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covetyou · 7 months

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the best of you, honey, belongs to me

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con, unprotected P in V, oral (f receiving), creampie, choking, spanking, mild praise kink, potential assault, derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap. word count: 5.5k chapter summary: Joel Miller is an asshole. An asshole and a liar. Right?

A/N: HOLY SHIT I DID IT I FINISHED SOMETHING. I did it Ma!

Thank you all so much for sticking with me this month. Your support has been silly lovely and I genuinely love you all a little bit.

Ty to @iamasaddie and @jupiter-soups for being the first people to cheer me on from the sidelines. You both made me excited about my own writing, which feels weird but I'm very grateful to you.

I hope you like it, thank you, goodbye, see you soon, I love you.

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song: NFWMB by Hozier

Joel Miller was a massive fucking liar, you'd realized.

You probably would have been able to guess that before, but as you were stood here, back pushed against a brick wall in an alleyway, it was clear as day.

You'd been dragged down here by two men - a small rat like one and a taller one with a mean look on his face - and thrown against the wall. Your back smarted, and you tried to reason with them, but they were tugging at your clothes and threatening you before you could think of anything useful to say.

They were torn off you as quick as they were on you.

And now, heavy fists were pounding into them, beating into their faces and stomachs as they slouched pathetically against the brick opposite. Joel had found you, somehow noticed in a crowd of people that you were suddenly gone. He had someone with him, they looked similar enough that they could have been family, and both were beating into the men that had dragged you down the alley.

A yelled threat and the two men were hobbling away, beaten and bloody and holding onto themselves in their retreat.

"You okay?"

You're looking at Joel, so it takes a second to register that the other man is addressing you. You slowly turn to him - definitely related - and nod. You're stunned and a little winded more than anything.

Joel is flexing his fist, staring daggers at you. His companion doesn't say another word to you, but you hear him talk in hushed tones to Joel, before Joel mutters something back to him and he walks away.

You should probably be more scared of being alone down an alley with Joel Miller than the other two guys but, though it confuses you, you feel safer than ever. He'd protected you, saved you, and that's how you knew that Joel Miller was a fucking liar.

"C'mon," he growls to you, walking away and expecting you to follow. Of course, you follow, even through the low lying anger and frustration that's still simmering in your belly.

As you walk behind, you watch as he clenches his fist and flexes his hands over and over. Before you know it you're outside his apartment block, being roughly dragged up the stairs by a heavy hand on your arm, dragged down a corridor and deposited in front of his front door. He doesn't look at you as he fishes his key out from an inner pocket on his coat.

"Saw you fuckin' lookin' at me, I told you not to do that shit," he says angrily, throwing you into his apartment and slamming the door closed behind you.

"They hurt you?" You shake your head. "They touch you?" You shake your head again.

His nostrils flair. You can almost hear the bones in his hands creak from how hard he's clenching his fists.

And so you poke the fucking bear again, because what is there to lose. You'd spent all week mulling it over, getting angrier and angrier as you talked yourself in circles. He didn't like you and you definitely didn't like him. You didn't want to kiss him, but also you did. Neither of you cared, but maybe both of you did. Everything was feeling like a lie and all you wanted was the truth. So you poke, bracing yourself for impact.

"You're a liar," you whisper, pulling at the sleeves of your coat.

His eyes immediately snap to yours, and he's making quick work of the distance between you. He's toe to toe with you when he stops, looking down at you, fists still firmly clenched at his sides.

"What did you fuckin' say to me?"

You swallow before you speak again, meek as a mouse but a fire in your belly. "You're a liar. You said you wouldn't look out for me."

"S'that why you kept lookin'? S'that why you got yourself in trouble? To prove some fuckin' point?"

You frown at him - it hadn't been intentional. You were glaring at him when they grabbed you, stuffing a gloved hand over your mouth to keep your scream from being heard. The people around you didn't care, didn't stop what they were doing or go for help. They just left you. But Joel came anyway.

"You think I asked for that?" you say, trying to keep your voice from cracking. You never have and never will cry in front of this man, not like this anyway. You watch as his mouth curls to sneer at you, the fire turning into a sick feeling bubbling up through your belly as you watch his lip raise.

You don't know what comes over you, but you push at his chest, wanting to touch him and get him away from you in equal measure. It takes him by surprise, the force of your push making him stumble back.

You both stare at each other, unmoving for a beat, both shocked that you'd dare to touch him let alone push him. You think maybe you should run, get away before he gets you, but your reactions are slower than his, and you're raising your arms to protect yourself as he makes one big stride over to you.

The blow doesn't come.

He's pulling at your coat, jerking it down your arms, before tugging at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. It gets caught, and you hear a tear as it catches on your arm, but he keeps pulling anyway. The fabric splits from your body, tattered and ruined as it's discarded on the floor.

"You think I would fuckin' hit you?" he says angrily as he tugs at the rest of your clothes. "You think I would fuckin' hurt you in any way you don't want?"

You have no time to answer before he's manhandling you again, pushing you roughly into his room.

He pushes you forward onto his bed, bending you over and holding you there as he reaches around and tugs at your zipper. You fight to stand, but the weight of his hand keeps you in place as he pulls your pants and panties down in one, leaving them around your knees so you can't run to escape even if you wanted to. Any thought that you could, should, run is already gone. You don't want to, not any more. Whatever he wants to do, whatever anger he has for you, you want it. You want to feel his anger, you want it to burn into yours until you combust.

A hand claps down on your ass and you feel the sting ripple up your back. He wanted that one to hurt, and it did. Another sharp slap hits your other cheek soon after, the sting of pain made worse by your cold skin, but you're glad for it because you wanted that one to hurt too.

Both his hands rub across your cheeks, drawing a groan from you as he massages them and soothes the sting before rough fingers pull you apart. He always did like looking.

He wastes no time in plunging his wet tongue into your pussy from behind, Joel's hands yanking your pants down the to your feet to spread you open further for him. "You're fuckin' dripping," he says between breaths as you push back into his face.

"You this wet from those guys?" You don't answer, so he slaps a hand down on your ass again.

"Fuckin' answer me."

"N-no. M'not wet from them."

"Then why," he says, breathing deeply as he devours your pussy, the cold of his nose tickling your hole as the scruff on his jaw scratches at your inner thighs. "Tell me. Tell me why this needy fuckin' pussy is so wet."

"Because of you," you push your face down into his bed, biting at his sheets as his tongue swipes over your clit, already so sensitive your legs are shaking. You arch your back, exposing more of your cunt to his relentless tongue. There's no question or thread of shame in your mind why you like this - why you're already so close to coming undone just from him being an asshole and playing with your pussy.

"Me, huh? Little hole's desperate for me? Look at her cryin' out to be stuffed full, drippin' all over the place."

You couldn't help the drip of slick from your cunt, or the way his words always worked to make it worse. You knew you were a mess, but by now you knew he liked it, even if he taunted you for it. You felt how his grasping hands got firmer, saw as his cock got harder, just at the sight of your glistening pussy.

Two of his thick fingers are pushing into you, the cold feel of them startling you as they slide home. You'd spent a week thinking of his fist buried in your cunt, but his fingers still felt so thick, so much, plunged into your dripping wet heat as they were.

"If you make a mess on my sheets I'll rub your fuckin' nose in it. Act like an animal I'll treat you like one."

If you were an animal, he was fucking feral - a snarling, growling, feral animal of a man that you just couldn't resist.

His fingers curl, dragging against your walls harshly as his tongue slides against your clit again, swirling around the stretched rim where his fingers are embedded in you, tasting you, before slurping at your clit once more. You grind your hips back against his face, trying to get more friction on your clit as he fucks you with his fingers. They're warmed now, the burning heat from your cunt drawing the chill from his bones.

The wet squelch in your cunt is obscene as he laps at your clit, drawing you so close already, your feet still tangled in your pants and your moans muffled by the push of your face into his sheets.

Joel's fingers are gone just as your orgasm starts to raise its head over the horizon, ruining any high you were so close to getting. You slam your fist down on the bed in frustration, ignoring his gruff laugh as you muffle your fuck into his bed. His knees crack as he stands, undoing his belt and pulling his cock from his pants. He doesn't stroke himself, he doesn't need to, he just squeezes himself at the base, lines himself up with your hole and pushes forward.

A strangled moan pulls from your chest as he sheathes himself, pulling your hips back flush with his as his cock impales you in one movement.

"Fuck, if this pussy don't just love this dick."

He draws back slowly, pulling any slick from your cunt back with him, coating himself in you, before slamming back to the hilt.

"Uhh, f-fuck."

You feel him draw back again, holding himself back from you, tip barely inside your cunt, teasing himself at your entrance. Before he can, you push back onto his cock, taking him in with a deep moan.

He stifles a groan, fingers digging into your hips, pinching the flesh in his grip. You try to move, to fuck yourself on his length, but his grip won't let you. You can feel him throb inside you, and you hope he's already close to coming, that he wants you that much he can barely hold himself back.

The thought is gone as soon as he starts pulling back again and thrusting forward quickly, repeatedly slamming his hips into your ass and pulling you back onto him. The sharp slap of his hips and wet squelches of your pussy are muffled only by your moans and Joel's shaky breathing.

"Tell me - you fuck anyone else - like this," you say through staccato gasps as his cock collides with your cervix. "If you say you do - I'll know - you're even more of a - fucking liar."

He throws you forward, pulling out and standing glaring down at you when you twist to look at him, finally able to kick your pants and shoes off your feet.

"You think you're special?" he growls. You take him in, his massive figure stood there still clothed, cock hanging lewdly from his pants and covered in your slick. You want to lick it, taste your own pussy on his cock and catch the drip of precum from his tip before it's wasted.

"No. I'm not. And neither are you," you spread your legs as you say it, willing him to come back, to start fucking you again, but not daring to ask for it. "You're an asshole. I just like that you make me feel good."

"Feeling's mutual, sweetheart." He's pouncing on you before you can process it, yanking his shirt over his head before pulling your spread thighs across his clothed ones, notching at your entrance and sliding straight back in.

You thud back down onto the bed with the force of his cock fucking into you, staring up at him with an open mouth, panting as he starts to cant into you once again. His hands are holding your thighs against his as he rocks so deeply into you you think you can see your lower belly pulse with each movement.

His hands slide down your thighs, pulling you apart where his cock joined with you, swiping a thumb up the slick gathered there and rubbing it around your clit in rough circles. You reach down, hand trying to meet his and hold him there, but he swats you away. You move further instead, grabbing at the waistband of his pants and tugging down, slipping them over his ass before he's pushing you back again. Your fingers drag across his abdomen as you fall back again, watching a shudder crawl through him with the graze of your fingertips.

You try not to smile when his hand falls from you and shimmies his pants further down his legs, over his knees and kicking them off the end of the bed whilst still buried in you. You can see all of him again now, his broad shoulders, dark nipples, the trail of hair down to his cock where it disappears inside you. His thick thighs, spread almost as lewdly as yours, dusted in hair, the muscles flexing with each rock into you. He doesn't look at you as you drink him in, eyes focused on your cunt as he pulls you back open.

He spits down onto your clit. You whine when it collides with your skin and starts to trickle down your spread pussy. You whine again when his thumb draws it up and around your clit, massaging it into you, each swipe of his thumb jerking your swollen nub and bringing you closer to coming undone as he pounds you hard into his mattress.

You throw your head back with the feeling of it all, moaning loudly into the open room.

"You'd let me do anythin' to you, huh."

"Yeah," you admit, head still thrown back and eyes closed. You would, you couldn't even say why, just that you knew you would. That for all the pain at the end of the world, this was a pain that was worth it, a stretch that made you ache in the right ways, the sting of his palm that electrified you, made you feel alive.

"You're just beggin' for me to slap your pussy pink again, ain't you? Fill that pretty little asshole up with my cum. Wear you like a fuckin' glove." He's growling, muttering obscene things to you, things you both know to be true. "You'd let me fuck you anyway I want, even share you with whoever I want."

You nod, stupidly bobbing your head along with the rhythm of him sliding into you.

"This pussy is mine," he growls. "Say it."

"Yours!" you pant, you didn't want it to be anyone elses any more, what was the point when he'd ruined you for anyone else. "M'yours!" Fuck.

"All o' you? That's more than I even asked for sweetheart."

And he's falling forward over you, hands planting either side of your head for leverage as he pounds into you harder than he ever has, abandoning your clit just as you were about to fall apart underneath him yet again. Any words to correct yourself are gone as you groan, pulling your brows together and watching him. His face relaxes and contorts over and over, sweat beads at his temples. You know his hair would feel damp if only you would reached up to touch it.

He shifts to his elbows, the sweat from his chest and belly mingling with yours, making your bodies slick as they slide together. You watch his mouth open as he pants, the heat of his breath on your face cooling the sweat dripping down your neck. You can smell him, see every imperfection of his skin in such detail that you're struck dumb, angry, and desperate all in one swoop. Something so close still feels so far away, and a frustrated sob is bubbling from you before you can stop it.

Something inside you snaps with that. You'd be chasing it for weeks, denied something you hadn't even dared to ask for.

You grab him by the throat as his hips roll into you, gasping out a breath before you grit your teeth and say it, forcing him to look directly at you.

"Fucking kiss me."

He laughs in your face and you fight down the shame for even daring to ask for something you wanted, something you deserved. "Is that what you want?"

You nod, squeezing his throat beneath your fingertips.

He pulls back from you - you want to claw at him and hold him to you but he pushes your hand against his throat with his own. He looks down between you, your pussy creaming around his cock and swollen clit twitching with each thrust.

You tighten the grip on the sides of his throat, feeling the hard thud of blood through his veins at your fingertips, drawing his eyes back to yours.

"Fuck, that's it, sweetheart."

He suddenly throws your arm down from his neck, pinning both if your hands down as he puts his weight on top of you.

"That what you want?" he grits out. "That what you keep coming back for? Thought you were whoring yourself out for pills, not a fuckin' kiss. Are you that fuckin' desperate?"

He's goading you, you know he is. Still, you want to scream at him, but his face is close to yours now, so terrifyingly close you could kiss him by accident if you weren't careful. Suddenly you're terrified of it, desperate but terrified.

His aquiline nose slides up the side of your face, and you stop breathing. "You want this?"

"Please." You'll be angry at yourself for begging later, right now you'd say anything if it meant he'd finally give it to you.

He drags his nose across your face, rubs his nose against yours. He's practically still inside you now, the shallow rock of his hips the only movement either of you are making. "You sure?"

"Please," you whisper again, breath ghosting across his lips. You try not to move your mouth too much, barely muttering the word in case your mouth touches his. His own breath huffs against your mouth, teasing you with the taste of him.

"S'all you want, huh?"

"Mm." He's so close you don't trust yourself to speak.

His nose nuzzles into yours, the hair on his face tickling at your sensitive top lip. Then you feel it, the bow of his top lip swiping against yours, not kissing just feeling.

You're frozen, terrified to move, terrified to feel what you've been desperate for for months.

But you made it through the worst days at the end of the world. What was fear any more except another lie.

You press your lips forward, done with waiting, done with being patient, done with putting others first. You want it so badly that finally, finally, you take it.

At the first press of your lips to his, he releases your wrists, sliding his hand down the curve of your body to hold you to him. You moan into his mouth, blinking back angry tears as you wrap your own hand around his neck to pull him in further. At first he doesn't move against you, letting you kiss the soft swell of his mouth, but when you slip your tongue against his bottom lip and breathe him in, his mouth opens and his lips press to yours, giving back everything you're taking.

"This all you wanted this whole time?" he whispers against your mouth.

"Not all I wanted," you mumble. Your eyes are closed, head dizzy from breathing so deeply, from finally doing the thing you'd literally only dreamed of.

"No?"

"No," you swallow before continuing, the shame of admission gone now. What shame could there even be when it was so obvious. You open your eyes just as you speak. "I wanted all of it."

"Yeah?" You think from the look on his face that he needed to hear it as much as you needed to say it, so you kiss him again, just because you can.

He presses his hips into you harder, making you gasp straight into his mouth, the sharp pressure of his cock so much with the fuzzy high in your head. He does it again, kissing you of his own volition this time and swallowing your moan down as he starts fucking you again, one hand settling in your hair as the other wanders your body. You can still taste the salty sweetness of your own pussy on his mouth as you lick into him.

Your own hand dances with his over your body, teasing your own nipples and stroking down, down, until you push your hand between your bodies and feel between your legs. You're a mess, sweat and the wetness from your pussy merged together to create a slip and slide of slick as he slides his cock into your tender hole. You stroke at the base of him and feel another shudder work its way through his body before you move your hand back to yourself, circling your own clit as he rocks his length into you.

"You gonna make yourself come on my cock?" he says, looking down where your hand strokes at your clit. You nod, lips brushing his, capturing him in another kiss as you moan, so close already.

"Good fuckin' girl. You rub that pretty pussy. She just fuckin' loves this dick." True.

His cock in your pussy, his hands in your hair, holding your body, your own hand strumming your clit with well practiced movements, the feeling of his lips on your own. It's all so much so quickly, everything you've been craving for so long, that the fire in your body burns so bright it explodes out of every pore before you can hold it off.

"F-fuck, Joeeel."

You come with a cry, every part of your body shuddering and convulsing, hand twitching over your own cunt as you desperately try to keep the high going as long as you can, until you're so sensitive all you can do is grip your own thigh, your nails creating half moons in the soft flesh.

"You're all mine, huh?" he says gently, still inside you now as he feels your walls pulse and twitch around him. You nod, floating from his kisses and your own high. "No one else gonna touch this pussy. S'all mine."

"S'yours."

"Needy, needy, pussy," he grunts into your mouth, as your cunt quivers around him, an aftershock pulled from you at just his words and the rasp of his coarse hair against your clit.

It hits you then, for all he called you needy you never actually asked for what you wanted, what you needed. You never took it either. Not until now. But he always did.

"I think you're just as needy as I am," you whisper.

He clicks his tongue and cocks his head. "I never said I wasn't, sweetheart."

A quick shuffle of his knees later he's pounding into you with abandon, your cunt had barely stopped throbbing by the time he started again.

"Ohhhh, god."

You don't move to kiss him again, he's chasing whatever high he needs now and you let him take it, back arching, moaning as he pounds away, cock slipping inside you with ease. The hand in your hair pulls harder, tugging your head back. You think this is going to be it, he's going to come inside you like this, but then wet kisses are being peppered across your neck and collar bone, his moans sounding more like those of a common whore than his usual grunts.

You want to come again already, so you grip him tight, hands roaming from your body to his arms, his shoulders. Your nails claw at him, pulling him closer and pushing him away, trying to tear him apart with your bare hands as he fucks you.

He moves quicker still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he holds onto you and slams home over and over. You think he's almost there - hope he is because how much more screaming can your voice take before it breaks - when he's yanking your hair again. His mouth latches to your own in a sloppy kiss, tongue fighting with yours and his cock squelching into the wet heat of your pussy as he comes undone, groaning into your mouth, shuddering, fucking ropes of thick cum into your empty cunt and never stilling for a second.

His hips stop bucking against yours before his mouth does. He kisses you softer, groaning, slowing down to catch his breath before he finally removes his lips from yours with a shuddering gasp, screwing his eyes shut.

Cum practically gushes out of you when he pulls out, and you expect him to get up and leave like he has every time before. He doesn't. Instead, he rests his head next to yours, kissing your shoulder, the warmth of his body encasing yours.

Your face finds his, nudging against his jaw. He shifts, letting you in, and your mouth finds his again. You kiss him until you turn to liquid, sighing deeply and tracing soft patterns on his skin and your own with your fingertips.

Eventually, he releases your hair, and you think the moment is truly over. But then he rolls over, flopping down next to you, the weight of him dipping the mattress and making you shift closer to his side. He closes his eyes, putting an arm behind his head, and you take the chance to look down at his naked body, his cock now soft between his legs.

The feeling that bubbles up through you rips out of your mouth in a laugh. Joel's eyes fly open, finding yours, making you laugh harder. Tears are falling from your eyes - the absurdity of it all too much to bear. So angry at him, at yourself, for weeks now. Wanting something for so long, something that it turns out you could have just reached out and grabbed. Driving yourself near mad over wanting to be touched in a way you thought he never would, when maybe all along he thought you never wanted it. You're left with nothing but small giggles and an aching belly by the time the feeling bubbles out of you completely.

You wonder how all of this must look to him. How small and naive you must look, just a silly girl giggling in his bed. If he thinks it, he doesn't voice it. He just shakes his head softly and raises an eyebrow at you, as if to ask if you're done.

You lie next to each other in silence after that. He doesn't tell you to leave, and you don't move to either. You just lie there, arms barely touching, sweat drying and cooling both of your bodies.

You'd always been okay with silence, more often than not finding yourself with nothing to say, especially these days. But something in this moment tells you to speak, and so you do, filling the silence with your own voice before the opportunity can be taken from you.

"Thanks for helping me out there," you start softly. "I know you said you wouldn't, and I'm not trying to prove a point I just... Thank you. I was looking at you. I couldn't help it. I've been... angry. At you, yeah, but mostly myself. So I was looking, but I didn't realize it was that much, I swear and I -"

"S'okay," he stops your ramble so simply and quickly you frown, an involuntary tut falls of your mouth. He casts a glance over to you, almost chastising as he continues. "Ain't lyin' when I say it though. You gotta stop lookin' at me. I really can't be lookin' out for you, just got lucky this time. There's assholes bigger than me out there."

"Doubt it," you scoff. He raises an eyebrow and runs his tongue along his teeth, daring you to say more. You don't.

You fiddle with the sheets between you, biting at your cheek and bottom lip, so much more to say but the words just ending up jumbled in your head.

"I wasn't lying either. When I said I want it. All of it." That's a start, you figure.

"You don't want me. I could be anyone."

"Maybe I don't. Never said I did. I just know that I want whatever this is," you gesture between the two of you. Whatever had started as a transaction was clearly more than that now. You enjoyed the feel of him, the way he touched you and talked to you. You enjoyed the escape of it all. It was nice to know another person in the world knew you were there, that you existed, cared about you in some way, even if it was only enough to make sure you came. "Sex was never really any good with anyone else anyway."

"I've got other people I have arrangements with. I've got Tess, I've got -"

"I know. That doesn't matter. I'm not asking you to change. I don't want anything to change. I just want..." you trail off, shrugging. "I just want this for me. I don't care what it is for you, as long as it's good too."

He looks at you, taking you in with curious eyes, working out if what you're saying is true. If really, in this moment here and now, you want this exactly as it is. "I can do that."

You think that he gets it, understands it all more than you could ever explain. The thought of that alone is more comforting than any touch he could give you. It could have been a sweet moment, if that's what you two were. But it's not, and still he ruins it anyway.

"Pussy really is no one else's but mine, huh?" There's an edge to his voice that tells you he's holding back a laugh, and you could fucking hit him.

This time, you do. You relish in the oof that leaves his body as your hand collides with the side of his chest. He catches your wrist before you can land another soft blow, your skin prickling in his firm grip. You know from the feel of his hand and the look in his eye that you'll fuck him again before you leave his apartment today.

It only takes a few minutes for you to prove yourself right. You climb on top of him all soft curves and bouncing tits, hair a mess, face scrunched and jaw relaxed as you ride him, kissing him as much as you've ever wanted. Even when your legs ache, when he starts fucking up into you with each bounce of your hips, you carry on, wanting to take from him again and have him fill you.

He never tells you to leave, but eventually you get up, putting your clothes on, tucking your torn t-shirt around you. You expect your dad will be wondering where you've got to soon.

Joel sits and watches you dress until you're stood fully clothed, looking at him lying nude on his bed, a total contrast to what happened in this room just a week ago.

You think for a moment, waiting as he gets up and walks with you back through his apartment. You take in the last few hours. The last week. The last few months of knowing Joel Miller.

"Joel?"

"Mm."

You look him up and down as you stand in front of his door, still naked as the day he was born. "You're a massive slut, you know that, right?"

He laughs. Full bellied, head back, laughs.

"Takes one to know one, sweetheart," he says with a smirk, winking as he unlatches the front door.

You kiss Joel again as you leave his apartment. He can't stop you now, and you don't think he would ever even try.

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ddarker-dreams · 3 months

Text

mini love report — giorno giovanna

relationship health diagnosis — 80%*

symptom one — intuitive

giorno's uncanny ability to read others got him far in life. it's a skill so interwoven into his being that it's as involuntary as breathing. from the instant he laid eyes on you, he started work on a mental profile. depending on what he wants, he'll make slight adjustments to how he interacts with you. he's hyper-aware of your likes and dislikes at all times. fortunately for you, his intentions aren't malevolent. the adjustments aren't drastic but you'd probably find it weird if you ever learned about this (you won't).

this information goes to ensuring you're comfortable around him. he finds intimacy a vulnerable, fragile thing that must be handled with care. you can feel the quiet intensity of his gaze most toward the start of your relationship, although it never goes away. he's searching for any sign of discomfort or unspoken cues to continue.

eventually, he'll come to trust that you'll voice misgivings if you have any and that he can ease up.

symptom two — resolute

once this man sets his mind on something, there's no stopping him. this staunch determination can be good, bad, or a discordant mix of the two. what differentiates him from other ambitious individuals is his patience and opportunism. he'll pursue you for years if need be. giorno doesn't want to conquer your heart, no, he longs to be worthy of having it. after all, if you've caught his attention, you must be special.

challenges may arise when 'determined' shifts to 'obstinate.' regardless of how opposed you are in a disagreement, he never disregards your perspective. the lone exception is when your safety is involved. should he believe you doing something imposes a risk, it's like trying to convince a brick wall. he'll still hear you out but you both know his mind is made up. he won't relent until you capitulate. he's methodical in dissuasion; never raising his voice or condescending you. he's well-mannered and considerate as ever.

you come around to his side faster than you'd care to admit.

symptom three — respectful yet sly

while mindful of your boundaries (thanks papa jonathan), giorno knows what mischief he can get away with (sorta thanks papa dio). for a man who has garnered the fearsome reputation he has, he's surprisingly impish. he'll quietly fluster you before getting your picture taken together, so that he can capture your expression forever. at dinners with important figures, when the conversation gets painfully boring, his hand will brush over your thigh beneath the table. he acts confused by your admonishment as if he hadn't instigated it.

occasionally, when thinking back on interactions from your teenage yours, you experience an epiphany. what you thought to be an innocent comment had flirtatious undertones! if you bring this up to him, he'll smile softly and say he's 'glad you finally noticed, even if it took a while...'

primary area of concern

he's what you might call 'morally flexible.' there are some lines he'll never cross — promoting illicit substances or harming children are the premier examples — yet he's still a mafioso. as the don of passione, he regularly engages in dubious practices. should you ever ask about his undertakings, he's honest up to a point. he knows how to make unpleasant subjects palatable. the thought of regularly lying to you makes his stomach churn.

giorno settles for misdirection and obfuscation. it's so subtle, so well done that you'll likely remain none the wiser. he masterfully steers you away from topics you're better off not knowing (in his view). he admits to lesser wrongdoings to satiate your curiosity.

no matter how he spins it to himself, however, this is still lying. it's just a fancy, roundabout version.

prognosis

giorno may have this debonair flair to him, yet beneath the polish sits a lonely heart. he's worried he'll accidentally spoil your relationship (especially if you're close friends before he confesses), or otherwise bring some harm upon you. he wouldn't ever be able to forgive himself. you're someone he can be himself around. the charm he always exudes changes shape in your presence. he's a bit less smooth, more prone to blushing and fidgeting. he's just really good at hiding it.

he'll be a steadfast partner (and hopefully husband) come hell or high water. he's gentle and kind in a way no one beside you can illicit. you make him want to be better so that he's never at risk of losing you.

*the universe has tried (and failed) to wrench you apart (0-20) your friends are praying that you'll break up (21-40) 'well it could/has be worse' bargaining mindset (41-60) a lil messiness as a treat (61-80) pure and wholesome (81-100)

#giorno x reader #jjba x reader #mini love reports #valentines 2024 event

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charliewhaw · 21 days

Note

what do you think Alastor would do if Lucifer flirted with him?

(Gasp! RadioApple! AppleRadio! Whichever it is! This will be fun!) (( Post edited and contributed to by balloondrifloon ))

“No, your Majesty, I think I’ve got bigger priorities,” Alastor said with a smirk, his eyes squinting at his short-people joke.

Lucifer frowned. That was enough! He wasn’t taking any more short comments from this man. He’d give him a taste of his own medicine!

“Are you a fire alarm?!” Lucifer asked loudly, watching in delight as the red-haired man’s smile faltered slightly and he tilted his head in confusion.

“A fire alarm?”

“Because you’re making my heart race and my blood boil!” Lucifer grinned triumphantly, placing his hands on his hips and narrowing his eyes at Alastor.

“I-.. Wha-..” Alastor stuttered, raising a brow at the king.

Lucifer paused. Holy shit… He didn’t just–… He fucking used a pick up line on Alastor! Lucifer’s pale cheeks flushed golden as his angelic blood bloomed across his face. He tried to salvage his comment, “I-I mean–!” He pointed up at the other man, “Y-You–!” There was no rescuing this.

Alastor shook his head to rid himself of his stupor, then cleared his throat and summoned his cane with his usual flair. “Anyway, ahem. I must go and attend to these ‘bigger’ priorities, my Liege.” He shot Lucifer a smug grin and disapparated into his shadows.

Wait a minute. Had Alastor not even noticed? Did Lucifer just get away with flirting with Alastor? Well goddamn, it seemed the deer was denser than a brick when it came to flirting. To be honest, so was Lucifer, but at least he had practice with Lilith. Shit… Why was he still blushing?

---

“Charlie, my dear, why is there a red circle around the words ‘French toast’ in the hotel’s financial report?” Alastor smiled sweetly at Lucifer’s daughter. He showed her the papers the girl had handed him and pointed at the circle in question.

“Oh! That’s– wait, why did I write and circle that?” Charlie took the papers and examined them, bewildered by her own actions.

Alastor waited patiently for Charlie to come to some kind of conclusion. He was standing far too close to his daughter for Lucifer’s liking. “Hey, Alastor!” Lucifer called, causing both the demon and the half angel to look up at him.

“If good looks could kill,” Lucifer smirked, feeling the blood already pooling in his cheeks, “You’d be a weapon of mass destruction!”

Charlie’s jaw dropped.

Alastor squinted his eyes, “Pardon?”

“You heard me,” Lucifer felt the adrenaline of the flirt kicking in. Seeing Alastor’s face as he searched for an answer in Lucifer’s eyes was thrilling. He had no idea what Lucifer was doing, and his ignorance was… really cute? Endearing even. Was he serious? Did he find this obnoxious demon cute?

“My,” Alastor placed his hands behind his back proudly, “Thank you!”

“What?” Lucifer blinked. “What– what do you mean ‘Thank you’?” Had he understood that pickup line? Was he… accepting it? Lucifer’s face flushed even harder.

“While I appreciate these compliments, Lucifer, I was in the middle of something,” Alastor’s smile twitched with conceit. Oh. He thought Lucifer was just complimenting him. Was he fucking for real? This fucking guy.

Charlie stumbled over her words, “I-Uh-Wha-I-”

“French toast?” Alastor said cutely as he tilted his head, trying to get Charlie back on track, his ego now inflated.

Fucking narcissit.

Alastor was an idiot, Lucifer decided.

Both men were sitting on the couch as Shifty (Was that the little maid’s name?) played with-- wait... Roach corpses? Okay, then. She was apparently putting on some sort of puppet show for the two of them. Lucifer wasn’t sure how he or Alastor got roped into being her audience. It just kind of happened.

Alastor’s smile was closed-mouth and his lips were stretched thin in what Lucifer assumed as an attempt to keep from making a disgusted face that would hurt Drifty’s feelings. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, fondness for the maid’s antics showing in them. For a moment, Lucifer wished Alastor would look at him that way.

He leaned closer to the radio demon, making Alastor’s eyes flick to him without moving his head. Lucifer whispered, “Is your name Chaos?” He cautiously reached out and touched Alastor’s leg, “Because you’re turning my world upside down.”

Alastor froze. After a second, his eyes widened. They darted between Lucifer’s soft smile and his hand on Alastor’s thigh. He abruptly pulled away, scooting himself across the couch and putting his back against the armrest.

Lucifer’s smile widened at this reaction. Alastor’s did too, but for different reasons. He looked defensive and nervous, “What did you just say?” He asked in a much louder voice than Lucifer had flirted in.

Zifty leaned her head out from behind her makeshift stage, “Quiet! Juliet is just about to confess her feelings for Romeo!” The roach story had not been following the story of Romeo and Juliet at all, but it didn’t matter.

What mattered was Alastor looking so dumbfounded and pretty across from Lucifer. He wasn’t blushing, and maybe he even looked a little green around the gills, but the adrenaline Lucifer felt was exhilarating. He scooted closer and whispered again, “Are you a hurricane? Because you’re blowing me away.”

Alastor quickly stood up, “Well, Niffty! This was another excellent show, but I do believe I’ll be taking my leave now!”

Niffty (Her name was Niffty!) tossed down her roaches and stood up too, “But Mister Alastor! You said you’d watch the whole thing!”

“Plans have changed my, dear!” He patted her head in a panic and slipped into his shadows, promising to watch her next show to its entirety.

Niffty turned to glare at Lucifer like she knew this was somehow his fault.

Alastor avoided Lucifer for a while. It was frustrating. Lucifer wanted to see Alastor’s mind try to wrap itself around another pickup line. The facial expressions were gorgeous and Lucifer craved them. He–... fuckity fuck fuck. Fuck! Was he falling for Alastor?!

There was no way! He just liked seeing Alastor flustered was all! That was it. It was funny! Nothing else! That sentiment changed the moment Alastor entered the hotel. He had been out with Niffty and Charlie, picking flowers for an upcoming recruiting event. It wasn’t something Lucifer expected the man to do, but he supposed, somehow, the girls had worked their charms on him.

What he had expected even less was for Alastor to enter the hotel… covered in flowers. They decorated his antlers, wrapped around his ears, and dotted his hair. He was… he was gorgeous.

Well fuck. Lucifer had definitely fallen for Alastor.

He couldn’t stop himself from approaching the deer. The panic in Alastor’s eyes when he spotted the king was obvious. He hurriedly tried to hand Charlie his basket of flowers, “Here you are, Charlie! Excellent activity! One for the ages!” He tried to rearrange Charlie’s hold because her hands were too full to take his basket, “But I simply must be going now! Rosie is waiting for me! We have much to discuss about the–”

“Alastor,” Lucifer interrupted him.

Alastor froze, looking toward the shorter man and narrowing his eyes. His plans to disappear before Lucifer got there were squashed. Still holding his flower basket, he now placed it in front of himself like a barrier.

Lucifer ignored Charlie as she began whispering to Vaggie and Angel. Husk was there too, but he was just staring at them.

Perfect. An audience. If he did this in front of others, Alastor would fluster so hard it would be irresistible.

“Do you have a bandaid?” Lucifer asked, feeling his smirk growing wider.

Alastor’s lower eyelid twitched. He knew where this was going. No one else did. Charlie looked at her dad with concern, worried he might be hurt. Angel and Husk raised a brow at him. Niffty tilted her head.

“Because I scraped my knee when I fell for you.”

Niffty gasped loudly, putting her hands to her cheeks.

Charlie squeaked in shock.

Vaggie’s hands dropped to her sides as he mouth dangled open, befuddled.

Angel’s eyes widened and a grin slowly formed on his face, “Oh-ho! Holy fuck!”

Husk did a double take between Alastor and Lucifer.

But their reactions didn’t matter. Only Alastor’s did. Lucifer’s eyes greedily took in Alastor’s response to that pickup line– one of his better ones, he had to say.

Alastor, however, wasn’t flustered. He was staring at Lucifer like he was considering something. Wait, was he considering Lucifer’s feelings? Now, hold on a minute! Lucifer was only just now coming to terms with his feelings himself, Alastor wasn’t allowed to stop the chase just yet!

The deer-demon hummed to himself briefly before smiling wickedly at Lucifer and snapping his fingers. A bandaid appeared in his hands, and he handed it to Lucifer, “There you are, my good man. Wouldn’t want your boo-boo to get infected.” He set his basket down on the ground since no one was willing to take it, and saunted away from the group and toward the staircase, “Do take care of yourself, my king.” He stopped walking and looked over his shoulder, “Do that for me, will you?”

Lucifer’s blood ran hot at the smug look on Alastor’s face. Alastor then walked up the stairs and disappeared from view. This. Fucking. Guy!

“Okay, what the fuck, Dad?” Charlie asked, throwing her hands out. Everything she was holding onto fell to the floor, “Whoops!”

“I’m adding this to my ultimate bad boys fanfiction!” Niffty said, snickering to herself.

“Soooo, who’s the top?” Angel asked suggestively, crossing his upper arms and putting his lower hands on his hips.

“Fuck my life,” Husk mumbled, dragging a hand down his face.

Vaggie shook her head, “I’m out.” She walked off.

Lucifer ignored them all. He swallowed hard, trying to control the furious blush running across his cheeks. Alastor was planning something.

Alastor stopped avoiding Lucifer; This time he sought him out.

“Lucifer! My king!” Alastor exclaimed cheerfully, entering the room.

Lucifer, who had been reading a WickedWiki article on his phone called “How To Ask Someone Out instructions with pictures”, nearly dropped said phone when Alastor loudly greeted him.

Lucifer looked up, his heart fluttering at the sight of Alastor looking devastatingly handsome, as always, and so pleased to see him. He felt himself already beginning to blush and he hadn’t even started flirting with the redhead yet.

Alastor leaned against the armchair Lucifer was sitting in, “How are you today? Good? Good!” He was so close to Lucifer that Lucifer could have just reached out and pulled him into his lap.

Maybe noticing Lucifer’s eyes lingering on his waist, Alastor pulled away from the chair and backed up a bit. He smiled at Lucifer with a charismatic grin, “I have a proposal to make.” His words were calm but mischievous. Lucifer could smell a trick a mile away. He had once been Heaven’s ultimate prankster– well, just second to Uriel, but like… Fuck Uriel. He played dirty.

“A proposal, huh?” Lucifer asked, unable to keep his eyes off Alastor’s tiny waist now that he’d looked at it.

Alastor placed his cane, and his hands, in front of himself to block Lucifer’s view, “Yes, indeed! One I think you’d be most interested in!”

“I’m listening,” Lucifer said, though he wasn’t listening too hard. His eyes had gone up to Alastor’s face, craving the flustered look he had previously brought upon the man. What Alastor said next, instead, made Lucifer become flustered.

“I’ll go on a date with you, if you promise me a favor.”

Lucifer choked on his spit, “Y-You’ll do what?!”

“A date.” Alastor’s teeth clenched, “Provided you hold up your end of the bargain and grant me a favor.” He repeated his terms like he was worried Lucifer hadn’t heard them.

Lucifer stood up quickly, “Holy shit! Y-yeah! Fuck! A date? Are you serious?” He tossed his phone down into his chair, no longer needing the WickedWiki article. Alastor had asked him out. This was like a dream come true!

Alastor extended his hand, “Excellent! A date for one favor!” He repeated again, Lucifer was starting to think he was trying to remind himself that and not Lucifer.

Lucifer took his hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of it, earning a shudder from Alastor, before he shook on the deal.

Today was the day.

Lucifer stood in the lobby, nervously adjusting his lapels. He had put on his best suit for this. He’d even had Razzle and Dazzle polish his nicest pair of boots! If he was going to take Alastor out, he was going to do it while he looked his best. The man cared a lot about appearances: Lucifer aimed to please his sense of aesthetic.

He stood in the lobby for a good 15 minutes, nervously adjusting his bowtie and fiddling with his hat. Alastor wasn’t late. Lucifer had been early. But the waiting was taking a toll on him. His mind started to wander.

What if Alastor didn’t show up? What if he decided Lucifer wasn’t good enough? What if–

Alastor’s shadow darted down the staircase. Lucifer held his breath as Alastor began to form in front of him. Once he was fully visible, Lucifer’s face grew hot. Alastor was wearing a fitted, crushed velvet, red suit that was open in the front to reveal a black vest that cinched at Alastor’s waist and made his chest look more prominent. Somehow, this made Alastor’s waist look even tinier. More grabbable. His coat was free from its usual tatters and was slightly shorter than his usual getup, making the deer’s legs seem longer than before. Gosh. Alastor sure was tall…

All of Lucifer’s previous worries melted away as his eyes beheld Alastor’s beauty. He was stunning.

Alastor held out his arm for Lucifer to take, “Shall we?”

Lucifer caressed Alastor’s arm before he took it in his own, ignoring how Alastor’s eyes twitched at this. He took a step forward and nearly tripped, “Gah!”

Alastor kept him from falling face first onto the ground. Lucifer looked down to see what he’d tripped over. It was Frank.

Frank rolled around on the ground before looking up at the two and going, “Ooohh!” then scurrying off. Lucifer would have to worry about what that meant later. He had a date to enjoy.

The hotel doors slammed open to Lucifer’s kick. He laughed jovially as he guided Alastor inside. That date was anything but romantic, but it sure was fun. Alastor had refused any form of romantic gestures, which bummed Lucifer out a bit, but he made up for it with his personality. Turns out Alastor was really good at unknowingly flirting with people. It got worse the drunker Alastor got.

And they were both very, very, exceptionally drunk.

“Are you a traffic jam? Because you’re driving me crazy!” Lucifer belted out, clinging to Alastor’s arms.

“Ha hahaha!” Alastor laughed, attempting to pull his arms away, but failing. He was too drunk to make much of an effort.

Tonight was amazing. It didn’t even bother Lucifer to see the rest of the hotel crew standing in the lobby, looking at them like they were nutcases.

“See? I told you the clown and the red man were going on a date!” Frank pointed at them, his goofy voice bellowing through the room.

“Holy shit,” was all that could be said.

Lucifer pulled Alastor closer to him. The ‘red man’ struggled to pull away, but Lucifer was stronger. He just held him for a minute before giving in to Alastor’s desire to be separated and letting him go.

Everything was perfect. He just needed another date. And maybe it was the alcohol talking, but he didn’t care if that meant giving Alastor a second favor.

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latenightsimping · 2 years

Text

Nothing Else Matters

Summary: Being Jason Carver’s little sister can be be hell. Especially when you fall in love with someone he despises. Jason has a plan to break you up, and it almost works. Almost. (Part 2 is here!)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word count: 6,618

Warnings: V ANGSTY, angst to fluff, heavy themes of bullying, themes of child abuse and neglect, Jason Carver is an absolute shitheel in this, mentions of suicide, argument heavy in one part, reader is Jason Carver’s little sister, this is kind of a rough one for the first three quarters or so, it does get better I swear, posted without being beta read and in the early hours of the morning

AN: This was a wonderful request that I got from borhapgirlforlife19, and my first one for this blog, so thank you!! Really hope you enjoy it! The request asked for smut at the end, and I’m gonna be working on that in the next couple of days! I wanted to put it in two parts; one because this got quite long, and also separating it means that those who don’t wanna read smut can choose not to click on the second half if they wish! Actually gave myself psychic damage writing some of this lmao

Being the little sister to the school’s golden boy had both good and bad connotations. For one, you weren’t picked on throughout your years in high school, able to weave through the halls and mind your own business. Make a couple of friends, and manage to keep your head down and focus on your grades.

However, the downside was that Jason was the one to make your life hell, if he was in one of his moods. A couple of times he’d humiliated you for some inane reason that he thought required payback. The worst had been when you’d told your Mom about him sneaking out at night to drink with his buddies, only to come back from a gym class the next day to find your fantasy books in shreds after they’d been stolen from your bag. No doubt orchestrated by Jason as revenge, seeing as the cheerleaders seemed to follow his every command.

It was how you and Eddie had first met, the day that it happened.

You were crying under the East stairwell during class, hating the thought of having to go to class and face the smug looks on the faces of your bullies, knowing they’d finally got to you by ruining the one thing you enjoyed. Back pressed against the cold bricks, arms wrapped around your legs and your forehead pressed against your knees as you tried to will yourself to stop crying.

“What’re you cryin’ for, pretty girl?” he had asked you softly, making your head snap up to look at him. A halo of dark curls and soft brown eyes, such a contrast against his rough and sharp outfit of ripped jeans and chains. When you only sniffled in response, he carefully crouched in front of you, a respectful distance away as he placed his rings hands against his knees. “Somethin’ bad happen?”

“M-my books,” you manage to get out between ragged breaths, and you watched as his eyes flickered towards the piles of paper by your bag. It looked as if you had tried to rescue them, only to become overwhelmed after you realised it was pointless. Sitting himself in front of you, legs crossed in front of him, a hand slowly reached out to carefully pluck a cover from the pile. Eyebrows furrowing as he clicked his tongue behind his teeth and shook his head as his eyes snapped back up yours.

“Someone destroyed a copy of The Silmarillion? Why princess, that’s sacrilege. Honestly, the firing squad need to be summoned at once for this heinous crime.” His dramatic flair as he spoke; the hand clutching fake pearls and the exaggerated exasperation made you let out a small giggle. His face warmed as he set his hands back in his lap, tilting his head with a soft smile.

“There it is,” he mused, making your eyebrows knit in confusion at his words.

“What?” was your dumb reply, already internally kicking yourself at how small and helpless you sounded.

“There’s that smile I look for in the cafeteria,” he answered with a soft voice, making your stomach flip pleasantly at the thought of him looking for you in a sea of people. You’d known of Eddie, of course you did. Had watched him launch himself up onto the table to parade around, yelling about whatever had him revved up that day. Had seen him rough-housing with his friends in the hallways, all smiles and earnest laughter. But you’d also seen the kinder side of him. Letting people pass when he was in the way, or holding doors open on instinct whenever someone was behind him. No matter how much people bullied him, he was still giving them common decency. And now you knew he knew who you were? You couldn’t stop the heavy blush dusting your cheeks.

As if sensing your slight embarrassment, he cleared his throat as he shifted on his place on the floor to get more comfortable. Both hands placed on the floor behind, him, leaning back as if giving you some space if you needed it. “Soooo… I happen to have a few copies of Tolkien kicking around my place. Wouldn’t mind lending them to you, until you get another. Totally your call, though. Won’t be offended if you tell me to get lost.”

Your heart warmed at the offer. You’d never spoken to him before, but he was clearly picking up on how upset you were, willing to go without if it made you happy. The kindness that you’d soon learn that filled him so much he was fit to burst with the intensity, especially when it came to the ones he loved and cared for. It made your smile so wide it made your cheeks hurt as you wiped your tears away with the back of your cardigan as you nodded.

“I’d like that.”

A love of books had bonded you both, and what begun as sneaking copies of what one thought the other would like when nobody was around turned into hanging out to talk about them. You’d tell your parents you were visiting a friend when you went out for the weekend, which was technically the truth. You would spend your free time in his messy bedroom, reading in comfortable silence or watching him play his guitar as you tried to focus on homework, something that fascinated you endlessly. The way his fingers would move over the fret board with an ease that came from a lot of practice, playing you songs that you thought you’d like. He was the one to introduce you to heavy metal, and you found that you actually really liked it. You’d had so many deep conversations when you were curled beside him on his bed, talking about how much you hated when Jason picked on you and others, or other worries that filled your mind. He was a good listener, and always seemed to know what to say to soothe you. His bedroom became your solace, somewhere that you would yearn for when you weren’t there.

In return, he shared the thoughts that you knew he never shared with anyone else, keeping them to himself and gnawing on his soul. How much he missed his Mom, or how the years of abuse at the hands of his father when he was drunk still made him carry both mental and physical scars. You soothed him when it became too much, a hand on his and rubbing soothing patterns onto the skin of the back of his hand as you listened to the heartache that poured from him. You wondered why he never asked you not to tell, but it eventually dawned on you that he trusted you. He trusted you to hold his heart, and to never crush it. And it made you feel honoured to do so.

It was there that you had your first kiss. You could still remember how you were both laughing at some silly joke as you lay side by side, and the way that your bodies were practically inches from each other when you rolled onto your side to face him. How his eyes darted down to your lips, his own parting as if he was silently asking for permission. Seemingly finding the want you had for him in your body language, and closing the distance to slot his lips between your own. He tasted like cigarettes and cherry flavoured gum, and it became a taste you so desperately needed every time you were with him. Needed the way that his hand would come up to cradle your jaw, the cool metal of his rings against your warm skin. He always kissed you like it would be the last; passionate, tender, loving. He was your first kiss, and you found yourself wanting him to be the only boy you kissed for the rest of your life.

Ever since the first, the kisses didn’t stop. He would come and find you, nodding his head towards a supply closet and ducking inside, knowing you would follow to be wrapped in his arms with his mouth peppering your lips, your cheeks, your jaw with soft kisses as he told you how beautiful you were. You were only dating for a few months, but it was the small things like that which had you smitten with each other. He would find you small gifts that made him think of you; a beanie baby of an otter, because you once noted how adorable you found them. A silver chain bracelet very similar to his, though daintier, that you wore with pride. His eyes would light up when would find him new books to read that were his favoured genre, finding them when you took trips to the second hand bookstore. Your handwriting on the first page, saying things like ‘I thought you’d like this one because of the lore on elves. Enjoy!’ with your name signed underneath and a small heart.

You didn’t know it, but Jason knew something was up with you. You’d been smiling more, and wasn’t bothered by his usual jabs to your confidence, and the fact of it enraged him. The suspicions were confirmed when he was snooping through your room when you were out of the house, finding a very familiar shirt buried in the bottom of your dresser drawer. Moth eaten and faded with time, the black cotton with WASP proudly emblazoned on the front made him see red as he clutched it tighter in his hand. He knew who the previous owner was, considering he was one of the only people he knew that listened to this sort of music. Not to mention the faint smell of weed still eminating from the fabric. What the fuck was Munson’s shirt doing in your room? Slowly, he put the clues together. The late nights coming home, the smell of cigarettes on your clothes and the near constant chipper demeanour for the past couple of months.

You were banging the freak. And he wasn’t going to have that.

A plan formed in his mind, coming to fruition on the Monday morning before class. One of the cheerleaders, Donna, had a knack for copying handwriting; she was the one that they would come to if they needed a fake sick note, or an excuse for not doing homework. Filling her and the rest of the cheerleaders in on the plan, they were all right on board to make his little sister and the Devil worshipper of Hawkins break up. “It’s for her own good,” they had nodded sagely as they all chipped in an insult to write down, as though they were fully in their right to meddle in people’s affairs. Chrissy seemed uncomfortable with it, though she didn’t say anything as she watched. Just hanging onto Jason’s varsity jacket sleeve, giving him a small frown that he chose to ignore. In his eyes, he was second ranking in the position of the other man of the house. The women in the household were expected to listen to him, just like they listened to his father. In his eyes, he was doing the right thing. Straight up threatening would only push you further into Munson’s arms. This way? This way, he could kill two birds with one stone. Destroy Munson, and get his little sister away from him. The freak would be doing all the hard work, and he could come out of this looking like the one in the right. It was perfect.

Eddie was late to school, yet again. He was really trying to get in on time, knowing that it would look bad on him. The rubber soles of his sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as he rounded the corner, coming to a harsh stop in front of his locker. “Shit, shit, c’mon baby work with me,” he quietly pleaded with the combination lock, fingers fumbling as he twisted the dial. A triumphant noise escaping his lips as it finally unlocked, making quick work of putting his backpack and lunch box into the locker as he picked up the Math and Chemistry books he needed. He almost missed the small folded piece of paper that fluttered on the floor, his name in a familiar handwriting with a small heart just underneath. A sight that he was always glad to see, knowing that this was something you did often. Picking it up and shoving it into his pocket, he booked it towards Math. Not really because he was excited to learn about whatever the fuck the teacher was on about. But because he would have time to read your little love note.

Ten minutes into the lesson, and he finally took his chance to retrieve the paper and gently fold it open. Seeing his name on the top made him swoon. But as his eyes scanned the words, the grip on the note tightened so much that his ringed knuckles turned white.

Eddie,

I know it isn’t April Fools yet, but surprise!! Got you real good there, didn’t I? Got you thinking this was real, didn’t you? God, you’re a loser. Should have seen your face when I said I loved you. All doe eyes and stupid grin. Who would ever love you? You’re a freak and a nobody. Trailer park trash, just like your no good Daddy. Wonder if you’re gonna share a cell when you eventually wind up in prison? Or will you OD on smack before then, just like Mommy? Maybe if you do some sort of pact with your Lord and Master Lucifer, they might bring them back for you? When you’re not too busy sucking his dick, of course.

I never want to see your pathetic, ugly face again. This is the last you’ll hear of me. So enjoy the memories of me fucking you while they last, perv. Hope this finally sends you over the edge and you finally do us all a fucking favour.

p.s. Get a fucking haircut, you look like like the ugliest chick alive.

Your name was signed on it, and it just made his heart shatter that much more, his whole world crashing down around him. His hands were shaking as he tried to control his breathing, trying to keep it from going as rapid as his body was trying to force him to do. Vision growing blurry as hot tears pricked at his eyes that he couldn’t stop from forming. He was stood up before he realised his own body was moving, barely hearing the teacher yell at him for leaving the class halfway through and Jeff’s voice asking “What the fuck, man?”

Now in the halls, he began sprinting. Letting his feet pound on the floor as a wretched sob burst from his chest, running towards the only place of solace that he had left. He’d thought that he’d got used to the bullying over the years. He’d got used to the punches and kicks; those could be patched up and bruises covered. Even the names stopped bothering him after a while, after he’d heard them enough times. Only one time had got him to this state, and that was when they had stolen a necklace that he had hung on the rearview mirror of his van. One of the last things he had that belonged to his mother- the one of very few items in the whole world that he cherished more than anything. And it was you who had got it back for him after you snuck into Jason’s room to get it, risking your own neck in the process. It was you who he had spoken about her to, about how much he missed her every damn day and still wished every night that she was still around. You had hugged him while he cried on her birthday last month, carding your fingers through his hair so tenderly and softly whispering that it was okay to cry, to just let it all out, that you were always going to be around to catch him when he felt like he was free falling.

He had trusted you, heart and soul. He loved you. And none of it was real.

…

“Hey, have you seen Eddie?”

You were confused to not find him at the head of the Hellfire table when you got to the cafeteria. You were used to him giving you a lopsided grin as you passed to make your way to sit with your friends, teasingly patting his lap in offering and knowing full well that you wanted nothing more than to indulge and finally join him. Coming up to the table was already a risk; the boys who sat there looking nervous as you approached. But you had to. Eddie had promised that he wouldn’t skip school because he was determined to graduate this year, and you knew full well that you would see him here if he nothing was wrong. Was he sick? Maybe his van broke down? Either way, your stomach lurched as you waited for an answer.

The boys shot looks you couldn’t quite decipher between them all, and it was a curly haired boy with a boyish smile that Eddie told you was named Dustin to finally answer. “Do you uh… Do you need him for anything?”

You knew why they were being apprehensive. With the last name of Carver, of course it was going set them on edge. No doubt your older brother was making their lives a misery, and they wondered if you were about to do the same.

You gave them a soft smile as you nodded. “Yeah, I um… I-I have one of his books that he gave me. Wanted to return it.” Technically the truth. His beloved copy of Lord of the Rings was safely tucked in your backpack.

“We can give it to him,” Dustin offered, still eyeing you with suspicion.

“Oh, thank you, but there’s no need,” you answered, keeping your tone light. “I actually need to talk to him about something, too.”

The one with the dark cropped hair and kind eyes seemed to give you some pity. “You know that’s his girlfriend, right?” he muttered to his friends, keeping his voice down in case they were overheard. All eyes snapped back to you, shoulders relaxing and small sheepish smiles when they finally put two and two together. Eddie had been talking non-stop about a girl he was dating, and it was actually Jeff who had sussed it out first. It wasn’t rocket science, considering he’d probably caught the way you two stared at each other every moment you got. You wondered why Eddie hadn’t told them your identity, but you also understood. If word got out that you two were dating, it’d mean untold consequences for the both of you. You knew he trusted his friends enough not to snitch you two out, but you guessed he was just being extra careful with it all.

“Yeah, I am,” you said, smiling fondly at being called ‘his girlfriend’ in public. His girlfriend. You were Eddie’s, and he was yours. And you loved how it sounded. “I was just wondering if he was okay? If he was actually in school today?”

“He burst out of Math about something,” Jeff explained, shrugging as he pushed food around his plate with the tines of his fork. “Seemed real pissed. You might find him out in the woods, past the football fields and keeping right on the path. He sometimes goes there to smoke on the old bench out there.”

You couldn’t stop your heart racing as you nodded, thanking them profusely as you turned heel and left towards the place Jeff had told you about. Eddie was mad at something? He seemed fine when you saw him yesterday. In fact, he seemed in a really good mood. He’d got his first C in English, and you celebrated by ordering in pizza and cuddling up to watch horror movies on his couch. It had made him laugh when you jumped at the sudden scares in the movie, a smug grin on his face when you cuddled into him and whined that it wasn’t funny. Kissing the top of your head as he soothed a hand over your back. “Don’t worry babe,” he’d cooed. “I’ll save you from all the nasty zombies.”

So the fact that he’d left a class that he was set on passing was making you worry even more. Had Jason done something to upset him again? If he had, that would be the last straw. Eddie was rubbing off on you, and not in a bad way. For your whole life, you had bowed to your older brother. If he said jump, you asked how high. But Eddie had gently reminded you that you were your own person, and you didn’t have to do anything that you didn’t want. And that included with him, too. Many times, you had talked about losing your virginity with him, and he had promised that you would finally take the next step in your relationship, as soon as you were sure you were ready. As soon as you were sure you wanted to lose it with him. And like the gentleman he was, he never went any further than some light over the clothes action when you’d practically begged him to, respecting your wishes to not go any further. And you loved him all the more for it.

He came into view as you entered the clearing, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the very familiar Dio patch on the back of him denim jacket. He was sat on the table of the bench, feet planted against the seat, facing away from you and his shoulders hunched over. You could see the lit cigarette in his hand as he leaned his weight on the arm beside him, clutched between index and middle finger that was tapping in quick succession on the rotten wood. It was a nervous habit that you’d picked up on a while ago. Though his hands were always in motion, you could tell by the pace what kind of mood he was in. Slow and languid meant he was calm or sleepy. Slightly more rapid, he was excited. If they moved in the shape of frets to his favourite songs, he was trying to focus on something to take his mind off whatever bothered him. But this near frantic energy meant he was really, really upset or angry. It set you on edge a little as you winced at the sight of it.

“Eds?” you called out, noticing how his whole form froze as he heard your voice calling the name only you called him. A soft, sharp sob escaping his chest, the sound causing cracks to form in your heart. You took careful steps towards him, rounding the bench as you came into his view. Eyes downcast, red and puffy from crying. Cheeks stained from tears, and bottom lip quivering as he gasped for breath. Your eyebrows furrowed as you softly cooed, holding out your arms as you stepped towards him. “Baby, what’s wro-”

“Don’t you fucking touch me.” His voice was cracked, the edges of the words sharp and laced with anger, making you stop dead in your tracks and freeze in place.

Your eyes widened as you took a sharp inhale of breath, confusion marring your features as you dropped your hands to your sides. “Eddie? What’s wrong?”

He laughed, though there was no trace of humour in them as he shook his head and poked his cheek with his tongue. Reaching into his jean pocket, a piece of paper was in his grasp for only a second, before it was flung towards your feet. “You still keeping up the charade, Carver? Wanna try and hurt me more?” The use of your last name made you cringe. He knew you hated when people called you that; you hated being called the same thing as your brother. To Eddie, you were babydoll, princess, babe, sweetheart or angel. Barely ever your name any more. Using your last name was a weapon to hurt you with. And you both knew it.

Reaching down to pick up the piece of paper, you unfolded it and skimmed it through. A strangled, horrified sound escaping your lips as you felt physically sick from the cruelty of the words. The handwriting was so familiar, yet slight differences that only you could notice. The inflections of the letter I, or the syntax slightly off. But an icy hot panic washed over you in an instant when you realised why it was so familiar. It was your handwriting. Well, nearly. But to him, blinded by rage and hurt, those differences didn’t matter. You tried desperately to find the words, to try and tell him that none of this was you, but all you could do was shake your head.

You heard him take a sharp inhale of breath, and when your eyes flickered up, you watched the smoke languidly flow from his mouth. He wasn’t crying now. Instead, there was a mask-like quality to his features. Devoid of all emotion, eyes hardened as he stared at you. And honestly? It hurt worse than seeing him upset. Knowing that underneath it all, he was fully blaming you for the trauma. “Going to drop the act now? Hm?” He flicked the filter of the cigarette in your direction, with more force than needed to break the embers away. “You’re embarrassing yourself with keeping it up.”

“Eddie, I didn’t write this,” you whispered, tone practically pleading as you gripped the note with shaking hands. “You’ve gotta believe me, I don’t-”

“I know your fuckin’ handwriting,” he interjected, spoken through gritted teeth. “Don’t play dumb.”

“No, please, I promise! I swear on everything I love!” Your voice was becoming more shrill as you flailed your arms around, wishing to God that the ground would swallow you up. This was it. You’d never know Eddie’s kisses again; never know the intimate moments on late afternoons when you were wrapped up in his arms, or listen to him sing along to whatever he played on his guitar with that devastatingly beautiful voice of his. It was all snatched away from you, and you hadn’t even done anything.

“That’s your problem,” he scoffed, pointing at you with the fingers that held his cigarette between them, jabbing them at you with fury. “You don’t love anything. You’re a fucking sociopath, Carver. Just like your brother.”

His vile words made your knees buckle, sending you careening to the dirt and leaves until you kneeled in front of him, the crumbled note in your hands that rested on your lap. Hot tears welled in your eyes as you dropped your head, a sob wracking through your chest as the accusation hit you. Causing all brain function to cease as you shook your head. Over the course of your relationship, you’d never said those three little words to him. Too scared of rocking the boat, of driving him away if you said them too soon. Didn’t want to be too clingy, or too desperate, fearful of never being good enough for him and living in fear that some day he would up and leave when he found a girl who would treat him right. Wouldn’t have a brother who was one of his biggest tormentors.

“That’s not true,” you finally managed to squeak out. “I… I love you, Eddie. I’m so sorry that I never said it before but-” Your words were interrupted with another whimpered hiccup, trying to wipe away the wetness on your cheeks with the sleeve of your cardigan before trying again. “If I could turn back the clock, I’d never stop saying it. Please, just believe me when I say that I didn’t do this.” You finally looked up at him, not noticing a slight confusion that furrowed his brow, too wrapped up in your own grief and agony. “I love you, Eddie. I love you more than anything.”

Everything seemed to stop for long, agonising moments. Only the sounds of your small sobs, and his hitched breath mingling with the distant sounds of birdsong. “You… You didn’t say it,” he finally murmured, harshly driving the embers of his cigarette against the table until it was extinguished and hopping off it to take a few steps towards you.

“Wh-what?” you whimpered, flinching as he took another step.

“The note, you… It said that you told me you loved me.” His words were rushed now, his hands coming up to run harshly through his curls, giving them a small tug as the penny well and truly dropped. “But you never did. And it said that we… That we slept together, but we haven’t.”

You scanned the note again, noticing what he was talking about. The stuff about his parents was knowledge that was easy to come by if you asked the right people, considering the rumour mill in this small town was always working full time. Devil worshipping, living in a trailer park and cheap shots at his appearance? That had been flung at him since middle school. But he was right. In his haze of anger and hurt, he must have forgotten that some of the content just didn’t add up. But who would do this? Who had this much malice and scorn, that they would try and split you up like this?

The name seemed to come into both your minds at the same second, knocking against your skulls with the force of it. A person that hated his guts, and wouldn’t care if you got hurt in the process. In fact, they might see it as some sort of punishment. A consequence for your actions, that would would be criminal if they had their way.

A long few moments of silence filled the clearing, both of you trying to wrap their heads around the consequences of this encounter. Would you be able to come back from this? Would Eddie be able to forgive himself for the harsh words spat like hellfire, because of his own wounded heart? Would you be able to forgive him? Was this the end of everything, before it even had the chance to fully begin? You had fallen so hard for him, and now you felt like you were freefalling, and the anxieties that came with that feeling made your gut clench and palms sweat.

You were the first to speak. A small “oh my God,” barely audible, burying your face in your hands to try and hide away from the embarrassment and pain. Of course your brother would be the culprit behind this. And behind the agony, sparks of fury threatened to set ablaze the kindling of memories, of all the times he had made you feel less than a person. Hiding your dress hours before the Winter Formal, not caring how much you cried when you realised you weren’t going to be able to go. Breaking countless cassettes because he didn’t approve of them. Driving away potential friends because he ‘didn’t approve’. All with the knowledge that your parents saw it all, and didn’t do a thing to stop it. Jason was the golden child. The star basketball player, the popular one, the one who could never do something wrong. You knew that, all you life, you knew. But now, being with Eddie, a person that thought you hung the moon and saw you, really saw you, and loved you with such a warm intensity that it seeped through every fibre of you being? You weren’t ready to give that up. Not for anything.

You heard movement from in front of you; a heavy thump as you opened your eyes to find him kneeling in front of you, knees framing the outsides of your own. His dark eyes so filled with regret and shame, that it hurt to look at. His shaky hands came towards you, yet stopped when he realised that maybe you didn’t want him to touch you. Perhaps thinking that maybe you just… Couldn’t forgive him. “Baby, I-I’m so sorry… Please, can we talk-”

It was instinct that drove you to launch yourself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck and burying your face into the crook of his neck, nearly knocking him off balance. You felt him coil his arms around you in return, a hand on the back of your neck and his forearm against the small of your back, pressing you close to his chest. “I-It wasn’t me,” you mumbled, muffled by his skin and hoping he could hear you because of it. “J-Jason…”

“Ssh, it’s okay,” he softly cooed, the hand resting at your waist gently rubbing at the skin there to soothe you. “I know. I know it wasn’t you, okay? A-and I’m so sorry for what I said. I was so wrong, and I was an asshole, and it’s okay if you don’t forgive me because it was such an awful thing to say, a-and…”

You knew that he rambled whenever he was upset, and though the sorrow was still there, a fondness seeped through you at the reminder of his little habits. A warmth in the knowledge that this was fixable, and that you had the luxury of time in the relationship to fix the heartache that this had caused. “You don’t need to apologise,” you said softly, head raising to meet his own, forehead pressed against his. “You were hurt, and I understand. It was such an awful thing they did to you, Eddie. I just wish I could say sorry on my brother’s behalf.”

“You don’t need to do that,” he frowned. “Please don’t ever apologise for other people’s actions. Especially not your dickhead of a brother.” The jab at Jason made you abruptly smile at the sentiment, and he mirrored it as he shifted his legs to pull you to sit in his lap. “Because I was wrong. Carver is your last name, but you’re nothin’ like him, sweetheart. You’re kind, and funny, and so smart. Beautiful, too.”

The compliments made your cheeks warm as you let out a small giggle, shaking your head a fraction as you bit your bottom lip. “Stop…” The whine was small, and playful. God, you never wanted him to stop loving you with his words. Not really.

As if he knew, he rose to the challenge, capturing your lips in his own with a soft and brief kiss. “Pretty,” he whispered against your lips, adding another kiss. “Talented.” Another kiss, though to the side of your mouth. “Brave.” One at you jaw. “Thoughtful.” The word pressed into your neck, and you could feel him smile against the skin there. “You wan’ me to keep going, or are you gonna give in and let me adore you?”

“I give in,” you squealed, hurt temporarily forgotten at the tender affection that he gave. Happy to share a few moments in his embrace, enjoying the warmth and tenderness that you would never grow tired of. You allowed the silence to settle for only a few heartbeats, before you finally broke it. “I meant it, you know.”

He came into view again, a small smile on his lips as his eyebrows slightly furrowed in questioning. “Meant what, angel?”

“That I love you.” The words came easier now; now that they could come from the heart, each syllable laced with loving intent. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, but… I mean it. I’ve fallen in love with you, Eddie Munson.”

The grin that overtook his face was an incredible sight. His eyes crinkling with the ferocity of it, happiness seeping from every pore. “I love you too, sweetheart. So fuckin’ much.”

The lunch bell must have rung out a long time ago, and you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. Not when you were kissing him like this, and he was returning them with a matching earnestness. You kissed until your lips were slightly bruised, barely coming up for air before coming back for more. So in love, your heart so full that it was a near ache. You only stopped when you felt the soft patters of rain on the crown of your head, looking up to find the skies a deep grey, threatening to let the heavens open. He helped you up onto wobbly legs, his arm around you as you made your way back to the school for shelter.

You noticed his apprehension as you got closer, and you knew exactly why. He was worried that if Jason saw you together, he would make both your lives hell. But with this little stunt your brother tired to pull, that kindling of rebellion had been well and truly set alight. You no longer wanted Jason to make decisions for you. Eddie Munson was the love of your life. And you didn’t give a single fuck who knew it. Placing your hand on his where it rested on your shoulder, you looked up at him with a smile. A silent plea to keep it there, and one he seemed to acknowledge as he pulled you closer.

“Can I come over tonight, after school?” you asked him, voice hopeful as you bit your lip.

“’Course you can,” he answered with a grin. “Was thinking about taking you for a milkshake at that diner you like, actually. Could drop by there before we get to mine, if you want?”

It was an invitation to go public, and you knew that. A lot of the teenagers at your school went to that diner, and it wouldn’t be long before word got back to your brother about your involvement with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about that. Hope filled you as you tilted your head. “Like a date?”

“Like a date,” he echoed, pecking a kiss to your temple. “Never took you out on one before, and that’s kind of a shitty boyfriend move. How ‘bout it, sweetheart? Wanna finally have that first date I owe you?”

A grin spread over your features as the school finally came into view. You were about to walk the halls of Hawkins high, your boyfriend finally by your side and his arm over your shoulders, just like you finally wanted. Screw what anyone else wanted.

“I’d like that.”

#eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #stranger things imagine #stranger things x you #stranger things fanfiction

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theoutcastrogue · 2 months

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[From a 2014 article by John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats. He's talking about how a random spam email ended up inspiring a part of his book Wolf in White Van. Later, in 2020, the album Getting Into Knives came out, and I think it inspired its artwork too.]

"It took years for me to be able to just reflexively delete spam, or filter it so that I never see it at all. I blame the spammers for this; the quality of their work took a sharp nosedive at some point. But during whatever period of the internet’s growth you’d call the early 2000s, it seemed like you’d still get some winners: things that had been typed up by a person, sent out to a bunch of email addresses they’d bought or rented for 5 or 10 bucks from the only guy who was ever going to make any money in this particular exchange. Most of them went directly, if manually, into the trash; but once in a while, there’d be one that seemed to earn, at the very least, the minute it’d take me to read it.

The one I’m remembering here was subject-lined SUPPLY OF KNIVES. [...] The subject line opened on an all-caps email that boasted, in ornate, antiquated English appealing to the reader’s more refined sensibilities, about the high quality of the knives on offer at an external website. You shouldn’t click on links in spam email. I live my life on the razor’s edge! I clicked the link.

I want to tell you about these knives: They were beautiful. They were weird. They had elaborate designs in the handles, moons or stars of wolf heads, and special grips, and a variety of points. They were made from metals whose pedigrees were described lovingly, and had been struck — smithed? wrought? — via processes I knew absolutely nothing about, but that sounded fantastic, difficult, arcane. It’s the joy of specialized language: When you’re an outsider to it, it can’t help but sound cool.

Of course this is the whole idea of any operation like this. SUPPLY OF KNIVES could well have been, and probably was, a company in Ohio who’d stumbled across an old warehouse full of knives, and knew enough about sales to describe these things in the most exotic terms they could find. I’m pretty immune to pitches: Who likes to feel like he’s being pitched? But somebody involved with SUPPLY OF KNIVES had had just enough authorial flair — that, or true faith — to caption each knife’s mysterious, blurry accompanying JPEG with a description whose constant recourse to specialized vocabularies seemed to say, “You’re not even reading this unless you already know about this sort of thing. Let us therefore speak like the fellow travelers we are.”

It was like a trade catalog for roadside bandits in need of knives.

I can’t speak for everybody, but I know that when I was a child the life of the roadside bandit seemed like a pretty romantic way to go. I looked at all these knives and read the descriptions and was just generally delighted about the whole thing, so I saved the email in a “memorable spam” folder I used to keep that had maybe two other emails in it. A few years later, Apple came out with this robotic-arm-screen iMac you never see any more, and we were long overdue for a new computer so we got that; and then, after a while, I got myself a laptop, because I was traveling all the time, and eventually both the old iMacs ended up in the basement, and they were both asleep but alive until fairly recently, as far as I knew.

But when I went to check for the email, it was gone. The old blue iMac is dead, bricked, lifeless. Searches on the term “supply of knives” on this laptop and on good old robot-arm-screen find nothing. The backup CD for the blue iMac drive is probably in a drawer around here somewhere, but that’s like saying, “The coin I had in my swim trunks’ pocket is probably somewhere in the ocean.” There is no SUPPLY OF KNIVES. There’s only the memory."

[source]

And this is the wonderful cover art of Getting Into Knives. Back cover and promo material below. Note that "Knives International" and "Knives Wordwide" are not real companies, they appear to be a callback to that elusive spam email.

#not that I'm particularly into TMG #but it's interesting #trs #The Mountain Goats #John Darnielle #Getting Into Knives #Wolf in White Van #only knives left #tools of the trade #bandit #prison ballads #tangentially

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bowtiepastabitch · 7 months

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Let's Talk Costuming: A Very Professional Midwife/Cobbler!

At last, the long awaited sequel to Avaunt! aka my post analyzing Aziraphale's (and by extension the other angels as well) costumes from the Job flashback!! I knew Bildad's robes reminded me of something but it has been hiding stubbornly in the back of my memories for weeks, and I was doing myself a little doodle and it came to me, so here we are, friends, buckle up.

For better or for worse (depending who you ask), Crowley's costuming for this bit does not mirror Aziraphale's Renaissance-inspired aesthetic. That is, he is neither buff nor naked, as demons are often shown, nor is he a fucked up little guy

Scene from Michelangelo's Last Judgment, Sistine Chapel altar wall fresco, 1534–41 (featuring buff, naked, fucked up little guys)

The historical evidence that we have for the clothing of ancient Israel is spotty to nonexistent. To my memory, there are no real descriptions of clothing in the Old Testament aside from the instructions for priestly garb. (Note that I'm using "Old Testament" simply because Good Omens is based on a Christian interpretation of religion) None of the art from the period and surrounding time/geographic region, of which there is very very little surviving, depicts clothing anything like what we see in this episode either.

And then it fucking hits me.

It fucking hits me like a sack of bricks.

Weirdly specific Children's bible that stirred up childhood memories so I stole a photo from Amazon; published in 1972

We had this one as a kid, as well as several others, and THAT my friends is what Bildad the Shuhite reminds me of. Modern illustrations of bible stories, especially those used in children's materials. Now Christians are god-awful about giving credit for art, so please forgive me when these don't have sources.

Goodsalt.com has a lot of this stuff labeled as 'religious stock imagery'

This is why the style felt so familiar yet unplaceable: I grew up expecting this as the default outfit for bible stories. If you grew up christian, you're probably at least a bit familiar with this weirdly specific style of art. (Side note: if you have any idea where it came from please let me know, but I can't find any older styles of religious art like it. Anything pre-20th century harkens more to Renaissance style than anything, which in turn is a refresh on Medieval) This is, more than anything, in fact best described as religious stock imagery. It bears a lot of resemblance to clothing worn still in areas thereabout the historical region where this takes place, but it has a distinctive flair that the costume is definitely emulating.

The stripes and colors both feel deeply reminiscent of that art style, and it makes total sense considering this is in fact intended to have the feel of a bible story more-so than any other flashback in Good Omens has. Even the odd floofiness of his beard and hair make sense when put into this context and compared against the beards in the illustrations!

We even see that 'illustrated bible' inspiration right in front of our noses, but my brain didn't even process that because again, this art style is so pervasive it doesn't feel out of the ordinary. It was everywhere in the church I grew up in: posters on the walls in the children's wing, in our bibles and our coloring sheets, all that jazz.

The cheery bright colors, which certainly would not be available as textile dyes for another almost 4500 years, add a definite stylistic flair that makes this not only inspired by modern imaginations, but historically impossible. This of course contributes to the larger theory of how the costumes betray the unreliable narrator which I explore in this post and will almost certainly expand on when the impulse strikes me. The angels can be excused as miraculous, but this is definitive proof that what's happening here is at least in part fictitious, and more importantly for our analysis, that its heavily influenced by MODERN biblical stylization.

Those reds and yellows would have been available sooner, though not 2500 bc soon, but that shade of blue wouldn't be achieved until the industrial revolution and the invention of synthetic dyes in the 19th century. It is, however, very popular in biblical illustrations.

And so, friends, lovers, countrymen, we come to everyone's favorite part. What does this MEAN?

When we talked about Aziraphale and his Renaissance-angel-drag-queen era, the biggest emphasis was on the accentuation of his angelicism and holy glory. He's set apart from the humans in a way we've never really seen the angels before, and he also fits in with the other angels in heaven, who are also dressed ostentatiously to the nines. Crowley, on the other hand, does not have his demonic nature highlighted but downplayed. Instead, he fits in among the humans *almost* flawlessly.

Aside from his incredibly amazing and goofy glasses, which I think are an obvious anachronism of memory, he's dressed in pretty much the exact style as the human people around him, a style hugely shaped by latter 20th century aesthetics of biblical times. From a storytelling perspective, it makes total sense for Crowley to be fitting in among the humans, since he's sympathizing with them and even passing himself off as a human midwife/cobbler right under the angels' noses. He even takes a human name!

From a meta perspective, the modernity of the stylings tells us that whoever is narrating is having their memories shaped by somewhat recent events. However much is true remains under question, and there's tons of fascinating time-fuck theorizing to go around, but whatever is being remembered here is being re-evaluated through the lens of the last fifty or so years max, a mere blink in the eye for our angel/demon duo.

Whether it's the not-pocalypse, the arrival of Gabriel, or something that happened we haven't seen yet, SOMETHING has caused our narrator to reshape these memories recently. The overall character arc of Season 2 belongs to Aziraphale, as he struggles with himself to bring to terms the part of him that sees his own good as an extension of his being an angel and the part of him that can see how awful heaven is, so I think the importance of Crowley being more human than ever while he is more separated from than ever plays a big role in the story we're being told and that will hopefully carry over into season 3.

#good omens costumes #good omens meta #costume design #good omens analysis #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #bildaddy #bildad the shuhite #art history #nerd shit

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astyrial · 10 months

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you vs spiderman tasm!peter parker x fem!reader (fluff) synopsis: you find someone in your kitchen word count: 1.2k warnings: fake breaking and entering, taller!peter parker, kissing masterlist | requests are open

you awake to the sound of something clattering in the kitchen, a pot or pan falling to the floor. the sharp noise instantly flairs your instincts, your hand reaching for anything you can fight with. it reaches a disconnected alarm clock, one that you'd been meaning to get rid of.

with a short squeak in the bed, your feet reach the flooring. the wood planks luckily making no noise as you take far too many steps to reach the door. the night light drifts in through the windows, adding a little light to your room. very slowly, your hand twists the doorknob, the sound causing your face to crinkle.

you open the door quickly, hoping to eliminate the creaking that typically come from your door. down the hall, in the kitchen, you can see the shadow of someone. peter... peter said he would be late getting back. but typically, he would've texted you first or something (which would’ve been easy to know if you thought to check your phone first).

instead of hoping for the best, you prepare for the worst. with a hope for a long life and that your self defense training (which peter very much encouraged) would help you, you make your way down the hallway. it's rather short, a bathroom on one side and a closet on the other.

however, it takes you forever to muster up the courage to finally get to the end of it. you keep your back to the wall, your head peering across the corner and noticing something dangling from the ceiling... dangling from the ceiling? you hold the alarm clock up like a brick and turn around the corner.

there, hanging in your apartment kitchen, is THE spiderman. his hand is reaching down to grab the pan, a web suddenly flinging from his wrist and grabbing ahold of the handle. "holy shit!" you shout, your eyes wide with confusion.

"get out of my kitchen!" you shout again. normally, you would've expected to be more scared. but considering he's called the 'friendly neighborhood spiderman', it was hard to feel overly anxious

he spins around, his body instantly falling to the floor, his unmasked self no longer facing you. despite the fact that you saw a glimpse of his face, all you could tell was that he's got a lighter complexion. his hair is the typical young adult style, brown.

spiderman lands about a foot from the pan, his hand reaching over and grabbing it while he stands up. "sorry... uh, sorry about that, ma'am," his voice changes a little as he speaks, as if he's hiding the sound of his voice.

"sorry? you're in my kitchen! how did you even get in?" you raise your hands in frustration, your feet moving quickly to get you to the front door. "now get out of my apartment or i'll shove you out myself!"

maybe you weren't the most intimidating person... peter's shirt that's a little too big for you, shorts that nearly hide beneath the length. and your fuzzy socks with some design etched into them. what makes it worse is the small chuckle leaving the hero's mouth. as if he couldn't even imagine you fighting him.

when you cross your arms, your eyes looking over the hero, he throws the mask back on. something about him seems so familiar, his laugh, his stature, his hair. he turns around, his wide eyes sewn into his mask staring back intently.

"i can see myself out," he holds his hands up, his laugh still trickling out through his words. it all feels too familiar...

you nod, your fingers still gripping the old alarm clock, your eyes still staring right back. "yes, you should do that... and, and never come back here! no breaking of the windows or destroying of my kitchen!" despite your heart moving quicker than you want, you stand your ground.

the man nods back, quickly walking towards the hallway. he turns around for a second, his heels turned a certain way, his head arched back towards you. and in this moment, you realize why everything seems so familiar. it's peter, spiderman is peter parker.

you walk out after him, watching as he starts running towards the stairs, "peter! come back here!"

the door shuts behind you as you gain speed towards the staircase. just in view you can see spiderman's head turned and now facing you. his shoulders have dropped and he sighs.

"peter, spiderman... what the fuck?" you question, your eyebrows raising in question, your mouth a little wide as you watch him make his way back up to you.

he pulls his mask off, revealing his soft brown eyes. peter has a cut on his cheek and another adorning his eyebrow. suddenly, he gives you a soft smile, his lips pursed on his face. you resist the urge to immediately run up to him, wrap your arms around his waist.

"i'm sorry for not telling you sooner, it's just... i mean if you can't tell it's crazy. i can't even come stay the night with my girlfriend without being threatened," peter laughs a little, his head hung low; clearly in a little pain from whatever occurred a little earlier in the evening.

you shake your head, a soft smile even making its way to your face. "i was threatening spiderman, not peter parker. but now i might, considering you let me think you were some stranger in my kitchen," you narrow your eyes at him, turning around and walking back to your door.

peter quickly follows after you, his long legs closing the distance. he watches as you grab the handle of the door, you attempt to open it, but unexpectedly, it's locked. you reach your hand into the fake plants adorned on the door. unfortunately, the key that you normally put there, is gone.

you groan, leaning your head back. peter rests a hand on your back, his other hand holding up the key, "uh, you wanted to know how i got in... well..."

you crinkle your noise, the smile on your face becomes a little giddy. he smiles back, not being able to help but love the look on your face. he adores you and how capable you can be. "really, y/n, i'm sorry. i should've told you sooner, it's just dangerous."

"i know peter... how about to make it up to me you can tell me how it happened? and you let me fix up that pretty face of yours, parker?" you tilt your head at the boy. maybe you should be more mad, but you can't help it.

he instantly nods, shrugging his shoulders, "i can absolutely do that. and i can make your favorite smoothie, which i know you love. will that work for you, l/n?"

"oh that works and more," you lean up to the spiderboy, your hand grabbing a hold of his shoulder as you give him a kiss on his cheek, then his lips. they're a little chapped, a little rough, like your relationship. but isn't every?

he leans back, his eyes looking down at your shirt and back at your eyes, "by the way, that physics shirt is very threatening. and very attractive on you."

#spiderman x reader #spiderman #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #marvel #marvel x reader

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frogskelton · 13 days

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He is 200% a theater kid, at least in heart. Like I would say he would totally do a big dramatic romance thing for the flair and the fun, but I mean that’s just world tour finale

Rewatched ep 2 of all stars n there r some alright jokes but god it’s so dull and bland with everything it does w the characters (aka. NOTHING!) Also I understand giving Sierra another season since she was new in world tour, but no point when ur not doing anything new w her like that’s whole point of using newer characters. So I propose to replace Sierra w either Noah or Cody. And maybe Sam w brick, though im not against Sam being there (if they actually did smt w him! Like make make him have unexpected dynamics, like Duncan and Sam. All stars have no new interesting weird dynamics and I think that sucks.

Also i hate Alejandro walking on his hands plotline thing.

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hometoursandotherstuff · 5 months

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Not a bad price for a 1967 mid-century modern in San Antonio, Texas. 4bds, 3.5ba, $429.9.

Double front doors open to a large foyer.

To the left, step down to a sunken living room.

To the right, is a dining room. The windows are an interesting shape and have custom made shutters.

Directly off the dining room is the kitchen with original cabinets, and new counters and appliances. But, they took the fridge.

Notice the curved counter.

The everyday dining area has a very mod design on the wall. A wrought iron rail is across a step that goes down to a family room.

It's a huge space and has original floor tile with a floor-to-ceiling fireplace and large sliding glass doors to a sun room.

I thought there would be a double-sided fireplace, but it's just a brick wall in the sun room.

This bath has been updated. It has an MCM flair, but the newer elements blend seamlessly.

If you like a more Mod look to your mid-century homes, this is the perfect house for you. Check out this bedroom.

It certainly has a lot of shelving.

Here's a smaller room.

And, a half bath. Interesting sink.

The largest room is the primary bedroom.

The en-suite is very large, too, and has a big makeup vanity.

And, it also has a walk-in closet.

There's a large yard in the back.

And, a patio. It looks to me like there may have a been a pool here, and they covered it up with a new cement patio.

#mid century modern homes #MCM architecture #mod decor #houses #house tours #home tour

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simmerandwrite · 1 year

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Sink Into Me - 02 - mob!Steve Rogers x plus size! reader

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

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

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

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

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

Chapters: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

Wordcount: 6k

Warnings: canon level violence (series), body image issues (series), very brief mentions of animal abuse

Notes: hello! meet your friends - Maria Hill, Claire Temple and Wanda Maximoff. thank you all for being here and reading!! I appreciate your enthusiasm soooo much. things are :) about to get :) complicated :) if you see me out in the wild, my main blog is @simmerandcry

---

The skyline view from the floor to ceiling windows had been the real selling point to Steve taking the penthouse apartment at his latest investment property. Truthfully, he had been growing tired of the brick walls of his old place, despite their aesthetic charm. The new renters could live with that red dust now.

But the view into both Brooklyn and downtown towards Manhattan made him feel like he was exactly where he needed to be. Like he was on top of the world, his own little empire carved out in the heart of the borough. Most importantly, his apartment was his home. And that meant work didn’t come home with him, ever.

He drew that line very cleanly, even leaving the second bedroom fully intact as a guest room instead of converting to an office. Because this is where he needed to clear his head, to be Steve Rogers, the plain and simple Brooklyn born boy who loved his city.

Steve Rogers, the war veteran turned real estate mogul and art dealer, who sat at the top of what remained of an old Irish crime syndicate - that man worked on the streets, in the office, in his clubs and galleries and restaurants. That shit was not supposed to come home with him.

Though recently, it seemed to have started to bleed into what little time he spent at home. Mainly because of you and the whole incident outside the restaurant.

“Well, what’s the plan?”

“I already told you, Buck. I’m not retaliating.”

Bucky Barnes, Steve’s right hand man, his oldest friend and main confidant, the literal fist and brawn behind their organization, scoffed. “Someone sent an amateur barrelling into our territory to try and pin you between the hood of a car and your new restaurant - and you don’t want to retaliate? We coulda been weeping over your body right now, Steve.”

“I can recognize an act of aggression when I see it, I’m not an idiot.” Steve tipped his rocks glass against his lips once more, the scent of scotch lingering as he stood from the couch. “We don’t know if it was Rumlow or that new idiot creeping in from Staten Island.”

Steve rolled his eyes and cut off Bucky before he tried to add in his two cents again. “And if someone wanted to kill me, they wouldn’t hit me with a car. You know what. This was some stupid message that was poorly planned and equally poorly executed.”

Sam Wilson, who had been sipping his own concoction from the kitchen table, finally looked up from his phone and piped in. “I mean, I hate to admit it but Bucky is right. You would have been dead if it wasn’t for that beautiful woman saving your ass.”

“Sam.” Steve turned his head, eyes narrowed in a pointed glare.

“What? I’m not blind. The hips on her were-”

Steve took another step towards his friend and trusted colleague, who had a particularly loud mouth and a flair for getting on Steve’s nerves, and held up a steady hand. “Stop.”

He wasn’t inclined to admit it, but the entire thing had been replaying in Steve’s minds for days now. Ever since you had saved him on that sidewalk, throwing yourself into a dangerous situation for him, a total stranger, something had changed. He was still living, breathing, surviving. And although he was dead set on figuring out just who was driving that vehicle and ensuring they paid for their actions, it was you he couldn’t stop thinking about.

You. Who had been in the right place at the right time, who had risked your own personal safety to make sure he didn’t get hit, who was insistent that it had been an act of good faith, a simple act of kindness.

You, with the kind smile and generous curves. You, who swept off your actions as innocent and selfless, concerned more about the happiness of your dog than your own well being. You, who left Steve feeling curious and longing to get to know you, to make you smile, to hear you laugh.

God, what he wouldn’t give to have someone like you in his life. While he couldn’t stop thinking about the kind of person you were, he also had your face playing over and over again in his mind too. It didn’t help that his mom called him a few days ago, asking how you were doing and reiterating how much she enjoyed talking to you and…

“Still no news from Hammond?”

Steve knew Bucky couldn’t help but prodding, as if his fingers were itching to find a quick, efficient solution.

“He said their tech department is behind. I’m inclined to believe him but my insisting this is a priority hasn’t been successful this time. I’m trying to play nice.” Steve gritted his teeth, finishing the last sip of his drink as he stood, tugging on the lapel of his suit. “So I asked Stark to help instead. We’re meeting him at the club.”

---

The only good thing about your dreadful basement apartment was the private patio space in the backyard. You had high hopes for it when you rented the garden level unit but once your lease had been signed, everything about the place seemed a lot less shiny. From the shared laundry with the loud, obnoxious upstairs apartment to the inconsistent water pressure and flickering lights, you were counting down the days until your lease was over.

But the backyard - you had done what you could to make it a safe oasis for you and Hercules, with a few pieces of thrifted outdoor furniture and string lights making it a bit more magical. It was a nice location when hosting your girlfriends, especially when such a thing happened so rarely now that your schedules seemed to conflict all the time.

You were so grateful to have your girls. Because at any moment, they all loved to share their opinions on the weird chaos that seemed to stir up in your life. While you had known Maria since college, you had collected Wanda and Claire into your life since starting your new job in the city. You had worked as a server at the same restaurant as Wanda a few summers ago and Claire, an ER nurse, had dropped into your life by chance one night when you were stood up on a date at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen. Your group had been solid since then - although girls nights were few and far between now, with jobs and the general grind of life making it hard to get together often.

“I’m not saying the man isn’t attractive. Because I have eyes,” Maria was on her third glass of sangria, legs extended out on the brick patio outside. “I just have no reason to trust him.” She squinted down at her phone screen. “What did he say he did for work again?”

You sighed. Perhaps it was a mistake to share Steve’s name and photo - that you found after an extensive internet search - with your friends, but you valued their perspectives. It’s not like anything had happened with the guy. You hadn’t seen him since that day you saved his life and hadn’t communicated either, outside of you emailing him the stupid photo you took.

You had added his number to your phone, though. Just in case. Just in case what? You had no clue. But he had written it down for you and all.

And he said he owed you a thousand favours…

Officer Hammond, though, had reached out to you a few days after the event - asking you to come in and try and ID the driver in a police lineup. It made you feel a bit uncomfortable but you supposed it was your civic duty to do it, if it could help stop this from happening again or to help in delivering justice for wrongdoing. You pointed out the person you best recognized from your blurry memory and moved on, trying not to think any further about the situation.

Although a few strange things seemed to happen since then, if you just used your head it could all be justified. Like seeing the same black, unfamiliar SUV on your street multiple times this week. That was probably just a new vehicle belonging to one of your neighbours.

And that one time you were walking Hercules and a stranger who seemed to be lingering outside your apartment asked to borrow your phone.

Which you promptly said no to, because you aren’t dumb enough to let someone run off with your phone. But instead of going inside with Herc, you continued to circle the block until the blond stranger disappeared. You wouldn’t consider your neighbourhood the safest place after dark, but in the daytime you never felt concerned.

It was all just sort of weird.

But completely unrelated to anything else, you were sure.

That was all behind you now anyway, a strange footnote in the chapter of your life that was playing out. You’d probably never have to see Steve again, though he had crossed your mind a few times…

Okay, you had been thinking about him a lot. Which is why you had told your three closest friends about everything that had occurred.

You replied to Maria, who was nudging you with her elbow. “Oh. Uhm, he works in real estate, I think. He owns an art gallery and some apartments. Oh, and that club on Morgan Ave - Shield .”

“Sounds like a professional landlord. Thumbs down.” Claire chimed in from her chair too, shaking her head and dismissing the entire concept of Steve with a wave of her hand. “Rich at best, financially questionable at worst.”

“And he owns that restaurant the car smashed into?” Maria reached for her own phone. “The one owned by the mob. Okay, that settles it - he’s in the mob then.”

You laughed and shook your head. “The mob isn’t a thing, Hill. What’s your source on that again?”

Wanda shrugged and finally chimed in, fingers tapping idly against her wine glass as she turned towards you. “Describe his aura to me.”

You groaned, smirking as Claire rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh. “His aura?”

“You know, what kind of energy did he have?”

“Is that your way of determining the kind of person he is?” Maria got up from her chair to toss a small toy for Hercules to chase after. “I’d love to know the science between your aura theories, Wan.”

You delayed answering by grabbing the nearby bowl of popcorn and cradling it in your lap, leaving your phone and the thought of Steve on the small crate that sat between you and your friends. “He was very confident.” How could you do any justice to Steve’s intimidating Big Dick Energy without admitting your attraction to him? That last thing you wanted to do was bait your friends with any material to tease you with. Plus, really, it didn’t matter. You had no plans to ever see Steve again. And AND and, even if you did, what made you think it would be romantic in any way?

Steve was beyond hot - from the trimmed beard and deep blue eyes, to his easy charm and well dressed body. You had no doubt in your mind that the man probably had some equally hot partner. If not, he could have his pick of the entire city. There was no way you would be on his radar.

“I don’t know,” Maria chimed in once more, clapping her hands quickly. “This is the wildest meet cute story I’ve ever heard. If the man is so willing to do you some favours, maybe you should cash in on it, mob be damned. You know what they say about tall guys..”

“You just said you don’t trust him!” You laughed, tossing a piece of popcorn at her.

Maria just scooped it up and popped it into her mouth with a shrug. “I don’t trust any man. I trust you and your judge of character, though. Plus, you haven’t been on a date in forever so maybe this was some sort of fate driven happenstance.”

“The universe does work in weird ways,” Wanda agreed. “And you said he really filled out that suit so…”

“You should text him!” Claire sat up tall and straight, pushing her hair over one shoulder as an idea formulated in her brain. You were nervous. “I think how he reacts to a sudden text will be a perfect test.”

“It’s a Saturday night, I can’t text him! And a test of what? All I did was save the man’s life, there is nothing else to..” This was not how you wanted this to go. The last logical thing you could think of doing right now was messaging Steve Rogers anything. What would he think if you texted him out of nowhere on a Saturday night? “What would I even say?”

“Here, allow me.” Maria plucked your phone off the table and damnit, why did you ever tell her your passcode?

“Maria-”

“It’ll be harmless, I promise!” She glanced up from your phone and opened her eyes wide. “You need to stop playing safe. What’s the worst that could happen? He doesn’t reply?”

You sighed. YES. The fear of rejection crept up like a weird pain in your chest. “Yeah, I guess. He might think it’s a wrong number or some sort of spam message...”

“Then no harm, no foul.” Her grin grew even wider as she typed something out on the screen. She took a deep breath. You leaned over to see what she had crafted together and sighed. “It’s just a simple little push..”

---

Normally Steve would ignore then block an unfamiliar phone number, but this had been intriguing. Given that you hadn’t reached out to him at all, he had tried not to give much of his time to thinking about you. But when the text came in, without a lot of context or forewarning, he figured it was a small gamble to see how it could play out.

Unknown number [10:47PM]: hey, I need to cash in a favour S Rogers [10:49PM]: who is this? Unknown number [10:51PM]: 👀 🍑 🎁 🔄 🥞 S Rogers [10:55PM]: am I supposed to just guess what this means? Unknown number [10:59PM]: yes ;) S Rogers [11:02P:M]: it’ll be easier if you just tell me what you want, angel ;)

You hadn’t struck Steve as the type to flirt like this. If it was you, of course. He could really only safely assume, considering only a certain number of people had his phone number. And now, he finally had yours.

Tony had consolidated all the info he could find about you earlier that week. Steve didn’t feel great about asking Tony to dig into you, but since he had sent your picture for analysis after the delay at the police station, it sort of just happened. Frankly, Tony said your online presence was minimal. You were smart about keeping your social media secure and had a very thorough CV on LinkedIn. Otherwise, he didn’t have much information that you hadn’t already shared. And Steve had no intentions of doing anything suspicious with any of it, it just helped him understand who he had invited into a small corner of his life.

If that’s what he could call it. But you had crossed his mind over and over, and it didn’t help that Bucky kept bringing you up. Especially the part about Steve taking you to the clinic for help from Sarah. That resource was a well kept secret in their family and the fact that Steve took you there had been a big risk.

Beyond Steve’s unavoidable racing thoughts about you, he had been deep into a plan to deal with the actual problem - the group of idiots spilling into his Brooklyn territory. Tony had helped him with that too, finding names and dossiers on everyone who belonged to Rumlow’s extended Stryke gang causing a mess in the boroughs between Queens and Brooklyn.

For years, Steve had worked hard to make a respectable reputation for himself and now things were getting shaky. And it annoyed the shit out of him, especially when a few of the names Tony pulled were on the NYPD payroll.

“It’s messy,” Tony had said with a shrug, leaning back into the leather seat from their place at the top of the club.

Another property on Steve’s growing list - Shield was a popular nightclub in Brooklyn, which served as a perfect location for arms deals and financial transactions to float. For Steve and his old friend, tech mogul Tony Stark, it was a safe place to share theories and secrets. The upper level served as a secure hideout from the general population while the downstairs dance floor catered to obnoxious crowds looking for a drink or something else to roll on.

It was lucrative for Steve, to say the least.

“Let me know if you want me to get Rhodes involved.”

Steve shook his head. “He’s got enough on his plate. Is he ready for the campaign announcement?” Steve had a serious interest in the upcoming Mayoral election, especially if James Rhodes, former DA, planned on running. And with Tony bankrolling the campaign and some additional under the table support from Steve, it was going to be a shoe in.

“Oh, we’re just getting started, big guy,” Tony stood up and patted Steve on the shoulder as he left the corner area, flitting off in search of whoever might be going home with him soon enough.

Usually that would be Steve’s next step too, but damnit, if he couldn’t stop glancing at his phone for a response from you. Maybe calling you ‘angel’ again had been out of line. He contemplated sending another message, but no, he had to wait. He knew how to play this game.

The rest of the night carried on, with certain reports popping in with updates for Steve on what was happening out on the streets. Things like confirmed shipments at the dock and successful cash pickups. He had eyes across the whole of Brooklyn, with his growing syndicate working beneath him. Things mostly operated smoothly and this night was carrying on as normal.

Bucky showed up eventually, grumbling about getting turned down by some smart mouthed girl outside the club. Sam corroborated the story, lauding the woman and her tone.

Steve checked his phone, again.

“I saw Sharon downstairs,” Sam nudged Steve, eyebrows raised curiously. “Unless you’re off again-”

“We’re permanently off-again,” Steve rolled his eyes. “You have my blessing if you want to pursue, Sam. But good luck, don’t say I didn’t warn you..” That was all Sam needed apparently, finishing off his glass and heading back down to the dance floor below. Steve didn’t miss his cheeky grin.

“You’re thinking about that girl again, huh?” Bucky nodded and tried to hide his mischievous smirk as he scanned Steve’s face.

Steve scoffed. “No, no. I’m not..”

Bucky laughed, hard and incredulous. “I haven’t seen your head in the clouds like this in ages. Since whatsername in high school, maybe. What was her name?”

Then as if by some weird shift in the universe, Steve’s phone started to buzz. He left Bucky’s commentary lingering as he looked at the screen. You.

Ah, no text reply but a phone call? Okay, he could get on board. Standing, he headed a few steps from the lounge and brought his phone up to his ear, with a small smile. “Rogers.”

The first thing he heard was your frightened yelling. “Leave me alone! Jesus - oh my god, Steve? Is this Steve?”

He said your name quickly to confirm who he was speaking too but raised his eyebrows in concern. “What’s going on?”

“Someone is trying to - HEY! Stop -” Steve could hear banging in the background. “--trying to break into my fuckin - I’m going to CALL THE COPS! Leave me alone! Please, just..”

Steve closed his eyes, doing his best to focus on the background noise. Behind your defensive yelling and the attentive reactions of your dog, there was a mixture of other voices. Something about the voices felt familiar.

“We just want to talk.. Did someone offer you something for that statement? Was it Rogers?”

“If you tell Hammond you got the wrong guy, this will all be over very quickly, honey.”

“Walker, move, let me – Open the door, or we’ll open it for you. Let’s talk..”

“He didn’t offer me - Stop, please! I swear I -”

Steve nearly crushed his phone when the call dropped. He was off like a bullet train, shouting for Bucky to follow him as he pushed past his security guards on the stairs and rushed down towards the back exit of the club. He tried to call you back as he sped through traffic, blatantly bypassing stop signs and treating red lights like suggestions.

A heavy twisting feeling in Steve’s gut had told him that the aftermath of this entire situation wasn’t going to go smoothly. Especially with dumbass dirty cops on the inside who could share information to the highest bidder.

Steve felt a new responsibility to keep you safe, until this whole mess had been taken care of. He had plans to deal with it all on his own but now, if he hadn’t acted quickly enough and something had happened to you.. God, he couldn’t live with himself. How could he explain that to his mother?

He got to your apartment first, hoping Bucky was close behind. Steve didn’t know what he might be walking into but having backup was never a bad idea.

Steve had not only visited but had also lived in a lot of seedy neighbourhoods over the years. The street you lived on didn’t strike him as anything especially dangerous, but that thought enough couldn’t squash the unsettled feeling in his stomach as he approached. He pushed his way through the small metal gate beside the front stairs, towards the door to your garden level apartment.

His jaw clenched when he saw the damage to your door, clearly kicked in with plenty of force before being shoved closed. He glanced to the front window, nearby - that had been smashed, too. He tried to contain the growing fury and pressed on the door, calling out your name as he made his way inside.

As someone more than familiar with the real estate market, Steve could tell the bones of your apartment weren’t in the best shape. The entire townhouse was in desperate need of updating. But what concerned him more, outside of the low ceiling and old light fixtures, was what he could only assume was a new mess. Your coffee table had been smashed, creating a pile of kindling in your tiny living room. Papers were thrown about, a coffee cup sat shattered on the floor.

He called your name again as he went in, reaching inside his jacket to pull out his concealed handgun as he listened carefully. Once he stepped into the hallway leading to your tiny kitchen, he took a step back at the sudden lurch of your dog heading in his direction.

Then Steve heard your quiet voice. The dog retreated into the kitchen, planting himself in front of you as Steve turned to look in. His heart sank.

You were seated on the floor, back pressed against the wall. It was clear you were trying to hide, make yourself small. And was that… some sort of steak knife in your hand? When you finally looked up at him, your eyes were wide.

When you tried to press yourself even further back, eyeing down the gun in Steve’s hand, he slowly put it down on the counter and said your name. “Hey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was just a precaution.” Shit. The way you reacted to the gun wasn’t a surprise but it made Steve even angrier. Whoever had been here, whoever had done this, well, they probably had guns too.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Steve crouched down, keeping his distance while Hercules acted as your bodyguard. He was trying everything in his power to maintain his composure but god fucking damnit, Steve needed to know who did this and he needed to deal with it. “Are you hurt?”

You took in a deep breath then just shrugged, relaxing just a fraction when Hercules circled around and flopped down to rest his head on your knee. “There were two guys, they had.. They had guns with them. They said they just wanted to talk to me, to … they kept talking about whoever the guy was who drove that SUV.” Your breath picked up as you recounted what had happened. “They..they smashed my phone and..” Slowly, you moved your hand up towards your neck, gently dragging your fingers against the tender skin on your collarbone. “..One guy he..” You winced at the memory.

The heat grew more and more in his stomach as he saw you shaking with fear, recounting whatever the fuck had just happened. How dare any of those fucking imbeciles lay their hand on you? And because of him? If he wasn’t sure of his next steps before, he was going to figure them out now. Because someone needed to pay for this.

His phone buzzed. He stood up and saw a message from Bucky, wondering if Steve needed his help inside. Steve took a step back, turning towards the front door.

“Don’t go,” you pleaded quietly, letting your hand linger in the air as you reached for him. “Steve, please..”

Steve stopped and turned back to you, giving his head a firm shake. “Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.”

---

A few hours ago you were saying goodbye to your friends as your sangria pitcher finally ran dry. And now? You and Hercules were in an elevator with Steve and his friend Bucky, heading to Steve’s apartment.

Everything that had just happened felt like a bit of a dream - a bad dream. A break in at your own apartment, being intimidated, harassed and assaulted by men with guns, zipping through Brooklyn with Steve as he promised you a safe space to stay for the night.

You didn’t say much to each other once you had left, but you could see the twist of concern and small decisions Steve started to make to ensure you felt secure. A hand at your back, a soft smile, extra attention being given to Hercules to make sure he was okay, too.

You hadn’t gotten into much detail yet but you knew Steve wanted to figure out who the men were who had done this. You were already dreading talking about it again. And god, you likely had another police experience coming your way. What was happening in your life and how could it go back to normal again?

“Hey,” Steve tipped his head towards the door as the elevator opened. You took the lead as you stepped out into the hallway, where just a small handful of apartment doors were spread out.

Steve’s building was a place you could only daydream about living in. You followed him through the door to his apartment, checking over your shoulder to see Bucky guiding Hercules behind you.

Bucky was incredibly kind to you throughout this whole thing, especially back at your apartment. He had patiently directed you as Steve made some phone calls, carefully standing outside your room as you packed a quick overnight bag. And he was very taken to Hercules, which you really appreciated.

Once inside Steve’s place, you made your way into the living room just past the foyer. Steve and Bucky moved into the kitchen briefly, exchanging a few hushed sentences out of your earshot.

When they joined you in the living room, they found you crouched down on the floor with Hercules. You tipped your head up to look at them. Bucky’s gaze was on his phone but Steve was watching you with a soft smile.

“Do you think he’ll be okay here tonight?” Steve took a knee on the other side of Hercules, slowly reaching his hand out to scratch behind his ear.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, just a bit, as you nodded. “Yeah, he’s pretty easy going usually.” As if on cue, your dog nudged his head against Steve’s hand for one more quick pet then trotted further into the living room, flopping down on the rug between the couch and windows. “All his adrenaline seems to have worn off.”

And so it seemed had yours.

A few minutes later you were sitting on the couch, with Steve planted in the chair across from you and Bucky standing over his shoulder, arms crossed. Steve leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he took you in.

God, even in the low light of his living room, the man was handsome. Wearing just a navy blazer and matching dress pants, over a black button up with no tie, he managed to look effortlessly intimidating and strangely welcoming. Like you had no reason not to trust him, as if the dark shadows behind his eyes were a sign of protection instead of a signal of something to be feared.

You took in a long breath and leaned back into the couch.

Steve dragged his tongue over his lips then let out a sharp breath. “Okay, so I need you to walk me through exactly what happened.”

You knew this was coming. The moment Steve insisted on not calling the cops, something shifted for you. This whole situation had escalated beyond what you were used to, that whomever these men were to Steve - it probably wasn’t good.

But when you looked over at Steve, as much as you wanted to shake with worry about what might happen next, you couldn’t. Despite being way out of your comfort zone, scared out of your mind, coming down from your own rush of adrenaline, you weren’t scared. Not anymore, not in his presence and under the additional watchful eye of his right hand man.

And so you told him and Bucky exactly what had happened. How your girlfriends had left, how you were finding the next episode of your favourite show to watch, how you had some writing to catch up on and planned on staying up late. Then you heard a noise outside, then a knock at your door.

Then… well, then you had called Steve when everything started unfolding.

And after the men managed to get beyond the door and push their way through to you, you had nowhere to hide. Once they smashed your phone, you were going to comply and do whatever they needed to, to get them out of your home but then one of them threatened Hercules, and even kicked him-

“Jesus,” Bucky muttered, teeth clenched. Before he could get his true feelings out, Steve held up his hand and had you continue.

“I shoved the guy who was closest to me, trying to go for the other idiot before he hurt Herc and then..” You closed your eyes, going into vague details about how the man pushed you back, how he shoved you into the wall, the kitchen counter. How he pulled out his gun and put his hand around your throat and..

When you opened your eyes again, taking in the silence of the room as you trailed off, Steve was watching you carefully. Though you safely assumed he was an expert at hiding his emotions, you could see a twitch in his jaw. His fists rested on his knees, clenched and turning white with tension.

“One of them got a phone call and I guess they were beckoned to leave. They had enough time to make more of a mess while I cowered away but..” You gulped, shaking your head. “What if they come back? I think I should just call Officer Hammond and-”

“No.” Steve stood up, taking barely a stride to make his way towards the couch. He took a seat beside you, extending his hand to ever so gently cradle your jaw, turning your head to look at him. He said your name softly, barely.. “I’m going to take care of this.”

Your safe feeling was depleting and as much as you wanted to argue, to put a stop to all of this, to do it the correct way, you couldn’t. Earlier, when the threat was outside your door, you didn’t think of calling the police. It was Steve who had crossed your mind. For some unknown reason, you had a feeling he would help you.

Steve pulled his hand away and stood again, shooting a glance to his friend.

Bucky cleared his throat, taking a step forward. “Doll, can you tell me what the guys looked like? Identifying features?”

You wanted to ask a thousand questions about what happened now, about what Bucky was planning on doing, about his metal arm and lack of hesitation to help Steve. But you just played along, delivering all the details you could. Once you repeated it all and answered a few of his questions, you sat up and leaned forward. “Oh. One of them went by Walker. I’m not sure if that’s a first name or..”

“Last name.” Bucky gave one nod before muttering out a tired laugh. “That fucking moron.” He looked at Steve. “Okay, I know where to go. Nat��s gonna meet me downstairs.”

Steve followed him to the door and you could hear their quiet conversation once more.

Twisting your hands together, you sat on the couch with your thoughts. You couldn’t believe how your night had played out. Really, if you thought about the last week of your life you’d be hard pressed to believe it was real life. How could the simple act of getting a person out of harm’s way lead to this?

When you heard Steve’s footsteps heading back towards you, after the door shut behind Bucky, you stood up and looked at him.

Okay, you had to ask. Because a lot of this felt nonsensical, impossible even.

“You don’t really work in real estate, do you?” With the most courage you could muster you met his gaze, which was stoic as he watched you. “My friend Maria had this crazy theory and.. I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into here, Steve. But this isn’t… I just did the right thing and saved you from being hit by a car and.. Now what? People with guns are breaking into my home and threatening my dog? And instead of going to the police.. I’m right here in your apartment - with you, a kind, handsome stranger who keeps offering to help and take care of me and I just don’t get it. Is this real?”

He didn’t falter or let his facade break when you spiraled. Instead, he motioned towards his kitchen. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

You sat with a steaming mug of chamomile at Steve’s kitchen island. His kitchen felt impressively Steve somehow too, with dark granite counters and cool grey tones decorating the tall cabinets. The light blue kettle that sat on his stove somehow humanized him even more though.

Steve opted to lean against the counter, shrugging off his suit jacket as he met your eyes. “So. First, let me just say - I don’t want you to feel like I brought you here for any other reason than keeping you safe tonight. I want you to feel safe here, with me. But if you don’t feel comfortable, you can leave. I will put you up in a hotel somewhere or if you have a friend you can stay with-”

You swallowed hard and brought your hand up. “No, that’s not.. I’m sorry for, uhm, going off a bit there. I just..” You left your mug on the island and leaned forward, balancing your chin on your hand while your elbow propped you up. You matched his gaze, somehow both honest and shy. “In college, my friends and I did this thing called honesty hour. Usually after a really late night or when we were a bit drunk. But the point is to be as honest as possible, but gentle, I guess. Feelings were always at risk but if it was after 2am, it was honesty only.”

A small smirk tugged at Steve’s lips as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. “Okay.”

“So. Honesty hour.” You nodded.

“What do you want to know?”

“Do you always carry a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“There are often dangerous, poorly- intentioned people in my line of work.”

You narrowed your eyes, pausing to take a small sip from your mug. “Your line of work - in real estate and art gallery ownership?”

Steve let out a quiet laugh. “The scope of my day to day work goes well beyond that.”

God, you had so many other questions but you had a feeling Steve was not going to share any details with you. Maybe it was better that way for both of you. Because answering some of your questions might ruin everything. “Would you rather I not ask about that? Your.. full scope?”

“I don’t think it qualifies for your honesty hour, no.”

You were ready to counter with something but you figured it wasn’t worth pushing his buttons. After another big breath, you closed your eyes. “Do you think those guys are going to show up again? At my apartment?”

The mug that had been resting in Steve’s hand found a careful spot on the counter. He took a big step forward and leaned onto the island opposite you.

Your name left his lips. You opened your eyes.

“I promise they won’t.” It was clear some things were being left unsaid, hidden behind his reassuring smile. His hand landed on yours as it rested on the table. “Trust me when I say I’ll never let that sort of thing happen again.” You looked from him, focusing on the warmth in his eyes and how his palm felt against your skin and…

“My turn.” Steve ran his thumb over the top of your hand, as if searching for the softest spot. “You called me. How come?”

You had never been so grateful to hear someone’s phone ring, because you did not want to answer that question. He tried to ignore it but the buzzing in his pocket filled in the quiet that lingered between you. Just like that, whatever that moment was or could have been - vanished. He gave you an apologetic glance as he stepped away.

You sipped on your tea, feeling more and more run down by this whole situation. You were tired, finally and Steve’s big sweeping statements gave you some peace of mind. You trusted him, that was the only thing you were certain about.

Despite everything, including the silly rumours from Maria and the broken remains of your apartment on the other side of Brooklyn… There was something about Steve that made you feel okay about all of this.

But the thought of talking any more about it now made your thoughts spiral out of control. Truthfully, you needed to sleep. And you really needed to talk all of this through in the group chat with the girls. You desperately wished your phone was still functioning.

Before you could even let your train of thoughts derail, you heard Hercules’ feet tapping against the floors in search of you. You took one final sip of your tea and met him in the living room. Your boy was ready for bed too.

You hesitated though, glancing from him to the door. He looked that way too. Maybe it would be smart to take him out one more time before you headed to bed.

Steve found you near the door and reached his hand out to stop you before you could even grab your coat. “Hey. I can take him out, if you want to get ready for bed.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Please, I insist.” He grabbed Hercules’ leash from the small entry table and rested his hand on your shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about adopting a dog for months now so this is a nice reminder about responsibilities.”

Steve’s genuine smile was unmatched and, well, Hercules just looked excited for one last moment of fresh air. “Okay, fine. For your own research purposes. Thanks Steve.”

He waved his hand and pulled on a coat from the hanging rack. “The guest room is just down there.” With his free hand he pointed down the hall behind you. “First door on the right. Bathroom across the hall.”

The minute Steve was outside the door with Hercules, you made your way to the bedroom. You nearly gasped when you opened the door, considering the space was practically the same size as your entire apartment. And god, the view from the windows. A full floor to ceiling piece of glass illuminated Brooklyn below.

The bathroom was just as impressive. After finding a fluffy towel and figuring out how the shower and faucet functioned, you let yourself get consumed by the water. Though you felt far past your breaking point, you held back your tears. Yes, the entire night behind you had been a rollercoaster. And yes, you were nervous about what tomorrow was going to bring.

But you were safe. That’s all that mattered.

Chapter 01 - Chapter 03

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x plus size reader #mob boss steve rogers #stever rogers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #plus size reader #stever rogers x plus sized reader #mob boss stever rogers x reader #simmerandcry #simmerandwrite #simmer writes #story: sink into me

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oliversrarebooks · 4 months

Text

Febuwhump Day 1: Helpless

tw: forced drugging, restraints, medical whump, forced brain surgery, implied mind control, stun weapon

It was like hitting a brick wall.

One minute, Toshiro was slamming into henchman after henchman, taking them out at a speed faster than the human mind could comprehend. The next minute, his face was rapidly meeting the floor.

His ears were ringing, his vision blurring as his eyes threatened to close on him. His muscles were weak, and it was if someone had pulled the plug on the nerves connecting his brain to his body. The tile floor was cold against his cheek as he fell to the floor with an embarrassing thump, as gracefully as a sack of potatoes, and equally able to move.

Some kind of stun gun. Stunning... thing. Vibrations. His newly fogged mind tried to reason through the situation. He was in the middle of Dr. Moon's lair, and although he'd cut a wide swath through her armored goons and lab interns, he hadn't spotted the good doctor herself yet.

Which meant that this was probably all a trap, and he had obligingly raced into it at top speed.

Fuck. Whatever that weapon was had rendered him helpless. Unless he could recover quickly, he'd be screwed.

He struggled to regain his bearings through the dizziness, managing to force his weakened arms to push him up off the floor, when the low, strong vibrations racked his body again and knocked his tenuous grasp on control far away.

"Well, now, I'd call that experiment a rousing success," said a familiar and infuriatingly smug voice.

Toshiro struggled to focus on the clean white sneakers that stepped in front of his face. Dr. Moon crouched down in front of him, grabbing his chin and directing his blurred gaze into hers.

"Did you enjoy it as well?"

"Fffff..." Toshiro tried to get his mouth to cooperate enough to at least tell her to fuck off.

"Fantastic? Fabulous? Is that what you're trying to say? I think that's what you're trying to say," she said, nonchalantly snapping thick metal restraints on Toshiro's wrists.

Oh, this situation was getting better and better, wasn't it? He could probably use his supersonic vibration to break these cuffs, but it would take some time, and that was at full power, which he most certainly was not. He was still stunned enough that he felt like he might pass out at any moment.

"Don't worry, you're in good hands now, my dear little hero," she said, running a hand through his hair. "Katie, can you get my guest his little party favor?"

A young woman in a lab coat looked confused by the request. "Party favor...?"

Dr. Moon sighed. "The IV. I'm talking about the IV I had you prepare."

"Oh, yes!" she said. "Right away, doctor."

"And let's make him more comfortable! Can two of you get him onto the surgical table?"

"Yes, doctor."

IV drugs? Surgical table? Toshiro's blood ran cold. What the hell was she planning? Her experiments had roughed him up many a time, but she'd never done anything like this.

"Whaaaa..." he slurred pathetically, flopping like a dead fish as a couple of henchmen lifted him onto a padded table. He was still too numb and dazed to fight, and his window of escape seemed to rapidly be coming to a close. As a couple of scrawny scientists effortlessly held him down on the table -- humiliating enough that his embarrassment fought with his growing fear -- Katie returned with a large bag of translucent blue liquid on an IV pole.

"Oh, you're going to just love this, Toshiro," Dr. Moon said, brandishing the IV line's needle with theatrical flair. "You never get enough breaks, do you? I'm about to give you a nice long one."

Toshiro couldn't help his composure breaking slightly. It was one thing to be injured while fighting, or even to be captured and tortured. It was another thing entirely to be rendered unconscious, completely defenseless against whatever the mad scientist wanted to do with him.

"No need to look so upset. This won't hurt at all. You're just going to get very, very sleepy. You'll be just a bit drowsy and slow for the next, oh, let's say the next while. I wouldn't operate any heavy machinery."

She was bringing that IV needle closer to his elbow. He summoned all of his strength to try and pull away, knowing that as soon as he had that drug pumping into his body, it'd all be over. Unfortunately, his muscles were still largely unresponsive from the double stun just a few minutes ago.

Damn it, he had to -- !

The doctor effortlessly got the IV into his vein with a practiced hand, taping it down securely. He looked on in horror as the light blue liquid snaked down the tube and into his arm, willing the drug to somehow stop before it reached him. His arm felt cold and heavy at the injection site as the sedative began to flow freely into his system.

"That should kick in long before you get your bearings from my wonderful stun weapon," she said, stroking his cheek and looking down at him with malicious glee. "And I want to drink every last drop of your fear as you go under."

Toshiro glared as best as he could, testing his powers. Maybe if he could get his supersonic speed working, he could dislodge the IV from his elbow before he absorbed too much of the drug. His fast metabolism meant it took a lot to put him down, anyway.

He was already so groggy from being stunned, and so focused on forcing his uncooperative body to move, that he didn't even notice the buzzing in the back of his skull until it was too late. In seconds, the buzzing transformed into a deep drowsiness, muffling his thoughts like a blanket of fresh-fallen snow, draining him of energy, making his eyelids droop.

"And there it is!" said Dr. Moon with a cackle. "Isn't that the most delicious feeling of helplessness? You look so tired already. Don't fight it, now. Just let my beautiful drugs sing you to sleep. A nice little lullaby..."

Toshiro's efforts to try to shake the IV off had turned into a desperate struggle against the urge to give in and go to sleep. He was so exhausted, and he could feel his mind zoning in and out, his eyelids threatening to close. But he couldn't give in.

"Don't worry, you'll be sedated, but not entirely unconscious. We can't have you fully under for brain surgery, you know."

The shock of adrenaline forced his eyes back open. Fuck. Anything but that.

"No need to panic, it's not a lobotomy. We don't use ugly words like that here. And my methods are far more precise," she said, as Toshiro's heart raced. "I'm just going to... slow you down. Make you more malleable. Easily influenced, let's say. And at only a small cost to your intelligence."

His half-asleep mind woke up enough to panic. Suddenly, he could move. He felt strength in his arm again, enough strength to try and shake free of the IV line that would be the end of him.

He had to get it out at any cost. If he didn't, when he next woke up, he might be some stupefied henchman to his archnemesis, his faculties cut out and left on the floor of her lair. A fate far worse than death -- at least in death, he'd be remembered as a hero. Not remembered as a drooling, dull-witted minion who used to be a hero, cut down by one of his former comrades.

No, he couldn't allow that.

His powers responded, and he willed his super speed to vibrate his arm hard enough to loosen the tape, to dislodge the needle. As soon as he got rid of the threat of the drug, he could break free of the bonds and escape.

"Oh, dear," said Dr. Moon. "Katie, be a dear and take the fight out of our guest again."

Toshiro's eyes widened just before he felt the stun weapon rumble through his body. His hold over his power slipped, his limbs sinking back onto the table. Disoriented and unable to move, the sedative quickly took hold of him once again.

"There, there." The doctor replaced the tape on the IV line. "Just relax, go to sleep, and it will all be over soon. Poor, helpless hero."

He groaned weakly, Dr. Moon's evil grin fading from sight as his vision tunneled.

"He's almost out. Finish preparation in the operating room," she said over her shoulder, before turning back to him. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, running a hand through his hair. "If all goes well, you won't be waking up as yourself ever again," she cooed. "You're going to go to sleep, and I'm going to win."

Her voice sounded muffled, from far away, and his tongue was too thick and clumsy to respond back.

"Go to sleep. Just go to sleep..."

----

I've been struggling a bit with writing and the Febuwhump prompts looked delicious, so I decided to do a few of them!

New Bookseller chapter soon, promise.

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday1 #helpless #whump #whump writing #superhero whump #medical whump #laboratory whump #drugged #sedation #capture

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