony thinks again of chapter three, of the subtitle that prompts to push at the right times, and takes the liberty. “What is it, kid?”

Peter closes his eyes and gives a watery smile. “Nothing, Mr. Stark. Sorry.”

And because he’s an idiot, Tony believes him. Something tells him he needs to buy Parenting for Dummies 2.

--------

When Peter saves a school bus full of third graders from a thirteen car pileup at the expense of his collar bone, Tony rereads his book, this time with a highlighter in hand.

He wishes there was a section on Parker luck.

This time, he’s less careful about where he reads. Pepper catches him one night, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs in her surprise. Her smile is genuine. “Is that what I think it is?” she asks.

“Maybe.”

“Oh God, please don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

Tony rolls his eyes and dog ears his page before setting it aside. “I am, actually. And sorry to break it to you, but you’re not the father.”

Pepper laughs and sits on the arm of the couch. She runs her hand through his hair and he can’t help but lean into her touch. “This is about Peter,” she says.

His first instinct is to deny it. He feels vulnerable in a way he isn’t used to. “So what if it is?”

“He’s a good kid.”

“I know.”

“He’s making you soft.”

Tony scoffs, but doesn’t deny it. Not with Parenting for Dummies on his lap. “He’s stressing me out, is what he’s doing.”

“He really cares about you, Tony. I see it every time he’s over here.”

His body betrays him by the gentle swoop in his stomach. His mouth twitches in a smile. “I care about him too.”

“You’re a good example to him. He needs someone like you in his life. Especially after what happened to his parents. And his Uncle.”

And then it clicks. Parker luck. Tony’s mouth goes dry.

“I’m trying,” is all he manages to whisper. The book in his lap seems to increase by ten.

Pepper leans over him, pressing her lips into his hair. “I know.”

---------

It’s his and Peter’s fifth mission together.

Today, they’re going up against “the Detonator”, a crazed woman with an affinity for making bombs and setting them off in busy neighbourhoods. She’s armed with a team of rocket-launcher-wielding henchmen, and it’s taking every effort to keep the city in one piece.

Most of the block has been evacuated, thanks to Peter. Tony remembers chapter seven and shoots the boy some praise over their coms. Steve, who’s joined them for the day’s fight, agrees with clipped enthusiasm.

“Thanks guys!” Peter says in his usual animation. “These rocket launchers are no joke. Have you ever seen the movie-”

But whatever it is, it’s lost in the deafening sound of an explosion. He hears Peter swear over the com and Tony’s blood runs cold. Three blocks down, an orange fireball balloons into the air. Steve is already running, his shield tucked into his chest.

Tony shoots off into the sky.

---------

Peter thought they had everything under control.

Until rocket launcher man number 3 decided to explode the bank off 47th street, that is.

He feels the heat from the explosion before he can process what happened. It rips across his back and throws him off his feet into a hot dog cart across the street. Rubble and ash rain down on parked cars and their alarms begin to sound.

“Crap,” Peter groans, shoving away the dented cart and stumbling to his feet. His ears are ringing.

“Pete?” Tony’s voice cuts through the haze. “We’re on our way. You alright?”

“Yeah,” he responds, breathless. His shoulder aches. “These guys are not in a good mood.”

“You can say that again.”

The man who had fired the shot runs up the steps of the bank, bypassing chunks of concrete. Peter limps after him.

“Sorry man,” Peter says when his opponent’s back is still turned. “It’s after hours.”

Startled, the man spins. Peter fires a web to disarm him and it only takes one swift punch to finish the job. He webs him to the floor and kicks the rocket launcher into the corner.

“Kid?” Tony lands beside him, faceplate lifting and his hands reaching to grab onto him. His grip is tight on Peter’s arms, and Peter is unsure which one of them Tony is trying to comfort. “You still in one piece?”

Peter’s ears are still ringing, a high pitched whine that makes his eye twitch. His ankle throbs and he can feel warmth spreading down his back from a cut on his shoulder. He nods anyway. “Are you?”

“Better now that I see you haven’t been barbecued.”

Steve joins them as Peter laughs off Tony’s worry. He’s breathing heavy, his forehead streaked with ash. “Someone sighted the Detonator. She’s heading east towards the Empire State Building.”

“Of course she is,” Tony sighs. Finally, he lets Peter go. “Ready for a field trip?”

But just as he says it, another violent explosion lights up the street across from them. Peter stumbles against the force. Tony grabs his arm, and Steve his shoulder, and he steadies. Through the black smoke, a child cries.

Chest tight, Peter takes a step forward before he’s yanked back. It’s Tony. His helmet hides his expression, but Peter can tell from his stiff posture that he’s worried. That he doesn’t want to separate.

As if sensing it too, Steve places a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Peter and I will clear the rocket launchers. You go take care of the Detonator.”

“But-”

“She can’t get to it first, Tony. You’ll be the fastest.”

The crying continues, and Peter takes another step. This time, the metal fingers wrapped around his elbow loosen, letting him go. “You better watch him, Rogers.”

“Mr. Stark-”

“Don’t do anything stupid, kid.”

And then Tony is off, blasting off into the sky. Peter shivers against the hot air his exit leaves before turning to run towards the smoke and debris, Steve hot on his heels. Without hesitation, he jumps over the small flames and emerges on the other side, his throat closing up against the smoke.

The first thing Peter sees is the child, snot-nosed and hidden underneath the bed of a truck. His eyes widen when he sees them, a cry stopped short. “Spider-Man!” he yells.

“Get the kid,” Steve says. “I think I see our guy.”

And then he’s gone.

Peter doesn’t dwell on it, vaulting over a smashed mailbox and a stretch of broken glass to reach the kid’s side. He’s trembling, but his hands reach out. Trusting him.

“It’s alright,” Peter says, accepting the kid’s outstretched hands. “We’re okay. Do you know where your family is?”

The boy shakes his head, lip wobbling but obviously trying to be brave. “N-no. I lost them over there,” he says pointing down the street.

“Okay. No problem. Let’s go find them.”

He doesn’t give the boy an option to walk, but instead guides him to rest against his back. Small fingers lock together at the base of Peter’s throat, holding tight.

“What’s your name?” Peter asks as he heads in the direction the boy had pointed. Keep him distracted.

“Benny.”

Peter’s breath catches. “Nice to meet you, Benny. I’m Spider-Man.”

“I- I know.”

“Oh yeah?”

The boy’s head bobs against his back. “I see you on TV. And on the newspapers on the street. You fight bad guys.”

“I try too.”

“You’re awesome,” Benny says, and the shaking quality to his voice recedes.

“I think you’re the awesome one. You’re being so brave.”

“Brave?”

“Yeah, Benny. Even though it’s scary right now you’re still going.”

Benny sniffles. “Are you scared?”

“Nah,” Peter says. “I’ve got you to protect me.”

Against his back, Benny’s chest swells with a breath of a response, but before he can let the words lose a relieved cry erupts from their left. A woman in a pastel headscarf runs towards them, her arms outstretched. “Benny! My little Ben-”

“Mom!”

Peter maneuvers him to the ground and as soon as his small feet hit the ground he’s running. The pair meet in the middle of the street, their arms wrapping tight and their tears mixing. The mother’s eyes meet him from over Benny’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she says, every ounce of her emotion leaking into her words.

“Of course,” is all he can manage.

Once he’s sure they're safe and off the street, he deviates his attention to his coms. “Steve?” he asks over a private channel. “Where are you?”

For a long time, Steve doesn’t respond. Then just as Peter’s worry spikes the man’s voice fills his ears, pinched and strained. “By the river. I’m cornered.”

“Karen-” Peter starts, but Steve’s location pops up on his screen before he can ask further. He changes the trajectory of his swing and just barely avoids clipping his hip on the corner of a building. Then, to Steve, “I’m on my way!”

He finds the Captain in worse shape than he had expected. He’s hunched against an upturned car, it’s tires melted from the sheer heat of the destruction on the street. His shield is raised over his head to protect him from debris raining from the crumbling buildings.

Across the road, three of Detonator's accomplices are shooting the buildings around him, shrieking with glee whenever new glass shatters. Peter glides between the chaos before landing beside Steve. He scrapes his hands on the landing.

“Oh my god,” Peter says, flinching from another loud explosion. “What do we do?”

Steve grimaces, and it’s only now that Peter sees how messed up his leg is. It’s twisted at an unnatural angle, the material of his suit singed and still smoking around it.

“What the hell happened?” Peter gasps, feeling sick.

“It doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here.”

“Not with those crazy rocket guys standing guard. You can’t walk!”

“I can try.”

Adrenaline courses hot through Peter’s bloodstream. He peaks over the car and reassesses their opponents. “I can take them.”

“No. Tony said-”

“Tony isn’t here,” Peter argues. “Besides, I have my Peter tingle. I’ll be fine.”

“Peter tingle?”

“Be right back.”

“Wait!”

But Peter ducks out of cover, knowing that Steve won’t be able to stop him. He runs towards the one closest to him and hopes the element of surprise will be enough to take them down. It is, but barely, and now his cover is blown. The other two turn their weapons towards him and before he can suck in a breath, fire.

Peter swears and jumps high, the rockets whistling as they pass under his feet. They hit the edge of the sidewalk by the river, blowing it open and skipping chunks of debris into the water. Not wanting to wait for them to reload, Peter swings and takes them both out with a single kick. He lands in a messy roll, disoriented by the quickness of the fight.

“We’re clear!” he yells over to Steve, but even as he says it dread sits heavy in his gut. He takes one step towards the car before he hears it- a sharp release of air.

Fire blooms up at the base of the building closest to Steve, the crack of the impact enough to rattle Peter’s teeth and throw him to his knees. It’s the last straw. The building makes a horrible noise of grinding cement, like a scream, and Peter knows enough from experience that it’s close to collapse.

“Steve!”

He sprints to where the man is trying to limp away. His eyes find him, their blue shocking through the dust and smoke. “Peter. You have to get out of here-”

“Not without you.”

Before the man can object, Peter pulls his weight over his shoulder and makes it his burden. He wonders distantly where the fourth rocket launcher is and why they haven’t been blown sky high yet.

But then glass and cement falls down around them like rain, and Peter realizes. Because the building will finish the job for them.

“We’re not going to make it,” Steve says through ground teeth. His hold on Peter’s shoulder is bruising. “Peter, please.”

The building sways again. They have a couple seconds. Nothing more.

Then Peter sees it. A manhole.

“Here,” he gasps, dropping to his knees and tearing off the cover. Every alarm bell in his head is screaming, but it’s the only option. The only way they’ll both have a chance. “Go.”

Steve drops in, disappearing into darkness and landing below with an aborted shout. Peter kicks his legs in just as the building crumbles. Fear stops the breath in his chest and he slides the rest of the way in. He falls and lands hard, head spinning, before finding Steve’s arm in the darkness and pulling him deeper into the sewer.

There’s a couple moments of silence.

And then the world erupts.

Peter will remember later how the force of the impact threw both of them off their feet and how it was impossible to keep his grip on Steve’s arm. He’ll remember the deafening noise of the building smashing onto the street above them, of the great plume of dust that filled the tunnel and blinded him.

He’ll remember falling, his legs jelly, and struggling to his knees.

He’ll remember wishing he had called Tony.

But none of it registers in the moment. There’s only terror.

And then there’s nothing.

----------

“Peter. Come on. Work with me here.”

Awareness brings pain. He strays.

“Nope. No. Peter. Open your eyes.”

The voice belongs to Steve, Peter realizes in a stilted disorientation. Steve, who had been hurt. Steve, who sounds very much alive.

It’s enough for Peter to lift his heavy eyelids. His surroundings are dark, but he can see the Captain’s worried face swimming in front of him, warping in and out of focus as both of them release a breath of relief.

“Thank God,” Steve says.

“Are you okay?” Peter murmurs, surprised for a moment by how unwilling his vocal cords are to cooperate. There’s new blood on Steve’s face and the torso on his suit is torn.

“It’s you I’m more worried about.”

“Mm. Why?”

Steve might respond, but Peter doesn’t hear it, his awareness slipping like the close of a stage curtain. Strong hands shake him and the sting of his injuries are enough for him to struggle back into wakefulness.

“Stay awake, kid. Alright? Tony is on his way. Keep your eyes open.”

Peter didn’t remember closing his eyes, but sure enough, when he tries they open. “Tony?”

“He’ll be here soon.”

There’s a tightness in his chest, and Peter coughs against it. It sparks a sharp pain behind his ribs and he curls his fingers into the ground as Steve braces him by his shoulder. His ribs are definitely broken. His leg throbs and the skin on the right side of his face itches terribly with drying blood. He blinks a couple times to try and alleviate his double vision, but it does nothing.

“What happened?” Peter asks.

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really.”

Steve’s expression pinches like he’s just eaten something sour. “The building above us collapsed, but don’t worry about it too much. Tony will be here in a flash.”

Collapse. Peter sucks in a panicked breath and it makes him cough again. It hurts worse this time, and his vision goes gray. He comes back to himself in Steve’s lap, his whole body shuddering and then man’s hand clamped protectively against his back.

The new perspective shows Peter a growing red stain on the Captain’s side.

“Steve,” he gasps, uncoordinated fingers reaching out to press against the wound.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not- it’s not nothing-”

Before Steve can retaliate further, their coms crack back to life. Peter winces against it, his fingers reaching up to struggle with the edges of his mask. Steve pushes his hand away. “Leave it. It’s helping filter your air.”

“Peter? Rogers?” Tony’s voice comes through in a mess of static. It reminds Peter of Ben’s favorite radio station that had been broadcasted too far to have a good connection. “I’m here. Oh Christ, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Steve’s hurt,” Peter mumbles. It’s important Tony knows.

“Rogers?”

“Just hurry, Tony,” Steve says. There’s a pressure in his voice that Peter’s too tired to translate.

“The explosion caused the river to flood. You’re under about three feet of water right now.”

“We’re airtight.”

“For now.”

Peter feels himself dip further into Steve’s lap and the man’s steadying hand is delayed. Weaker. “Peter? What did I tell you about staying awake.”

“What’s wrong with Peter?”

“Queens. I need you to put pressure on this for me. Don’t give up on me now.”

Peter groans. For once, he doesn’t care how young it makes him sound. He struggles up anyways and replaces his hand obediently over Steve’s side. It paints his hands red and he tries desperately not to think of Ben.

“Rogers-”

“I got it, Tony.”

There’s a weighted silence. Peter bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself lucid. The static in his brain reminds him of the time he had gotten stabbed, and wonders if he’s bleeding somewhere too.

“Okay. I found a weak spot. It shouldn’t cause too much damage. Are you ready?”

“Go for it.”

There’s another lurch of shifting rock. Peter can’t help but cry out, his muddled brain struggling to comprehend that this time, it’s to help. Then there’s a loud crash, a weak beam of sunlight, and the rush of water.

Within seconds, the cold spray is up to their waists. Peter grinds his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut against reflexive tears the biting temperature brings. It gives him a boost of adrenaline, and when he opens his eyes again, his vision is more clear.

Tony is with them moments later, hovering above the water. His hands reach for Peter, but Peter shys away. “Steve first,” he pleads. “He’s bleeding-”

“You’re bleeding too-” Tony starts, but even as he says it, Steve lists dangerously to the side. His face is pale, his breathing shallow. Tony catches him by the shoulder. “Don’t move,” he tells Peter, and works to lift Steve up towards the hole.

The water is up to Peter's chest now. It steals the breath from his lungs and he scrambles to stand. Somewhere in the journey the ground above him groans and he loses his footing. He hears Tony yell out for him, feels metal hands push him hard, and then he’s completely underwater. There’s more noise. More pain.

He breaks the surface, stuttering on his breath and his teeth clattering. More sunlight has entered the tunnel, and it’s easy to piece together what had happened.

“Tony!”

Peter fights against the current to reach his mentor’s side. His suit is pinned under a large slab of concrete by his left leg, the water already sloshing up to his neck. Peter practically collapses beside him and digs his fingers under the weight, but his ribs scream in protest so violently that his vision goes white.

“Easy!” Tony yells, catching him by his arms when he falters. “Kiddo, listen to me. The suit will let me breathe for a while. You need to get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to. FRIDAY took some damage, but she’s recalibrating my boosters. I’ll be able to get out.”

“No,” Peter chokes, trying again to lift the concrete keeping Tony pinned. “I won’t leave without you.”

“Peter-”

“I’m not losing you too. I can’t- I can’t-”

Tony’s voice is more gentle, his hand reaching to cradle the side of Peter’s face. “Listen to me, bud. I know this is scary. But you have to trust me. You have to go. For me.”

Peter shudders. Feels hot tears pool under the tight confines of his mask. “Told you I have Parker luck,” he says.

Tony finds it within himself to laugh. The water is at their chins. “I know, kiddo. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’ve got each other now.”

“Tony-”

“Go.”

The water rises over his mouth. He wouldn’t be able to answer even if he wanted to. Then Tony’s head is submerged, and icy terror closes around Peter’s heart.

He dives under and reaches once more for the weight on Tony’s leg. He pulls and struggles and feels Tony’s hands on his arms, trying to pry him off and pull him away. The light is gone in the murky water.

Please. Please.

The concrete shifts. It takes everything in Peter not to gasp out at the pain it causes, to waste the precious air he has left.

Please.

It shifts again. Tony has given up on trying to push him off and is instead helping to lift the weight. Just a little bit more.

Peter screams, tiny bubbles escaping and carrying whatever he had left away. His body loses strength just as the concrete is alleviated. He thinks he feels Tony’s hands close around his numb body. But really he can’t be sure.

Tony is safe.

And it’s all that matters.

-------

“Peter. Don’t do this.”

“Breathe, Queens. Oh God-”

“Steve. What do I- I can’t- I can’t-”

“Keep the compressions going, Tony. Keep going okay? Don’t stop.”

“I can’t do it without him. I need him, Steve. I need-”

“Keep it together. He’s going to be fine. Right, Peter? You’re going to be fine. You just have to breathe for us.”

“Kiddo. Baby. Please.”

It’s all water down a drain.

A swirling, murky mess.

And it takes Peter with it.

-------

Parenting for Dummies: Chapter 12.

Love them unconditionally.

Tony hasn’t left his kid’s side for hours. He’s been glued to him, the boy’s limp hand pressed between his own like a lifeline even when the doctor’s had worked to splint his leg. Every breath, every rise and fall of Peter’s chest is a miracle, and Tony stares at the heart monitor until his eyes burn.

May is dozing in a recliner in the corner, her glasses crooked on her face. It’s just nearing three in the morning.

There’s movement behind him, and Tony turns to find Steve. He’s traded his hospital gown for a pair of loose sweats and a white shirt, the skin on his arms wrapped with thick bandages. The Captain turns and sees May. When he speaks, his words are almost a whisper. “How is he?”

Tony shrugs, a sudden lump monopolizing in his throat. “He’ll be okay.”

“Has he woken up yet?”

“No.”

Steve sighs. He limps to Tony’s side, but still manages to keep some distance. “He was brave today.”

“If by brave you mean dumb, then yes.”

“He saved our lives. We both know that you wouldn’t have been able to blast out of there by yourself.”

Dread sits heavy in Tony’s gut, because it’s true. He would’ve said anything to get Peter to safety. His blasters weren’t recharging. Weren’t even close to functioning.

But the kid had been too selfless for his lie. Really, Tony shouldn’t be surprised.

And now every time he closes his eyes he sees Peter. Hurt, small, Peter. Jerking with the last of his energy to free Tony. Of going limp in the water, no more air leaving his lips and remaining totally unresponsive as Tony fought to return the life to him.

“I wish it didn’t have to be him,” Tony says.

“But it is. It was.”

“I know.”

Steve lays a hand on Tony’s shoulder. He’s too tired to flinch away from it. “Let me know when he wakes up.”

And then he leaves.

Tony runs his thumb over Peter’s knuckles. “Wake up,” he says. Pleads.

But with his usual stubbornness, Peter doesn’t show signs of waking for another hour. First his fingers twitch. Then he groans. His eyelids flutter and Tony nearly collapses in his relief. Soft and weary eyes turn to find him, and Peter’s lips turn into a smile.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs.

“You have no idea how angry I am with you right now,” Tony says, but any heat behind his words is lost behind his relief. Peter must see it because his smile only widens.

“You don’ look angry.”

“Furious?”

“Nope.”

“Enraged?”

Peter laughs, then winces. He looks down and notices Tony’s hand clamped on his own. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual.”

Peter looks up. Tony tightens his hold.

“Maybe I don’t have Parker luck after all.”

“We’re breaking the cycle,” Tony agrees. He lifts Peter’s hand and presses a firm kiss to the back of his hand. Peter smiles again.

“Pepper told me you bought a parenting book,” he says, eyes drooping.

“That woman is nothing but a liar.”

“Mm. I believe her.”

“Sorry to break it to you kid, but whoever would want to willingly parent a danger seeking, heart attack inducing kid like you would have to be crazy.”

Peter squeezes Tony’s hand. “Sorry to break it to you, but I guess that means you're crazy.”

Tony’s heart compresses with warmth. “Yeah kid,” he says, “I guess I am.”

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[cherryblossomsies]

forced masculinity

kim sunoo x fem!reader x badboy!k

angst, fluff

trigger warning: smoking, bullying, cursing (a lot), homophobic acts, k is a very bad person in this story sorry k :(

btw, if there is any engene that doesn’t know who k is, he was a contestant in i-land :)

——

the sound of a school bag roughly dragged across the red bricked walls echoed the empty alley as sunoo was thrown on the floor, arms wrapped around his whole body in attempt to protect himself from the tall boy standing in front of him, a smug smirk decorated his face. a cigarette was loosely hanging in k’s mouth, the heavy smoke smell made sunoo felt dizzy.

“it’s been a long time isn’t it gay boy? having 6 boys hanging around you most of the time must have made you felt safe or some shit.” k spat out on the ground next to sunoo, wildly laughing when he knew very well that little to no one will caught the sight of him bullying sunoo in this empty alley. not to mention, it was during the evening, the only students left in the school compound were the basketball and volleyball team.

sunoo was shivering the moment k knelt down next to him, his fingers gripped sunoo’s jaw tightly as his eyes bore into the smaller one’s much bigger and more brown than his. the younger one’s doe eyes stared at his face, lens were shaking as he thought of every possible consequence that could happen with k beside him.

“answer me when i asked you, bitch.” a loud slap sound echoed through the surroundings.

sunoo held his cheek with his shaky hands as he nodded vigorously, his eyes were now starting to burn as tears rolled down his cheeks. k stood up, almost cackling at the what he thought to be a pathetic sight unfolded in front of him.

“let go of the kid, bitch.” a more feminine voice spoke out behind k’s back,

both of the boys stared at where the voice was coming from and saw a girl with a black hair stopping right above her shoulders. she was much much smaller than both of the boys, but with the way she crossed her arms, the way her eyes stared at k’s eyes boringly, her aura, and the way she also has a cigarette hung loosely in her mouth, it was dominating both of them.

k chuckled, “ohh what is this combination? a raging lesbian saving a gay ass soy boy?” he mocked both of them, hand was pressed against his stomach as he once again laughed out loud.

“i’m not a lesbian?” the girl voiced out, eyebrow raised in confusion.

“don’t lie to me y/n, don’t think i didn’t see you checking out lee chaeryeong from the next class.” k rolled his eyes, his fingers pulling out the loose cigarette out of his mouth before smashing it with his foot.

“it’s not my fault she was hot, any normal girl could go gay for her.” y/n rolled her eyes, before continuing her sentence,

“-anyways, let sunoo go.”

the whole time they were conversing, sunoo hung his head down, but when y/n mentioned his name, it was almost like a switch flipped in him. ‘she knew my name?’ the boy thought to himself as he lifted up his head to make an eye contact with the girl. y/n’s eyes softened when she saw how badly bruised sunoo’s cheek was, with the huge size of k’s hand and the strength that he has, one could fly all the way to germany with one of his slap.

the short eye contact moment was cut off when k stood right in front of y/n, blocking sunoo’s sight.

“date me first,” k looked down at the girl in front of her, a smirk was decorating his face.

he couldn’t lie, k was attracted to y/n ever since she stepped into the school. she was exactly the copy paste of him, and that made him attracted to her in a way no girl had ever made him felt like. but after he saw y/n staring at chaeryeong’s figure during one of her dancing performances while biting her lip, he was almost 100% convinced the girl was gay as fuck. knowing she was not coming from y/n’s mouth herself made the latter a little bit glad at the news, so why not ask her out?

the rough, calloused hand of k grab y/n’s soft, dainty ones, before lifting up to his mouth and placed a small kiss on it. he was almost so sure y/n would accept him, i mean who would not? a lot of girls were after him. he was athletic, tall, and handsome. he was everything what a boy hoped for. the confidence was getting in his head, until a loud laugh erupted from y/n’s mouth. he found himself clenching his teeth and holding his jaw as he fell on the floor with a swing from the girl’s fist.

sunoo’s eyes widened at the sight, he was bullied by k for almost a year now and he had never saw k in such a state.

the smaller boy found himself being forced to stand when y/n lifted up him by his collar and dragged him out of the alley, leaving k with a bruised cheek on the floor yelling at y/n like a mad man. not that anyone was pitying him though, ‘ an eye for an eye’ sunoo thought to himself as he was still being dragged by the smaller one towards the field. the cigarette in her mouth was still puffing out smokes, but in a much smaller quantity.

the basketball court was placed at the end of the field, so the sight of sunoo getting dragged by y/n was seen by one of his friends, sunghoon. the mentioned one stopped dribbling the orange ball on his hands and excused himself from his teammates. he knew that y/n was not a good news and seeing her around sunoo made him worried for his safety. he knew that sunoo was not someone who was strong mentally, let alone physically either. heeseung, who was holding the ball sunghoon passed him, saw where sunghoon was heading to and decided to jog to the same destination, followed by riki and jay.

letting go of sunoo, y/n spat out the cigarette that was sitting way too long between her lips on the concrete and made the boy faced her. she eyed the purpling bruise one sunoo’s cheek, who got embarrassed by her stare and looked away.

the smaller girl reached out behind her back to grab an antiseptic and a huge, square hansaplast. zipping her bag closed, she was about to give sunoo the things in her hand when she was pushed back away from him. y/n looked up to sunghoon who pushed her and rolled her eyes, dusting off her shirt as she eyed the other 3 guys behind sunghoon, she recognised one of them was heeseung but forgot the other two names. the taller guy noticed the bruise on sunoo’s cheek and was about to confront y/n when sunoo pulled sunghoon back and told him that y/n was helping him, but to no avail, sunghoon kept his cold stare at the girl.

shame started to fill in sunoo’s self. he doesn’t want to look weak in front of his friends.

“what were you doing to my friend, y/n?” sunghoon asked coldly, his eyes bore into y/n’s lifeless ones.

not giving a damn to sunghoon, y/n shoved the antiseptic and hansaplast to sunoo’s arms.

“since i’m not your friend, you can ask this elsa motherfucker to do it to you instead.” y/n said pointing to sunghoon with her lips, a chuckle almost left her lips when she saw how sunghoon clenched his fist at the nickname.

“you shouldn’t have saved me, i’m a boy, i can handle this alone.” sunoo said, head still hanging down as he held onto the stuff y/n gave him close to his chest. a scoff left y/n’s mouth.

“so i should have left you to death instead? stop with the fucking toxic masculinity sunoo, you’re the least person i expected to hear this sentence from, and wow, not even a fucking thank you.” y/n said as she rolled her eyes, before smashing the cigarette she spat out earlier on the ground with her foot.

the whole group went silent at the venomous yet bold statement that left the short girl’s mouth. sunoo was not a boy that was easily convinced that he had to be masculine to be recognised as a real man, the whole school knew this. so when that sentence left his very own mouth, y/n felt almost disappointed for hoping that sunoo would at least be different.

“guess you’re no different than k,” she mumbled under her breath, but it was heard by sunoo.

the girl turned around and walked away from the boys, leaving them speechless and for sunoo to rethink again about what he said.

——

ever since that incident, sunoo saw y/n and himself in a different light. y/n’s sentence from a week ago still lingered in his head, he was starting to embrace more of his real self and decided that he doesn’t need to be as strong as all of his friends were to be a man. but, he could not deny that he felt bad for saying that to her. y/n literally put herself in danger because of him and all sunoo said was she wasn’t supposed to do that.

he couldn’t blame y/n. if he were her he would have done the same, just less vulgar words.

the fact that he was in the same class as her made it worse, he could only stare at her hanging around at the back of her class with her friends, laughing out loud. sunoo found himself staring at y/n more and more, he was even starting to catch her small habits. the way y/n’s nose slightly crinkled after she laughed, the way she put up her book to sleep during class, the way she slightly tilted her head when she was in her favourite class, history. and that was just the top of the iceberg.

the boy could not bring himself to apologise to her, he knew he was in the wrong, but he does not have the strength to do so. he was scared of what y/n could do, after what she did to k, he knew that y/n was someone not to be messed with. even sunghoon already apologised to y/n after he suspected her of doing something bad, but it was easy for him because of one sole reason.

y/n was not who sunghoon has feelings for. he even caught them chatting and laughing from time to time.

but after endless courage from his friends, today he decided to talk to the girl. sunoo knew that y/n always hung out at the rooftop alone during break, smoking. so he decided to go at break.

with shaking hands, the boy stared at the metal door in front of him. his hands were sweaty and he could not count on how many times he wiped his palms on his school’s trousers. it was now or never.

opening the door, sunoo was met with soft winds slapping against his face. it smelt of fresh air, no smell of like someone’s smoking. sunoo stepped inside and closed the door behind him, looking around, the boy was disappointed when he sees that there was no one. until he turned around and his heart almost leaped out of his throat of the sight of the one he was looking for leaning on the wall right next to the door, a lollipop was hanging loosely in her mouth instead of a cigarette.

y/n was looking at sunoo up and down, her school blazer was nowhere in sight as some of the buttons of her school was popped open. sunoo’s heart beat faster at the sight before adverting his eyes quickly when he noticed that, his fingers were fiddling together.

“looking for me?” y/n asked, an eyebrow was raised.

sunoo nodded vigorously, eyes were still stuck on the floor as if it was the most interesting thing at the moment. from his peripheral vision, he could see y/n buttoning up her shirt back and pushed back the lollipop to the side of her cheeks.

“what do you want?” she asked, voice sounding cold as ever. sunoo wondered if this was the same tone of her voice when she forgave him.

“i-i would like to apologise on how i acted that day. i was very thankful that you saved me, really. the old me thought that i would look weak in front of my friends if they knew that you saved me. what you said really-,” sunoo took a deep breath before lifting up his eyes and were met with y/n’s brown orbs. the boy was tearing up at the very moment and he himself doesn’t even know why. the feelings were overwhelming, he was scared of everything.

“-it really made me realised that i don’t need to be strong to be recognised as a male. thank you for that, and sorry again for-,” sunoo halted his breath when y/n suddenly placed her palm on top of the taller’s head, tip toeing a little bit as she let out a small chuckle. the distance between their faces was closer than before, and sunoo could smell the strong sweet scent of strawberry lollipop out of her mouth.

“okay, okay i get it. apology accepted.”

almost immediately, it was like a heavy burden being lifted off sunoo’s shoulders. he sniffed a little, the tears still streaming down his flushed cheeks. the girl stared at the tears rolling down before shoving her hand inside her chest pocket and pulled out a tissue before offering it to the crying male in front of her.

sunoo immediately took it, muttering a small thank you before wiping his tears and realising that the tissue was a scented vanilla one. he smiled a little, he learnt something new about y/n again.

needless to say, after that very incident, both of the pair grew very close to each other despite the wide spectrum of differences that existed between them. they were the polar opposites, yet they got along very well. y/n also grew closer to the group of friends sunoo has, finally learning all of their names with proper. it was shocking to the whole school, no one saw this coming, even y/n’s friends themselves. k was unsatisfied at this news of course.

but then again, it was kind of his fault in the first place isn’t it?

[toots-senpai]

bonfire tower

Author: @toots-senpai Fandom: creepypasta Pairing: jeff the killer x reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: gore mentions, yandere! jeff, noncon kissing, fear? Quick A/n: emptying out the drafts, that’s all. stay hydrated.

The small picnic didn’t mean to get this bad. You being separated from your friends and the smell of smoke traveling deep into your lungs, Jeff’s laughing echoing deep into your already hazy brain. You were running as fast as you could, even though you could actually see the fire traveling fast right behind your running feet. The fire was spreading fast with the wind blowing harshly but you couldn’t stop, you didn’t even have the time to turn around. A large fire blazing tree crackling above you, daring to snap into two and fall right on top of you. 

‘just a little faster. move!’ You thought as it snapped, hurdling on top of you just as the forest dared. Not only was the vast amount of wood begging to grab you in the confines of the blazing hell behind you. Jeff on the other hand was not phased, hand touching the blazing tree and hopping over it, hot on your tail. You couldn’t catch your breath, legs not even bothering to stop as you pushed your lungs to their limit, the road right in front of you, for the second you were focusing on that, you fucked up. Bad. Stumbling over your own feet and tripping onto the road, face first. Skin scraping against the broken gravel of the road, skin tearing open and rocks sticking to the open wound.

Jeff just laughed from behind you catching up but the adrenaline inside your body had you getting up and running before he had the chance to get close. You went bolting down the road, not even bothering to go back into the blazing forest. You could feel your lungs strain as you ran. The fire from the forest already affecting your lungs, especially with the blood from your cheek slipping into your breathing mouth. You were scared shitless, the air dry and makes your breathing raspy. You kept running a large factory appeared into your vision. The brick building and broken factory windows made you slightly at ease, a way to relax, to hide possibly. When you saw the small side door to the side you pushed a bit harder running to open the door and then almost slamming it in Jeff’s face. Only a second too fast. He banged at the door angrily, pulling at the door that you had a tight grip on by the handle, even using your feet against the frame to keep the door closed before angrily shuffling away from the door moving to find another entrance, raging underneath his breath. You looked around you, taking in the factories surroundings looking for the other entrance. The fire outside lighting up the abandoned factory as you looked about. You heard the factory door on the other side open quite harshly, smoke all ready entering the building as he trudged in, pissed, laughing. 

“Come on! You’re making this so much harder than it needs to be dollface. You should’ve just keep that pretty little face on the fucking concrete!” He laughed as he started to smash things in the factory, pushing them out of his way making his way to where you came in. You needed to make your way out now. The abandoned factory was.. indeed abandoned. There was no where to hide and Jeff was just getting closer and closer. There were a couple of ways out but the only option you had right now as Jeff rounded the corner, was to jump out the window nearby broken glass window. Thank god the factory wasn’t more than 3 floors and you were on the bottom floor. You shuffled quietly, ducked behind some pipes as he continued to shove the pipes right next to you, walking just behind your frame

“Come on out darlin’, i’ll even fix that fucked up face of yours!” He mocked as you snuck your way around him, trying to be quiet, stepping out behind him from the pipes as he continued to push whatever was next to him or in his way. You would’ve been in the clear if the one flood gate under your foot was clicked in properly, but as the world works, it wasn’t and the cloud click of the metal sliding into place had Jeff laughing and his bloodshot eyes snapped onto your stuck form. You made a beeline for the window jumping over the broken pipes before balling yourself through the window, rolling into the grass and pushing the glass deeper into your skin

 With the glass now embedded in your arms and legs, it 100% made the situation worse. That was a bad idea. The fire roared and you were cornered. Jeff laughing in front of you as he pulled his knife out, and now your only option was to run to the guard tower... through the blazing fire. You had no choice, didn’t even wince as you pushed yourself into the heat, Jeff unaffected but annoyed as he caught right back up to you. Going through that window was a bad idea, but as soon as you made it close to the stairs his knife flew past your ear right in front of you, hitting the wood base of the watchtower. You didn’t know where to go but up as the flame grew ablaze around the watchtower, but as of right now, there was no where to go but away from Jeff, it was ur top priority, you had to at least try. This was all you wanted. A peaceful life, friends, you never wanted this again, you were gonna do everything in your power to never get back into that dreadful situation. You moved up faster with that thought in mind even as another came flying at you. 

“Stop fucking moving!” He yelled as he grabbed one of the blades he threw running up the stairs after you. You tumbled up the stairs, Blood dripping onto the burning wood. Jeff missed one last time accidentally tossing his knife off of the stairs of the watchtower onto the burning forest floor and being distracted by his failure you got up to the top, going to try to close the door only for it to have no lock, the door old along with the tower, which seemed to not have been built properly either, wood rotting. A couple of tears fell down your cheeks as you reminisced for a second, the small tower filling with smoked as it probably started to burn from the bottom, your glass imbedded fingers loosely gripped onto the broken door as Jeff laughed outside of it. A wrecked sob the last thing to fall out of your mouth as he slammed the door in, the door hitting your nose and knocking you back a couple of steps until you fell on your back. The air knocking out of your lungs, vision spinning for a second. The only thing you could receive properly was Jeff’s laughing, gasps of breath as he pulled himself together, mocking you more. 

“This!? This is what you wanted?” He mocked again laughing and holding his stomach. “You wanted.. to DIE with me here Y/n..?” He couldn’t contain himself, seeing how wrecked you were while he was only a bit air deprived. You had glass sticking out of your skin, blood drooping out of your nose and rolling off of your cheek to the hot wood floor. He chuckled for a couple seconds more before collecting himself, and straddling your waist, putting your foreheads together and breathing against you, wiping at your tears as small wrecked sobs came from you. The obsessed man laughed above you once more, in victory it seemed grabbing your cheeks one last time as the tower creaked and crackled in the small watch tower, smoke filled and catching ablaze from the inside. He placed a long kiss to your blood wrecked lips. “Baby, that’s all you had to tell me.” He cooed before chuckling again. “You should’ve just told me, you wanted to die with me, I would’ve made this much less painful...you should’ve trusted me..” He muttered against your lips once more, wiping away the tears as your sobs became a bit louder as he kissed and licked at your bloody gravel filled cheek. The tower began to lean, crackling with means of falling as the support beams below burned into the wood floor, almost like being on top of a large bonfire. This, is not how you wanted your picnic to end, your friends have probably burnt to a crisp, the fire roaring all around you, the last melody of the burning forest, but for one last time, Jeff and your eyes locked when he grabbed your jaw and made you face him. “But it’s alright dollface..” He trailed off smiling while pulling his lip full of your blood to his tongue, swallowing all the blood that smeared onto his lips with a smile before continuing, “I would die.. every type of way and any type of way... if it’s with you.” A smile, genuine Jeffery Woods smile and the support beneath you snapped, the fire blurring your before you even had the chance to black out.

[raimispiderman]

From the booklet which comes with the Spider-Man Trilogy Limited Edition Collection blu-ray!

This talks about the making of Spider-Man 2, here’s the bit about the first Spider-Man movie.

Click for a transcript:

THE EVOLUTION OF A SUPERHERO

“It was truly gratifying and even a bit overwhelming to witness how strongly moviegoers around the world reacted to Spider-Man,” said director Sam Raimi. “As a filmmaker, I always want people to really enjoy my movies, and on that level, Spider-Man exceeded my expectations.”

After the triumph of the first Spider-Man, Raimi knew he had a responsibility to follow it up with a story that justified the fans’ enthusiasm and their built-in expectations for the next adventure. “There’s great interest in this movie, following the success of the first one,” he acknowledged. “For the kids who come to see it, Spider-Man is their hero. So while the job of making this movie is to provide entertainment, it is also to create a story that shows them a moral character, someone who has to make tough choices and the right decisions in order to continue to be worthy of their admiration.”

The wealth of detailed stories and characters in the Spider-Man comic book series provided a mother lode from which to cull the plot for Spider-Man 2. “The Marvel artists and writers have done a great job through the decades – I know, because I’m a big fan myself – so there’s a tremendous amount of good material to draw upon,” noted Raimi. “Finding a storyline wasn’t that difficult. It was finding the right story, the one that made for a proper follow-up installment, and provided a logical progression for the audience and a logical growth for the character. For the, I relied on the terrific storytelling instincts of my very fine producers Laura Ziskin and Avi Arad. Together with the contributions of our great writers, we found a plot line with ideas that reverberated.”

With the storyline of the new adventure locked, Arad looked forward to the reunion of the Spider-Man filmmaking family, not the least of which was Tobey Maguire. “Tobey was so happy to be Spider-Man again and to be Peter Parker,” said Arad. “As an actor Tobey relished deepening the audience’s understanding of who Peter Parker is and who is becoming,” added Ziskin. “Peter’s a man who is transition, someone who’s struggling with the choices he is making.”

Maguire added, “The theme ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ is never lost on Peter. It’s difficult to be a young man and have to sacrifice as much as he has – presumably for the greater good – and to neglect his personal desires. The struggle continues here and it’s quite complicated, because Peter’s searching desperately for a way to achieve some balance in his life.”

 As Peter becomes more immersed in his dilemma, it creates a rift between him and the important people in his life. Though his love for MJ is stronger than ever, she has moved on with her life, pursuing an acting career, living in Manhattan and moving in new social circles. “In this film, Peter is off in his own world and not a reliable presence in MJ’s life,” explained Kirsten Dunst. “She still loves him a great deal, so it has become painful for her to be around him. Though they’ve both done a lot of growing up in the past two years, at the same time, they’ve drifted apart.”

Then, as if Peter’s life were not complicated enough, the situation moves from bad to worse – much worse. Enter Doc Ock.

Dr. Otto Octavius (Alfred Molina) is a brilliant scientist whose life work has been dedicated to experiments utilizing fusion as a new source of energy. Charming, vibrant and energetic, Dr. Octavius is introduced to Peter by Harry Osborn.

“This movie is the story of Peter’s life, which is out of balance, and Dr. Octavius who, for Peter, represents someone who has achieved that balance,” explained Raimi.

“Peter sees Octavius as somebody who has mastered both his gifts – in this case science, through which he can serve the good of mankind, while also maintaining a personal life, a loving relationship with his wife Rosie (Donna Murphy). This leads Peter to the conclusion that it’s possible to have both.” Dr. Octavius, with the support of his wife, has been working diligently in his home laboratory, trying to perfect his groundbreaking fusion theory. But when a demonstration of his creation goes horribly wrong, Dr. Octavius undergoes a terrible transformation – evolving into the powerful, multi-tentacled Doc Ock.

In Spider-Man 2, the talented and versatile Molina brings this powerful adversary to terrifying life. “He is a formidable enemy for Spider-Man,” said Arad. “He can climb walls faster and better than Spider-Man. In fact, there’s nothing Spider-Man can do that Ock cannot counteract.”

Doc Ock, one of the most popular villains of the Spider-Man comic book series, first appeared in “The Amazing Spider-Man #3,” which was published in 1963. He immediately became one of Spider-Man’s most formidable foes. According to comic lore, each of Ock’s limbs can move at speeds of up to 90 feet per second and strike with the force of a jackhammer. The extremely powerful tentacles enable him to lift a vehicle off the ground, pulverize bricks, claw through concrete walls and hover above his victims by rising into the air.

The filmmakers were eager to attract Molina for the central role. “We needed someone who brought a palpable reality to the part, and who was also sincere, had a great sense of humor and personal warmth,” said Raimi. “Alfred is a brilliant actor, and what he’s brought so effectively to the character of Doc Ock is the sense of him as a misunderstood man who has turned into a beast.”

Molina confessed, “I’ve always been a Marvel Comic fan because their characters are so interesting. They have problems. They’re very realistic.” From him, the mechanics behind the role of Doc Ock was a true education. “It was mind-boggling, the breadth and the imagination that went into how each of my character’s actions – flying across the room, crashing through a plate glass window, smashing a taxicab – was to be executed. It’s a unique way of filming that’s not like anything most of us get to do really. It’s a very particular way of working, and absolutely fascinating.”

J.K. Simmons also returns in Spider-Man 2 as Peter’s gruff boss at the Daily Bugle, J Jonah Jameson. “I fire Peter several times in this movie. Every time I see him, I fire him,” laughed Simmons. “And then I re-hire him because there’s always some pressing need for his services.”

Principal photography on Spider-Man 2 began on April 12, 2003, in New York City, where the production spent approximately three weeks shooting at various locations in Manhattan, Queens and Brooklyn, as well as on a Yonkers stage. From ground-level street shots to rooftops high above the city, the filmmakers efficiently utilized the time they spent in New York, giving them the opportunity to expand on the city’s unique environment, which had lent such vibrancy to the first Spider-Man.

“In the first film we established New York as a character in the movie. With Spider-Man 2, we went even further,” said production designer Neil Spisak. “We used a lot more of the city, including [photographic] plates of real buildings and real streets. Improvements in technology over the past three years enabled [visual effects designer] John Dykstra and I to marry existing buildings to scenery buildings to CG buildings even better than the first time around. It’s a much more complete experience.”

“We got more of a feeling of New York in this movie,” added Ziskin. “The movie is being shot in widescreen, which is appropriate because this is a different story, so it required a different approach.”

Production began on the campus of Columbia University in uptown Manhattan, which served as the university Peter Parker attends while he struggles with the responsibilities of his academic workload and his superhero duties. The rooftop of the Hotel Intercontinental, across from the Waldorf Astoria, was the location where Spider-Man contemplates his next move, while downtown, in the Wall Street area, another rooftop served as the “launch-pad” for the Spydercam camera, as it dipped and swooped over several blocks to replicate one of Spider-Man’s high-stakes aerial journeys through the city.

“We executed one of the longest wire shots the Spydercam has ever done,” said executive producer Joseph M. Maracciolo. “The Wall Street shot was around 2,400 feet. I’m an ex New Yorker, so I didn’t find the location shoot particularly daunting. But there are always difficulties when you’re doing wire work in New York, including the placement of the cranes on the buildings, the movement of the cast, crew and equipment, and of course, the crowds.”

“It was a challenge for us to move our production to the tops of buildings, but we couldn’t have been happier, because rooftops are Spider-Man’s world and that is his view of the city as he swings through it,” noted co-producer Grant Curtis. “It was breathtaking to see the world from 70 stories up – a world unto itself. You can’t fully really appreciate the beautiful architecture of New York’s skyscrapers from ground level. We showed some of that in the first film, but we wanted to show more of Spider-Man’s vertiginous world, and I think we really captured that with this film.”

In Spider-Man 2, Doc Ock sweeps Aunt May off her feet – literally – and takes her up several stories of a tall building. Rosemary Harris performed her stunts in a variety of harnesses, but only after she had managed to talk the filmmakers into letting her give her stunt double a rest. “I was a bit miffed at first, because my wonderful stunt double was going to do a lot of these harness maneuvers,” recalled Harris. “So I asked Sam and Laura, ‘Why not let me have a go at it?’ At first they were reluctant. But I begged them to at least let me try and they finally relented.”

Returning to Los Angeles, Spider-Man 2 shot on several stages on the Sony Pictures Studios lot in Culver City. Stage 15 was home to the Daily Bugle offices, as well as Peter’s tiny apartment and Dr. Octavius’ elaborate home laboratory. On Stage 29, the Osborn mansion, where Harry Osborn now lives, was recreated. Stage 27 housed MJ’s apartment set, a giant spider web, the interior of the Planetarium, the massive clock tower set as well as various other set pieces. A series of elevated trains were built on Stage 14, where Spider-Man and Doc Ock match wits.

One of the most elaborate sets for Spider-Man 2 was the pier set, designed by Spisak and built over the course of 15 weeks on Soundstage 30. “In contrast to Dr. Octavius’ lab, which was part of his apartment – a streamlined, organized and clean space – the pier is a maniacal, decaying, decrepit space,” explained Spisak. “It follows his character development in terms of his becoming a wilder, more dangerous and more formidable adversary for Spider-Man.”

The set, approximately 60 feet wide by 120 feet long and 40 feet tall, was constructed over a water tank and enhanced by several different components, including CG/plate work and miniatures.

“Before we built the set, we created an exact ¾ scale model of it, about 7 feet long and 4 feet wide, from drawings and blueprints. The model was extremely useful to the carpenters, who could take measurements to help them construct the full-sized pier, as well as for the miniatures team, so they could ascertain the dimensions, textures and materials that were used,” explained art director Tom Wilkins. “We shot plates down in San Pedro, where we panned from a real pier to the water. In post-production a New York background was added. We also built a miniature pier – interiors and exteriors – to complete the composition on the East River.” The art department team designed a 136 foot by 40 foot-high vinyl backing to represent Ock’s view of Manhattan through a large window at the end of the pier set. Wave machines were rigged in the water to create movement under the pier.

The production then moved to the Universal backlot for two weeks of shooting. Several city streets were transformed into a variety of New York neighborhoods including the exterior of the Lyric Theatre where MJ performances in an off-Broadway production of Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest. Ari’s Village Deli and Bakery became the site of an extremely complex scene involving a quiet conversation between Peter and MJ, which is interrupted by Peter’s “spider sense” – and a car careening through the plate glass window, followed by the arrival of Doc Ock.

“It was a great luxury to be able to build that set from every aspect, so that we could do everything we needed for the scene,” said Spisak. “The walls were made of french plate so that when the car smashed through it, the buildings around it were protected. We were able to design what we thought it should look like visually, then as tricks, gags and stunts became clearer, we were able to add them to the set before it was completely finished.”

“The deli was a full, 360 degree set, with a kitchen, deli counters, pastries, ceiling fans and chandeliers,” added art director Steve Saklad, who worked closely with Spisak. “We dressed the exterior streets so that you could look out of the window and see the intersection of Lafayette Street and Astor Place. It required an enormous amount of signage, billboards, street dressing, trees and traffic lights.”

For Raimi,  “The diner was a complex technical scene, because it brought together so many different departments, each relying on the other to fulfil their function  and communicate with each other so that each individual shot would work. We utilized mechanical effects and the stunt department had to take an automobile, spin it and flip it through the deli window, with the prop department providing the breakaway items. What made it even more complex was that we had to fly Doc Ock in, using something we dubbed the “walk rig.”

The “walk rig” was created for Doc Ock, because the character not only moves himself, but his tentacles move him around as well. When he walks on the tentacles, they support his weight, so a device was constructed to harness him and move him through space as if the tentacles were supporting him. The visual effects department also created “virtual” tentacles where practical ones weren’t feasible.

When he was in full costume, Molina’s tentacles weighed between 75 to 100 pounds, depending upon the action required for the scene. Each of the tentacles was fully articulated. In their expanded, 13-foot length, each upper tentacle consisted of approximately 76 individual pieces Each vertabra was handmade, hand molded, sanded, individually hand painted, chromed, then painted again and assembled by hand. The entire collection of Doc Ock tentacles, bases, heads and wrists, if laid end to end, would be taller than a 20-story building.

Academy Award winning costume designer James Acheson welcomed the opportunity to further explore and improve upon the already classic Spider-Man costume for Spider-Man 2. “Creating the Spider-Man suit for the first film was a real challenge since we were designing for a kind of Cirque du Soleil acrobat, someone who had a unbelievable kinetic spiraling ability,” he said. “So the suit had to be extremely flexible. For the new installment we made several improvements, though you’d have to be a real enthusiast to spot them. The colors are slightly different, and we have made subtle changes in terms of the movement inside the costume’s hood. We also adjusted the eyepieces of Spider-Man’s mask as well as certain aspects of the spider design on the front and the back of the suit.”

For Spider-Man 2’s Doc Ock, Acheson and Raimi spent close to a year collaborating with Spisak and visual effects designer John Dykstra and working with Edge FX in what began as a series of “group think” sessions, according to Raimi. “I needed John Dykstra’s input, because it was John who was going to have to handle Doc Ock’s movements in CG, so he had to be involved in designing the character, along with Jim, who was going to determine the look of the character,” recalled Raimi. “Part of the look determined the movement, and what the arms look like began to govern how it functioned. Neil was involved because Ock had to be a part of Neil’s world in the film. A great interdependence developed among the department heads in order to achieve the complex nature and physicality of the character,”

“The challenge with Doc Ock is to visually create a believable world, focusing on a man with four tentacles growing out of his back,” said Spisak. “Now, that can be a tough swallow. So, in creating Ock and his world, we needed to design and play it so that everything was credible. Ove the course of several months, it became clear what was physically possible for Ock and what would have to be achieved via CG. We conceptualized the look and only then did we deal with the physical limitations, rather than letting them stop us at the beginning.”

Added Dykstra: “It was a huge challenge to make Doc Ock come to life. His tentacles had to meet several criteria. They had to be appropriate with regard to the world Neil had created for Spider-Man and Ock. The components of the costume – the texture and the weight – had to bed something an actor could actually wear. Since using the tentacles wasn’t always practical, we had to create ‘virtual’ versions with Edge FX. In the end, integrating the tentacles into the story was a marriage of all those components and the collaboration of everyone involved.”

Spisak and his team designed and dressed more than 100 sets and locations for Spider-Man 2. “There are probably 10 enormous sets, while some are simply street corners. We covered eleven blocks in downtown Los Angeles and used many rooftops, streets and buildings in New Yorj City,” noted Spisak. “This is certainly the biggest film I’ve ever done.”

Spisak worked with director of photography Bill Pope on the color palette for the sets, and they pored over research and location pictures to inspire them for the story’s lighting requirements. “In the first film, Peter Parker was younger, less aware and just beginning to discover his new powers. That was reflected in the overall look of the movie,” said Spisak. “With this film, he has been Spider-Man for a while, so his frustration over how to deal with his life versus his duty is more complex. That’s reflected in the color palette and the tone of this film – it’s a little more sophisticated, more complicated and deeper, in terms of color and look.”

Among the tools Dykstra and his team utilized to achieve the shots presenting Spider-Man’s point-of-view, while he is soaring over the city, was Earl Wiggins’ Spydercam. During the New York portion of the shoot, the specialized camera was launched using a remote-controlled computer suspended on a cable from a Wall Street-area rooftop more than 30 stories in the air, which recorded what DSpider-Man saw as he swung over the city. The camera traveled along a line suspended over four blocks, dipping down into the street and over the tops of several blocks of vehicles and background art that had been placed for the sequence.

“We were dropping the camera and moving it up and down over the course of the shot to follow Spider-Man’s trajectory as he swings through the arch, releasing a web, and shooting a new web as he swings into the traffic below,” explained Dykstra.

“One of the successes of the first film was the empathy the audience had for the main character. He was very sympathetic,” Dykstra said, “This movie explores the character in greater depth, and in terms of the visual effects, we’re hoping to give audiences an event more intimate sense of what it’s like to be Spider-Man. In the first film, we get to fly with him. The idea here is to make the flying sequences poetic enough and evocative enough that you will get an even stronger sense of what it’s like to fly like Spider-Man.”

That approach is reinforced by Raimi, said Ziskin, “One of the really striking aspects about Sam is that he is the audience for this film. He makes the movie for the audience, identifies with the characters and is always aware of the rhythms and how each sequence will play – both to him and the other members of the audience. That makes him the perfect director for this kind of material. Also, he’s at a point in his directing career where he’s at the top of his game. He is brilliant technically, but also works extraordinarily well with the actors. Ultimately, his personal connection to Peter Parker and the other main characters is a great gift to the audience.”

“These are tough, scary times and during such periods we look to heroic stories to give us hope,” noted Raimi. “Maybe that has something to do with why the audience was so taken with Spider-Man when he first appeared two years ago. With Spider-Man 2, I truly hope that audiences will feel that they’re seeing a love story, that they’re participating in another episode of Peter Parker’s life and are seeing the challenges and conflicts he faces and how he overcomes them. I hope it will leave them feeling uplifted and exhilarated.”

[petesvodka]

stop thinking

summary - you meet pete at a seven eleven

word count - 1.2k

warnings - suggested underage drinking

authors note - i don’t really know where this story came from, but im contemplating whether or not i wanna write a part two. if you have any thoughts on this story, feel free to share them with me! thanks for reading :)

It’s 2 am at your local seven eleven and you’re just there so you can buy bread. You need fucking bread to make some fucking toast because your stomach will not stop rumbling and you cannot keep anything else down.

Bugs flicker in the yellow lights as you pull up, vision blurry and tired. You’re hoping you won’t run into trouble- you usually avoid seven elevens at this time of night because of the trouble they cause. Especially this one. It’s too close to the college campus for your liking, but the one by your house is closed. Of fucking course. 

Slamming the car into park, you stumble out of the car door. Sweat sticks your hair to the back of your neck and your mouth is bone dry. Bread. Fucking bread. That’s all you need.

Before you can stumble through the doors, a voice calls out to you from the shadows. “Kid,” it slurs, ”you ‘right?”

“Yes,” you breathe and pull on the handle. It’s locked, and you can feel dread building in the pit of your stomach. 

“Waddya need, kid?” A man- a boy, really, although he's tall, you can tell he’s not much older than you- steps out of the shadows. His eyes are dark, heavy, as they trace down your body slowly. You feel exposed. 

“Jus’ need some bread,” you mutter, jaw clenched. 

“Bread?” He laughs, approaching you slowly. You tug on the handle. 

“Love, that door ain’t gonna open. Those cashiers’re screwing in the back room and they don’t give two shits about your… bread.” He tilts his head back, dark eyes glinting in the low light.

 “I’m, uh, I guess I’ll just go home then,” you say quietly, hand dropping from the cold metal handle as you turn to your car. 

“Woah-ho kid, where you going?” The boy asks, leaning against the brick wall. He tilts a bottle to his lips, spilling some of it down his chin. He doesn’t seem to notice. “What’s goin on?”

You shrug, watching him carefully. “Don’t feel so good.”

“Don’t feel so good?” His bright red lips parted into a smile, “Y’know what’ll fix that?” 

Shaking your head, you look at the ground. You’re not sure what he wants, but it can’t be good. 

“Here, take this,” he says, thrusting the bottle towards you. You flinch back, eyes growing steely. “Woah there cowboy,” he says, chuckling. “It’s just vodka.”

You stare at the bottle and the clear liquid inside, a headache pounding its way into your skull. “Uh- no thanks-“

He rolls his eyes, still with a smile. “It’s not drugged. I just took a swig of it, ya saw me.”

The orange lights flicker over his face. 

He doesn’t look as scary- maybe twenty-two at most, and his lips are cracked and raw. His eyes are ringed with dark circles, but they’re not the narrowed predator’s eyes you've seen before. Just glazed, slightly red, and unfocused. His hands shake slightly and his left shoe is untied, dark locks of hair wild around his head.

 “Here, take it,” he says, holding out the bottle again.

Hesitantly, you grasp the cheap plastic in your fingers. He looks at you expectantly. “Drink it, yeah? It’ll help your stomach.” 

It burns your nose and mouth when you bring it to your lips, taking a huge gulp. It stings as it falls down into your stomach, and you're sure you've made a mistake. “Jesus,” you gasp, coughing.

He takes the bottle back, a frown playing on his features. “Christ, kid, big gulp. You drink?”

You nod, willing your stomach to be strong. You clutch it, hoping you won’t puke all over the sidewalk in front of the convenience store. 

“Goddamn,” he laughs, throwing his head back and swigging the vodka. “How old are ya? Seventeen, eighteen?” 

You don’t answer, just stare at the ground as the warmth starts to flood through your veins. Vodka always burns your skin up- it makes your tongue swell and the tips of your ears red and hot.

At least your stomach feels a bit better. 

“I’m Pete, by the way,” he says, sticking out a hand. You ignore it. He thinks, then asks, “want more?”

You take the bottle from his large, outstretched hand. The vodka burns your lips this time around, and your head is spinning a little faster, the shadows surrounding you starting to become long and weird.

You stare at your hands- Fuck. You can’t fucking drive. You start towards your car, still clutching the bottle.

“Woah, woah, hold on,” he says, stumbling after you. “You jus’ had a couple a’ shots of vodka. You are not driving any fuckin’ car.”

“Watch me,” you snarl, getting in. 

“Hold on-“ he says. “Just stay here.” You shake your head and slam the door shut behind you. Stepping on the gas, you accelerate out of the parking lot- and right into a concrete divider.

The impact slams your head to the side, worsening the dark ache in your head to one that is now intense and bright. “Shit!” You bellow, slamming the steering wheel with closed fists.

Pete is there in an instant, still holding the bottle. “Told you,” he says, smiling.

“Fuck off,” you growl through gritted teeth, and then your life flashes before your eyes. 

DUI. MIP. Car accident. Money. Your parents are going to fucking gut you. Tears slide out of your eyes and onto your red cheeks. 

“Hey, hey, hold on,” Pete says. “Stop. Stop it. Stop thinking.”

“W-What?” You ask, sniffing.

“Don’t think about that shit. I saw you doing it. It’s not a fucking problem. Now, you can wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow is a good time to deal with this. Right now?” He shakes his head, glancing around. 

“No. Now is for getting as drunk as you can, so you don’t have to think about it.”

You can’t argue with his logic, so you follow him slowly out of the smashed car and back to the convenience store, where the two of you sit on the curb. An ice cooler runs next to you as you pass bottles back and forth, numbing your mind and tongue.

Pete, as it turns out, is simply fascinating. Not just because of the stories he tells you, but because of the way he tells them and the way they make you feel. He shares these glimpses into his life with you in such a way that makes you feel as though you were there with him making these memories, as though you knew him from long before. You wish you could talk to him forever. You spent the entire night with him, shoulder to shoulder, talking.

Slowly, you woke up, the ache in your skull acutely painful as you squint your eyes in the bright early morning sunlight. And after a moment, you saw them. Your parents, standing over you like vultures.

Shit. You crashed a fucking car at the seven eleven while you were drunk. You look around for Pete, for his support- but he’s gone. He probably left when the sun rose. 

All that’s left is a number scribbled on a small piece of paper and an empty vodka bottle at your side, which you can’t even hope to hide.