#without a tux in sight

[jessieren]

Not a Tux In Sight Tuesday

It doesn't get much less tux than this... (also lol at the very wind blown hair... I sympathise with this)

although maybe this is worse... I mean what the actual fuck is that t shirt...

I'm pretty sure this guy didn't own a tux

and there's definitely no tuxes to be found here..

I checked

More than once...

[rushman-natalierushman]

Southbound

Pairings: Congressman Barnes x fem!reader

Warnings: THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS!! NSFW, language, oral (male receiving), hints of possessiveness, Bucky in a suit is a warning itself. slow burn?

a/n: I'm at an all time Bucky high right now! After watching the movie (twice) I can't get these scenarios out of my head. Clearly I was inspired by a particular song after finding the sluttiest playlist i could find. So here I am, blessing you all Bucky Barnes thirsty sisters with filthy, smutty scenes with little to no plot. Enjoy!

“Wearing a bow tie that actually ties when clip ons exist is diabolical,” I frustratingly let out as I pulled Bucky in from his collar, struggling to undo the knot of his bow. 

My back hit the door behind me as we scurried to a hidden room in the venue- away from the crowd. His lips attacked my neck as I only let out breathy gasps, fumbling with the bow tie that clung to his collar.

Following his fairly new reputation as congressman, Bucky has been dressing the part in a strikingly clean and cut suit any time he stepped foot in the public eye. 

I wasn’t complaining. God, he looked ravishing in it. His hair was worn slick back, tucked behind his ears to reveal his light stubble. Every so often, a few shorter strands would fall out of place, framing his face in just the right way.

“You picked the tux” He remarked, releasing the skin on my neck, only to press his lips against mine with need and passion. Our lips moved in sync, sloppily as I remained struggling. Barnes kicked the door shut behind him after I dragged him into the room with me. 

“…and you look handsome in it but-“ Barnes kicked the door shut behind him after I dragged him into the room with me. He chuckled into the kiss at my eagerness. “Fuck it. Keep the damn suit on,” I let out breathlessly as I shoved him back onto a couch that was conveniently furnished in the room. His smile widened as he plopped back on the couch, sitting up slightly to meet me halfway as I climbed on top of him, straddling him as I crashed our lips together once again.

I’d be lying if I haven’t thought about him having his way with me in every suit he’s worn. My self control hung by a thread, any moment his eyes would linger on my form. Whether it was a press conference, or a court hearing- I could only ever squeeze my thighs together to create the smallest amount of friction as he rests his hand on my knee.  

Today was no different. Watching him carry his hands in his pocket. The way he stood with authority and power. To know that he carries a soft spot in his heart just for me, wanting only ever to touch or be touched by me. Granted, being together for as long as we’ve been should have been proof that he’d only ever choose me. His eyes never faltered when I was in his line of sight, and still- I couldn’t help the possessiveness that creeps over when his attention lands on another woman, despite the reasoning behind it.

Barnes and I had attended Valentina’s gala to scope out the event, hoping to find hidden loopholes and/or evidence to bring her down. That also meant getting friendly with her team without being detected. Congressman Barnes was hard to miss. I, on the other hand, was free to roam.

As Barnes scanned the crowd from upstairs, our eyes locked for a moment. I too, dressed the part, in elegance. Maybe it was the lighting, or maybe it was just an instinctual feeling- but our gaze locked onto each other as we craved each other from a distance. 

It’s that damn suit. It makes it harder to focus on the initiative. How could I possibly win Valentina over when he looks as delicious as he does. Our contact didn’t break, until he caught sight… of her. 

I turned to find a woman around my age, following Valentina around like her lap dog. She seemed hesitant and unsure of herself; she’d be an easy way in. Still, even if it was for the job, I couldn’t help as I watched his eyes lock on hers. Watching him play nice and exchanging witty banter, it stirred something within me.

The second he slipped out his card and brushed her arm, adding a charming smile, I turned on my heel and rushed off intensely. Barnes caught this and excused himself to follow behind me. I knew he’d be hot on my trail. I wasn’t upset. I was frustrated. Jealous? Maybe, but mainly frustrated. I needed him. I wanted him. Right now. 

I let my shawl slide off my shoulders, Bucky’s eyes immediately falling to my skin as he trailed behind me. I waited until we were clear of surveillance, heading toward a blindspot behind the scenes of the gala. As soon as he was close enough, he reached out to pull my arm. The force pulling me to immediately to face him. 

As if he could read my thoughts. As if the tension couldn’t be sensed just be eye contact alone- I wasted no time in closing the space between us and kissed him desperately. Possessively roaming my hands over his chest and tangling my fingers in his hair as if to claim him. That eventually led to my struggle with his bow tie. I didn’t care who could walk by, or who would hear in the near distance of the gala. Government officials, Val, her lap dog… I wanted to taste him here in this office. Who’s office? Don’t know. Don’t care.

As I planted myself to straddle him, I let my palms fall flat on his chest, sliding down until they reached his belt. Light, satisfied groans were exchanged. His hands began sliding up my thighs, allowing my dress ride up. My right leg shuddered under his touch as the cold metal of his arm grazed my skin. 

I pulled away to catch my breath, leaning my forehead against his. My hand eventually slipped under the hem of his pants, earning a groan in my ear as I wrapped my fingers around him. I felt him twitch underneath my touch, encouraging me to pump as his groans grew strained.

“Jesus, doll” he breathed out. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve been touch starved.”

"But you do know better, Barnes…” I slowed my pace, causing his hips to instinctively buck in my hands- attempting to feed his arousal. “You know how much I crave you. You know how much I need you.”

His head rolled back as I let my thumb massage the head of his cock. I followed his movements, brushing my lips against his ear as I spoke. “…and I know you’ll always take care of me. Satisfy me. Tend to my desires.”

I nipped at his earlobe as I began tracing small pecks to his jaw, down to his neck.

“Fuck…” he let roll off his tongue as his grip on my thighs tightened.

“That’s some mouth you’ve got for a congressman, Mr. Barnes.”

“Oh, my mouth can work more than just words, Mrs. Barnes.” His metal arm migrated to rest on my hip as his free hand slid between my thighs, slipping his fingers around the laced fabric that covered my yearning core. My breath hitched as his fingertips grazed my folds. “But judging by how wet you are, seems like I barely had to lift a finger.”

As much as I enjoyed the way he toyed with me, I moved my hand to grip at his wrist. “Not this time, pretty boy. I want to taste you,” I uttered seductively as the darkness in his eyes deepened into a lust filled gaze. I lifted myself off of him to settle myself down on my knees before him. “I want you to remember the feeling of my tongue when you so much as smile in the direction of another woman.”

He chuckled deeply, finally realizing what had riled me up. Not that he was complaining. He was entertained, but he adored the way I felt the need to remind him who held possession of his heart. The idea that he wouldn’t fall to his knees for you. Burn the world if anyone laid a finger on you. It was absurd to him.

His immediate reaction to my words was to lean forward and lightly lift my chin to look up at him, causing me to still. Cold metal gliding across my bottom lip as he tilted his head. “She’s a means to an end. Nothing more,” he reassured. My eyes darted to his lips as he towered over me, then back up to his piercing ocean eyes.

“I know,” I looked up at him submissively. “That doesn’t change how much I long for you. How I want you to take me in every room, every second of every day like you own me. Like I’m yours… and you’re mine.”

“I’m all yours, baby.”

“Then let me take you. All of you,” I pleaded, lifting myself to stand on my knees to ghost my lips over his. His metal fingers brushed a few of my loose strand behind my ear before letting his other hand participate in holding my hair up, as if giving permission to proceed. 

As he leaned back to rest on the cushions, I let my hands slide up his thighs just as he had done to me moments ago. I could see the tent in his pants, aching for attention. The sound of his belt buckle filled the room as I worked around it to free him from his fitted pants. 

My eyes widened in excitement as his cock sprung free. It leaked in anticipation, the veins hugging his size perfectly. I always forget how big he actually was. Whether it was the serum or all natural, I thank whatever gods that decided I was deserving of him. I leaned forward and let my tongue slowly stride up his length, picking up any arousal that dropped down from the tip. I was rewarded with a hiss of pleasure, revealing he was having a hard time holding back just from the kitten lick I had just provided. 

I took a few more strides, pumping him whenever I brought my tongue to restart the gesture. I teased him until his hips bucked instinctively. I took that as an indicator to take him whole. As my tongue reached the tip, I swirled it a couple times before wrapping my lips around him. His grip on my hair loosened for a moment, losing control. I looked up at him, shooting a warning glare. I wanted him to take control. To take what he wanted, what he needed. 

As our eyes locked, his grip returned to its original state. In approval, I sunk my head lower until I felt him reach the back of my throat. A guttural groan escaped his mouth at the warm and tight sensation. I hummed, feeling my own arousal start to build. Lifting my head back up, his length slipped out of my mouth as drool fell from my lips. I began wiping my mouth clean until he tugged my hair, causing my head to tilt back.

“Don’t.” He demanded. “Don’t clean up for me. You’re perfect.”

With his encouragement, I couldn’t help but whimper at his approval. I reached for his hardened cock like a toddler reaching for a lollipop. I wasted no time engulfing him into my mouth once again. Bobbing my head hungrily while pumping him in unison at a steady pace. The room was eventually filled with his pants and grunts, forgetting we were still technically in a public setting. Getting caught would not be a good look on him as a congressman, but hell was the idea of it thrilling.

“You’re doing so well for me baby…”

I could feel the muscles in his cock contract, preparing for his climax. Eventually, Barnes took over and held my head steady as he began fucking my mouth at his own pace. He was never aggressive enough to harm me. He knew how much I could take.

“Look at me.” Without hesitation, I looked up at him, searching for approval. “There’s my good girl.”

Just as he was about to fill me with his ropes of cum, a sudden vibration interfered with his focus on you. His movements halted as he gently pulled me off of him. Hand fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out his phone with his free hand. I rolled my eyes in response.

“You know I have to take this-“

“Then take it,” I wasn’t in the mood for interruptions. I was claiming this moment whether or not he had to struggle to keep his composure for work. 

“What?!” His tone was filled with shock as I wrapped my hands, familiarizing myself of the motion we had going moments before. He struggled to fight back as his body reacted to my touch.

“Take the call,” I more so commanded, frustrated as I took him back into my mouth. Barnes hesitated for a moment, groaning in pleasure before he answered the call.

“Congressman Barnes.” Such a formal greeting. So polite. So good. He tasted so goddamn good. “Mel?”

Mel?! Val’s lap dog? Seriously? They only just met, how could she have changed her mind already? With this new found motivation, I felt obligated to make him stutter. To have him crumble as I sucked him off while she listened.

“Mmm yeah…” he could barely form words. It was satisfying to know I held him in the palm of my hand, quite literally. Releasing him from my mouth with a wet, lubricated sound- I stroked him as I placed soft chaste kisses around the pubic area. Moving lower until I found the rest of him, twitching and spasming as they threatened to release. I began massaging, palming at his most sensitive parts. “Mhmm”

I moaned into it, letting the vibrations of my voice rumble against his skin as I savoured the taste of him. His breathing, if possible, became heavier. Ragged. “Yes- fuck… listen now’s not a good time.”

Finally. Without explanation, he ended the call with the tap of his screen and tossed his phone beside him. 

“Oh, fuck- just like that,” he praised. “Don’t stop.”

I couldn’t tell if it was a demand, or a plea. Nonetheless, I didn’t stop. I didn’t want to. I pumped him, my own hands stuttering at the vicious pace. It allowed me to watch as his face contorted in pleasure. “Fuck-"

Right on cue, I let my tongue hang as I caught his release. My hands slowed, but didn’t cease their movements until he spilled every last seed. His last moan came out more so of a whimper, giving into his euphoria. I lapped up every last drop as he twitched underneath me. Before his hands dropped from the hold he had on my hair, he pulled me up into a lustful kiss- tasting himself.

“Remember this the next time she calls, or even the next time you lay eyes on her.”

He laughed lightly, still finding the thought that I had to prove myself to him insane.

“You never leave my mind, doll.”

[Bonus Ending]:

After cleaning ourselves up, we returned to the gala. I subconsciously grabbed a lollipop that had been displayed on the desk in the office. I twirled the sweet treat in my mouth as I walked past Barnes who held the door open, waiting for me to join him.

After strutting down a couple halls, we turned a corner- conveniently running into... what was her name? Mel.

"Congressman Barnes," she stated in a relieved tone, leaving us in a confused state. Her eyes darted at his hand that rested on my waist for a moment before returning to his gaze. "I was just on my way to find you. I thought you were... you actually look great."

I opened my mouth, pulling the sweet treat from my mouth, ready to defend my relationship until she respectfully retracted her statement. "No- I mean, he looks- you look... unharmed."

"Unharmed?" Barnes questioned her concern.

"On the phone, you sounded like you were struggling. In pain, maybe? Or so I thought-"

"Oh, no sweetheart," I chuckled more to myself. "That was me."

I shamelessly place the lollipop back in my mouth as she tilted her head in confusion. "I don't follow..."

I teasingly swirled the lollipop in my mouth in an intentional manner. Her eyes found the candy trapped between my lips as she then moved her eyes to inspect Bucky's reaction. She found his eyes lingering on my mouth's movements before he caught her investigative stare. Barnes immediately turned his gaze anywhere else as he cleared his throat. He nervously straightened up his bowtie that didn't need fixing as Mel's attention was brought back to me.

I wiggled my eyebrows knowingly as I plopped the lollipop from my mouth with the smack of my lips. That's when it hit her.

"Oh, God- I'm so sorry, I-..." she trailed off as she shoved past us in embarrassment. I dropped my head, laughing at the scene that had just played out.

"You are diabolical," Barnes pointed out as he returned his hand on my waist while pecking the top of my head.

[raspberrybesitos]

just married | frankie morales x f!reader

Main masterlist

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2k

Summary: You and Frankie just tied the knot. Half way through the reception, your insatiable husband whisks you away for some much needed privacy.

Warnings: fluff, oral (f receiving), fingering, exhibitionism (sex in a private bathroom), unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), creampie, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: happy frankie friday! this is based off this post, i could not for the life of me shake this from my head. literally wrote this in an hour, i’m telling y’all i’m actually going insane. the brain rot is actually concerning. FRANKIE NATION RISE! 🫡 anyway, i hope y’all enjoy! 🫶🏼 i loveeee me some frankie 🫠 not beta’d, all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @saradika

“Come on, hermosa,” Frankie rasps in your ear, moving his hands from your hips and grabbing your hand, a small smirk playing on his lips. Music booms from the DJ’s speakers, the dance floor lively and vibrant.

“Where are we going, baby?” You ask, your gown flowing freely as your new husband swiftly maneuvers you through the crowd. “You’ll see,” he shouts over the thrumming music. Your body buzzing with excitement and a smile, so big it hurts, adorns your face.

Leading you out into the hall and racing up the stairs, giggling like a couple of school children. Frankie drags you to the bathroom at the end of the hall, flinging the door open and guiding you inside.

He grips your hips and crashes his lips onto yours, swallowing your dissipating giggles as he presses you up against the door and locks it. You whimper softly as his hands begin to roam your body.

His hands roam your backside, making his way down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Frankie!” You squeal, breathlessly, laughter bubbling over your lips as you pull back for a bit of air.

A toothy grin breaks out into his face. “I’ve missed you, hermosa,” he pants, the both of you breathless from running and desperately kissing each other.

“I’ve missed you too, baby.” Not having had a moment to yourselves this whole day, you two bask in this brief moment of privacy.

He brings you in for another insatiable kiss. Your hands tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, making him groan into you. Snaking his hands down your waist, he cups your mound in one hand. You moan into him as your brows scrunch in pleasure, grinding against his hand.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day, baby,” he groans, guiding you to the sink, pressing your backside up against it as he peppers kisses to the column of your throat. “You look so fucking gorgeous, baby, this goddamn dress is driving me crazy,” he whispers, nipping your neck. 

“You’re driving me crazy, Frankie,” you gasp. “Look so fucking sexy in that tux, baby.” He smiles into your skin, working his way back up to draw you in for another kiss. You moan into his mouth as he slips his tongue inside, arousal pooling in your panties and sticking to your sex. Swallowing every moan that pours into his mouth, he pulls back, your lipgloss staining his lips. 

Crouching to his knees, he bunches your gown up over his head and moans at the sight of your lacy panties paired with your garter. 

“Fuck, baby. So fucking wet for me all fucking the time,” he whispers huskily as his large, warm hands run along your thighs. He slides your garter down your leg, tucking it into his back pocket. 

Propping you up onto the sink, he spreads your legs and presses a kiss to your sex. You moan at the feeling, aching for more. One of his thick fingers prods at your entrance, parting your lips and allowing your husband a view of your glistening pussy.

“Please, Frankie,” you plead breathlessly, tossing your head back. 

“Yeah? My pretty little wife wants me to eat her pussy? Huh, mi esposa?” You moan, eagerly nodding as you clench around nothing. Frankie doesn’t miss the way your thighs squeeze together.

“What my wife wants, my wife gets.”

Without warning, Frankie dives in and licks broad stripes up your folds, gasping as you bite back a moan with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, attempting to be quiet. 

“No no, baby. I wanna hear you. They can’t even hear us with the music, it’s just us, baby - just me and you,” he says before diving back in and licking through your folds, his strong nose nudging your clit and your eyes flying open.

“Oh fuck, Frankie!” You moan loudly, eyes squeezed shut as you toss your head back, caution blown to the wind. You snake a hand into Frankie’s curls, tugging at them and eliciting a groan from your husband. The vibrations against your cunt send a new wave of arousal seeping from you, Frankie lapping up every drop as he drowns in your slick.

His tongue prods your entrance, fucking into you. He groans at the way you clench around him, chest rumbling in satisfaction. 

It’s sloppy, and hungry the way he laves at your weeping cunt. His tongue circles your clit relentlessly, your cries filling the air. His lips wrap around your swollen bud as his grip on your thighs tightens. Your hips involuntarily buck up into his face. He snakes his left hand up to your stomach, ring-adorned hand pushing you down and holding you in place. 

“So f-fucking good, F-Frankie, oh my god,” you keen above him, legs wrapping around his back as you try to brace yourself for your impending orgasm. His relentless pace creates a cloud of stars in your eyes. 

“I’m close, Frankie! So close, don’t stop! Please don’t stop, baby,” you yelp, tears of pleasure stinging the corners of your eyes as the coil in your belly tightens.

A sudden intrusion pulls a sharp gasp from you. Two of his thick, long fingers crook into that spongy spot with every stroke as he sucks on your clit. 

His fingers, his mouth, the ring on the hand which pins you down overwhelms you - he’s all-consuming. 

Your vision flashes hot white as the coil in your belly snaps, cumming all over your husband’s face and his fingers. Frankie laps at your juices as you grind your cunt into his face, thighs trembling while riding out your high. He groans as he slurps you up like the sweetest nectar, not wasting a single drop. Your whines fill the air along with a squelching sound as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. 

He pulls back and rises to his feet, his patchy beard glistening with your slick. Slamming his lips onto yours, the two of you moan into each other. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes your head spin.

Frankie ruts his hips into yours, his clothed cock brushing against your exposed cunt and a loud cry pouring from your lips at the sensitivity. Wrapping your arms around his neck to draw him closer, you buck your hips against his, seeking more stimulation.

“Lean back for me, baby.” he rasps as he pulls back, gently pushing you back against the mirror. He makes quick work unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants to his ankles. You suck your bottom lip in between your teeth, mouth watering at the sight of your husband’s angry, leaking cock. Unable to resist, you palm him in your hands, smearing the dribbles of precum along his throbbing length. Frankie stifles a moan, moving your hand away and lines up his cock at your dripping hole.

Swirling small circles around your entrance, gathering the new wave slick that pours from your cunt on his length.

“Frankieeee,” you keen. “No teasing, please, amor,” you huff, on the verge of tears as your desperation grows.

“I got you, amor, don’t worry,” he whispers in your ear. He slides in slowly, but smoothly in one go, your slippery folds allowing him easy access. Both of you moan in tandem, Frankie’s brows pinched together and your lips parted.

You’re so full, relishing in the dull sting as he stuffs your wet heat to the brim. “Move, baby. Please move, mi amor,” you plead, breathless and desperate, seeking some relief.

“Shh shh, it’s okay, baby. I’m gonna take care of you, I always will,”  He says, voice hushed and husky, placing a kiss to your forehead. 

You know his words run deeper than just the matter at hand, having promised to love you eternally just hours ago.

He slowly drags out of you ever so slightly before snapping his hips into yours, his tip punching your g-spot. His hands rest on your waist as he picks up his pace. The room sounds pornographic - filled with the sounds of your squelching pussy, skin-on-skin, moans, and pants.

“I’m the lu-luckiest man ever. Got the prettiest girl ever to m-marry me. Knew you’d make a beautiful bride, hermosa. Most beautiful f-fuckin’ bride in the world, my pretty little wife. Get to, shit, get to love you and fuck this tight little pussy every goddamn day for the rest of our lives. Fuck,” he rambles, hips canting into yours.

Clenching around him at his words, more slick drips from your weeping cunt and onto the counter. An endless string of moans tumble from you and into the air.

“S-so fucking good to m-me, baby. So l-lucky to be your wife,” you keen, pressing your forehead against his. He hungrily captures your lips in a ferocious kiss, teeth clashing together as neither of you care how messy you two will look after.

“My wife. You’re mine, baby, you’re mine forever,” he moans as his tip kisses your cervix. Your walls flutter around him, your second orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Come on, baby, come on, baby. Let go, hermosa. I know you’re close. Let me feel you, I got you, baby,” he babbles almost incoherently. You wail as your orgasm washes over you, convulsing under his grasp, twitching uncontrollably as slick endlessly streams from your cunt. “There we go, baby. Good girl. So fucking good, hermosa. Always feel so fucking good,” Frankie groans against your lips, his thrust growing sloppy as your slippery cunt sucks him in.

“Love you so much, Frankie,” you gasp. “Love you too, hermosa,” he grunts. You can feel him throb inside of you.

“Cum, Frankie. Fill me up, please, baby,” you beg, still riding out the high of your climax.

“Yeah baby? Want my cum? Want me to stuff you full and walk around our wedding with my cum dripping out of your tight little pussy?" 

A high-pitched moan escaping your lips, you squeeze tightly around him. “Yes, Frankie! Wanna feel it dripping down my legs under my dress,” you squeal, overstimulation starting to sink in.

"My dirty fucking girl,” he rasps, punctuating his words with every thrust as he shoots warm ropes of cum into your cunt, coating your walls with his seed. A guttural groan rumbles from deep within his chest. Slowing his pace, you whimper as he fucks his cum into your used hole.

He rests his clammy forehead against yours, breath fanning each other's faces. Post-coital bliss settling amongst you two, the faint humming of the music from the reception rings in the air.

“Do you think they’ve noticed we’re gone?” You ask, panting. A deep chuckle rattles his chest, making you laugh. “I’m pretty sure they have, hermosa.” You pull him in by his tie, kissing him languidly. He pulls back and presses a playful tap to your thigh.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go before the guys start talking shit,” he says, helping you to your feet, and wiping his spend from your mound and in between your legs. He settles your gown into place as you fix your makeup in the mirror. He fixes his hair while you adjust his suit and tie back into place. You beam as you lock eyes with his, love shimmering in the corners of them. He entwines his fingers with yours as he leads you out the door and back downstairs to the reception.

It seems nobody has noticed you two were gone, or just don’t question your absence, as you two mingle your way back into the crowd.

“Hey! Where the hell were you two?! It’s time for the bouquet toss!" You best friend, and maid-of-honor, screeches.

"And the garter toss!” Santiago, the best man, chimes in. They drag you both to the dance floor. Women crowd the dance floor as you toss your bouquet over your shoulder, your best friend catching it and eyeing her partner. 

Music blares as Frankie leads you to a chair in the middle of the dance floor. He teasingly lifts your dress to remove your garter, to be met with nothing. Your eyes bug out of your head, heat coursing through your veins.

“Where’s my garter?” You ask him. Santiago appears behind Frankie, taking something out of his back pocket and holding it out to Frankie. “Here it is!”

Laughter erupts amongst your guests as you hide your face in your hands, an embarrassed smile plastered on Frankie’s lips, meekly waving to the crowd. He pries your hands from your face, playfully rolling his eyes as he brushes off the embarrassment while helping you to your feet. Cheering and whooping fills the hall as you smile apologetically to the crowd as they roar, Frankie cupping your face and pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

Frankie is rotting my brain today obvi. this one's for all my Frankie girlies out there, shout out to y’all 🩷

thank you for reading! 🫶🏼

tag list: @undrthelights @gracieheartspedro @jenispunk @amanitacowboy @bastardmandennis @nostalxgic @tinygarbage @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @harriedandharassed

[mickandmusings]

love you, miss you, mean it

*this is a two part series, read part two here!*

**I recommend listening to 'love you, miss you, mean it' by luke bryan. it's a slight inspiration for this story and it's part two. (sorry, my southern roots are showing oops) **

pairing: bob floyd x f!kazansky!reader

word count: 2.6k

summary: before the daggers, before the uranium mission, before even top gun and 'bob', there was just young bobby floyd, finding himself at the doorstep of the kazansky household, year after year, finding family between a father and daughter, and a new understanding of true love.

(based off a request, but i'll post it when i'm finished with both parts, it will give too much away! <3)

warnings: lots of sticky sweet fluff, I accidentally made Ice a single dad??, 'Bobby' as Bob's civilian name, most likely military inaccuracies

-

The very first time Bob Floyd found himself standing on the Kazansky's front door, he was seventeen years old. He had parked his hand-me-down pickup truck on the street in front of the house, crossed the yard in record time, and rang the doorbell. He was standing on the welcome mat in a spiffy black tux, his sweaty palms clutching a plastic box that contained a corsage made of light purple flowers. Bob had no idea what kind of flowers they were, more than happy to leave that to the florist, but he knew they were the same color as the bowtie that seemed to be choking him. He was incredibly nervous, pushing his glasses up his nose in a repetitive nervous habit. His sapphire eyes caught a tall shadow approaching the door, and Bob felt his spine straighten, his heart hammering in his chest. Bob had heard the stories of Admiral Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky, US Pacific Fleet Commander (and more importantly, Y/N's dad) but now, as Iceman stared down at him, he began to realize he certainly lived up to his callsign.

The Admiral's eyes were a cool blue, piercing through the teenage boy's frame as he looked him up and down. He had seemingly only just arrived home from work, still in his Navy attire. His well-pressed, wrinkle-free Navy uniform made him appear taller than he was, a looming presence that demanded respect. The flat, stoic look on his face seemed permanent, only cutting into a small upturn as he spoke.

"You must be the Bobby I keep hearing about."

Bob nods, letting out a measly, "Yes sir," before sticking out a clammy hand to shake Y/N's father's hand.

The Admiral shakes his hand with a firm grip, squeezing Bob's hand so tightly that Bob swore his blood flow had been cut off. Finally, he opened the front door wider to allow Bob in, speaking as he shut the door back into the frame.

"You should probably take a seat, get comfortable. She's been giggling upstairs for hours now, but I doubt she's ready. You'll get used to it, waiting around until she's ready."

Bob chuckles nervously, sitting stiffly on the couch as he watches the Admiral stomp about the kitchen, seemingly making a cup of coffee. The silence is deafening, Bob is too nervous to say anything, but the man's booming voice soon cuts the quiet with ease.

"So, Bobby, Y/N says you're a military brat too, is that right?"

"Uh, y-yes sir, my father, he's in the service as well, my grandfather was too, sort of the Floyd family legacy."

The Admiral nods, absorbing the information.

"What about you, do you have any plans to-"

"Dad!" Y/N's annoyed voice broke the Admiral's sentence. Her heels clack down the wooden stairs, her dress whooshing in the wind created by her motion. Bob turned his attention in the direction of her voice, standing promptly, his jaw dropping as he took in the sight of Y/N. She was dazzling in her pastel purple gown, a slight smile on her face as she spoke. "Stop trying to recruit my prom date."

Y/N and her father shared a look, seemingly speaking without having to say a word before she broke out into a smile, matching the wide toothy grin of her father, before turning back to Bob, a slight pink blush forming across her cheeks. Bob blushed as he saw her walk into the room, making his way over to her.

"Y-You look," Bob swallows thickly, gaining his confidence. "You're beautiful."

Y/N blushes fiercely, straightening the lavender bowtie around Bob's neck.

"You clean up pretty well yourself."

The teenagers' awkward gazing is cut off by Ice clearing his throat loudly, his mug of coffee in his hand as he approached them.

"C'mon, kid. Your grandparents'll kill me if I don't get a thousand pictures of you two before you leave."

Y/N cut her eyes at Bob as he stuck his arm out for her to take, helping her over the threshold of the door and into the yard, the Admiral standing in front of them with his camera ready. They all went through the motions of a typical prom photo shoot-the corsage exchange, the awkward photos in front of the house, the send off.

Finally, she and Bob were down the road in his truck, Y/N smiling in his passenger seat, Bob's shoulders much more relaxed, not feeling nearly as tense in the presence of her looming father.

"Sorry about my dad," Y/N speaks over the music playing in the truck, squeezing Bob's hand where their hands intertwined on the console. "He's just a little protective, and, not very good at small talk." She chuckles lightly.

"No, no, it's fine. He was nice. Intimidating for sure, but nice. Made a joke that you take too long to get ready for everything."

"Of course he did," Y/N smiled and rolled her eyes, leaning her head on Bob's arm. The high school juniors had been dating for a little over six months, but both of them were head-over-heels.

The couple arrived and carried on as usual for teenagers on a prom night-mingling with their mutual friend and indulging on PTO-mom made snacks. As the night wrapped up, the last slow song of the night had Bob and Y/N swaying under the sparkling disco ball in the middle of the gym. Bob's tux jacket had been discarded on a chair hours ago, accompanied by Y/N's heels, both tossed about carelessly in favor of running back to the dance floor. Her head rested on his chest, his hands around her waist sweetly. Neither of them were paying much attention to the song playing, or the other numerous couples swaying next to them. Bob's blue orbs were focused entirely on the girl looking up at him from his chest, his hand moving to brush stray curls that had fallen in her eyes. As he looked at her face, his chest filled with warmth, a funny feeling erupting, one he had never felt before. His eyebrows furrowed, his forehead creasing.

"What's the matter, B?" Her voice came soft, just loud enough for both of them to hear.

"I love you," It came out blunt and honest, with no hesitation. Neither of them had said it before, and he watched as Y/N's face went from one of confusion to one of pure elation, a wide grin forming on her face as Bob lightly pulled her closer, their lips meeting in a kiss more meaningful than their previous ones.

That night, when Bob dropped her off back at her house, with the figure of her father sitting in their living room, he smiled as he helped her out of the truck and closed the door behind her. He walked her to the front door and kissed her again before saying goodnight, a permanent smile etched on his face. He watched her get into the house and waited for the porch light to turn off before peeling out of the driveway, his face aching from his never ending smile.

When he got into his own house for the night, his tux coat thrown over his shoulder, bowtie undone and his feet aching in his dress shoes, he collapsed onto his bed with a content sigh. His phone dinged with a new message, and he smiled as he saw Y/N's name flash across the screen. He opened it quickly:

I love you, too. I miss you already. Mean it.

A blush sprouted across his fair skin, typing back a reply as his heart soared.

-

Over the next few years, Bob found himself on the Kazansky doorstep hundreds of more times-weekend dates, barbecues, birthdays, study dates, movie nights, senior prom, just because, forgetting his house keys in Y/N's room, graduation parties, the list could go on and on forever. He had grown to find the Kazansky household his second home, Iceman's walls slowly melting towards the awkward boy his daughter loved. Y/N's father would allow him to stay over on long weekends and holidays through her first years of college and his of the Naval Academy, letting Bob tag along for family vacations. Bob slowly became an extension of the Kazansky family. Bob learned lots about the Admiral during his days and weeks of being in their home. Iceman loved things that made him seem less and less intimidating from when they first met. Tom Kazansky loved to make homemade banana bread, could often be found dozing off with a book in his hand, leaned back in the recliner closest to the front door, and the Admiral loved rom-com movies with a fierceness only championed by his own daughter. The father and daughter were a well-oiled machine, understanding each other in a way that Bob had never seen before. Bob would observe as the duo would work in fluid motion in the kitchen cooking dinner-knowing what each other was thinking without having to say a word. Y/N tossing her father spices and seasonings as he lifted the spoon to her mouth, and Iceman knowing just how she liked her coffee, her tea, and her favorite shape of ice. They knew one another inside and out, something Bob would often sit in awe of. It was a true display of love for one another, so loved that you know everything about someone, you know what they need without having to say a word.

When Bob had visited the Kazansky's over his final Christmas break from the Academy, he had expected the feeling of closeness and familial love. He found himself in the kitchen with Y/N, an Elvis Christmas record spinning in the living room adjacent. He wordlessly handed her the spoon from the pot he was stirring, her lips pursing as she thought for a moment, handing him a container of salt and other seasonings she knew were needed for the soup. Bob wordlessly adds an estimated amount in the pot before he stops abruptly, realizing what had just happened. His heart hammers, he and Y/N had been dating for nearly five years now, his time at the Academy coming to an end. They had suffered through nearly four years of a long distance relationship-he in Maryland at the Naval Academy, her attending college back in their hometown. They had made it through with phone calls and even letters, long lonely days and nights, and a love for one another that defied odds. He stopped stirring promptly, looking as Y/N was pressing cookie dough onto a pan, her eyes looking up at him.

"B? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." She smiled at him sweetly, wiping off her hands before placing them on his cheeks. "Do you feel okay? You're really red, you're warm. Do you think you're coming down with a cold?"

Bob couldn't make his dry mouth form many words, finally sputtering out a single sentence:

"I-I need to talk to your Dad."

Y/N's eyebrows furrow, looking at her boyfriend incredulously, as if he had grown another head.

"Um, okay? He's in his office. Bobby, are you okay?"

Bob nodded, leaning down to place a kiss on her head before racing off to the office on the second floor. Y/N only shook her head and continued making her cookies.

Bob knocks on the heavy office door, waiting for a response.

"It's open," Iceman's voice sounds from behind the thick mahogany colored door. Bob creaks open the door, Ice's cool eyes softening as he sees Bob enter.

"She drive you out of the kitchen already, Bob?" His voice was laced with humor. "She's too much like me, taking control of every situation. Sorry."

Bob laughs, "No sir, I just, needed to talk to you."

Ice narrows in on Bob's firmly serious expression, leaning back in his chair and looking at the boy man in front of him. Bob had grown up in the past few years, taller and more muscular thanks to the Academy. He only wore his glasses when required by the military, often opting for contacts when he was home, giving him a more mature look.

"What can I do for you, son?"

Bob's heart hammered in his chest. Was he planning on doing this now? No-he had planned for a lovely dinner, perhaps a walk on the beach before he did all of this. He had certainly, at least, planned on finishing the Academy before all of this, but after their interaction in the kitchen, the complete domesticity of it, paired with his overwhelming love for her, he knew now was the right time.

"Mr. Kazansky-"

Tom interrupts him, shaking his head in a good-natured manner. "How many times have I told you to call me Iceman, or Tom? I've known you for half a decade, I don't think the formalities are necessary."

Bob nods, understanding the man's warmth, but this was different.

"Any other time before this, and after this, sir, absolutely. But I'm coming to you for matters that pertain to Y/N, and I want this to be as respectful as possible."

Tom nods curtly, appreciating Bob's respectful nature, hands meeting in his lap as Bob speaks.

"Sir, I-," Bob swallows. He thought about this conversation a million times over and over as he stared at his ceiling at the Academy every night. "I love your daughter. I have for five years now. She is infinitely kind, and overwhelmingly beautiful. She's far too smart for me to keep up with most days, and she makes even my worst days bright. I think that's truly a testament to your parenting, she's the most headstrong yet considerate person I know. She loves fiercely, and looks after those she loves with the same fervor. She knows me unlike anyone else, and she's quickly become my feeling of home. Her music has taken over my truck, my headphones, and my inner thoughts. Her favorite movies have become part of my repertoire, and her favorite books sit next to mine on a bookcase in my room. Her things are scattered all over my apartment, and she is seeped into my every thought. When something good happens, she's the first person I want to call. When something bad happens, she's the first person I want to call. I want to spend the rest of my life with her by my side. I know this is sort of sudden, but I've spent every night for a year thinking about this, and I-I would like to marry Y/N. I graduate from the Academy in less than six months, and I'll be in aviation school, and I just-I want her to know she's a priority for my future. If I have your blessing, I would like to ask her before I go back to the Academy."

Tom's head nods, standing from his chair behind the desk, causing Bob to stand, Tom's palm meeting his in a handshake, a sign of respect. He suddenly pulls Bob into a hug, a tightness that is only matched by Y/N herself, the infamous Kazansky suffocating hug.

"You've got my blessing, kid."

Bob nods in understanding, pausing as he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He smiles lightly at Y/N's name and several emojis beside her name on the screen.

It's lonely down here. :( Love you, miss you, mean it.

He smiles at their simple loving joke that had survived from when she had first said it years ago. He pockets his phone again, looking up at Iceman with a newfound confidence.

"Thank you, Ice, sincerely. Y/N means more to me than I feel like I could express in words."

Tom's face breaks out into a smile, his eyes twinkling with something that might have been the beginning of tears, but that's yet to be confirmed. He lightly slapped a hand on Bob's shoulder.

"For what it's worth, you've got my permission. But it's not mine that matters, kid, it's hers."

-

part two out now!

[theogonize]

❤️‍🔥 anon again - sorry two horny thoughts back to back...

but i NEED to sit on wilson's dick while he's in his whole tux get up. i dont care if its 2nd season casino night, 7th season wedding, or 8th season swan song (even if that's rsl not wilson... IDC)!!!!! i want to take him on the balcony of his office with most of our clothes still on. wearing a pretty dress he bought for me in his favorite color and just enough skin showing to make him have a half-hard on all night. him still in his fitted tux and bowtie, just his pants unbuckled and underwear shimmied down just enough for me to take a seat.

he praises me with compliments and dirty words as i bounce on it and the risk that maybe someone will see makes it even more sexy. he cant quit touching every part of me with his hands, taking it all in. he looks both smug and desperate at the same time, looking up with his wide brown eyes soft and warm but full of aching want.

i want it so fervent and needy that we both struggle to make ourselves look presentable afterwards. and he makes me walk around the party without my underwear on all night too, probably full of him still, too...

oh my fucking god btw

he's so beautiful wow what thw fuck.....

and also the kind of messy, rushed sex has been on my mind so heavy. the kind of adolescent rush of lust and hiding and secrecy and just sex in general. slipping away from the function, looking behind to see if you both are being followed. maintaining decorum till you enter the elevator and then, the facade of being mature adults crumbles down as you both just physically cant pry off each other, just making out like there's no tomorrow. like any second the elevator doors open and the world would end. wilson's hands are everywhere, feeling up and down your thighs, slowly creeping inwards. he has to restrain himself from undressing you then and there, middle of the hallway. which, btw, seems to be so endless. wilson tries to seem as inconspicuous as humanly possible, which just makes him look so much more awkward but it doesnt matter, because he feels like he is going to explode the second the two of you walk into his office.

he opens the door, you follow. he doesnt even take a second to make sure the door is locked, no, he latches his lips onto yours with passionate intensity. his hands knead at your ass, under your dress as you wrap your arms around his neck, signaling him to take you to his desk. he complies, lifting you up in one swift motion like you weigh nothing at all. he sweeps the things off his desk, not caring how they fall and make clattering sounds with the floor. it doesn't even matter because you both would probably be making so much more noise.

instantly, he's pawing off your dress. undoing the zip, and flicking open your bra with practiced ease. he's doing everything he can to rid you of your clothes. he frees your tits, intaking a sharp breathe at the mere sight of them. his hands begin groping them, his fingers pinching your hard nipples while you stifle your pleas. if he's going crazy, you're probably worse. he doesn't know where to put his hands or mouth. he wants it all, instantly. he wants to consume you, and he's not in the mood for savoring.

your dress ends up hanging awkwardly on your torso, tits to the air and wilson's already tugging off your panties. his kiss turn needier and needier, kissing down your jaw as you throw your head back for him to make way to your breasts. his cock is poking through his pants. you rub and mewl on his erection, hastily trying to take off his pants. your mouth is basically watering at the sight of his exposed dick; so pretty, so flushed, so eager to be inside you.

and he's barely even inside you before he's stringing out a series of "good god"s and "fucking hell". his palms find the underside of your thighs, hauling them up. he holds one of you legs to his hip and places your calf on his shoulder, trying to get the perfect angle that he knows hits that spot in you. and it works. the head of his cock hits impossibly deep within you, leaving your knees weak and mouth ajar.

and arent you a sight to behold? your stray hair sticks to your forehead, glued by the sheer of sweat that makes you glow. his bites glow red under the faint lamp light. and how your breasts move rhythmically to the beat of his thrusts. your lips are swollen. his lips basically have more lipstick on than yours. wilson's in love, all over again. he makes sure you know. he's probably called you every sappy petname in the book. how are you his? how does he get to fuck you like this? his fingers nudge your clit. you almost scream at the pleasure. it's almost like he wants you to, though. like he wants everyone in that fuckass party to know that you're here, with james wilson, getting fucked so good you're screaming his name. but he's telling you to keep it down. hypocrite.

can't get enough of you. i'm so lucky i get to worship you. i'm so lucky you let me fuck you. i love you. fuck, i love you. you and your pussy.

you're wishing he'd shut the fuck up because every single word goes straight to his favourite parts. you're a mess, he is too. you can feel his dick twitch inside you. you grab him by the neck, pulling his close, asking him to kiss you. and he does. the second your lips contact he's spurring out his seed, hot ropes inside you.

you're fucked out, tired and a mess. definitely in no state to go back to the party, but wilson doesnt think so. he's already dressed again. he's fixing you up, dressing you again like a porcelain doll. he pulls up you're panties after cleaning you up, but his cum is still flowing through your pussy. he doesnt care. you stare at him, perplexed. he combs your hair with his fingers, cleaning up the smudged lipstick and mascara with some tissues.

"there." he says, punctuating it with force on your lower back, getting you off his desk. "they're probably waiting for us down there."

[kestisvrse]

bad for business

pairing ⋆ anthony lockwood x gn!reader. fluff with a bit of angst. fake dating.

synopsis ⋆ the three times you found yourself fake dating anthony lockwood.

warnings ⋆ swearing, reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood, being followed, kissing (written by someone without their first kiss send help). | wc: 1.4k

♫ - bad for business by sabrina carpenter

1. a walk home

“ladies first.” you snort at lockwoods comment as he holds the door for you to exit arif’s, a box of donuts secured in your hands.

“wow what a gentleman.” you joke making lockwood laugh a little as you begin your walk towards home, a comfortable silence falling between you two, a minute or so passes.

“someone’s following us.” lockwood says nonchalantly, you furrow your eyebrows looking at him, “he was standing outside arif’s when we went in, he was staring at you the whole time and now he is getting closer.” lockwood says looking over his shoulder, shuffling slightly closer towards you.

“well what do we do?” you ask slightly panicked.

“hold my hand.”

“i’m sorry?” you say, he failed to answer as he grabs the box of donuts out of your hands, using his free hand to intertwine your fingers.

“just trust me okay? maybe if he thinks we are together he will leave us alone.” lockwood clarified.

“o-okay, i guess” you mutter, a light blush painting your cheeks at the feeling of his thumb lightly rubbing your hand.

you were nearing portland row, you and lockwood standing closer together, you freeze up as he places a kiss on the top of your head to nonchalantly glance behind you two, “i see him, he is walking away. just… keeping holding on until we get home… just incase.” you nod, silently agreeing with him.

he didn’t let go of your hand until he placed the box of donuts on the kitchen table.

2. too close for comfort

lockwood had convinced you, lucy and george to go to this ‘ball’, you honestly didn’t know what to call it. it was a fancy building filled with agents dressed up and the adults that exploit their talents for money, celebrating nothing in particular and somehow, lockwood and co. got invites.

lockwood looked like he was at home, while george uncomfortably tugged at the collar of his button up and wandered off with lucy, leaving you and lockwood, standing in the middle of the ballroom.

“why are we here, lockwood?” you pried.

“why not? every agent in london is here.” he responds.

“that doesn’t mean we have to be.” you shot back, annoyed by a man who pushed past you, causing you to knock shoulders with anthony.

“it’s a good opportunity, to meet new people and get our name out there.”

“with our competition? yeah alright. i need something to drink.” you wandered off.

some time had passed, it included you leaning against the wall observing everyone that passed by, you had found george and lucy at one point where george had gave up and went home while lucy decided to investigate around for god knows what. you decided it was time to find lockwood again.

wandering around aimlessly you spotted him in the sea of tuxes, talking to a blonde girl, in a blue 90s like prom dress, inching closer and closer to lockwood.

you rolled your eyes at the sight, lockwoods charming smile seemingly working again, but it didn’t look like he used it on purpose this time.

“there you are, i’ve been looking for you everywhere!” you smoothly entered the conversation, linking your arm with his and his whole face seemed to light up.

“oh.” the blonde commented, squinting her eyes, “who’s this?”

“i’m-“ he cut you off, taking the lead.

“this is my partner.” lockwood replied, you smiled at the girl as she realized she misread the situation, quickly saying goodbyes and walking off.

“i couldn’t tell if you needed saving or not.” you explained, a hidden apology heard beneath your words just incase he was enjoying the girls company.

“no i did, thank you.” he said, making eye contact, “maybe we should head home now?”

“let’s find lucy first.” you suggested, and he sent you a grin.

that damn grin.

3. distraction

you had warned him.

you had told him there had to be a better way to get information that didn’t involve breaking and entering. but as per usual he used his charisma and webbed you into the whole plan.

and now, you two were running down alleyways, after being caught. ‘i told you so’ repeating over and over again in your head as you focused on running, and of course you reached another problem.

“shit!” you whispered, lockwood dragging you back behind a wall, your only escape had multiple body guards roaming the area.

“how the hell did they even get there.” lockwood said to himself.

“what do we do?? there are two other body guards about to block off the way we came from!” you panted out, catching your breath from running.

“i have a crazy idea.” lockwood made eye contact with you, he seemed nervous as he ran his hand through his hair.

“all your ideas are crazy, anthony.” you countered.

“just listen okay?” he whispers, you slowly nod, “if we can make it seem like, we have no idea what’s going on around us and that we accidentally stumbled up here maybe they won’t think it’s us.” you gave him a blank stare.

“what are you even suggesting right now lockwood?!” you grumbled, faintly you heard footsteps approaching.

“we do not have time for this, do you trust me?”

“do i have a choice?” you quipped, but suddenly the conversation was over as he cupped your cheeks and suddenly his lips were on yours. you froze up, you expected his plan to be anything but this, but then you heard the footsteps turn the corner and you needed to act just like him, quickly kissing back.

his lips were chapped, rough against your soft ones. as you brought your hands up to his face, his hands moved down to your waist, pulling you closer. it felt eager, like you had been waiting to do this forever, and it felt right.

“HEY!” you two snapped apart from the loud yell, breathless as you stare at the taller man infront of you “this is private property, you kids can’t be here.” his tone was threatening, making you tense up.

“we are so sorry sir.” you replied sweetly, “we didn’t know, we will leave right away!” you grab lockwood’s hand and hurried towards the exit before the man could question you anymore.

you held hands all the way home, but didn’t mutter a word to each other.

4. overdue confession

it had been around a week since lockwood had kissed you. you hadn’t spoken. the house having an awkward atmosphere as you avoided lockwood like the plague.

you couldn’t avoid the knock on your door, unfortunately.

“come in.” you called out from your spot on the bed, expecting lucy to walk in but were met with lockwood.

he was wearing his usual suit but he looked disheveled, his tie loose, his hair slightly messy and he looked so tired, even more tired than usual, he was a mess.

“hey.” he spoke just above a whisper, scared any louder you would run away from him again.

“oh. hi.” you sat up in your bed, suddenly looking anywhere but him, fiddling with your hands.

“i want to apologize, i shouldn’t have kissed yo-“ he began.

“we wouldn’t have gotten out of there if you hadn’t, it’s okay.” you stated, sniffling slightly. your bed dipped as he sat down.

“then why won’t you talk to me?” you looked up to his eyes, “please talk to me.” he begged, you looked into each others eyes for a moment.

“i was avoiding you because of the fact that i.. i didn’t want the kiss to end.” you confessed, “i like you, lockwood, and i didn’t want to ruin anything so i thought avoiding you would be better..” you trailed off, the air was tense as he stared at you.

“oh thank god.” he laughed out.

“what?” your anxiety kicked in, as you stared at him.

“i was scared to confess, i’m glad you did first.” your eyebrows furrow at his response, “i really like you, i have since i met you. i didn’t want the kiss to end either.”

your eyes widened slightly, studying his voice for any sound of sarcasm.

“can i kiss you again?” he whispered, scared of your rejection, you just slowly nodded looking down at his lips, he lent in.

his lips weren’t chapped this time, they were soft and you took notice of just how well they fit against yours. this kiss was softer than the first, it washed your anxiety away, and the tense air disappeared. he pulled away and laid his forehead against yours.

“i thought i was being dreadfully obvious about my feelings.”

“you were not.” you laughed at him

“oh no i was, you are just oblivious.” he responded

“shut up.” you said, and he did as his lips met yours yet again.

[neurodivergent-fox-demon]

Episode 1:

Stiles clutched the wound at his side as he ran through his hotel’s hallway. He tried one door after another begging he would find one open before a rival gang member found him vulnerable. His phone rang and he groaned as he picked it up. “Duke’s man is on my tail. Take care of it!” He groaned as he pushed his shoulder against another door and it gave way. “I don’t care. Just make sure he is captured.” He hung up the phone and ducked into the closet as he heard someone come out from the shower.

Derek sighed and wipped the towel over his face. He picked up his phone. “Hello? Yeah, I just need to finish getting dressed. I’ll be down in a moment, cousin. Can’t I get a moment to relax on my wedding day?” He chuckled. He knew he needed to get married to receive his parent’s estate but he wasn’t really sure about joining forces with the Argents. “Yes, Malia! I’ll be down in five minutes.” He sighed and opened the closet door to grab his tux. He froze looking into two beautiful brown eyes. “What the fuck? Who are you?”

Stiles gulped looking at the naked man in front of him. “…um.” He was not really sure what he was supposed to say. The gorgeous man looked familiar but he could not really place him. He could hear him talking but his words seemed to float away.

Derek waved his hand in front of the other man’s face and growled. “Who are you? A thief or a perv? Either way I’m about 30 seconds from calling the cops.” He turned his head as he heard the door of his suite opening. “What the…”

Did Duke’s men find me? Stiles cursed as grabbed his hand and pulled him into the closet, covering his mouth. “I promise I’ll explain everything, but I need you to stay quiet for just a moment.” His heart stuttered as he stared into the man’s eyes. They glowed a soft blue, and Stiles could swear he had seen those eyes before.

Derek growled, pushing the smaller man away. “What do you think you’re doing?” He paused, hearing a familiar voice outside.

Kate giggled, running her hands over her older lover’s chest. “I may have to marry Derek today, but you’ll always be my chosen lover.” She moaned as Peter kissed her hungrily.

Derek raised a brow looking between the closet door and his captor. “That sounds like my fiancée.” He whispered, struggling to get out of his grasp. “Is she with another man?” He growled.

Stiles sighed as he let him go. It obviously was not Duke’s men and he could tell This man needed to confront whoever was in his room. He kept behind as the man burst out of the closet.

Derek gaped at the sight in front of him. “KATE! What the fuck? You’re cheating on me on our wedding day?” He growled ready to shift and strike at the people in front of him. He had just discovered his uncle and his fiancée making out in his bed. “How long has this been going on?”

Peter chuckled, wiping the lipstick from his lips. “Calm down dear nephew. It is not as bad as it seems.” He wrapped his arm around Kate’s waist and pulled her into his lap. “I’m sure we can work this out amicably.”

Derek stalked closer to the couple. It was taking everything he had not to shift and lunge at the two. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re fucking the woman I’m supposed to marry and you want us to ‘work this out?’” He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “The wedding is off. Get out of my sight.”

Kate laughed, standing in front of the werewolf. “This is an arranged marriage, Derek. Remember, you can’t inherit your family's estate without getting married before your 25th birthday. Which, I shouldn’t have to remind you is tomorrow.” She crossed her arms and glowered at him. “So what if I found a real man to satisfy me. You’ve never even touched me.”

Derek growled. “I’ll find another way. I’m not going to marry my uncle’s whore.”

Stiles watched the interaction from inside the closet. Of course he would find himself barging into the newly wed suite of his hotel. And he had interrupted the groom, Derek Hale. This wedding had been all anyone could talk about for months. The largest werewolf family in California was marrying into the largest hunting family in three states. He glowered as Derek’s so called uncle took a threatening step toward him.

Peter growled, shifting slightly as he walked up to his nephew. “Do not speak to her like that. I am your Alpha until you marry today. Who do you think you are?”

Derek growled, his claws slowly making an appearance. “You will never be my alpha, Peter. You’ve only ever been alpha in name. Laura left the power to me. “Take your whore and get out of my room.” He flinched as he saw Peter’s claws coming at his face but a hand swept out, catching the older werewolf’s wrist.

Stiles glared at the older man. “I suggest you do as your nephew advises. I will not hesitate to call security. I own the auto shop next door and I am sure they would love to hear that a werewolf is attacking one of the guests here.”

Peter yanked his arm back from the mechanic and shifted his gaze between the man and his nephew. “Why, dear nephew. You are full of surprises. Hiding men in your closet? I had no idea you had it in you.”

Kate stomped her heeled foot and glared at her fiancée. “Is that why you’ve never touched me? You fuck men? And you had the audacity to call me a whore for having my own lover? ” She took a long breath and began fixing her hair as she glared at Derek. “It doesn’t matter. Have all the male lovers you want. I don’t care. We will go down there and get married. I’ll see you in five minutes.” She shrieked as she turned and stormed out of the room.

Peter laughed, as he made to follow her. “She is a spitfire.” He winked at his nephew. “Finish up with your boy toy and hurry down to the wedding. I know you’ll make the right choice.” He smirked and closed the door behind himself.

Derek groaned and sat on his bed. He let his face fall into his hands. It wasn’t that he had lost a great love with Kate, but he had expected a certain level of loyalty from the marriage. “What are you still doing here?” He glowered up at the mechanic still standing in the middle of his room.

Stiles shrugged. “I figure you need someone to talk to, or to sneak you out the back of the hotel. Either way, I’m your best bet.”

Derek let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “No, I have to go down there and explain to several hundred guests that the wedding is off.” He looked around the room and then at his naked chest. He blushed deeply. “Fuck, I need to get dressed and you should go.” He stood taking The younger man’s arm and guiding him out of the room. He glanced down and saw blood soaking through his white shirt. “I neither care or know why you’re bleeding, but get that wound taken care of.”

Stiles was about to object when the door slammed in his face. He turned his head and let out his breath as his right hand man, Scott, walked up with Ennis in handcuffs. “Get rid of him and send him back to Deucalion as a message. I will not tolerate him messing around in my territory.” He stared back at the door that held Derek Hale on the other side. “I have some new business to attend to. Derek Hale is in trouble.”

Scott raised a brow at him. “The Hales have not been in our area since the fire.”

Stiles nodded looking into his friend’s eyes. “It seems they have returned and things are going to be much more interesting this afternoon?”

Scott nodded and smirked. “Don’t get over your head. We don’t usually deal with pack business. We had a treaty with Laura Hale, before she died three years ago.”

Stiles shrugged. “Well, they are in my area. It is my responsibility to protect her younger brother. After all, I owe him my life.” He licked his lips. “Get Ennis out of here. Put a bullet in his pretty little head, and make sure Duke knows it was me. I don’t want to tell you a third time.”

Scot nodded, dragging the rival gangster away. “Sure thing boss.”

Stiles smirked and nodded. “Oh and Scott? Make it a clean shot. I do not want to clean too much blood out of my hotel.”

Scott laughed. “Whatever you say boss.”

To be continued…

(Episode 2)

[kinardsevan]

Ohhh buck or bobby or both of them overhear tommy call bobby his basically-father-in-law!

champagne problems

“I think you did good, Buck,” Bobby states as he tips his glass towards Evan’s. The blonde clinks his own glass against Bobby’s before taking a sip, leaning back against the bar. The kitchen staff is still working to clear the floor of the tables from dinner. “Speaking of, where is your new husband?” 

Evan glances around them, but Tommy isn’t anywhere in sight. He’s not overly surprised. Weddings are notorious for both parties getting pulled in one direction or another, trying to fulfill getting the chance to speak to everyone in attendance. Still, he barely had time to talk to Tommy at dinner, even with people clinking their glasses to get them to kiss. Still, that’s not necessarily the same as having time to actually talk. 

He glances towards the exit of the bar and manages to spot a few signature navy tuxes—they’d gone with navy and emerald green as their colors—and as someone opens the door to step back inside, he hears the familiar sound of Tommy’s laughter carry. 

“Apparently he’s outside,” Evan states after a long minute. 

Bobby glances over briefly. 

“Well, weddings are chaos,” he comments. 

Evan nods. “I know a few of his groomsmen flew from the other side of the country. Army buddies.” 

Eddie strolls up to them then, claps a hand on Evan’s shoulder as he does. 

“Hey. Guess what I’ve got?”

Evan and Bobby both eye him curiously, Evan raising an eyebrow and Bobby narrowing his gaze at his subordinate. Eddie pulls an arm from around his back, displaying a box to them. 

“Cubans.” 

He flips the box open, revealing enough for the wedding party. Bobby slides a hand towards the box, although Eddie quickly slaps it away before snapping the box shut again. While none of them are smokers, they’ve all been known to enjoy a cigar after a celebration. Evan does so even less, given his issue with clots in the past, but he figures, what the hell? It’s his wedding day. 

“C’mon,” Eddie says, gesturing towards the door. “Tommy’s already outside and Chimney was telling Hen to come join us.” 

Evan glances towards the reception hall, briefly concerned about leaving all of their guests without either of them in the building to entertain, but everyone seems to be engaged in some conversation or another. He nods and then follows after Eddie while Bobby tells them he’s going to check in with Athena before he meets them in a minute. 

When they get outside, Chimney is already out there with Hen, enamored by a story that one of Tommy’s friends is midway through. 

“Hi baby,” Tommy greets cheerfully, slipping his arm around Evan’s hip as he kisses him quickly. Evan can taste the mix of whiskey and coke on his lips as he kisses him back. They’re both still fairly sober, but Tommy’s friends have kept his attention quite a bit.

Evan sighs against him, kissing him back for a time before their friends start making gagging noises, jeering at them about having a lifetime to kiss one another, before they finally split apart. 

“So as the best man, I got these for the party,” Eddie states as he reveals the cigar box once more. He flips it open and Tommy’s buddies are immediately crowding around, commenting in hushed tones with excitement. Eddie reaches in and retrieves a fistful of them and begins passing them around, ensuring that he’s not giving any to people who weren’t groomsmen. Once they’re all passed, he glances down at the box, confused. 

“Who are we missing?” 

Evan glances over his shoulder. “Cap’s still inside.” 

“Should we wait,” Tommy asks. 

Hen chuckles at them as Chimney pulls a lighter from his pocket. 

“You can,” they both state. Tommy, Evan, and Eddie all share a look before shrugging, as some of Tommy’s army buddies who smoke regularly are also lighting up already. 

After a minute or so, everyone has lit their cigars and has had at least a cursory puff off of it before conversation starts flowing again. 

Charlie, one of the guys Evan has actually gotten to know in the past few days—and heard plenty of stories about, given how close he and Tommy were in the Middle East—is in the process of regaling them in a story about Tommy flying through a sand storm when the doors finally open behind them and Bobby emerges with Athena. 

“Cap,” Eddie, Evan, Chimney, and Hen all greet happily.

“What, no fanfare for me,” Athena teases as she slides between the group. Eddie flips open the cigar box again, revealing two more. 

“Good to see you, ‘Thena,” Evan says, slipping her a side hug. 

“Hi Buckaroo,” she greets, squeezing him. 

“Officer Grant?” Eddie states, offering up the final cigar after Bobby has taken his. “Can’t have you missing out with us.” 

Athen smiles at him, taking the last one from the box. Chimney produces his lighter again for Bobby and Athena, and the circle widens a bit more as they each stand, listening to the discussion taking place. People pass in and out of the doors to the hall as they stand there, Evan leaning into Tommy as the November breeze blows through, but remaining engaged in the conversation nonetheless. 

At one point the Buckleys pass through the doors, although they don’t interrupt the group, letting them to continue to be regaled in the story that Hen is telling about a save that she, Tommy, and Chimney were a part of. 

“So then Cap comes down on us like we just decided to turn the stairwell into a slide,” Hen continues in her story. 

“None of you were being safe,” Bobby chides playfully. 

“Sorry, remind me, you’re who to them again,” Charlie asks Bobby in reference to Tommy and Evan. 

“He’s my father-in-law,” Tommy interjects before taking another drag off of his cigar and then punching it out in the tray beside the group. He says it so nonchalantly, like there’s never been a version of his and Evan’s relationship where the Buckleys ever came up as parents—or lack thereof—and then the conversation switches back to Hen’s story with no one arguing the subject further, Charlie nodding like there’s no further question on Bobby and Athena being Evan’s parents. 

Still, Evan can feel his biological parents’ eyes on them, and he leans up into Tommy’s ear, whispering into it as Hen continues on with her story. 

Tommy turns his head back towards Evan, whispering back in the twilight evening. 

“Should I lie to my friends,” he murmurs, shooting a quick glance in the Buckley’s direction. There’s a scowl present on Margaret’s face. He doesn’t much care, given that he really hasn’t built any level of a relationship with the woman, and the way he’s seen her (not) be a mother in the two years he and Evan have been together has reflected as much. 

Evan shakes his head, tilting his head back up as Tommy turns towards Charlie, who’s started in on another army story. 

“No,” he whispers back. “Just wanted you to be aware that they’re staring. You already know how I feel about it all.” 

Tommy gives a curt nod then as acknowledgment, not bothering to feed into the Buckleys’ obvious reaction. When Chimney and Hen pull Charlie’s attention a minute later with a question on his story, Tommy tilts up towards his ear once more. 

“Besides, last I checked, your last name isn’t Buckley anymore anyway.” 

Evan smiles as his cheeks flush then, and leans into Tommy as his husband presses a kiss into his birthmark. 

“Okay, don’t buy that shit,” he states, looking back up at his friends a few seconds later “Charlie did not do anything to help land that helicopter.” 

[hungermakesmonsters]

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Five

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Chapter Rating : R - some smutty content

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Just a handjob in a public place and Krista Dumont being an unprofessional bitch. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : ~3.9k

A/N : It’s the night of the gala and Billy and reader are actually going to spend some real time together (it only took five chapters 😅) Thank you so much to everyone who's still following along with this!

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

The night of the gala came around a lot quicker than you wanted it to. Saying you were panicking at the thought of it all was something of an understatement; you even thought about cancelling but you and Billy hadn’t exchanged numbers and the thought of calling Anvil and leaving a message with his secretary seemed far too cruel.

You enlisted the help of Tammy to find an appropriate dress, though throughout the shopping process you had to put up with her jealous comments and her trying to dress you in something far more revealing than you wanted. But, in the end you found a forest green, long sleeved dress with a high neck that hugged your body enough to tease your curves without being so tight that it was uncomfortable. The only thing you weren’t sure about was the slit that ran up the left side of the skirt from ankle to thigh, but it was the only dress you had tried that didn’t make you uncomfortable.

Tammy managed to save you a second time when you realised that you had nothing but boots and sneakers, letting you borrow a pair of her Louboutin sandals. And, by the time you (or, rather Tammy) had curled your hair and put on some make-up, you felt like an entirely different person - you felt good, better than you had in a long time, almost like you really could be one of those women you’d seen hanging off Billy’s arm when you’d Googled him.

Between seven-thirty and eight you sat in silence, just watching the clock, anticipation and dread warring inside of you over what you were about to do. He’d said that your night together could be whatever you wanted it to be, but you still had no idea what you wanted.

When the knock at the door finally came, you felt your heart stutter.

And there he was; flowers in his hand and wearing a black tux that just screamed fuck me. You were lost for words but, luckily for you, so was Billy. Your cheeks warmed as he looked at you, his dark eyes taking in the sight of you from head to toe and, even though the dress left plenty to the imagination, you felt naked in front of him.

“These are for you,” he held out the bouquet to you, twenty-four roses, each flower a deep shade of red.

“You didn’t have to,” you answered as you took them, but you were so glad he had, “they’re beautiful, thank you. Let me just -” you glanced over your shoulder, “- I’ll just put them in some water.”

When you stepped back, Billy stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him and following you towards the kitchen. At some point Tammy had made herself scarce, leaving you completely alone with Billy. You didn’t dare look back, you could hear him only a step behind you, and you knew if you turned that you weren’t going to make it to the gala. 

You stopped at the sink to fill a jug for the flowers, Billy’s hands appeared on either side of you, gripping the edge of the work surface, boxing you in. While the jug filled, you did your best to ignore him, but the sound of his heavy breathing had your heart fluttering. Once the roses were in the jug, you turned to face him, not expecting to see the hunger in his eyes, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Billy,” you said softly, “we’re going to be late.”

“I know.” He answered, but didn’t move, like he was stuck there, like something was holding him in place and he didn’t dare let go because he didn’t trust what he might do.

Slowly, cautiously, you lifted a hand to his face, gently touching his cheek. His expression softened and he seemed to relax a little. You had no idea what was going through his mind right then, but if his racing thoughts were anything like your own, then you wanted to help soothe him, help calm him down.

“We’ve got all night,” you reminded him.

There was no need to rush; you could savour your night together, take your time. He looked at you, knuckles turning white as his fingers gripped harder, his shoulder ticking upwards. Your thumb softly brushed against his cheek and you smiled at him.

“Okay,” he finally relented with an awkward exhale. A second later, he released his grip on the counter and offered you his hand. You took it without hesitation. “C’mon, Karen and Frank are probably wondering where we are.”

“Wait - why?” You asked as he led you back towards the door, stopping for a moment so you could grab your coat and bag from the back of the sofa. 

“They’re in the limo -”

“Limo?”

Billy didn’t answer, he just laughed, keeping hold of your hand as you tried to navigate the stairs from the third floor while wearing Tammy’s shoes.

And, just as he said, there was a limo parked in front of your apartment building, the back door already open with Karen half hanging out. She climbed out to meet you, wearing a red silk gown that made you feel underdressed.

“Oh my god, you look amazing.” She said, moving toward you and pulling you into an unexpected hug. Billy’s hand kept hold of yours, tensing ever so slightly.

“So do you, I mean - wow.” 

“Are we going or what?” A voice called from the limo. Frank. 

“Told you he hates these things,” Karen laughed as she turned and headed back towards the limo.

A few minutes later you were all in the limo, on your way to the gala. Billy pulled out a bottle of champagne and started filling glasses, but his attention never strayed from you for long.

“So how did Bill manage to convince a girl like you to go out with him?” Frank asked. 

“He wore me down with his constant begging,” you answered, nudging Billy with your elbow.

“How did you two meet, anyway?” Karen asked before Billy could jump in and say something clever.

You told them the story, leaving out the awkward kiss, and going to great efforts to paint Billy as a gentleman. As you spoke, you felt his fingers over yours on your lap, like he was trying to silently thank you for not making him look like a creep in front of his friends.

The drive didn’t take long, you barely had time to finish your second glass of champagne, but by the time you arrived you could tell Billy was itching to get out of the limo and away from all the little questions about the two of you. It didn’t occur to you until later why that was; his friends were trying to get to know you as a couple but you and Billy both knew that there was an expiry date on whatever this thing between you was. You’d have your one night, then he’d be left to explain to his friends why it didn’t work out.

Flashing lights by the door caused you to pause, Frank and Karen carried on oblivious, but Billy had his hand in yours and noticed the second you started to falter.

“What’s wrong?” Concern quickly filling his tone.

“It’s stupid, I just - I don’t want my picture taken.” You didn’t want to be some woman on a Google search when the next person looked Billy up. You didn’t want anyone to know you were there; at the gala or in New York.

He looked ready to argue, to tell you it was just a photo, or give you some line about how you looked, but he didn’t. In one look at you, Billy seemed to understand how uncomfortable you were.

“I can get us in a side entrance.” 

“That’s not - you should go get your photo taken. It’ll be good for -”

“I’m not here to get my picture in the papers or on some shitty blog, I’m here to spend time with you.” He didn’t waste anymore time on the matter, and neither did you, following after as he took you to a side door and got some of the staff working the event to let you in.

Once you were inside, you dropped your coat off at the coat check and you and Billy found your designated table in the massive, ornate ballroom. Karen and Frank were already there, talking to another man who Billy introduced as Curtis; the one who helped run most of Anvil’s charity work. A few more of their friends turned up - mostly ex-Marines like Frank and Billy - and, soon enough, you were sitting back and watching Billy and his friends. And, again, his hand found yours, lacing his fingers through yours, holding you tight as he continued to laugh with his buddies. No one else seemed to notice and that seemed to suit Billy just fine; he didn’t want to make a spectacle of it, he just wanted to touch you.

Food was served and speeches were made, and eventually people started to move towards the dancefloor, slow dancing along to the music. And it was nice, despite your reservations, you didn’t feel uncomfortable in the slightest and, once you’d started to get familiar with Billy’s friends, you were able to hold whole conversations with them, some involving Billy and some not, but his hand always found yours again.

Eventually Karen managed to drag Frank onto the dancefloor and Billy’s other friends started to disperse. Billy saw someone he recognised across the room, someone that he needed to quickly talk to but, rather than going with him, you decided that you were going to head to the bar and get yourself a drink - something that he grudgingly went along with, if only because he seemed to realise just how overwhelming it was for you to meet all these people who knew him.

Once at the bar, you felt a little better, like you could take in what was going on around you without feeling like you were stuck in the middle of it all. You couldn’t see Billy, but you did manage to catch sight of Frank and Karen on the dancefloor enjoying themselves, and you found yourself wondering if Billy liked to dance.

“You should be careful with William,” a voice at your side sounded over the music, pulling you from your thoughts. It took you a moment to realise that she was talking to you and that by William she meant Billy.

“Sorry?” 

“William, he’s dangerous,” she told you, “men with his kind of trauma tend to exhibit emotional dysregulation and can become quite violent.”

“I don’t - who are you?” And just what was she trying to tell you.

“I’m just someone who’s concerned for your safety.” Like that answered anything. She didn’t seem to care what you thought about anything she was saying or the confusion on your face, she just carried on like you’d asked for her opinion on any of it. “His abandonment issues mean that he’s also prone to obsession and paranoia when it comes to those who get close to him.”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re -” 

“Have you slept with him yet?”

“That’s none of your -” but, still, she didn’t seem to care about what you had to say.

“His hypersexuality tends to manifest itself in deviant behaviour, so if you plan on sleeping with him tonight -”

“Don’t you have anyone else to bother, Krista?” Karen was suddenly at your side, glaring at the other woman. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen her so annoyed at someone, but if this Krista cared about Karen’s anger, she didn’t let it show.

“I was just offering a friendly warning,” she answered, though her eyes stayed fixed on you. 

“The only one who needs a warning here is you, so why don’t you crawl back under your rock and leave Billy alone.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, confused and concerned, not really sure what was going on. Krista looked ready to say something else but when she noticed Frank was walking towards you, she simply gave a shrug and walked away.

“You alright?” Asked Frank, his attention on Karen while you sank back against the bar, feeling very out of place.

“Fine, just dealing with the psycho-bitch,” she answered him before both of them turned their attention to you.

“Who was she?” You dared to ask, even though you weren’t really sure you wanted to hear the answer. “And why did she say Billy’s dangerous?”

“She’s his ex,” Frank offered.

“And because she’s a fucking psycho who refuses to move on.” Karen added. “She got it in her head that she could fix Billy, she spent months trying to take him apart and put him back together again how she wanted him to be.”

“But why?” You didn’t want to know but you felt like you needed to. If there was any chance that this Krista was right about Billy, you needed to know. Nothing about him had ever seemed dangerous, but you knew from experience that the people who could hurt you the most were usually the ones you least expected.

“She was his shrink,” Frank explained reluctantly, obviously feeling as uncomfortable in all of this as you. “It was a few years before they started dating, he got hurt, and she started getting in his head. And, when they got together she used everything she knew about him to -”

“You shouldn’t worry about it,” Karen interrupted, placing a hand on your arm. “She wanted him to be broken so she could be the one to save him. She’s a psycho with a god-complex.”

A jealous, psycho ex; that was something you could understand better than most and, if anything, she’d made you want to spend this night with Billy even more, because you knew exactly what it was like to have people only see the absolute worst in you. And you definitely knew what it was like to have an ex drag your name through the dirt. Besides, it was just one night. What was the worst that could happen in one night? 

“Bill’s like a brother to me,” Frank stated, pulling you from your spiralling thoughts, “but if I thought he was a danger to anyone I never would’ve let him bring you here tonight.” Despite not knowing Frank very well, there was something about the way he spoke, about the way Karen looked at him that told you it was the truth. You nodded, feeling a little better. “Just maybe don’t mention any of this to Bill.”

“Don’t mention what to me?” He appeared over Frank’s shoulder, grinning from ear to ear when his eyes found yours. And, somehow, when he looked at you, you just knew; Billy Russo wasn’t a danger, at least not to you.

“I was just telling Frank that I wanted to dance,” you answered before anyone else had the chance, “he told me I’d have to mind my feet because you’re a terrible dancer.”

“Please, Frankie’s just jealous he doesn’t have moves like mine,” he practically shoved his friend out of the way so he could get to you, offering his hand. “C’mon, I’ll show you how wrong he is.”

The moment your hand was in his, Billy was leading you on to the dancefloor and pulling you close. His arms wrapped around your waist, hands settling on your lower-lower back, perhaps a little lower than was decent, but you didn’t care. Your hands found his shoulders and, before long your head was resting against his chest and every breath you took was him; his warmth, his cologne and the clean smell of his suit. It all felt perfect. For a moment you felt him move and you were almost certain that he smelled your hair, but you didn’t move to look or confirm anything; you didn’t care.

One song finished and another started, then another, and another. And you were content to stay there, in his arms, moving in time with the music. 

“How am I doing?” he asked softly and you realised that it was probably the longest you’d ever known him to stay quiet.

“Definitely proving Frank wrong,” you answered.

And, then, silence again.

At some point your hand shifted on his shoulder, moving up towards his neck, your fingers lightly curling the hair at the nape of his neck. His arms pulled a little tighter around you and, for a moment you thought you could feel the outline of his cock against your thigh. You kept dancing, your other hand soon moving to his neck.

After what felt like a lifetime - a wonderful lifetime - you raised your head, wanting to look at him. Or, more precisely, wanting him to look at you. Your knees turned weak as he stared down at you, tongue running across your lips as you tilted your head just a little, and Billy leaned, his lips almost meeting yours.

Then you were moving, your hand gripped tight in his as he led you away from the dancefloor and out of the ballroom. Soon enough, you found yourself in an empty hallway, the music fading to a near-nothingness in the background, leaving you with nothing but the sound of your heart hammering in your chest. Billy looked like a man possessed as he finally turned to you, his hand finding your hip and leading you back against the nearest wall.

“I've been wanting to get you on your own all night, sweetheart,” he muttered softly, sounding barely restrained. “I wanted to let you enjoy the party, but I can't do it anymore. I need to have you all to myself.”

“I wondered why you'd been so quiet,” you smiled at him, your hand finding his cheek.

“You make me feel like I'm losing my damned mind...” his dark eyes fixed on yours, sparking with desperation, “I don't wanna share you with anyone else anymore.”

“You don't have to,” you breathed, sinking closer to him.

The way he looked at you in that moment had your heart pounding. He wanted you. Billy Russo wanted you.

Finally, he kissed you, leaving no space between your bodies. It was a hungry kiss, his tongue laying siege to your mouth as he tried to get his fill of you. Your arms made their way around his waist, pulling him closer, holding him tight. Again, you felt something pressed against your stomach, and this time there was no question about it; Billy was hard. He’d been hard while you were dancing together. (He was hard for you.)

A moan passed between your lips, though there was no telling if it had come from you or Billy. He dominated the kiss, reminding you of the party, how he’d pressed you back against the bathroom door and kissed you just like that. But you needed more, and judging from the way he was pressed against you, so did Billy. 

If it was only going to be one night, you needed everything.

You didn’t even think as your hand slipped between your bodies to cup his bulge through the fabric of his pants. The groan that came next was definitely from Billy, and if he had any issues with you groping him in such a public place, he kept them to himself. In fact, his hips soon moved to press himself against your hand while his own hands remained useless at your waist. There was nothing he could do while you were still wearing your long gown and that put you at an advantage, an advantage you wanted to make the most of.

Fingers pulled eagerly at his belt, then the button and, finally, the zipper. And, all the while, he kissed you, not wanting any of it to stop. By the time you had his cock in your hand you’d almost completely forgotten where you were, and nothing but Billy mattered.

His hand covered yours, molding your fingers around his cock, dragging your hand up and down his length, showing you what he wanted. Then he released you, leaving you to run your hand from root to tip, exploring the feel of him and the weight of him in your hand. His cock turned thicker the harder he got, leaving you imagining the way he’d stretch you if he fucked you. (When, you corrected, when he fucked you. Because once you had him in your hand you knew there was no turning back.)

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, obviously enjoying what you were doing and it just made you want to do more, it made you want to pull every desperate sound you could from him.

Your hand wrung around him, brushing across the crown, thumb tracing the slit until it started to leak with beads of pre-cum. You spread the wetness across his tip before continuing to drag your hand along him, all the while doing what you could to swallow Billy’s eager moans. Your grip tightened, feeling bolder as your hand stroked up and down, loving the way his cock strained in your grasp. More beads of pre-cum formed and every time you felt them against your thumb, you found yourself longing for a taste.

Groaning your name against your lips was all the warning he managed to give you before he started to pulse in your hand, coming undone with a barely restrained grunt, and letting his head fall back. You managed to angle him away from you in time to save your dress, but your hand was soon covered while it continued to pump his shaft, making sure you wrung every ounce of pleasure from him and making a sticky mess of the both of you.

When he was finally done and you were both left panting, you pulled back your hand and looked at it for a second, oddly proud of yourself. You couldn’t resist lifting to your lips, licking his cum from one of your fingers, finally getting a taste of him. Before you got the idea to clean the rest of your hand, Billy’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, urging your hand away from your mouth.

“If you don’t want me to tear that dress off you, you should stop doing that.” Billy warned while his other hand fished a handkerchief from his pocket. You almost wanted to tempt fate and see just what he’d do but you didn’t want to risk getting caught there more than you already had. Billy wiped himself clean, before cleaning your hand and setting his clothes to rights.

“We’re going.” It wasn’t a question or a suggestion, he didn’t even give you time to answer before taking hold of your hand and leading you back towards the party. His grip didn’t loosen as he led you through the crowd and towards the coat claim, slowing only momentarily to call his driver to tell him to pull the car around. You followed after, staying as close to him as you could; you were his for the night and the thought of any distance between you just seemed insane. He let go of your hand only momentarily, to help you slip your coat on and, before you knew it, he was eagerly leading you outside.

Billy waved off the driver as he moved to open the door, leaving Billy to open it and bundle you inside. He wasted no time sliding in beside you and closing the door, finally getting you all alone. Before you could even think about getting comfortable, he pulled you onto his lap, hands pushing the fabric of your dress up your thighs so you could comfortably straddle him and helping you shrug out of your coat.

The limo shuddered to a start and Billy’s arms wrapped around you, holding you tight, secure. 

His.

(At least, his for the night.)

Chapter Six

END NOTES : I really enjoyed writing this part, so I hope you enjoy reading it! Thanks for sticking with this and thanks for all the likes! If you want adding to the tag list drop me a comment (I think it's working properly???). The next part should be up same time next week and, from the looks of it, it's going to be pretty long.

Anyway, thanks for reading and have a great day!

TAG LIST

@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval @doloreschanal @uncontainedsmiles @damagelove

[lovebuddietothecore]

my crack scenario for an Eddie coma dream would be a sequence of Eddie going through his exes when thinking about a future: first Shannon selling him a ring. Ana takes him tux shopping. he gets to a chapel and sees Marisol outside it. he thinks it's her, but she reveals she's there to give him away. they start to walk down the isle with a bright light at the end of it. he first sees Bobby as the officiator, but the spouse is still blurred until at the end. the person turns around and it's Buck.

"it's you," Eddie nearly gasps, not in a way it's the most shocking sight, but he still didn't expect it.

"who else would it be?" Buck gleams, looking as handsome as ever in his tux.

"I honestly don't know," Eddie steps closer, feeling relief knowing this. Buck is the answer.

"this has been the longest 24 hours of my life without you," Buck admits as he grabs Eddie's hands.

beep beep

"but I'm here now, with you," Eddie affirms, the tension he's felt all day begins to ease. no more wondering. no more questioning.

"are you sure you want to do this?" Buck chuckles, but in a way that expresses insecurity, like Eddie could change his mind.

"I didn't know this was an option," Eddie admits, "but it's you and me, Buck. maybe it always has been."

beep beep

"do you take him to be your lawfully wedded husband?" Bobby chimes in abruptly.

"I do," Eddie replies easily. this is it. the ending he didn't know he always wanted.

Buck smiles lightly, but then his face starts to distort, "then I need you to wake up."

"what?" Eddie questions, "wake up?"

beep beep

"please Eddie, I don't know what me and Chris are going to do without you," Buck looks like he's crying, "please wake up."

"no!" Eddie yells, realizing what is occuring. this isn't real. they aren't here. buck isn't in love with him.

then he feels like he's falling.

he opens his eyes and sees Buck next to the bed, holding his hand, but his face is looking down and Eddie can hear little whimpers coming out of his mouth. some of the words buck was speaking in real life were slipping into his dream.

Buck senses Eddie's movements and jumps to attention, quickly wrapping his arms around him, thanking God Eddie is okay while still tearing up.

it hurts, buck's arms around him after his injury, but Eddie sinks into it, now dreading the fact he just realized he may want it to be him and Buck till the end, but he has no idea what to do about it.

[fandomnerd9602]

Makeshift Prom

Wanda Maximoff x Nerd!Reader

Avengers High Series

Wanda didn’t want this to happen but it did. One little trip while on top of the cheerleaders pyramid and she shattered her ankles.

You were by her side on the whole ambulance ride to the hospital.

“Detka im fine,” she tried to say through gritted teeth. But you knew how much pain she was in. Pietro and the rest of the Maximoff clan quickly ran in, joining you by her bedside.

The doctors cleared her by the next day but told her that she’d be confined to crutches for the next six weeks.

“Six weeks?” Wanda exclaimed, “but prom’s in three!”

Wanda was feeling down, not only was she confined to crutches but she wasn’t able to dance the night away with her detka. She and Natasha had picked out a simple scarlet red dress for her and Pietro had loaned you his tux and everything.

For the first week or so, Wanda found herself being pushed around in a wheelchair by her favorite nerd. You were always whispering words of love and reassurance in her ear as you guided her chair to her next class.

By week two, Wanda was able to use her crutches more efficiently. Even then, she didn’t feel like she could show her face around campus. She couldn’t stand to hear Natasha talk about her prom plans with Bruce or Tony talking about what he bought for Pepper for the event. It felt like torture to her that she wouldn’t be able to attend this event.

You were taking notice of all this, but what Wanda didn’t know was the plan that you, Pietro, Natasha, Bruce, Tony, and the Maximoff parents were all brewing together in secret.

It’s prom night now, Wanda found herself laying on her bed in her bedroom. She hadn’t seen you all day. If anything, she didn’t want a reminder of the prom she couldn’t attend.

“Wanda” her father Django’s thick Sokovian accent called from downstairs. “will you come down here for a second?”

“Coming Papa” she called back, grabbing her crutches and making her way slowly down the stairs.

Wanda stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The sight awaiting her, made her gasp.

Her entire living room was decorated like the Great Hall of Hogwarts. You, Pietro, his girlfriend, and her parents Django and Maria were all dressed up for a little makeshift prom.

“Hello Slytherin” you say with a little smile.

“Hello detka” Wanda found herself crying. “You brought the prom to me?”

“Yeah. Tony helped me with getting the party decorations but yeah”

Django gives you a soft slug on the shoulder, he knew you were perfect for his little girl.

Maria, ever the gentle mother, walks up to her daughter with the scarlet red prom dress in hand. “Better get ready, my little witch” the Sokovian mom whispers, leading Wanda off to the bathroom for a quick change.

Wanda couldn’t believe it, her whole family was willing to put in such an effort to make her smile.

“You have a very special detka” Maria smiles at her daughter as she puts the finishing touches on her daughter’s look.

“I do” Wanda answers back, “thank you Momma”

Maria gives her daughter a kiss on the forehead and helps her back out into the living room. You stand there with a Hufflepuff scarf wrapped around your neck and a Slytherin one on your arm, ready just for her.

“couldn’t afford a corsage” you shrug.

“i was never one for corsages” Wanda shrugs back, letting you wrap the green and black scarf around her neck.

Pietro gives his sister a hug, “you look beautiful sestra.”

Suddenly the door opens as Tony, Pepper, Natasha, Yelena, Vis, Vivian and Bruce all come in, all of them dressed in Hogwarts robes and house scarves that match their respective houses.

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh.

“What happened to prom?” Wanda asks everyone.

“It’s not prom without you” Natasha answers.

“That and Hogwarts is a much better theme than circus” Tony jokes before Pepper playfully slugs him in the arm. “what can i say? we like you, Maximoff.”

You wrap an arm around your girlfriend, “and I love you”

Wanda couldn’t help but blush. She had everything she could ever need. Good friends, loving family, and the love of her life: a nerd who would do anything to make her smile.

Tags @natashaswife4125 @aloneodi @lifespectator @supercorpdanbeau @holiday-house-of-m @iamnicodemus @family-house-of-m @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @cole-el @russianredassassin

[thewatcher98]

Mmmmmmhhh...

Neck!

Did someone say non-Tux tuesday

i.e. an excuse to post Evans looking hot in anything... preferably something open necked? Oh ok then...

Get this man an iron...

Plus lets never ever forget this beauty...

[devilfic]

❝small favor❞

IV. another white guy from new york.

parts: previously / next plot: it's uncanny, but it can't be. right? because that would be stupid. and spider-man isn't stupid. right? pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: violence, guns, knives, blood mention, alcohol consumption, peter parker isn't beating the average white guy allegations, well. when he smiles like that he might. words: 6.7k.

You almost expect them to turn you away at the door when you hand over your badge, some paranoid part of you thinking they’ll take one look at you and know you don’t belong here, but the man at the check-in hands it back to you with a pleasant, “Enjoy your evening.”

That was half an hour ago, and Parker was nowhere in sight.

He was going to “meet you there” as Jameson promised, though without a clue what to look for, you found yourself aimlessly floating through perfume clouds of high society. You didn’t want to hit the bar this close to eight, but if you didn’t find an anchor quick, you’d vibrate right through the floor. Worst of all, you didn’t even have the guy’s number. What would you do if he was a no-show?

Your job, you suppose, sullen and already dreading the evening to come.

There’s no sign of Wilson Fisk either. In your usual setting, you might’ve already flagged down a guest or two to ask what they thought about the rumors, but your usual settings were messy, bloody, and out in the real world. Here, you had a list of questions to ask that didn’t even scratch your curiosity.

What’s your name? Are you excited to be here this evening? How does the Stark Charity Ball reflect the New York City you know and love? Were you attacked? Can you confirm Wilson Fisk was on the scene?

You hadn’t even made it to the fourth question before you’d given up. How would you last a night like this?

Slithering through the crowd, you make your way to the snack table with hopes to eat your way through the night. At least you could count on rich people to shell out on good cheese.

There’s a band playing in the corner, a gentle stringed melody that you appreciate over the chatter of the guests. You make your way over and let yourself get carried away in the tune, only glancing every so often at your watch to gauge the time. It was nine minutes to eight, nine minutes until Pepper Potts took the stage to start the night, and you still had no idea where your partner was.

It’s almost natural the way your hand finds your phone, swiping over the familiar contact name and pressing out a quick message.

The party can’t start without you.

Towering windows make up most of the ballroom, fading sunlight overpowering the chandeliers above, and you take advantage in hopes it might reveal your webbed friend hanging off the roof.

Almost immediately, you get a text back.

Aww, you really do like me :) No kidding. Are you already in place? Just about. Doing a quick perimeter check. You enjoying the party? I would be if my partner was here on time. Hey, cut Parker some slack! His train’s probably late and I don’t see any signs of Kingpin yet. I'm just glad you've stopped trying to fight me on this. If you can’t beat ‘em... And maybe look up every once in a while, you’re gonna run into somebody.

Just as your eyes scan the very last word, your senses go haywire. There’s cold liquid running down your hand and you've just run into something. When you finally tear your eyes away from your phone, you unfortunately realize that something is now wearing the remainder of your drink.

People nearby have formed a clearing around you, but it feels less out of courtesy and more to point and laugh at you. Regardless, you’ve got to fix this, “I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”

Your victim stands in a small puddle of sangria, the front of their tux dripping in it still, and you could see how red stains crawled up crisp white. You could only imagine how much every bit of their suit cost (and the Daily Bugle definitely didn’t have the budget to cover it).

They lift their copper head and you’re at first struck by the smile on their face, then the peppering of freckles across the bridge of their nose, and finally... their name.

He carefully removes his suit jacket to assess the damage to his shirt, “Nah, don’t worry. I was looking for a reason to leave early anyway.”

You’re breathless, certain you should be rushing to grab towels or begging him not to sue you into oblivion, but you don’t really get that far, “I’m... really sorry.”

He laughs, so genuine that you feel the tension in your shoulders deflate just at the sound. Just then, a waiter rushes over with a hand towel, insisting he lead him to the men’s room to clean up, but he’s waved off with little more than a “thank you” and “I’ll survive, I promise.”

He steps out of the puddle to allow someone to clean it up, bringing him that much closer to you. When he's done with the towel, he hands it off to you. His eyes trail to your chest and his eyes widen some, “The Daily Bugle. You a reporter?”

You realize he’s spotted your press badge and rush to introduce yourself, wiping absentmindedly at your sticky hand, “Uh... yes. Actually. Crime beat reporter.” You set your empty cup on a passing waiter’s tray and hold out your clean hand to shake.

His hand is warm, if not a little sticky like yours, though you have no grounds to complain, “Nice to meet you. I’m Harry.”

“Oh, I know.”

He quirks an eyebrow, still smiling, “Then... was that drink a calculated assault?”

“No! God, no. I genuinely wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Not very safe for a crime beat reporter, don’t you think?”

You’ve got to be on fire. You feel like it, struggling between a laugh and a whine, “I’m sorry you had to be the one to teach me that lesson.”

“No worries. Like I said, you did me a favor.” Harry glances around, “So… you're reporting on what, exactly? You betting on a robbery or something?”

The humor of that isn't lost on you, “Actually, I’m filling in tonight. Our usual reporter definitely wouldn’t have ruined your nice shirt.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I find this stain rather charming.”

You can’t help it. You giggle and he smiles even wider, “May I ask why you want to escape so soon?”

“Not if you’re gonna write it down.”

“Off the record? In exchange for the stain.”

Harry Osborn has a boyish look to him even though he’s steadily approaching 26, some baby fat still clinging to his cheekbones when he smiles wide enough, “Well, this was my first stop since hopping off a nine hour flight from Oxford and I’m, as the English say, absolutely knackered. I was gonna leave in half an hour after photos but…” He laughs, casting a look over his shoulder at the stage, “I’ve made my donation. I won’t be missed.”

Perking up with an idea, you reach into your bag and pull out a recorder, “In that case, how about I get you down for a comment on your generous donation of…”

“Five million.”

You blink, swallowing hard, “Five million… to make up for it? I'll even throw in a few questions about your study at Oxford. I hear you're working on a revolutionary breakthrough with lab-grown bacteria that breaks down plastic.”

Harry's eyes light up. For a moment, the image of Harry Osborn is just Harry, “You sure Jameson would let you publish something nice about an Osborn?”

The Daily Bugle was no friend to Spider-Man, but neither was it a friend to Norman Osborn. You recall some of the more scalding headlines about Oscorp’s president that you’d published in the past. It was the one thing you and Jameson could agree on. “You know Jameson well?”

“Of course. I’ve got a buddy who works there too, actually. You might know him. His name’s-”

Harry’s voice is drowned out by the collective oohing and awing of the crowd when the lights dim, shrouding the grand ballroom in the fading glow of the sun. The stage, once empty, is now illuminated with the presence of Pepper Potts. Uproarious applause fills the room. Harry smiles politely at you. His buddy would be a conversation for later.

You want to focus on Pepper, you really do, but it’s like you’ve broken out of a spell the second Harry’s eyes leave yours, and you find yourself once again scanning the crowd for Parker. There was no good reason for him to be this late and you couldn’t even give him a piece of your mind about it.

You shoot off an indignant text to Peter.

Your guy better have been hit by a cyclist on the way here or he’s getting an earful when I see him. Pepper looks amazing :(

But no instant reply. In fact, three minutes pass and there’s nothing. You glance up to the windows for any sign of him watching and find none. Was... he here?

You glance at Harry. If Jillian were here, she’d punch you in the face for what you’re about to do, for the opportunity you're about to squander. Okay, maybe not a punch, but it’d be violent.

But then you’re thinking about Peter, about that night that changed everything, about his blood and bruises and the men with guns for hands. You think about how Peter worried for you. You think about Harry, who has just donated five million dollars to charity, and how there are over a hundred more of him packed in this ballroom right now. You think about Wilson Fisk, and how much havoc he could wreak if he put Spider-Man out for good.

And then you're elbowing yourself through the crowd, searching for the nearest emergency stairwell, hoping that if Peter’s still watching he might meet you halfway. Parker and those questions be damned. You'd find a way to make it up to Jameson somehow.

You’re about ten feet away from the nearest exit when someone takes a hold of your wrist, a few seconds away from the end of Pepper’s speech, and whoever is holding you back has a grip so iron it stings. You can’t clearly see the face of who’s grabbed you but it doesn’t feel familiar. Your heart jumps into your throat. Had Fisk's men infiltrated the room already? Had they gotten to Spidey? Did they know you? Were you next?

You’ve got no pocket knife on you, but you have a fist.

You curl your fingers inward and aim right for your captor’s head. Your fist makes contact with skin. The room erupts into thunderous applause. The lights go up.

You never actually land the punch, but your captor looks a little too wide-eyed to be one of Fisk’s men, too soft in the face. His own hand has completely stopped yours in its tracks, just a hair away from breaking his nose, and he’s staring at you like a deer in headlights. A big, brown doe-eyed deer. “Uh, hi,” your eyes flicker down to the camera hanging from his neck, almost blocking the badge beneath it that reads "P. B. Parker", and then you meet his eyes with the same bewilderment, “sorry I’m late.”

Parker is about average height with a build you can't quantify when his shirt is draping off him. It's a ridiculously huge plaid thing, the kind of thing someone would wear to hide themselves, but all he does is stand out in the sea of Armani and Givenchy. Old jeans, old shirt, high-tops, and a muddy-grey beanie to top it all off. It was a wonder they let him in the door at all.

What you can feel is the strength behind his hand as it holds your fist in place. Some people are looking—you realize, after the tremors of your punch reverberate back up your arm—and so you yank your hand back before any security can take notice.

Your partner waits a full second before holding out his own, offering a subtle, wobbly smile, "I would've been here sooner but... traffic, ya know?"

His voice is low, you notice this next. Practically a mumble. You kind of realize why your coworkers said you weren't missing much; outside of his awkward mannerisms and sweet, unassuming baby face, he looked like any other white guy from New York. He also seemed like he didn't want to be seen or heard, and you imagined that Jameson had no problem with that.

But his mumbling forces you to take notice of his lips so you can read them, and their thin, blushy quality is only marred by a little dryness. Broken by biting or... or something. "You're late." Is all you manage to say.

His lips part, turning downward, "Yeah, I know," he stutters, the pitch of his voice going up a hair, "I said- um, I caught the last half of Mrs. Potts’ speech." And then he turns his camera to you, flicking through images that are too small on the screen for you to assess the quality of. You actually have no doubt they're good, but you're upset he's late and you're certain there's nothing remarkable about this guy—nothing at all—and yet you can't stop staring.

"You know Spidey?" You blurt out next, and his eyes widen and zero in on you. You don't know why he's surprised. "He's mentioned me, hasn't he?"

Parker blinks, "Oh! Yeah. Yeah. All the time. You're very... good. At your job."

"Thank you. So are you."

And wouldn't you know it, he actually blushes. It's sweet and alarming how quickly red blooms across the apples of his cheeks, how his hands wobble around his camera a bit, how it disarms you for a moment. It'd be cute if you could just figure out what about him was throwing you off.

In fact, you're so enthralled in figuring out that something that you see his lips moving but just miss his question, barely hearing the tail-end of it. You watch his lips again as you ask him to repeat it, but the musicians have started up a jaunty tune with trumpets and high white keys, so you duck closer to him and ask him to repeat it once more.

"I asked-" And as you get closer, you have an excuse to look at him more deeply.

Your eyes follow the curve of his mouth to his chin (and all its little hairs that he hadn't caught shaving), down to his neck where you see, just peeking out beneath the lip of his beanie, a curl. You've abandoned his question now. You just feel, as strange as it is, that you need a closer look...

Your hand is moving before your mind can catch up with it, until it's caught in Parker's halfway to his throat. You're so close to him that you can see the way the skin of his chin rolls with the effort to lean away from you, or the honey speckles in his eyes that are all but eclipsed by his blown-wide pupils.

His fingers are latched around yours. He's not using the same strength he was before, doesn't need to, but you can sort of feel it beneath the callouses. Even then, it's so gentle. You don't know why you react with just as mush wonder. The world might as well be at half-speed. You almost wish him to speak again because you've got nothing to say for yourself here.

Parker looks on at you, still holding onto your hand. He smells... like the city.

"Do you-" He starts, chokes on his spit, and then swallows, "are you always this friendly when you're tipsy?"

You blanch. "What? I'm not-" You yank your hand back, cup it to your mouth and nose, and breathe in the sangria. Could he smell it on your breath? "I'm not tipsy. I barely even had a drink before I spilled it all over..."

You catch Parker's eye to find him looking interested. "Spilled it all over...?"

"Someone. Whatever. It was an accident."

"You spilled your drink on someone?"

"It was an accident."

"You know, I was feeling real bad about showing up late, but Jameson's gonna have a field day with this." You're mortified. He wasn't interested, he was amused. "Are we gonna get sued?"

"No!" Your voice draws the attention of a couple nearby, making you shrink even closer to Parker, "I told you it was an accident and I apologized. And you're still not off the hook for being late."

He folds his arms across his chest, smiles steadily this time, and agrees. The action is so unmistakable that it saps all the lightheartedness right out of you. Parker notices the change.

The only thing that breaks the moment is Harry Osborn finding you both.

Your head whips at the first "Peter!", thinking you'll see red and blue somewhere nearby, but Harry is gunning straight for Parker with the widest smile on his face. You break away just in time for him to envelop Parker in a big, friendly hug that would've knocked Parker off his feet if not for how solid he was. A few onlookers take in the scene, some amused, others not so much.

It takes you a moment to digest that Harry meant Parker, had called him Peter with such love and affection that there was no way he was mistaken, and Parker had returned the hug a beat later without correcting him.

There were probably a million Peters in New York alone. And yet...

They stay intertwined a minute longer, only breaking away so that Harry could hold... Peter's face in his hands. "Peter Parker! What the hell are you doing here?" Harry seems to remember you're there. He releases Peter and points to you, "So, you two know each other after all. Pete's the buddy at the Bugle I told you about. We've been best friends for years."

As if this Peter business wasn't enough for you to wrap your head around, you struggle to imagine these two being best friends. One of New York City's richest heirs and a contractor for the Daily Bugle. Your disbelief is evident as you ask, "How did you two meet...?"

"College. We went to ESU together. We were even roommates before I went off to Oxford." Harry smiles proudly, patting Peter on the back. It's then that you notice Peter is looking very, very uncomfortable. You wonder for a moment if this is all some elaborate joke Harry's playing, but it hadn't struck you as his type of humor.

This is, in fact, a man named Peter Parker. He works for the Daily Bugle, he's best friends with Harry Osborn, he works with Spider-Man, and they both share a name. Unremarkable Peter Parker. Nothing you were missing, they'd said.

Peter must see that you're focused hard on him, so he turns to Harry, "Yeah, Oxford. Why aren't you... there? Again?"

Harry laughs, unbothered, "Don't tell me you didn't miss me?"

"No, it's just... last I remember, your dad wanted you there until your project got approved."

The very mention of Norman Osborn kills the mood entirely. Harry's smile falls quick, though he tries to hide it, and shuffles a bit uncomfortably. "That was the deal. But you know dad: the world revolves around his every whim." Harry's eyes cut to you so fast that you tense up, recovering quickly. "Off the record."

Jillian would not accept that. You, on the other hand, swallow it down and tuck it away for another day, "Anything for a friend of a friend."

That gets Harry smiling again, however terse. The conversation quickly changes course as Harry pulls at the stained white of his shirt to show Peter, "Speaking of: you like? Our new mutual friend gave it to me."

Peter glances at you, chuckling with a nervous edge, and grabs at the fabric to examine for himself, "Something tells me you deserved it."

Harry immediately resorts to banter that Peter melts into. It was no doubt now that they were friends, that Peter's awkwardness had only been on account of you being here.

You can only smile and nod, smile and nod, while you watch Peter's every move. You couldn't say anything even though you were bursting, but now your heart was beginning to pound in your ears, making it hard for you to do what you were trying to pretend you weren't doing.

Spider-Man was smart. Beneath the quips, he was extremely smart. He wouldn't tell you his real name and then show up here as a civilian, so brazen, knowing that you'd instantly figure out it was him. That'd be too easy. He trusted you, sure, but he wasn't stupid. He'd been uncomfortable at the very thought of unmasking when you'd mentioned it last night. If Peter was... Peter, he wouldn't have come at all. Because that would be stupid.

And he wouldn't have bothered to pretend, up until the last second, that he wasn't Peter, if he was just going to flay himself before you like this. Because you would've figured it out eventually.

So, surely, there were a million Peters in New York and you happened to know two of them. And they knew each other. And one of them was a superhero. Of course.

You slip your phone out, checking your recent messages with your heart in your throat. If Peter wasn't Peter, he'd have texted you back by now. Because Peter—fuck—Spidey wouldn't miss a chance to make that joke.

There's one new message. You barely get to see what it says before broken glass sprays from above.

There’s a cacophony of sound all at once. Glass breaking, screaming amongst the crowd, and the sound of gunfire letting off into the ceiling. One minute, the room had been in peaceful bliss, and the next, a tidal wave of terrified guests were rushing at you.

You’re lucky that Peter’s arm is like iron, strong enough to rip you back and away from the crowd that converges on the exits, because if you had stayed in your spot for a second longer you would have been trampled underfoot. Like your phone, which is in pieces the second it slips out of your hand.

Harry is there too, huddled against the two of you in the corner, but that doesn’t stop you three from all being pressed upon by the panicking crowds. There’s no rhyme or reason, no order in the chaos. Beautiful clutches embedded with Swarovski crystals lay abandoned at your feet. Everyone in the room can see, whatever it might be, that their life is worth more than a single thing in this room. Even worth more than the lives of the other guests they shove to get out first.

You try your best to see over the heads of the swarm to get a glimpse of what had set the entire party off, and immediately two things are visible. One: Pepper Potts is center stage, the bright white stage lights beating down on her. If it weren’t for the sweat beading at her brow, you’d think her bored. The second thing was that there was a man standing beside her who wasn’t standing there before, a microphone in one hand and a gun in the other.

Even from all the way at the back of the room, you could see the gun trembling in his grip as the barrel kissed Pepper’s temple.

The next thing is his voice. It’s loud, feedback screeching off the walls so high that you think they might shatter the windows. The crowd is loud and he’s louder. You can hear him saying something about how everyone shouldn’t leave just yet, that they’d want to see this front row and not on the 10 o’clock news. You do not see Kingpin. This man is utterly alone.

Harry is shouting something at you, you can feel his breath and the spit that flies out in the hurry of his words, but you can barely make out what he’s saying over the guests. Peter clutches you both even closer.

“We… we have to…” You start, glancing up at the windows for any sign of Spider-Man, but you see nothing. Your eyes drop to Peter’s to find him already staring right at you. You’ve no idea what’s going through his head, and the adrenaline rushing behind your eyes makes it hard to speculate. You only know what you need to say, “…we need to find Spider-Man.”

“We need to leave!” Harry argues. He wriggles out of Peter’s grip and starts pulling you both toward the nearest exit, but he only makes progress with pulling you forward.

You were about to argue back until you felt Peter’s hand at the base of your spine, pushing you into Harry with ease and right toward one of the exit doors. You turn, clutching onto Harry as to not lose him in the crowd, only to find Peter isn’t following you. “You both need to get out of here.”

“Both? Wh- Peter! We’re not leaving without you!” Your attempt to grab at him is futile. He shrugs away from your touch, keeps pushing you and Harry through the stampede as if he really intended on staying behind. “Peter!”

He finally looks you in the eyes that second time, the desperation with which you’d said his name snapping him out of some dissociative spell, “I’ll be right behind you! I’m gonna help get people out. Some got trampled, I-I’ve got to-”

Harry is next to admonish him, “Pete, come on. This isn’t the time to play fucking hero!”

But Peter’s not listening again—eyes faraway, slipping over the crowd as if searching for something—he’s heading back into the fray, calling to you some half-hearted promise that he’d follow soon, and then his head disappears into the whirlwind of bodies. You were able to follow him up until the moment his hat got pulled off, and then… nothing.

The current pushes and pulls at you and Harry, dragging you down the hallway. You feel your ankle twist awkwardly and are thankful that Harry is still clinging to you because had he not been, you would’ve been dragged down and trampled for sure. He holds you upright, pressing you to his side, assuring you over the noise that you’d go back in to get Peter in a minute.

You think that Harry Osborn is much kinder than his father seemed to be, and that you really do owe him a good soundbite in the Bugle after this.

You feel a draft coming from outside, promising you were close to being free from the confines of the hallway. You grab Harry’s hands and peel them off of you, pushing him forward into the crowd without a second thought, just as you see the light of the city come up ahead. His head whips to you. He calls your name as he’s swept away, but you press yourself hard against the wall and let the crowd lead him out to safety.

The crawl back to the ballroom is awful.

There are fewer people escaping, thankfully, and so it’s less like an undertow, but there are so many people and all of them are perfectly fine with throwing their bodies forward with caution thrown to the wind.

It takes you longer than a minute to get back to the door you’d come out of, even longer to squeeze through with elbows hitting you square in the chest and heels digging into your feet.

The room is less than a third of what it had been when the gunman had arrived. You frantically search for Peter in the remaining, scattered crowd; people are frozen in awe, in horror. Some people in the crowd were begging the gunman to reconsider, and others were praying. Your heart sank. A woman was about to die and there was virtually nothing you could do.

You look up to the windows one more time. You couldn’t see him, couldn’t call him, but you close your eyes and pray too. Whoever he was. Wherever he was.

And then you hear it. The familiar thwip! cuts through the air. You open your eyes and a second later, the clatter of the gunman’s pistol hitting the floor follows. You’re blessed with a whole five seconds of glee before the gunman surges forward and pulls a knife on Pepper, holding it to her throat in a panic.

“Easy there, buddy.” Your head snaps up to the rafters. From a single thread of spider silk, Spidey descends from the ceiling with a hand outstretched. He’s a ways away from the two of them, offering some sense of space. “You don’t wanna do this.”

The gunman has since abandoned his microphone, but his voice reverberates in the near empty room just fine, “Get out of here, Spider-Man! You’re next!”

“Why don’t you and I hash it out, then? Just you and me. Leave Mrs. Potts out of it.”

“No, no,” the man mutters; you can hear sirens growing closer to the building, “she’s part of it. You’re all part of it.”

Pepper speaks up for the first time, “Whatever you want, I can get it. This doesn’t have to end badly.”

That must’ve been the wrong thing to say. The man jerks his knife closer to her skin and you can see, after a moment, a thin bead of red dribbles down her collarbone.

Spidey holds out both his hands, “Whoa, whoa, whoa-”

And it happens in a flash. One second, Pepper is being held at knifepoint, and the next, she’s being pushed off the stage.

Spider-Man immediately swoops in and catches her, swinging her to safety on the other side of the room, but you’re too mesmerized by the new body on stage pinning the attacker down by the throat. How you’d missed him, you’ve no clue, but he’s wrestling the man onto his stomach and restraining his arms behind his back just as the doors to the ballroom are thrown wide open.

Cops stream in, rushing the stage to take the gunman into custody. Some head straight for Spider-Man and Pepper, but it’s the guests that catch your attention. There are maybe fifty of them in the room altogether, but applause catches on like wildfire. All of them, and the musicians and the cops at the door, erupt into applause.

Because the man on stage, the man who’d thrown himself at the gunman and disarmed him, the man who had just saved Pepper Potts’ life… was Wilson Fisk.

You can’t find Harry anywhere. Most of the guests had stayed behind out of sheer curiosity, but Harry was nowhere in sight.

You stand out on the sidewalk with the rest of the crowd as the police escort the gunman into a cop car, murmurs flitting from ear to ear on who he’d been, what he’d wanted, and whether they should stay behind for interviews. Pepper was still inside getting questioned. But Wilson Fisk was out here.

You’d been in the same room as Fisk only once before, the night of his infamous press conference three years ago when you were still an intern trailing after the likes of Jillian. He’d struck you as a measured man, one who carried himself with impenetrable humility, and even in the face of his detractors kept a cool head.

Back then, he’d been accused of money laundering, something to do with all his companies not adding up. In and out of trouble, he was. Jameson had likened him to a cockroach: never quite dead, even when he really ought to be by now.

And now he stands before reporters, guests, onlookers, and the like, giving a statement about his “harrowing” rescue of Mrs. Potts. He hadn’t even been invited.

You know you should be right up there with the rest of them, fiending for a soundbite, but you’re gnawing your bottom lip from afar trying to catch him in a lie. Something about this was refusing to add up, and thankful as you were that Pepper was safe, the whole thing was off. Convenient, even.

You watch him smile and nod, none of the charm ever reaching his dead eyes, but everyone eats it up anyway.

Just as you’re about to force yourself to head over, knowing Jameson would have your head otherwise, you’re flying.

“Jesus!” You screech, scrambling to cling onto Spidey as the crowd below watches the two of you swing away. Your stomach drops as he carries you to a nearby rooftop, and you all but collapse when you meet solid ground. “Oh my God, don’t ever do that again.” You expect a quip in return, but when you look behind you, Spider-Man is sitting with his head on his knees, utterly silent. Your stomach drops again, “Spidey?”

That gets him to look at you, big white eyes narrowing, “We’re not on a first name basis anymore?”

You’re stunned, and then you scowl, “Peter Parker.” When he says nothing, you repeat it, “Peter Parker.”

“That’s his name.”

“His? Or yours?”

His eyes stay narrowed at you, only now his head is lifted upright, “I’m not the only Peter in New York.”

“I’m sorry if I find it a little suspicious there’s a Peter Parker who works at the Daily Bugle selling the only decent photos of you in the city, who just so happens to share your name and- and your lips.” That last part awkwardly tumbles out of you and his eyes are no longer narrowed.

“My lips?”

Peter’s lips flash in your mind. You don’t know how to say it without sounding more suspicious than him, “You’re… you both… your mouths are very similar.”

A beat passes. The silence isn’t enough to convince you you’re wrong, but it is enough to make you fidget.

But then Peter bursts into laughter, and, well, it’s not funny to you at all. “Quit it.” You demand, meek.

“I’m sorry, I just- I stick to walls and you think it’s crazy that we’re both named Peter?”

“You can’t convince me I’m off with this one.”

“There were like… four Peters in my graduating class!”

“He even kind of sounded like you! When I could hear him clearly.”

“He sounds nothing like me!”

“He sounds a lot like you.” You say, and wish that there had been a moment when you’d caught him speaking at an octave higher than his, frankly, forced baritone and an octave below shouting. Peter—this Peter—has a voice you know well enough. You’ve memorized his vocal fry when his voice gets a little too high, that nervous ramble-y pitch of his. It’s so distinct. If you had just… heard him use it just once, “You can’t make me feel crazy about this.”

“’m not trying to make you feel crazy, I swear. You’re one of the smartest people I know. I’d be skeptical too.” You wait patiently for a confirmation or a denial, but he gives you none. He takes a deep breath and stares out over the edge of the building where Fisk is being escorted to his car. You crawl over to sit beside him.

Part of you wants to ask him to prove it, to peel his mask off and show you, but you can’t make yourself do it. He’d only just given you his name. He trusted you with that. You’re wary about pushing it.

Because the pieces fit so well, but he’d never make that kind of mistake. Would he?

Would he think it was a mistake?

Peter sighs. “Hey, you alright?” You ask.

He doesn’t really look at you, though his voice answers at a lower volume than before, "This was too convenient.” You hum in agreement. “That guy… he said we were all ‘part of it’. Like it was planned.”

“You think Fisk planned it.”

“I think he’s a little too eager to be in the spotlight about it.” But getting that off his chest doesn’t seem to change the solemnness in his tone.

“Pepper was never in danger.” Your hand presses against the scratchy concrete, itching to touch him. To comfort him. “If this was Fisk’s plan, it was all for publicity. Pepper was never gonna get hurt.”

“She got hurt.” Peter whips his head to you.

You knew Iron Man was his mentor, had plucked him off the streets and thrust him into a world of gods and aliens before his untimely death. And maybe with Tony gone, he thought it was his job to keep her safe.

“Peter, you can’t… you can’t think like that. You can punch your way through a lot of things, but that? That back there? You did what you could.”

“I could do more.”

You get that urge to touch him again, only this time, you let yourself do it.

Your hand touches the side of his mask, cupping below his ear. He watches you the entire time but doesn’t move to stop you. Your thumb rests on his cheek and your pinky- it brushes the overlap between his mask and the rest of his suit, “It’s not just that you’re Peter, too.”

You feel the muscles in his neck twitch, “What?”

“It’s that… in all that chaos, you chose to stay behind. To help people. You made sure me and Harry got out, but you stayed behind. Everyone was so busy trying to save their own lives and you were thinking about them. I don’t know Peter Parker very well. Maybe he’s just that kind of guy. But I know you. I know if anyone in that room was you, he’d be it.” Peter doesn’t say anything. You feel the tension in his jaw, feel the way his throat bobs with a hard swallow, but he doesn’t say anything. He just watches you. You stare hard into those white eyes and imagine a someone staring back at you. “Or maybe that’s just the kind of people Spider-Man hangs out with.”

He huffs humorously, “Yeah, that checks out. We’re friends, after all.”

Your heart swells to hear it, “friends”. “Don’t make this about me when I’m trying to expose your secret identity.”

“I think Peter Parker would be flattered you think so highly of him. He was kind of worried he made the wrong impression… after you tried to punch him in the face.”

Your jaw drops, having nearly forgotten in the mess of the night. “Well, maybe Peter Parker shouldn’t go around grabbing people in the dark.”

“You were walking so fast. How else would Peter Parker get your attention?”

“Are you just saying Peter Parker over and over to convince me that you’re both completely different people?”

“I just think it’s funny that you don’t believe more than two Peters can live in the same city.”

“There are other factors!”

“Can’t believe you’re the type of reporter who flies by the seat of their assumptions. But you do work for Jameson, after all.” When Peter stands, you naturally follow.

You decide to switch tactics, bruising the alter ego, “You- you know what? You’re right. You couldn’t be Peter Parker. Peter Parker would be shaking and crying if I so much as raised my voice at him.”

“Wow. I’m gonna tell him you said that—wrap your arms around me?” And he snakes an arm around your waist, sending your heart into overdrive again, “he’s never gonna talk to you again. He’s probably gonna issue a copyright claim every time you put his pics on the Web-Blog, now. Legs too.”

“Wait, no. We are not swinging again. We are taking the stairs.”

“How else am I gonna get you off the roof? Legs, please.”

“We can take the stairs!”

“Door’s probably locked and Kingpin’s already on his way back to his super-secret evil lair. Legs or I’m webbing you up in a baby wrap.”

You grumble. It’s enough to make you grab onto his shoulders and jump, locking your ankles across his back with the fear of gravity instilled in you. You reckoned he’d be fast enough to catch you if you did fall. The very possibility makes you sick to your stomach, though. “Please don’t drop me.”

Peter dips his chin into the crevice where your neck meets your shoulder. "Don't worry," and it's not even that you hear his voice, you just feel it, "I've only dropped someone once."

And you're plummeting off the ledge before you get the chance to run away.

[kakiki3]

You | chapter three: the dance

Ellie ran in squealing "Joel? Joel?" No response, "Dad!"

"Yes?" He yelled back from the basement.

That was always one way to get Joel to instantly respond if he was in the vicinity. She secretly loved calling him Dad even if she wasn't quite used to feeling it yet.

She ran down the stairs into the dusty basement. Ellie had a moment of panic remembering not too long ago being stuck in a basement with Joel on death's doorstep. She shook the feeling of dread away.

Watching Joel shove a load of colors from the washer into the dryer. It almost seemed normal like a time she knew nothing about.

"What is it El?"

"-I got a babysitting job next Friday. Well, I'm helping babysit and you have a date or you should get a date because you have plans." She was talking so fast that Joel barely caught what she said.

"What are you rambling about baby girl?" Standing up, one hand on his hip and the other leaning on the washer.

"The town is throwing a dance. It's only for adults, which is stupid if you ask me but they said you can go to the library to look through clothes to find a suit to fit." She was waving around a piece of paper as she said, "I'm going to be helping Mister and Mrs. Archibald babysit the town's kids."

Mrs. Ann Archibald was nearing her eighties but before retirement, she was a school teacher for over forty years, and her husband, an ex-police officer out of Wichita.

"Ellie I'm not going to a stupid dance. I'm going to sit right here and get some things done around the house."

"Oh I get it, you can't dance."

"Shit yeah, I can dance." He boded. "Do you?" He asked in that teasing dad sort of way.

"Well no but..." She nodded her head from side to side. Sighing, "Joel you need to get out, meet someone, or just go relax for a few hours. Your brother is going." Finally handing him the piece of paper that was the dance flyer that Ellie tore off a post mere moments before coming home.

Joel looked at her as he took the paper from her. "That's nice Ellie but it's really not my thing."

She looked disappointed. "I worry about you." Her voice is lowering in volume. "I don't want you to die alone."

"I won't die alone I have you, Tommy, and my new nephew. That's all I need."

"You know what I mean." She scrunched up her nose feeling uncomfortable having this conversation with someone she saw as her dad. "A woman. You deserve happiness."

"I appreciate the worry but I am happy, and a woman will just add to my stress." He turned on the dryer and padded her shoulder as he passed going back upstairs.

Sighing she followed him. She'd have to do it herself if he wasn't going to help himself.

The next ten days seem to go by slowly. Without Joel's knowledge, Ellie got Joel a black tux with a black button-up and black bow tie. The afternoon of the dance Joel came out of the shower to the tux on the bed and a letter lying on top of it.

Dad, Joel's chest warmed, I know you said you didn't want to go to the dance but please do this for me. All I have is you. I need you to be happy outside of family. I need you to find joy with not just another person but yourself. God this kid is too smart for her good he thought with a smile, continuing, I don't ever want you to be lonely. Loneliness is cruel and besides you're not getting any younger, he laughed. Even if you don't find a girl tonight at least go have fun and dance with one. Please... Dad.

P.S. I know the suit will fit and you can never go wrong with all black. That was a low blow, Joel thought. He tossed the paper back on the bed and crossed his arms across his bare chest. He eyed the suit. Knowing damn well he was going.

Some time passed when she heard Joel coming down the stairs. Ellie was sprawled out on the lazy boy when she looked up from her comic book. Her mouth dropped at the sight of him in all black. Ellie tried to whistle but failed. "Ladies and gentlemen... Joel Miller," she teasingly clapped, using an announcer's voice. "You look nice... Good." She eyed his cleaned-up beard, slicked back hair which he was growing out, and the black suit that she was rather proud that it fit him like a glove.

Joel blushed. "Yeah yeah yeah." Not making eye contact. "I'm only going for an hour."

Ellie put her hands up, not fighting him but feeling rather triumphant. "Whatever you say. Have fun. Just ask someone to dance, will ya?" A sly smile slowly played on Ellie's lips.

He stopped and looked at her shaking his head in disbelief. This girl, he thought.

"I'll check in on you at Ann's later."

"Don't worry about me. I'll see you later. I'm heading out in a minute."

"I'll see you later." He added sternly.

She laughed watching him leave over her shoulder.

Joel arrived at the bar where the dance was being held. A band playing country music off at a far wall. Tommy found him right away, "Looking good big brother." handed him a glass of whiskey.

Joel rolled his eyes. "Jealous?" He teased.

"You know I look better." He huffed. "I heard Molly was looking for you. Why don't you see where that goes?"   

Joel let out a low groan, sipping at his glass. Molly helped take care of the animals. She was beautiful, funny, a widower a few years older than Joel but was honestly too sweet for Joel's taste. "I like Ms. Molly but she's not quite my type."

"Oh yeah, gorgeous, nice, funny, available, and most importantly interested in grumpy you. Which honestly I can't see why."

Joel eyed his brother. "Why was I hell-bent on finding you again?"  

He ignored his brother's comment. "Molly would be too good for you."

"What can I say I like them with a little more bite." He sipped at his drink as he surveyed the room. Spotting a woman in the far left corner standing at a table with her back to him. Her maroon dress hugged her body as the waves of her hair cascaded off the nakedness of her back. Joel's eyes raked over each curve.

"I bet you do. Is that why your eye fucking Y/N?" He laughed.

"What?" He arched his brow at his little brother before looking back at the woman, as she turned taking a sip of amber liquid from her whiskey glass. "Y/N?" he whispered to himself.

"I mean she is your type."

"That woman is not  my type." Joel bit back.

"Oh yes, smart, funny, kind," Joel huffed a laugh. Tommy continued, "Good with her hands, sarcastic, sassy, and stunning. Yeah, Joel, I can see why you want nothing to do with her."

"Are you sure you're not interested?" Joel laughed. Also, what is with you talking about other women's attributes?"

"I'm a happily married man, but I'm still a man. Maria and I spent time with her, she is your type. You two just got off on the wrong foot. Go try again."

"Tommyboy, I'm not interested."

"Bullshit Joel. I see that look, stop being so fucking stubborn." He smacked his brother on the back and gave him a nod before walking off.  

His brother was wrong. Y/N may be an attractive woman but has nothing in common with himself. Besides they truly couldn't stand being around one another, but before his mind could fight his body, he was walking towards her. Clearing his throat as he made it to the table, he grabbed a piece of a random appetizer. 

Y/N looked up at Joel, trying to contain the urge to admire how good he looked in an all-black suit, something she'd always been attracted to. "Joel." She nodded. "Didn't think this was your type of thing."

"It's not. Ellie made me."

She chuckled, looking down at the glass in her hands. "Of course she did. That girl has you wrapped around her finger doesn't she?"

"Entirely." He admitted.

She softly laughed. "Did she pick out your suit too?"

"Actually yes, is it that obvious?" he fidgeted with the jacket anxiously.

She brought the glass to her lips, looking across the dance floor. Nodding, "She did good." fuck, that slipped. A blush rose across her skin.

Joel pressed his lips together, clearing his throat again. "Thanks," He hesitated. "You look..." taking her in from close up, suddenly becoming nervous. "uh.. nice."

"Nice?" She laughed, in a teasing tone.

"Yeah." looking away, afraid to say anymore.

"Well, thank you." arching a brow trying to interpret what he actually meant. 

"Yep."

"This is awkward."

Joel nodded in agreement. "This type of thing feels kind of abnormal."

"Maybe that's why they did it."

"What do you mean by that?"

She took another sip, "Well this world is shit," Joel laughed at her bluntness, a real laugh. "Perhaps they wanted just one night, where it was like it was. To have couples meet and dress up, dance, drink, act like fools... be passionate." neither made eye contact. "To just be human again. Without constant fear, or always looking over your shoulder. To get lost in alcohol chasted kisses, and bodies pressed against each other while you dance, to laugh freely. To forget everything if only for a night." She looked up to see Joel a step closer and looked down at her.

Her heart beat in her chest harshly, "I need air." She set her whiskey down on the table, grabbing her dress at her thigh and lifting it slightly as she walked out.

He tried to stop his feet, but his brain screamed at him, to stop, to stay put. But he followed her, out of the bar, through the streets, and toward a small area of trees. 

"Joel..." She took a step back, which made him do the same. 

"Y/N, sorry I- shit- I'm not going to hurt you." He looked around them, "I just want to say... or ask, fuck..." He didn't know why he followed her let alone what he wanted to ask. he didn't know what made him do what he did next. "Dance?"

Her brows furrowed "Joel, we hate each other." she said, reminding not him, but herself that he indeed hated her.

hate was a strong word for Joel, dislike, sure. "That may be true but it's like you said forget everything for one night. I promised Ellie I'd ask at least one person to dance... and honestly it's you or Molly Greene."

"Molly likes you, that'd probably be a better choice. I mean why wouldn't you ask her?"

"Not my type," he shrugged honestly, "I don't want to lead her on."

"And I am?"

Joel let out a low growl, making Y/N feel like she hadn't felt in a while. Pushing that feeling aside. "I didn't say that. You can just say no so I can stop standing here like an idiot."

"Yes."

"What?"

"One dance. We can't disappoint Ellie, if she found out I turned down a dance with you I think she'd have my hide." This was a lie, not entirely but lie adjacent. She found Joel attractive and has since she first met him but he was a grouch, which sometimes she enjoyed but he was just an ass all the time, which she didn't. 

Taking a couple of steps forward, reaching down for his hands, feeling the callouses of his palms against her fingertips, placing one of his hands around her waist and the other in her hand, he kept the distance where it was uncertain of what it would mean if he closed it. There was no music, just the sound of their feet ruffling against sticks and hard ground.

Joel's hand felt like it was on fire against the silk and skin of her lower back. They swayed to the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. Through the natural movement, their bodies moved closer, pressing against one another. Moonlight lit up their shadows against the trees, Joel twirling Y/N made her instinctively laugh. 

"Who knew the grouchy Joel Miller could dance?"

"Who knew the snarky Y/N knew how to let a man lead on the dance floor?" He quipped back.

"Oh, there's the Joel I know. I was wondering when he would make an appearance."

Joel's glances flowed across the scar on her face, down to her lips, and across the skin only visible in the low v-cut of the dress that cradled her skin. His mouth slowly lowered to hers. The smell of mint and bourbon lingered. 

Y/N took a step back, "Well thank you. I'll make sure to tell Ellie that you were nothing but a gentleman during our dance, wouldn't want to hurt your image in her eyes." With that, she was gone.

Leaving Joel alone and so very confused.  

[watchandread02]

First of all Merry Christmas!

For the "Holidays with the Winchesters: A very Destiel Advent Calendar" by @archervale and @wormstacheangel

Day Twenty four: Spirit

Ao3

(This is a part three of my story of Santa Dean and Elf Cas. You can read this on its own, but if you want to read the other ones: Part one; Part Two)

Cas nervously brushes down the lapels of his suit jacket. He isn’t used to wearing such formal attire, since it’s not very practical in the workshop. But today is a special occasion, so Cas will have to bear through it.

“Woah Cas, I didn’t know you could clean up that nice.” Charlie says as she comes up behind him, dressed in a beautiful forest green dress.

Cas notices for the first time that it goes very well with the deep red tuxedo he is wearing. He had never thought about it too deeply, but the two main colors that are associated with Christmas, do go very well together.

Cas straightens his lapels yet again, looking down at himself, unsure, “are you sure I don’t look ridiculous?”

Charlie takes Cas face in her hands, forcing him to look up from where he had been fiddling with his hands. It’s weird without the ring resting on his finger, but he knows that he will be wearing it again in less than an hour. He seems to find different ways to occupy his hands, since Charlie would probably kill him if he messed up his hair.

“Cas, you are totally rocking this tux. Dean won’t know what hit him. I bet he’ll cry,” Charlie says.

“Thank you Charlie. Though I will probably cry as well,” Cas admits.

“Well then it’s good that my dress has pockets and I have plenty of tissues stored away. And now lets get you married,” Charlie tells him resolutely.

With that they are off to where Cas will walk down the aisle to meet Dean. They wait a moment for the doors to open and then Charlie steps up ahead of him.

Cas looks down the makeshift aisle. There’s rows upon rows of chairs lined up and even then a lot of the elves are huddled close to the sides of the chairs. Of course everyone would want to see Santa get married, Cas can’t begrudge them, but he would have liked it a little smaller. More just close friends and family. But that’s what he gets for getting married to Santa.

Hearing the music change, Cas takes one final breath, and then finally steps out from the shadow that had been cast over him before. Making his way down the aisle is a very unsettling experience, with everyone's eyes focused on him. Finally he catches sight of Dean standing at the front of the aisle. Cas’ breath catches in his throat as he takes in the way the red tuxedo is hugging Dean’s frame. That is until he meets Dean’s eyes, who’s standing at the end of the aisle. Cas is finally able to relax and he spends the rest of the walk locking eyes with Dean, just staring into those green eyes. Similarly Dean doesn’t look away from Cas even once, smiling at Cas softly. Since he is looking at Dean so closely he can see the moment the tears start to gather in Dean’s love filled eyes. Once he has made it to Dean he reaches up and wipes the tears from Dean’s cheeks. Cas takes a moment to cup Dean’s face for a few moments and giving him a reassuring smile, before stepping back and taking his proper place. Dean takes Cas’ hands into his and gives them a quick squeeze before both of them turn to look at Bobby.

“We are gathered here today to witness the joining of these two idjits,” this elicts a few laughs from the crowd. “Castiel and Dean. Dean and Castiel. We all have witnessed them growing up together and with that also watched their love grow. Last year they finally realised what we had seen all along and now we are all very excited for these two to finally tie the knot,” Bobby begins his speech.

Bobby is saying more, but Cas kind of blends it out and just focuses on Dean’s eyes that are locked onto his. The love that is staring back at him makes him want to kiss Dean right then and there. And since no one is stopping him, Cas does just that. He surges forward and kisses Dean, until he is pulled back by Charlie. Though that doesn’t stop Dean from chasing Cas’ lips, till Sam pulls Dean back.

“Well since these two can’t even keep off each other for a few minutes, lets get this over with,” Bobby says gruffly, staring the both of them down.

“Sam, Charlie, will you ovrr the rings,” Bobby turns to both of them in turn. Sam and Charlie both hand over the rings to Dean and Cas respectivly. “I have been informed that you have written your own vows,” they both nod, “well then Dean if you would.”

Dean looks Cas in the eyes as he speaks, “I love you. I love you so much that I don’t even really know how to fully express that love. I think I have always loved you, I don’t even really know when it happened. But one day I looked at you and realised that at some point it had happened. I was so scared to loose you that I never told you, but thanks to out meddling friends we finally got together. And it’s only gotten better since than. I didn’t loose my best friend, my best friend became the love of my life and I am so happy to be marrying you. So I guess, I vow to always love you no matter what. Even if we fight or disagree about something, know that I will always love you. Even if you always walk around with messed up hair,” at that Dean reaches up to ruffle Cas’ hair. Cas just grins at Dean, but he can hear the shocked gasp Charlie lets out behind him, “I look forward to spending the rest of my life with you.” Dean slips the ring onto Cas’ finger and rubs over it gently. It’s such a good feeling to finally be able to wear the ring again.

Cas takes a moment to gather himself. Charlie hands him a tissue and he spends a moment dabbing at his eyes. Taking one final breath, Cas looks back to Dean and squeezes his hands.

“Dammit I should have gone first,” at least that gets him a chuckle from the crowd. “Like you I don’t know when I first fell for you. I guess it was more of a gradual process. And that love continues to grow everyday. Everyday I get to spend with you is better than any one before. I feel like I can face even the hardest of challenges with you by my side. I know that you will always support me, just like I vow to always support you. Even if you end up spending hours slaving away at your desk and almost forget my birthday. I will always make sure that you will take time for yourself and time for us to be together. That’s how I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Together.” Cas finishes his speech and puts the ring on Dean’s finger. Locking eyes with Dean, Cas bends over and kisses Dean’s ring finger gently.

“You may now kiss the groom,” Bobby hasn’t even completly finished his sentence, when Cad and Dean already have their arms wrapped around each other and are kissing each other deeply. They keep it short and sweet since both of them still have enough wits about them to know that there are hundreds of elves watching them.

Once they have pulled back, Cas feels his feet lift of the ground. Dean had picked him up in a bridal carry and Cas throws his head back laughing, clutching tightly to Dean’s neck. Dean makes his way down the aisle quickly, to the cheers of everyone else around them.

Inside, they take a few moments just for themselves. Before they eventually have to go outside again and interact with everyone else.

And tomorrow Dean and Cas will get into the sleigh to spread Christmas spirit all around the world. But for now they spend the night celebrating themselves and their union. And maybe because of the spirit all of the elves had felt the day before, this Christmas will feel extra magical.

[positivelybeastly]

Ok, but what do you think was going through Hank's head between Trish dumping him and Cassandra Nova screwing him over? How did he spend those hours?

Also, this is your safe space to roast Trish Trilby into the freaking sun. (Please please please).

Also, (sorry if this is too much) Why do you think Cassandra screwed with Hank so much?

It was his first time putting on this new tux - all of his old ones no longer fit, naturally - and if he was frightfully honest, it had been rather a pain, doing it with his new digits; waistcoat buttons, dress shirt, bowtie, all just so remarkably fiddly. He had spent his whole life so uniquely talented with his hands that even a slight reduction in dexterity would have thrown him, but this . . .

But it would be worth it, he told himself, as he primped and preened a little bit in the mirror. It was, in its way, a self-confidence boost all on its own, to be able to dress himself so finely without tearing a hole in the silk or nicking himself with his own claws.

As he looked into the mirror, he even found it within himself to smile, and to like that smile, no less - he felt as though he could feel his old face coming through, which was a bizarre concept, but one which was something of an old friend to him by now. It usually came before acceptance, which was all to the good, surely? He had weathered this before, and he would do again.

"There is no exquisite beauty . . . without some strangeness in the proportion.” No doubt Poe would have had a nervous fit, to see a creature such as the Beast quoting him from memory, but then, what hadn't set that poor man into a nervous fit? Not that . . . Hank couldn't relate, of course, but . . . he cleared his throat, determined to be positive.

This was a big night, his first night out since he'd changed, and he was determined that it was going to be a big night.

Moving over to the answering machine, Hank carefully depressed the button, and erupted into a smile as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. In his head, he felt as though he could hear his old self clapping him on the back and telling him, you got this, boychik!

"Hi, Hank . . ."

A cocky grin on his face now, Hank pulled back a bit, adopting an almost sultry pose as he looked in the mirror, adjusting his bowtie. "Well hello, Trish." He couldn't help himself.

"RROOowr!" He did look good, didn't he?

"Are you ready for a balloon ride across upstate New York with champagne and . . ." His ears flicked. Trish didn't sound . . .

"I'm sorry I'm being such a coward about this, Hank, but I'm calling from Washington, and . . . it's not you, it's me."

Hank stopped mid hair primp.

"You're still the same lovely Hank inside, even since you changed so much, but . . . I know you can't help your eyes, but you look at me like I'm prey sometimes and . . ."

His arm fell down by his side.

"And the Enquirer ran a story about us . . . the word 'bestiality' was used three times . . ."

He felt - he felt -

"I couldn't do anything to hurt you, dear, lovely Hank. But this could ruin my career as a broadcaster."

He felt like he was going to be sick.

"Oh god, I didn't mean it like that."

How did you mean it, Trish.

"Oh, Hank . . . I'm making such a mess of this."

Are you.

"I'm so sorry."

Are you truly?

The answering machine beeped mockingly, asking him if he wanted to delete the message, replay it, or save it.

With an uncanny accuracy that would have made Gambit proud, Hank whipped the hand mirror through the air with enough force that it smashed the answering machine into plastic smithereens, the moulded shell of it collapsing to the floor in amongst the broken glass.

No.

No, that wasn't enough.

His body possessed by the same kind of predatory speed that filled prey animals with terror, he stalked over to the corpse of the machine and began to stomp, over, and over, and over again. Transistors, transducers, receivers, numeric keys, wire, it all ended up stomped into a twisted mess of shit, because that's all all of this was, it was shit, it was bullshit, it was all bullshit -

Bringing his paws up to the collar of his tuxedo, worn just this once, freshly tailored, costing a good few thousand dollars, from a tailor that Janet van Dyne had recommended to him personally, Hank tore it all to shreds in one fell rip.

It all came away in gossamer strings, light and thready and soft, and as it peeled away, Hank thought for a moment that he might quite like to reach up just a few inches higher, dig his claws into his skull, and do the exact same thing with his skin, and his fur, until the meat suit went the way of the monkey suit and he was himself again. Until the him, the real him, not this royal blue mockery, was what people saw again.

But it wasn't that easy, now, was it?

The pants were next. Then the boots, the first of which he kicked off his feet and sent flying into a monitor that cost more than the suit, cracking it. He didn't care. Off came the other one. Another $10,000, down the drain. Who cared.

Newly naked, and not even remotely calm, Hank bent over and pressed his head into the cold, sterile metal of the lab that Charles had invested millions into, and screamed, an inarticulate sound of pain and fury and humiliation and shame. His brain felt as though it were throbbing. He could feel it pulsing against the bounds of his skull, just wishing it could escape the confines of this mortal shell, and Hank could only whimper and whisper back, me, too.

He rocked back, falling on his haunches, and stared off into nothingness. He sat there, for what must have been half an hour, refusing to cry, refusing to give her the satisfaction, refusing to be beaten, taking all of what he was feeling into his paws and slowly strangling it and packing the chopped up little corpses into littler coffins in his mind, hammering down the lids until all that remained were neat little boxes that he could compartmentalise and file away with the rest of it.

And when he was done, he breathed in deep, stood up, and walked away from the wreckage of his relationship, naked and without any more pretensions as to his exquisite beauty.

The first step was, of course, to find new clothes. The most immediate source was the field gear room, and he supposed it was as apropos as anything else. Any aspirations of a social life, he could now safely consign to the dust bin along with his aspirations of a human relationship, so why not don the garments of the X-Man he was consigned to be and only be? It was more honest that way.

He smoothed down the sides of the buttery smooth, new leather jacket, supposing he was glad that the kevlar-unstable molecule weave that lay beneath its surface meant it wouldn't rip like the tuxedo would.

Supposing so. As an identity, it would do.

The second step was to clean up after himself. Sweep away the glass and the plastic, throw out the broken monitors, order new ones, bill it to the Professor's account. If he questioned it, he could either accept Hank's mumble that there had been an experiment that went awry, or he could tickle at Hank's brain and then recoil because that entire area of Hank's mind probably felt like acid to the touch.

Either way, replacements were on their way.

The third step . . . and Hank was, for the moment, glad that the sub-basement was, in essence, his stomping ground and no-one else's, because that meant there was no-one to stop him . . . was to find the Enquirer story that Trish had mentioned.

He could practically hear Jean in his brain, telling him not to do this; hell, he could hear Scott and Logan in his brain telling him not to do this, and that was how he knew he really was going around the twist, because those two existed in his mind now and they were in agreement.

But he couldn't help it. He had to know.

Sitting down at his chair, he leaned back, his muzzle perched on his paw. His desktop stared at him, and he felt a pang as his wallpaper rotated through picture after picture of old teams, old faces - his, old face.

He hadn't had the heart to change it yet.

The cheerful placidity of his handsome face stared out at him from the cowl of an old brown and yellow X-Factor uniform, and even as he matched the other Hank's gaze, the piercing yellow of his newly lambent eyes shone back at him through the reflective glare of the monitor, replacing the soft blue he remembered.

He shrunk away from it, and instead slid on his digital manipulators, the mechanical prostheses that allowed him to type without fingers. He stretched them, feeling the wire and metal and electrical impulse sensors in the tips flex around his digits, and began to type.

'Enquirer Trish Tilby.' 410,000 results, most of them articles citing her as a source, dating back to the outbreak of strange, seemingly mystical possessions of every day objects and the emergence of X-Factor. Not specific enough. His fingers twitched.

'Enquirer Trish Tilby Hank McCoy.' 290,000 results, the first hundred, at least, of which were simply coverage of their relationship over the years. There, again, was his old face, staring out at him, as if mocking him, entreating him to do what he always did and pursue knowledge, instead of listening to the little voice in his head telling him he was only making things worse. His fingers twitched again.

'Enquirer Trish Tilby Hank McCoy . . .'

He swallowed.

'Enquirer Trish Tilby Hank McCoy bestiality.'

And there it was.

He read it, of course. To not read it would be like leaving an itch on the surface of his brain unscratched for the rest of his life, he simply had to know, and it, was . . . exactly as tawdry and sad and cruel and garish and dehumanising as he thought it would be.

Dehumanising.

Now, wasn't there a word? How. Specific. De-human-ising.

'We do believe all planets have a sovereign claim to inalienable human rights

'Inalien... If only you could hear yourselves? 'Human rights.' Why, the very name is racist.'

The sound of Chekov and Azetbur buzzing in his brain made him feel suddenly, violently angry, and he grabbed his keyboard and mouse and flung it to the side like a child, breathing heavily as he heard them clatter and smash, kicking at his desk and feeling it bend under his foot before he brought up his legs and hugged them.

He wanted to get off the ride. He wanted to get off.

He wanted to get off the ride. He wanted off.

He wanted to get off the ride, he wanted off, he wanted off, he wanted off -

A ragged, injured breath escaped him, and he slowly stood back up, his movements stiff and jagged as he slowly cleaned up the new mess he had made. Hank very gingerly picked up the keys that had gone everywhere, dropping them into the garbage like broken teeth, feeling so very much like he wanted to cry, but refusing to give her the satisfaction. He refused. He refused.

. . . He needed to do something constructive. He needed to. He desperately needed to think about something that wasn't this.

Shambling as if drunk, his body cycling through modes of movement as if trying to work its way back to something that felt vaguely human, vaguely normal, Hank moved back towards his anatomical computer console and called up the last file he'd decided to load into it.

'CASSANDRA NOVA ENTITY. THREAT LEVEL: EXTREMELY HIGH. CURRENT STATUS: DECEASED.'

Large, blue paws settled on the terminal and he leaned forward. Something else, now, was gnawing on the edge of his brain like a worm, and this . . . felt . . . important. What was he missing? What hadn't he done? It had been a little spooky, he'd been a little - frazzled, after Nova had gone stomping through the Institute the way she had done, but he'd done all of the routine checks, hadn't he?

Yes. Yes, he had. Basic autonomic processes, breakdown of homeostatic baselines, blood sample, tissue sample, radiological readings, and all of it had come up appropriately strange . . . no known matches in the Avenger database, nor S.H.I.E.L.D's, nor even the Shi'ar. She was strange. Genuinely strange, the kind of life that they'd never seen before - and its first instinct had been to try and kill them. Why?

Why does anyone try to kill anything?

. . . Because it's threatened? But what could possibly threaten Nova? Telepathy, adamantium, gravity, gunpowder, it had all been so much waste. Nothing had phased her, really. What could phase a being of such awe-inspiring power? Not a physical threat, surely . . .

But what about a mental one? Or. A genetic one? What was it he'd said again? She was beyond the biological Twilight Zone. She was, in a word, uncanny, unknowable. What was it he'd said again? He'd been in the middle of saying something. Not just now, back then.

Hank took off his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his muzzle, dialling back through his memories, trying to fumble at the moments just before Cassandra Nova had started to touch at his mind and fry his brain. Before can feel too funny bad smell in my eyes . . . what had they said? They had said something.

'This could become a war for the domination of the bio-sphere.'

'They'll be gone, replaced by us. Or something even stranger.'

'How come she looks like you, Chuck?'

Hank's eyes flew open, Logan's voice ringing in his ears.

'How come she looks like you, Chuck?'

"No . . ." And yet, even as he denied it, Hank was cross-referencing the tissue sample he'd taken - and the DNA contained within - with Cerebra's genetic library files. He didn't need it to tell him what it did, but it was trivial, how quickly it returned a result. In an instant. Ping. Done.

'Exact match: Charles Francis Xavier.'

He . . .

He and the esteemed Headmaster needed to have a talk. Now.

So, there is an actual canonical reason why Cassandra Nova fucked Hank over so badly, and it kinda depresses me because it is just so very typical - it's because fucking him over was useful to her.

What better way to make a genius work in your favour? Hurt him. Hurt him so badly that all he can think about is getting back at you by doing something clever, something that will astonish and amaze and redeem his moment of weakness, of humiliation, of abject failure.

Hurt him because that's easy and it's fun and his insecurities make him predictable in how he'll lash out and try to compensate. Hurt him so that he uses his genius for you, and the only thing that stops him from acting in your favour is someone who can see through his neuroses spotting what's going on.

Someone who is paying active attention to Hank's mental health, like Jean Grey.

It's also partly the reason why Hank ended up being the host for Sublime in Here Comes Tomorrow. It wasn't just a case of convenience.

Hank is the perfect Sublime host. Why?

Partly because Hank is constantly evolving. He is mutation in action. He is the biological imperative to adapt and survive.

'Primordial Earth,' huh?

The only other person who would come close is someone like Darwin. And even then, I suspect Darwin wouldn't be as compatible as Hank. Why?

Because Hank is also two other two things that make him the perfect host. A genius - and mentally ill. He is vulnerable. He is susceptible to manipulation. When isolated, he can become desperate. He panics. He becomes emotionally unstable. Irrational. In need of support.

And that's exactly what Sublime wants. That's exactly what Cassandra Nova wants. That's what they find useful.

Hank is soft, and tender, and useful. Unfortunately for him.