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scabopolis · 3 years

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😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

Hope that I do this properly 🙃

I would adore a XO between Veronica Mars (LoVe) & Once Upon a Time (C/S).

PROMPT: "I’m really competitive and drunk and I just told a rival that my relationship is way better than theirs, but they don’t believe you exist (but I’m too stubborn to admit they’re right)" OR really anything you'd like. Honestly, I'm dying to see Logan and Killian interact/co-swagger.

And / or another installment of "Come Rain or Come Shine" from In Lovers Meeting because I love it with my whole ❤️.

Thank you so much for doing this. You made my day,

😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

Oh @jjmazzy you bring my heart so much joy! I didn’t feel quite up to the task to do a crossover between OUaT and Veronica Mars so I went straight for a OUaT AU. I hope that’s okay?

This is just a silly little thing that I am realizing only fulfills about 40% of the prompt, but I think it’s cute??

ANYWAY! Enough hemming and hawing xx *** Title: Of Expats and Onion Rings Rating: PG Fandom: Once Upon a Time Pairing: Killian Jones/Emma Swan (mentions of Robin/Marian and a smattering of other characters) Additional Tags: Two out of three of my OUaT fics feature Killian as a bartender, silliness and only half a prompt, probably way more fluff than is medically recommended Word Count: 1,500

Every Friday night, Emma Swan sits on the same barstool at the same bar in the same restaurant. This Friday night has her staring into space as she lets the sounds from the kitchen and the bar swirl around her. It’s busier than usual, with almost all the booths and tables filled and the bar area half-occupied. In fact, when she first walked into the bar, she worried there wouldn’t be a seat for her. But the bartender caught her eye and waved her over, a menu and a glass of water waiting for her in her usual seat at the end of the bar.

Said bartender slides her an Old Fashioned, extra maraschino cherries on the toothpick per usual.

She takes a small sip of the drink. “Why is it so busy?”

Killian’s eyes roam about the room and then come back to rest on her. “Some magazine labeled us the best kept secret in Portland, Maine.”

“And in doing so—”

“Assured that we would never be a secret again. Yes.”

“The pitfalls of fame.”

“Burger or chicken sandwich?”

“Burger. Any chance—?”

“Aye, probably a very good chance, but only because Graham is sweet on you.”

Emma feels her cheeks redden. “He’s not sweet on me.”

“Sure he isn’t.”

She watches Killian step away from the bar and into the kitchen to talk to Graham. How Graham can manage to listen to anything given the noise of the dining room and the kitchen she’ll never know. Graham and Killian both look over at her. Graham rolls his eyes but nods, and Emma raises her glass in thanks.

“Okay,” she says to Killian when he’s back at the bar. “He might be a little sweet on me.” She takes a long sip of her cocktail.

Killian’s brow is knit with concentration. “Long day?”

She nods. “I had a run in with Zelena.”

“Ah. The wicked witch of the northeast. What’d she do this time?” The ticket printer next to Killian’s till spits out a long drink order, but he listens even as he mixes drink and pours glasses of wine.

“She got engaged over the weekend and hasn’t shut up about it. And today, she took great pains to ask me, in front of everyone in the faculty lounge, if I’d be okay if she didn’t give me a plus one.”

“Bit rude, isn’t it?”

“Right? But then she kept going on and on asking how long it’d been since I dated someone, and did I know that after 35, forty-five percent of women’s eggs are considered genetically abnormal and her fiancé is a very wealthy furniture manufacturer and she’s certain he has some less attractive less wealthy friends he could introduce me to and on and on and on.”

“Does she truly want you at her wedding?”

“Oh, yes. She said she wouldn’t take no for an answer.” She runs her finger along the condensation of her glass. “Which is when I did something very very very stupid.”

“Smacked her?”

Emma snorts. “I wish. No I—” Her explanation is interrupted by the arrival of her burger and the plate of special order onion rings. Onion rings which are technically available only as an add-on to the steak sandwich but that Emma has a 80% success rate of cajoling the kitchen to make her a plate of.

She eats her meal with one eye turned to Killian, waiting for a long enough lull in the drink tickets to finish her story. She’s almost finished her burger when Killian slides another Old Fashioned in front of her.

“What was this very stupid thing you did?” he asks, leaning towards her.

“I told her I was dating someone.”

Killian remains where he is but she notices the clench of his jaw. “Ah,” he says. “I was unaware.” He seems to hear his own words as he says them because he cringes. “Not that there’s a reason you would tell me. I mean, we’re friends, but friends in that way that I get you drinks and —”

Emma rests a hand on Kilian’s to stop the rambling. “I’m not. Dating anyone, that is.”

“Then why—?”

“It just popped out. I’m not sure who was more surprised, me or Zelena.”

“So, this fake boyfriend of yours. Just who is he?”

“Well, okay, so this makes sense when you remember it’s Friday, and I knew I’d be coming here.”

“Right,” he says, equal parts cautious and curious.

“I told her my boyfriend was British.”

Killian shakes his head.

ExPats has been her weekly haunt for close to a year now and while not everyone who works there is a British expatriate, with Killian as bar manager, Robin as front of house manager, Graham as chef de cuisine, and Phillip as pastry chef, it kind of feels that way.

“And that he had blue eyes,” she continues.

“Ah, I see,” he says, teasing her. “Are you telling me you’re sweet on Graham too?”

“Not Graham.”

“In that case, Marian is likely going to have a big problem with you trying to date her husband.”

“And, uh,” she clears her throat, “I told Zelena he has dark hair.”

Killian wings an eyebrow. “How dark?”

“Uh, right about your color probably.”

“My color?”

“Probably. I said probably.”

“Interesting.” Emma takes a sip of her drink. There’s a delicious, hazy feeling brought on from the second cocktail washing through her veins. “So, you and I are dating?” he asks.

“Stupid. It was so stupid.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I mean, I’ve been meaning to ask you out for months now. This might be just the little push I need.”

“What?”

“What did you just say?”

“What now?” he asks in return, the picture of innocence.

“You’ve been trying to ask me out?”

“Not as such, no.”

“Oh.” She sinks back in her seat, disappointed.

“I didn’t want to risk you running scared and not being here every Friday night.”

Emma perks right back up again. “Oh?”

“You already said that, love.”

Emma looked down at her plate, the remnants of the crispy bits from her onion rings on her plate. Something occurs to her then. “Graham doesn’t give these to me because I want them. Does he?”

“Excuse me?”

If she’s not mistaken the tips of his ears have gone a little red. She loves his little elf ears. “He makes these for me because you ask him. Don’t you?”

“I might have told him they bring you an inordinate amount of joy.” He scratches idly at a spot on his arm. “And that it brings me an inordinate amount of joy to see how happy they make you.”

“Did you know my weekly ExPats date used to be on Wednesdays?”

She can see him try to mentally adjust to the change of direction in the conversation. “Really?”

“I only came in a few times, but then one week, I had parent/teacher conferences so I came on Friday. And there you were.” Emma shrugs. “Your Old Fashioned is better than Will’s.” She bites off one of the maraschino cherries from the toothpick. “Your smile is better, too.”

“Emma, darling, are you flirting with me?”

“What? Suddenly it’s a crime to flirt with my boyfriend?”

Killian laughs and it makes her heart hum. She likes the clean line of his throat as he tilts his head back. “Your boyfriend? I don’t suppose you’d want to go out on a date with, then?”

“I’m free on Wednesday.”

“Funny that,” he says. “That happens to be my day off.”

“Is it?”

Emma would be content to sit at this bar all night and let Killian smile at her and make her drinks. It seems like Killian is having similar thoughts, until something seemingly flies out of nowhere to hit him in the back of the head.

Killian reels around to find Robin standing there, arms folded across his chest.

“What’d you throw at me, you git?” Killian asks.

“A dinner roll.” Robin gestures at the drink ticket printer. A ticket printer which has at least 10-tickets waiting to be fulfilled. “Pardon, Emma. Mind if he stops flirting with you long enough to fulfill the drink orders?”

“You’re fired,” Killian says.

“For the last time, mate, you can’t fire me. My name is on the lease right next to yours.”

“Murder it is, then.”

“Make the nice customers their cocktails and then you can murder me.”

Robin walks away, and Emma notices it’s not just her at the bar who finds herself charmed by the whole display between the two men. She thinks she might see a small group of women sneakily taking a cell phone video, giggling as they watch it through.

“Emma, I’m sorry, but I—”

She waves him off. “Do your thing. I’ll be here.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and when she nods, he beams. “Good, because if we’re in a committed relationship I’m probably going to need your phone number.”

“Pour the drinks, you goon.”

#FOR YOU JJMAZZY #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #cs fanfiction #ouat fanfiction #p: emma x killian #never stories

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basicjetsetter · 3 years

Text

The Fall of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Heavy Suspense, Language, Adult Themes, Violence, Gambling, Drinking

♢ Word Count: 6.5k

☆ A/N: No joke, this took me about two years to conceptualize. Two freaking years. But I can 100% say it was worth it to write every word. This is by far one of my most creative works and I love that I get to finally share it with you all. Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading!

You couldn’t help but notice and admire how pretty the sky appeared when it was tinged in the auroral haze of an autumn morning and backdropped by the twinkling glass panes of New York’s notorious skyscrapers. Though autumn’s end isn’t for a couple of weeks, the lukewarm season allowed Manhattan a preview of winter’s frigid air. The city's constant roar hummed down to a distant lullaby as you walked up the steps and in through the doors of the Metropolitan Detention Center.

It’s an impressively modern building, one you’ve become intimately familiar with in the past couple of years. Everything inside screams order, from the plain white, bleach-scented linoleum floors to the rows upon rows of caged boxes containing a range of one-time offenders, serial criminals, and constant jailbirds. The first time you ever entered the establishment, it struck you just how much the atmosphere felt devoid and depraved, almost as if hope and happiness got stopped, frisked, and turned away at the door. You never liked staying more than necessary.

None of the four guards stationed along the main lobby walls paid you any attention as you marched up to the reception desk. Their inattention didn’t spawn out of contempt but out of fear. They knew who you were here for.

The receptionist, on the other hand, wouldn’t care if the Queen of England herself hop-scotched through the front entrance, bowed, and bestowed him the coveted Royal Crown on a jewel-encrusted platter.

He certainly never took an interest in your frequent visits. The first time you set foot into this building, a bright-eyed attorney anxious to speak with her first client, the oaf of a man merely grunted at your carefully constructed introductions and waved you off like a pesky fly. On a typical day, your exchange of words consisted of him curtly asking you to state your business while he half-listened to your response and stabbed at his keyboard with blunt fingers. Detaching his gaze from the monitor might have required exhaustion of his half-assed energy.

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

Most of your ordinary clients got shipped to this facility and locked up with the rest of the inmates until you picked up their case. Unlike this particular client you planned on springing today, those other men lacked the say-so to determine their cell. None of them came close to his status. They didn’t have the power nor the money to hire a personal attorney, and none of their crimes could ever match those of the calculated, cunning man who controlled all New York's avenues and boulevards.

In the streets, he’s known as Deus. Depending on how close you are in his circle, he's either Parker or Pete. The name in the system is Peter Benjamin Parker. Your fiancé.

| Last Evening |

“Stop fidgeting with your collar, Peter.”

“This fucking bowtie keeps… shit… it keeps choking me.” He growled out his frustration. “I’m going to fire that damn stylist.”

You threw him an exasperated glare as he ripped off the accessory. “Maybe if you hadn’t told him to pick any old bowtie, you wouldn’t be whining so much.”

“Remind me again why you're forcing me to wear this, anyway?” He paused for effect, placing his hand under his chin like Rodin’s The Thinker, and then snapped his fingers in dramatic realization. “Oh, right! Because Stark is a pretentious asshole, who thinks tuxedos are mandatory at all events thrown in his honor.”

Peter may hate the idea of wearing a formal tuxedo for the whole night, but you were going to enjoy every last minute of him in that attire, mainly because he resembles a model who stepped right off the page of a GQ cover. The low-lighting in this limousine certainly did its best to heighten your mood, highlighting the sharp angles of Peter’s clenched jaw. You’d have to remember to send Pepper a Thank You basket for planning the event as Black Tie.

“Can you at least pretend to get along with Tony tonight?” To see if his jaw could tighten any further, you coyly add, “He is the new Governor of New York, after all.”

Mission accomplished. Peter leaned his head back against the headrest and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, the light that glinted off of his platinum Rolex creating a scattered array of lights against the black leather seats. You pried your eyes off the extension of his neck as he spoke. “Great,” he huffed. “That’s exactly what I need right now. A gloating Stark who’s now legally duty-bound to hound my ass. One more thing to think about.”

As the limo pulled up to a slow halt in front of the Plaza Hotel, you grabbed one of Peter’s hands and held it until his eyes met yours. You gave him a reassuring smile and said, “Everything’s going to be alright, baby.”

The driver opened the door before Peter could speak and held out his gloved hand for you. You’ve been to the Plaza Hotel on many occasions, mostly business, and yet the sight of the château-styled building at night, with its myriad of lit windows and its luxurious lobby never ceased to leave you breathless. The view effectually took your gaze away from Peter’s tux, but not for long. The moment he stepped out of the limo, bathed in the golden light of the building, you felt transfixed all over again.

Peter discreetly tipped the driver and then turned to face you, clearly not as impressed with the Plaza Hotel as you were. He placed his warm hands on the swells of your hips and pulled you in front of him. His eyes appraised you, from your stiletto heels to your tight-fitted, off the shoulder evening dress, traveling up to your chunky Senegalese twists elegantly laid over your shoulder. He let out a low whistle and said, “If looks could kill…”

You straightened his collar and opened up the top button of his gingham dress shirt for both your sakes, then swiftly leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. “You’re not too shabby yourself, Mr. Parker.”

He wolfishly grinned as you quickly detached yourself from his borderline caressing hold. You knew he’d want more than a short kiss, but you couldn’t afford to get sidetracked tonight.

“Behave,” you chided.

“And if I don’t, future Mrs. Parker?” he prodded, a huskiness in his tone that sent a delicious shiver through you. His steps slowly brought him closer and closer to where you stood, and you weren’t sure if you’d have the will power to move away again. One proper kiss wouldn’t hurt…

A disembodied voice groaned in your ear. “Book a room!”

Peter chuckled unabashedly. “Sorry, Ned.” Though he tried to appear unaffected, Peter made an effort to clear his throat and tugged at his collar. “You ready on your end?”

“Yeah. Mic’s clear. Computer’s up and running. I’m all set. Can’t say the same for you two.”

You glance accusingly at Peter, who waggled his eyebrows at you. “We’re ready. Sorry about that. You know how Peter gets when I wear twists.”

Ned verbally shuddered. “Don’t remind me. I still refuse to sit on my couch, by the way, even after washing it four times! You owe me a new couch, dude. For my trauma.”

Peter half-heartedly grinned at the ground and said, “Dude, if we pull this off, I’ll buy you a whole new furniture set.” The one half of his grin faded away, replaced with a grim line of determination and sobriety. “Where’s he at?”

A few clicks rang through your ear-piece, then Ned replied, “Not far. About twenty minutes away, on Queens Boulevard in Elmhurst. Might be a while before he reaches the Plaza, though. There’s a jam on the bridge.”

“Cool, thanks. Keep us updated.” Peter didn’t want you to catch his expression, but you didn’t need to directly see it to realize he’s in business mode, cold and calculated, little to no warmth or playfulness left in his brown eyes.

Copying your move, he took your hand and held it until you both stared at each other. Briefly, with your eyes locked in place, he searched for any sliver of doubt, giving you one last option to ditch and save face while he executes the plan solo. You did not doubt that he and Ned could somehow pull it off without so much as a hiccup. Odds always work in Peter’s favor. For the past three years that you’ve known him, he’s never lost a gamble. Tonight, though, the gamble must include you, a new piece to his complicated game—a variable. If anything were to head south, the last thing Peter would want is to implicate you.

You understood the risks: the potential loss of your career, your squeaky clean record, and possibly your life. You wouldn’t be here, with him of all people, if you didn’t trust the plan. So you didn’t sway, letting your eyes confirm where you stood on the matter. I’m sticking with you. This exchange passed in absolute silence, ending with a small nod and a lingering kiss to your palm.

It’s always surprising to see Peter without a trace of humor or good-nature in his eyes. It took you a while to acclimate to his night and day demeanor and even longer to trust which emotions were real and which served a purpose. As he slides a cocky smile back onto his face, one that graces every part of his features, and holds out his arm for you, you knew. He’s in his element.

The game’s begun.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Not even five seconds into the Terrace Room and your jaw hit the floor. Pepper sure knows how to out-do herself.

The room displayed the same historic French charm as the outside façade, but much more grand, decorated with multiple crystalline chandeliers, large stone semicircular archways, and classical art adorning the ceilings. Somehow, Pepper’s touch of cream-colored table cloths, bouquets of immaculate white peonies, golden napkins, and floating candle holders added the perfect ambiance for Tony’s celebration.

True to his fashion.

The Man of the Hour is currently giving his speech at the head table as the Maître D’ checks your reservation and prompts a server to escort you and Peter to your table. It’s located not too far away from Tony's, near a stone wall and a divider separating the other tables. You weren’t entirely familiar with the three people who were already seated, but they graciously offered quiet nods of welcome. Peter grabbed your chair for you and smoothly pushed you in before taking his seat next to you while you strained to catch the last bits of Tony’s speech.

“… and I can truly say that without you, my amazing colleagues, friends, and organizers present tonight, this win would not have been possible. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And um, yeah. Thank you, all.” Tony lifted his champagne flute into the air with a flourish and a winning grin. Peter rolled his eyes. “Here’s to an awesome four years as New York’s new Governor.”

Everyone stood up to give him a round of applause, Peter’s claps more grudging than encouraging, but you were glad he put in some effort. When he looked your way, you flashed him a loving smile and mouthed Thank you. He rolled his eyes again, playfully this time, and quirked his mouth up in an amused grin.

Live music picked up as soon as Tony took his seat, soft jazz that blended well with the onslaught of muffled chatter and clinks of silverware against glass plates. Servers incrementally brought out the main course of roasted beef filet dressed in tomato tarragon sauce and a side of arugula salad. Peter stifled a chuckle as he heard your stomach growl when a server placed the plate of food in front of you.

As another server leaned in to pour you a glass of wine, you held out a hand and gave him a polite smile. “No, thank you. May I just have some water, please?”

The young man nodded, but Peter piped up before he could head off. “Got anything stronger back there? Bacardi? Whiskey? Rum?”

“We have Vodka, sir,” the server stuttered out.

“Excellent. I’ll take a whole bottle of that,” Peter grinned and pressed a couple of $100 bills into the man’s palm. Peter’s effect on people never got tiring to witness. He and the server appear to be around the same age, somewhere near the 25-year mark, yet Peter's vibe reduced the server to stutters. You’d say the tux assisted with his air of importance, but you’ve seen Peter have that same effect on businessmen while wearing a shirt that read “I lost an electron. Are you positive?” and plaid pajama bottoms.

The server vigorously nodded. “Right away, sir.”

“Don’t drink too much,” you cautioned in a tone low enough for only Peter’s ears. “You know how you get, and I don’t want Tony to have an excuse to place cuffs on you.”

Peter scoffed and mumbled around a bite of salad, “If I looked at him wrong, Tony would cuff me.”

“Now that’s a little presumptuous, ain’t it, Petey?”

You jumped up from your seat and wrapped Tony up in a hug he warmly returned. “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you, Governor Stark.”

Tony waved a hand, yet a big smile remained plastered on his face. “Ah, come on. It was bound to happen. Policy is the new name of the game, but I’ll sure miss that courtroom. You missy, on the other hand, deserve all the praise in the world. Best and youngest attorney in the whole state. Mentored by yours truly.” He trailed off, glancing in Peter’s general direction. “Though I question why you waste your talents on the likes of him.”

Now sitting ramrod straight in his chair, Peter slanted his eyes toward yours as you silently pleaded with him to be cordial. Once he brought his eyes back to Tony, he jerked up his chin in recognition. “Stark.”

Tony nodded at Peter. “Baby-faced Criminal.”

“Hey, now!” Pepper swooped in, pulling Tony back a little so she could see you better. “Just look at you! Always a beauty in everything you wear,” she gushed, then put on a stern face for Tony and Peter. “No roughhousing, tonight, boys. I mean it.”

“I was just making a valid critique on my star pupil's decision to become the Personal Attorney to a well-known arms dealer, is all,” Tony defended. He threw up his hands and drew up an innocent expression that might have worked had it not looked so derisive.

Pepper, pursing her lips, nodded sagely. “Right. Okay. So you were being an ass?”

“Pep!” Tony protested incredulously. Peter didn’t even try to hide his triumphant smirk.

You rolled your eyes in defeat. Oil and water can never mix, no matter how hard you try. No, Tony did not take the news of you becoming Peter’s PA well, and he’s made sure to rake you over the coals bout it every time the chance arises. You’ve been Peter’s attorney coming up on two years, and there’s not a sign from either of them that the grudge will ever be let go, not even for your sake, though they do try when threatened.

“I want you two to say something nice to each other and then let the rest of the night go on in peace. Go ahead,” Pepper ordered, indicating for Tony to go first.

Tony took in an excessive amount of air, then puffed it out. “Alright, Parker. Um… I like how you ostensibly don’t know the rules to a Black Tie Event.” He ended with a gesture to Peter’s lack of a bowtie. The poor thing lies in a mangled heap on the floor of the limousine.

Peter ticked up his eyebrow. “I like how the stick up your ass seems to reach new heights every time we speak, Stark.”

Pepper sighed and grabbed Tony’s arm. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I’ll take what I can get. Come on, you. There are many more guests to greet.” She tugged him along, throwing you an apologetic smile over her slim shoulder as they walked away.

Almost out of earshot, you could hear Tony say, “He calls himself Deus, for Christ's sake!”

They left you two in heated silence. Peter refused to meet your glare, instead choosing to chug down the freshly set out champagne flute filled with Vodka. He immediately flushed as he poured himself another glass full.

“Peter—” you started.

“Don’t say it. I tried, alright?” He slumped against the back of his seat, then shot you a surly frown. “You didn’t even mention our engagement to him. Again.”

You looked down at your untouched food, suddenly not hungry.

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Were you ever going to tell him?”

An anchor of guilt plummeted to the pit of your stomach, chasing away the desire to eat anything for the next few hours. Your answer came out sounding whittled and nearly swallowed by the music. “Pepper knows.”

“And that tells me all I need to know,” said Peter, pushing away from the table and taking the bottle of Vodka with him.

You tried to stamp down the rise of startled panic by clearing your throat and evenly asking, “Where are you going?” A high octave managed to slip in on the last word.

“To socialize. Play some cards. Place a few bets. Criminal stuff. You want in?” He didn’t wait for you to answer, moving further and further away as a wave of hot anger replaced your shame. “Oh, my bad. Sorry. I forgot you probably don’t want your mentor seeing you ruin your perfect image with, what was it? The likes of me?”

He swaggered off, not a mere hint of his hurt evident in his show of arrogance.

You gingerly sat back in your seat, careful to ignore the inquiring stares from those who caught most of the argument. Your nails came close to puncturing your palms, and if your jaw clamped any tighter, it would snap. An annoying, persistent inner voice chimed out, He’s right, you know. It was probably Ned.

You understood Peter enough to know that Tony not being clued in on your engagement wounded him. He told everyone in his life about you—told Aunt May the second you finally agreed to go on that first date with him, nearly shouted to all the rooftops in Queens “SHE SAID YES!” when he proposed three months ago. Yet here you are, dragging your heels on telling Tony, one of the most influential people in your life, that you’re marrying the love of your life. He wouldn’t understand. Or, rather, he would, and he’d abhor your decision.

You’re not sure you could ever explain to Tony how Peter is your favorite star in the night sky. A big, glowing ball of light you spend hours upon hours admiring and appreciating. One that just burns brighter than all the rest.

Your engagement ring sparkled at you, winking as you moved it side to side and marveled at the simple yet elegant details of the inlaid sapphires and diamonds. Peter told you he picked it out a week before the proposal, but you knew he carried it around in his pocket for months, biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity. When he asked, you couldn’t say yes fast enough. At that moment, Tony and his aversion to Peter never crossed your mind, but it’s lingered ever since.

Guilt returned as a salve for your anger.

“Trouble in paradise?” asked a woman sitting at your table, a slight accent in her voice. She appears to be young, almost too young to be at this function. The glimmer in her eye and the hitch in her smile denoted a wise person. Goddess braids sat on top of her head like a crown, and she’s wearing a simple black dress with pearl studs that nicely accentuates her dark brown skin.

You uncurled your hands and blew out a held-in breath, kindly smiling back. “Something like that.”

She held out a hand. “Shuri Udaku.”

That name came with an inkling of recognition, but you couldn’t quite place it. You shook hands with the young woman, giving her your name. When you momentarily looked at your clasped hands, your eyes dropped down to catch the jewelry on her wrist. They weren’t pearls like her earrings. They were onyx and emblazoned with ivory symbols on each bead: Kimoyo beads, a technological revolution currently sweeping the nation, manufactured only by one woman. The realization hit you hard. “Hold on a second. The Shuri Udaku? Founder of Vibranium Tech, Shuri Udaku?”

“The one and only,” she answered, her smile growing wider.

This confirmation launched you into a field of questions and acknowledgments. It turns out she knows of your work as New York’s youngest attorney, but you know a bit more about her line of work because Peter always voiced his interest in her growing business. On the surface, Vibranium Tech is like any other technology company, issuing out new and improved ways of communication and medical treatment. In the underground, there’s been rumors of her interest in creating weapons—technological weapons unlike any the arms dealing business has seen before.

You didn’t want to bring up that facet of knowledge just yet. The normal conversation worked wonders on you, loosening your tense muscles and clamped jaw, all of them singing sweet relief once your body naturally released the tension.

“So, did I hear Tony correctly when he said your partner is the Deus?”

You winced and found yourself searching the room for a glimpse of your fiancé. He’s commandeered a table in the back of the venue, showing off his black and gold deck of playing cards to a group of interested guests itching to play a hand.

“Yeah, that would be him.”

“That’s so badass,” Shuri mused, leaning in conspiratorially. “Is he like the mob bosses in TV shows and movies? Like does he have henchmen? Bad-temper? High-speed car chases with the police?”

You genuinely laughed. “Not exactly. Henchmen, kind of. Bad temper is rare. And he’d never shut up about having a high-speed car chase with the police. No, he’s a little more lowkey than all that.”

Long ago, back when you were innocent to the life Peter led, you assumed that that’s precisely what it entailed—an exhilarating life of high stakes, exorbitant amounts of money, strong-armed goons, and reckless shoot-outs. That might be the case for a few bosses, but not Peter. He’s too strategic, and the ins-and-outs of his trade are too complicated to pin on just one person.

“Well, I, um…” she stopped, considered her words. You unconsciously drew in closer. “I may have a business offer for him.”

You kept your smile on, but it felt more commercial-like than friendly. “What type of offer?”

Shuri gulped down a generous amount of her red wine, then darted her eyes side to side before speaking lowly. “Would he be interested in high powered weapons?”

You raised your eyebrows but kept up your cool front. “Depends. In exchange for what?”

“Protection.”

A voice in your ear announced, “He’s here.”

You ignored it, focusing on Shuri. “From who?”

Shuri peeked around again to make sure no one paid any attention to your private conversation, but her examination stopped at the entrance. “From him.”

You cautiously slid your eyes to the main entrance, heart hammering a thunderous rhythm in your chest.

Brock Rumlow. Peter's rival and leader of a group named the Scorpions. A peddler/enforcer for the East Coast's largest mob: Hydra. Of course he’d try to pressure Shuri for the weapons.

He didn’t come dressed according to the occasion, opting for his usual tight-fitted black Tee and gray tactical pants. The visible half of his tattoo, a scorpion’s tail curling out from the cuff of his shirt, stood out against his tan skin. Two other men stood behind him, wearing almost identical clothes to Rumlow and sporting the same scorpion tattoo on their right bicep, not exactly hiding that they carried concealed weapons. All the voices in the room hollowed out to stiff silence, and even the band took its cue to halt. Your eyes found Tony in time to see his jaw tick for the briefest moment, and then he slid right back into a restrained version of his good cheer.

“Hey, hey! This is still a party, people,” Tony called out, addressing the guests. “Eat, talk, have a good time.” He signaled to the band to pick up the music, then crossed the room to chat with Rumlow. You’ve never seen him so keyed up.

You touched Shuri’s hand comfortingly, not taking your eyes off Rumlow. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She deflated gratefully. “Thank you.”

You nodded, already out of your seat and rushing to the back of the room, stopping short once you arrived at Peter’s table. He’s thoroughly invested in this round of poker, glancing back and forth from his cards to the nervous twitches of the five men and one woman at the table. You recognized four of them: Judge Nicholas Fury, Lieutenant Steve Rogers, Manhattan’s Chief of Police Sam Wilson, and District Attorney Natasha Romanoff. Sweat is perspiring on Steve’s forehead, Sam’s leg can’t stop bouncing up and down, and even Natasha, a woman known for keeping her cool while in the line of fire, is chewing on her lower lip. Fury's not fazed. He just seems tapped out.

From what you can estimate, about six hundred dollars lies in the middle of the table.

Sam and Steve speak at the same time. “I’m out.”

The other men followed suit, muttering their defeat. Fury dropped his cards down on the table facedown.

Peter wickedly grinned, zeroing in on Natasha. “Got any last words?”

Natasha squinted her eyes at his taunt. “Kiss my ass, Parker.” She put her cards down face up, showing her hand, and quirked up an eyebrow that dared him to top that: three Queens and a pair of twos. Full House.

Peter laid down his hand. Four 3’s and an ace. Four of a Kind.

A chorus of fucks circled the group as Peter cleared the table of the crumpled bills. Two new bottles of opened Vodka sit on the table as well, along with seven shot-glasses. Steve’s glass remains untouched, but the others look like they’ve drained two shots each.

“Bucky’s gonna kill me for losing so much money,” Steve muttered, twirling around his wedding band.

Sam sadly shook his head. “Dammit, man. I thought we had him this time, too.” He eyed Peter with suspicion. “What you got, kid? X-Ray vision?”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, causing a few curls to escape its sleek style. “Nah, jus’ luck.”

“Yeah, well, here’s to hoping your luck runs out,” said Fury, raising his shot glass and slamming it back.

You inched closer to Peter’s side. He reeked of alcohol, and his eyes are glazed over. You wonder how he’s even capable of sitting up, let alone playing people out of their money.

“Peter,” you whispered, putting your hand on his shoulder. His muscles tensed, but he didn’t shake you off. “Rumlow’s here.”

The remaining people at the table began to disperse in a collective gripe of loss. Peter didn’t say anything, only jerked his head in acknowledgment.

Your hand itched to slap him back into reality. “Peter, baby, listen. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry. I should have told Tony about our engagement.” Desperation sapped into your words. “It was stupid and childish not to, and as soon as I get the chance, I’ll tell him. But for the love of God, this is not the time to—”

“Well, well, well! Look who we got here! Deus, in the flesh!” boomed a disturbingly baritone voice. Rumlow, shadowed by his two men, plopped down in one of the empty chairs, sitting right across from Peter. He glanced at Peter first, then languorously landed his gaze on you. “And who’s this pretty lady you got here?”

“My fiancée,” answered Peter monotonously. He said it as if the words synonymously meant: just some chick. A dull kind of ache slashed through your chest as you dropped your hand back down to your side and took two steps away from him.

Rumlow pretended to miss the interaction, appearing to be in deep thought, and then clapped his hands once. “Oh! The attorney. I don’t believe I ever formally introduced myself.” He offered his large hand to you, grinning with his whole teeth on display. “Name’s Brock Rumlow.”

You reluctantly let him take your outstretched hand. His skin is blazing hot, to the point where your hand nearly felt suffocated. He brought it to his lips for a small kiss that twisted your stomach in knots. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rumlow.”

Rumlow winked. “Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart. And call me Brock.”

“Fuck do you want, Rumlow?” Peter bit out, picking the cards up off the table and shuffling them.

“Ooh,” tsked Rumlow. He made sure to lay another grin on you just to irk Peter. “Come on, Parker. Can’t a guy just enjoy some company once in a while? It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong.” He watched Peter’s movements, the cards haphazardly sliding back and forth from one hand to the next. “Playing cards, huh? You up for a quick game?”

You butt in with a pressed laugh. “Actually, we were just leaving.” Drunk Peter is overly confident. If Rumlow found that out, you knew he’d take Peter for everything he’s worth.

“So soon?” Rumlow glanced down at his watch. “It’s not even ten yet. What’s the rush?”

Peter cut you off. “No rush. I’m staying. You play Draw Poker?”

“ ‘Course I play Draw Poker, but that seems too simple for you, Parker. Don’t you wanna make it hard for me? A little Texas Hold ’em?”

“Draw Poker,” said Peter, splitting the deck against the table and flexing the cards enough to have them rapidly collapse into place. “Take it or leave it.”

A dark, mischievous smile brewed on Rumlow’s face as he watched Peter fumble with the deck and, at some point, entirely losing his grip. You discreetly watched him size up his opponent, dismayed to find that he likes the assessment. Hair is stubbornly falling into Peter’s eyes, eyes that anyone a mile away could point out are bleary and bloodshot. The flush from earlier deepened on his neck and flashed scarlet across his face—an easy target for a skilled player.

“Deal me in.”

The first game played out exactly as you feared it would. Rumlow and Peter agreed on a $100 ante to get the ball rolling, both pulling out a single bill from their pocket and placing it in the middle of the table, then they settled for a pot-limit. Though Peter’s shuffling skills lacked his usual finesse, he expertly dealt each of them a hand of five cards.

You leaned against the back wall with your arms crossed over your chest and watched the game unfold. Rumlow processes his hands at the speed of a bullet, snapping his eyes to his cards once he’s drawn, and immediately discards the ones he doesn’t like when it’s his turn. Other than the minutest crinkle in the corner of his left eye, you couldn’t tell when he felt confident or when he bluffed. He gave nothing away, not even an involuntary scratch to his five o’clock shadow. He was so in the zone he began to partake in the Vodka bottle close to his side of the table, swigging straight from the mouth.

On the other hand, Peter moved as if a millisecond was the equivalent length of ten years, scanning his cards more than several times with pursed lips, looking up at Rumlow, scanning his cards again, once, twice, three times, then reluctantly discarding some. He frequently shoves a hand through his hair to keep it out of his eyesight, but the same unruly strands find their way back to impede his vision. He scratches the shell of his ear when he’s about to draw, and Rumlow’s picked up the tell.

Rumlow never even had to do more than call. The confident drunk in Peter always raised.

The pot increased to about $1400 before Peter folded his hand.

As Rumlow collected his winnings, he suggestively lifted his eyebrows at Peter. “Care for round 2?”

Confident drunk Peter never backs down, even when he’s the dumbass who can’t remember that he’s brought fists to a gunfight.

You step back up to the table and put a restrictive hand on Peter’s wrist to keep him from picking up the cards. “Enough, Peter. You’re done. Let’s go home.”

“No, I’m not done,” he said, snatching his arm away from your touch. “Go talk to Tony or somethin’. I’ve got this.”

Rumlow caught your bewildered stare and shrugged his broad shoulders, a gesture that didn’t match his cocky smile. He has Peter right where he wants him, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him because Peter is a willing participant running on alcohol and no critical judgment.

You should have left right then and there, but your feet stayed rooted to the floor. You couldn’t leave Peter like this. Sighing, you pulled up a chair to the table and sat beside Peter.

“Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on him,” said Rumlow, putting on a smile too sardonic to be comforting. Too artificial to be genuine.

His lie didn’t surprise you. The hole Peter dug himself did.

The second round went similarly to the first. Flash decisions from Rumlow and molasses-like contemplation from Peter. This time, though, the ante came up to $200. As far as you knew, Peter is only carrying about $2500 in his pockets.

By the time the fourth round started, Peter’s Rolex lies on the table. The ante is up to $1000. Somehow the pot-limit became no-limit.

By the fifth round, Peter made paperless bets. Ante is $10,000. Rumlow knew Peter’s pockets went deep, and he’d keep at it until he struck gold.

Nothing you said stopped him. Peter hadn’t won a single hand. He’s desperate for at least one good hand; he’s got something to prove.

Rumlow kept drinking with each win.

By the seventh round, a crowd is around the table, watching in horrified interest as Peter raises the bet to one million dollars. The most significant amount you’ve ever seen him bet. So far, he’s held this hand for three draws.

Peter’s hair lost all semblance of its previous style, hanging over his forehead in disarray. He’s hunched over in his chair, his jacket’s off, and he’s rolled up his dress shirt’s sleeves to his elbows. His group’s signature tattoo stands out stark against his inner wrist: a roughly sketched spider.

Rumlow, eyes now as bloodshot as Peter’s and face just as flushed under his tan skin, asks, “Think you got something, Parker?”

“Do you?” Peter countered.

“I just might.” Rumlow ran a finger against his bottom lip, then smiled at his hand. “Why don’t you say we make this last Showdown a little more interesting, eh?”

A terrible queasiness wrapped around your gut.

Peter listened intently, his silence Rumlow’s indication to continue.

“$10 million. And the best trading routes. Including foreign connections. I want everything you got.”

You turned to Peter, placing your hand on top of his until he finally looked at you. Your eyes begged him to listen to you for once tonight. “Please don’t do this.”

His reply sounded tortured. “But I can. I have to.”

“Is winning really worth losing everything?” you asked, your voice cracking.

Rumlow chuckled ominously. “Oh, that’s not everything, sweetheart. We both know what’s left.” He gave you a meaningful stare.

Your eyes widened in disgust.

Peter snapped his gaze to Rumlow. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“No, but I want her. Imagine having New York’s best attorney in my arsenal. How many charges has she saved your sorry ass from, Parker? Five? All felonies, right? You lucky son of a bitch.” Rumlow’s smile is sinister. “Not that lucky tonight, huh?”

Peter spoke through gritted teeth. “Back off, Rumlow.”

“To have Deus wrapped around her finger, she must be pretty damn good. Is she, Parker?” goaded Rumlow, ignoring Peter’s warning. “Is she any good?”

Instinct controlled your hands as they seized Peter’s cards before he launched himself over the table and landed an ear-splitting blow to Rumlow’s jaw. Rumlow must’ve known the punch was coming. Still, he hadn’t expected the impact to be that forceful because his eyes blinked in astonishment. The two men behind Rumlow didn’t react fast enough, missing Peter as he stood above Rumlow, grabbed the handgun hidden in the waist of his pants and pressed the muzzle deep into Rumlow’s temple, finger on the trigger.

Rumlow shifted his eyes up to Peter. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Peter’s voice is lethally calm. “Say one more goddamn word about her and you’re dead.”

“Put that gun down, Parker!”

Tony. Shit.

Peter squared his jaw, never taking his eyes off of Rumlow. About six off-duty policemen and the venue’s guards have their weapons trained on Peter.

“I said put the gun down! Now!” Tony had pushed his way through the crowd, Sam and Steve right behind him. You didn’t notice until now how quiet the room became, everyone holding in a collective breath.

“Put it down, son,” Steve gently ordered. He spied Rumlow’s men, their hands tightened on their guns, and shook his head. “Don’t even think about it.”

Peter didn’t move a muscle. His chest rapidly rises and falls with each breath.

Sam, holding a pair of cuffs in his hand, tried getting through to him. “It’s over. Drop the gun, kid.”

A slow grin spread across Rumlow’s face.

“Peter,” you spoke softly.

His red-rimmed eyes met yours.

“Everything’s gonna be alright. Just put the gun down, okay? Please.”

Two heartbeats passed before his grip on the gun slackened, and he begrudgingly lowered his arm.

Steve and Sam seized on the opportunity. Steve disarmed Peter while Sam restrained Peter’s arms behind his back and tightened the cuffs around his wrists.

Rumlow massaged his injured jaw. “Guess that means I win, Parker.”

Sam yanked Peter back before he could charge at Rumlow. When Peter looked your way, he saw you still held his cards. “I’m still in play.”

“Wait,” you protested. Sam began to guide Peter up to the entrance. “Peter, I can’t—”

He nodded his head furiously, talking over his shoulder as Sam lead him away. “Yes, you can. You know you can, baby. Play the hand.”

You stared helplessly at Peter’s retreating form. It was all on you.

Rumlow watched, unperturbed; his cards still held tight in the hand that wasn’t nursing his jaw.

Slowly, you lowered yourself down into Peter’s chair, sitting directly across from Rumlow’s smirking face. Tony stared at you incredulously. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him rendered speechless. The room’s chatter never recovered, either. All eyes stay glued towards the standoff.

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #mob!peter parker #peter parker au #mob!au #marvel fanfic #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #black female reader #the fall of deus #peter parker x black reader #black reader

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marvel-and-mischief · 3 years

Text

Daffodils

Part of my Floriography Series

Pairing: Max Phillips x GN!Reader Words: 1900 Warnings: unrequited love, angst, character death (sort of, it’s vampires!), descriptions of blood and gore, descriptions of dying, descriptions of violence Synopsis: Max is selfish, thoughtless, egotistical, and it might just lead to your downfall

Daffodils: Latin name is ‘narcissus'; based on the tragic myth of the beautiful Greek hero who fell in love with his own reflection

💐

You could see him now, standing in his office, pulling a blue steel pout in the mirror and fixing his hair with a comb. It was eight-thirty in the morning and Max was readying himself for the day as he usually did, putting a smile on his face and looking good despite the fact he never dealt with customers in person. You supposed it was a state of mind; if he looked good, he felt good and could charm whoever was on the other end of the phone.

You’re not sure if he knew you watched. Where your desk was situated on the other side of the room, you were the only person in the office that could see what he was doing. You’d never caught him looking at you, or even noticing you for that matter, but that’s how you liked it. Blending into the shadows, head down, getting your work done, and then you could go home on time.

Giving himself a wink, Max turns around in one smooth pirouette and strides out of his office to greet everybody with wide arms and a toothy grin.

“It’s Monday morning, I know, it sucks,” Max rolls his eyes playfully and puts his hands on his hips in an exaggerated manner, “but if we drive our sales up today then the rest of the week will be a breeze. Come Friday we’ll be sipping on cocktails and laughing at Josh over there, hey Josh,” Max waves sarcastically at a man in the corner who is trying to shrink into his chair and hide his face behind his hand. Everybody except you and Josh titter at Max’s jab.

Max claps his hands loudly to silence the room and waves in a ‘shoo’ motion to get everyone back to work before returning to his office. It reminded you of a theatre play, how rehearsed it all was, how perfectly he moved from one action to the other.

That was why you’d started to watch him in the first place. Your train always got you into work an hour before you needed to be there and you’d noticed how he rehearsed things in the mirror in his office before anyone arrived. Motivational speeches to himself, happy smiles and sad smiles, even different types of winks (you knew he preferred his left eye). It was fascinating to see your boss, who was usually brazen and over-confident, practicing his personality for the day.

Being unnoticed gave you the opportunity to observe him when he thought no one was looking. Like how you never saw him eat anything, only drink from a large flask which he never poured out into the cup that screwed into the top, which was odd but then he was an odd man. He had a subconscious quirk where he’d run a finger along his side parting and sometimes he’d catch himself doing it and look mournfully around his office, as though he was remembering something he’d rather forget.

But you tried to get noticed sometimes, tried to bring attention to yourself in small ways, just to remind him you existed, that you were there.

You brought lemon candies back from your beach vacation last Summer, had said you’d brought too many gifts for your family and thought he’d like them. It wasn’t true of course. You’d specifically looked for something to buy him but realised you didn’t know what he liked so had grabbed them in a last minute panic from a little gift shop next to the gas station. He mumbled a thank you without looking, not expecting anything more than that. But it had stung when you found them on top of the trashcan outside the office building. By the front door. He must have known you’d see them as you left the office that day and he didn’t care. Still, it hadn’t dissuaded you.

Sometimes Max would need someone to look over numbers on a Friday night and he’d asked you (via an email). You didn’t mind, there were always regular trains to catch and it’s not like you had anyone waiting for you at home. You tried to use those nights to pry open the enigma that is Max Phillips. You never got far.

The first time you stayed behind had mostly been a silent one. Max hunched over his computer whilst you sat opposite him. You had asked him about his weekend, only to receive a shrug and a muttered ‘out with the lads’.��

The second time you helped him with the numbers you’d managed to peak his interest when you placed your phone down on his desk, your screen lighting up to reveal your favorite movie as your background wallpaper. He’d looked impressed, a conversation starter on the tip of his tongue but instead of saying something, he’d taken a deep breath and pursed his lips before turning back to his computer.

Had you offended him without realising it? Did he not like the way you worked? You couldn’t put your finger on why he treated you the way he did.

Tonight was another Friday night that Max had asked you to stay behind, but it was far from ordinary. For starters there was a mug of freshly brewed coffee sat on your side of the desk when you entered. You looked questioningly at Max.

“Don’t you like coffee?”

You hurried to nod and sat down. That was possibly the most Max had ever spoken to you. It was what you’d always wanted; for him to acknowledge you as a member of his team, as a hard worker, as a human being. Perhaps you should have responded but you were in shock. You tried the coffee once it had cooled down, it was exactly how you liked it, how did he know?

The rest of the hour went by without either of you talking. You stood from your seat and handed him the closed file.

“Everything’s in order,” you said, putting your coat on and picking up your purse, “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Max grunted something unintelligible as you walked to the door. He spoke a sentence to you today, maybe it’ll be two sentences next week? You internally kicked yourself for letting him walk all over you. He didn’t care for you the way you cared about him, he didn’t think of you as much as you thought of him, when would you learn?

Before you passed the glass windows of his office you looked back to see Max looking in the mirror, fixing up his hair and smoothing down the front of his three piece suit. He looked in the mirror more than he ever looked at you. That should be enough to shake some sense into you. He’d never like you more than he liked himself, but the heart didn’t work on logic. Unfortunately.

You shook your head and left him there to gaze into his own reflection.

It was dark and cold in the early evenings so pausing to pull on gloves and a woollen hat in the foyer before stepping outside was a must. Just as you were adjusting your hat over your ears you heard movement from a supply closet to your left. You froze, listening out for anymore noise, hoping it was just your imagination. It was deathly silent.

If it came to it you’d run back to the elevator and go and ask Max to check it out for you, damned if it made you look pathetic. If it was someone messing about Max could deal with it, if it was a trapped animal then you’d be doing the cleaning lady a favor in the morning by letting it loose tonight.

You startled at the noise, turning just in time to see the door knob of the supply closet being rattled from the inside. You weren’t a naturally brave person but you were curious, some would say nosey. You found your feet creeping towards the closet.

“Is someone trapped in there?” You received no reply as you placed your hand on the door knob and slowly turned.

The door flew open suddenly and you were faced with a monstrous contortion of skin and bones, sharp fangs flashed in front of your eyes and then you were hitting the ground. You felt a hot sting of excruciating pain at your neck, like your flesh was being torn apart and warm liquid dribbling down your skin and soaking your shirt.

Your vision became blurry and unfocussed but you think you saw Max, or heard him shouting your name and in a haze of motion the man at your neck had been thrown across the room and then it was his face you were seeing hovering above yours.

“You stay with me, you understand?” He was panicked you realised, his voice becoming shrill as he held you in his arms, a hand pressed to your throat to stop any more blood pooling out.

“I’m sorry, I tried to prevent this, I didn’t want this for you.”

You frowned up at him, wandering what he meant. What was happening to you? Why did he care when he didn’t even look at you on any given day?

His brow was furrowed, his lips turned downward, a look of pity in his eyes and it made you mad. Furious. You should be pitying him. This man who loved nobody but himself, who cared for nobody but himself. He was selfish and prideful and didn’t deserve your kindness.

The adrenaline coursed through your veins and you felt the overwhelming urge to grab him and tear him limb from limb, like you saw predators in documentaries rip apart the flesh of their prey. Max saw the change in your eyes before you attempted to reach for his neck and swiftly held you to his chest in a strong grip.

“I promise I’ll help you through those urges,” he whispered into your ear but it sounded like being underwater when someone was shouting at you from above, you couldn’t make sense of it.

“I thought, if I could keep you away from me then perhaps no one would notice you,” Max carried on but all you wanted to do was shut him up, press your fist into his mouth and stop him talking.

“Perhaps if I’d done the opposite, protected you by keeping you near me, this wouldn’t have happened,” Max carefully pressed your head to his chest, away from his skin so you couldn’t do him any harm. He knew exactly what you were going through and he wasn’t going to let you be alone like he was.

“Because of course I noticed you, how could I not?”

You were crying now, and your head was pounding too loudly in your ears but his words were getting through to you at last. He’s noticed you? Then how could he treat you so terribly?

“Keep breathing, remember how it feels, it won’t be long before that stops.”

You heaved in a sobbing breath and gripped onto his forearm that lay across your chest.

“What’s happening to me?” You managed to croak out. But did you really want to know that you were dying?

“You’re being reborn.”

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell + @max--phillips

#Floriography Series #Max Phillips #Max Phillips x reader #Bloodsucking Bastards #Pedro Pascal #tw death #tw violence #tw blood

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lokis-army-77 · 3 years

Text

If You Please

Chapter four

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1860

I'm bad at writing descriptions, so this is basically a reader insert into The First Avenger and then we'll see how it goes from there.

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Masterlist

After about thirty minutes of driving, we made it out of the tunnel, after another hour we made it to the camp. When the car was finally parked I slid out of the back seat and straightened my skirt. I looked over the top of the car at Peggy, she motioned for me to follow her. She led us to one of the army's many jeeps.

“The project recruits are in the training field, we’ll have to drive over to them." She hoisted herself up into the cab and I quickly followed suit. The ride to the training field was short, but in the few minutes, it took us to get there a wave of anxiety crashed onto me.

The thought of seeing Steve here was panic-inducing. I had only just seen him a few hours before but having him see me in the job that I had kept secret from him was not fun. I had a feeling that this was going to be a long day.

As the jeep came to a stop I could see the line of recruits and there stood Steve right in the middle of them. He wasn't that hard to miss, he did stick out like a sore thumb. I leaned up between Peggy and the driver and said, "I don't think i can do this right now."

Peggy looked over her shoulder at me, "you can do this Roger's, there is nothing to worry about. Let's just go do our job." I took a deep breath and nodded, exiting the jeep.

I trailed slowly behind Peggy and stopped just out of Steve's view. I watched while she introduced herself to the line of men. As she walked down the line one of the men commented on her accent. Turning to ask his name he responded with, "Gilmore Hodge, your majesty."

Peggy then asked him to step forward and once he had done so, he was swiftly met with a punch to the face. I let a small laugh out as he fell backward.

“Agent Carter, I see you’re breaking in the candidates. I also see that you’ve brought Agent Rogers as well,” Colonel Phillips called out as he and Dr. Erskine came towards the group. We both quickly gave him a salute. With the mention of my name, I knew my cover was blown and I walked out to where Peggy and Coronel Phillips stood and introduced myself. My eyes fell on Steve who looked utterly shocked.

The Coronel then proceeds to give his small speech about how we would win the war because we have “the best men”. When he noticed Steve he also added “and because they are going to get better.” He continued by telling the men about the SSR and what the goal of the program was. When the words super-soldier were said, I could see the men take a sharp breath in and puff their chests out. From the looks of it, I could already tell these men were not what a super-soldier should be. I continued to watch Steve as he sent me questioning looks. I mouthed to him that I would explain later and he nodded slightly.

After the Coronel’s speech was when the real work began. They went straight into training exercises, push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, every exercise you could think of. I stood back and watched, only chiming in when I saw one of the men slacking or doing something incorrectly. Steve was in the middle of the group, trying his hardest to keep up with the others, but he never quit.

Once night fell the recruits were sent off to the canteen for supper. They all trotted off in a group but Steve didn’t move from the spot he had been in. I looked over at him and sighed. I waved Peggy on and walked over to my brother. He started to speak but I quickly interrupted him. “Before you say anything I want to say I’m sorry for keeping this from you, I was legally forbidden from saying anything to you.”

He stood there for a minute processing, mouth opening and closing like he was going to say something but then quickly thought better of it. He raked his hands through his hair and exhaled heavily. “I.. I have no idea what to say. When did you even have the time to join the SSR?” He asked, sounding a little cross.

“Do you remember when I started taking night classes down at the community college? Well, I was actually in training here with the SSR. I’m not really sure how it happened, it just did. I really wanted to tell you so bad, but I couldn’t. I hope you understand why.” My head hung low as I spoke, this and my engagement were the only two things I have ever kept from my brother and to have one less thing weighing on my mind felt like a relief.

“I understand, you only did what was asked of you,” he spoke calmly and pulled me into a hug.

“Thank you, Stevie.” I gave him a tight hug back. I let go and started to walk to the canteen. “Now, here I am your superior, I can't be giving you special treatment because you’re my big brother.”

“I wouldn’t want you to. So do I just call you Agent Rogers from now on? I'm not going to lie, that's a little weird,” He laughed, falling into step with me.

“Yes that's exactly what you should call me and I’ll just call you Rogers from now on, maybe with a little more force.” I chuckled and shook my head, “I have a meeting to get to so go get some supper and get your things unpacked. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning at 0600, soldier.” I turned to my right and headed for the main office building of the camp.

Over the next few days, Peggy and I watched over the training of the recruits. I watched as Steve lagged behind in every exercise and obstacle, but he managed to pull through. He used his smarts to get through some of the tasks, unlike the others who relied on their brute force. Dr. Erskine kept a close eye on him whenever he was present on the training field. I knew that Steve was his one and only choice out of the group to help further the experiment we were conducting.

Today was no different than any other, I peered at the men doing seats of burpees in the midday heat. “Let's go girlies! Faster! My grandmother can do these faster than this!” I yelled, pacing back and forth behind the group. To my right, I noticed the

Coronel and Dr. Erskine had arrived. They were deep in a conversation when I heard Peggy shout from the front of the group and I turned back to watch the men do their exercises.

The next thing I knew someone was shouting “grenade”. The whole area went into a panic. I spotted the grenade and started towards it in hopes to reduce the damage it would do if it was just left to sit. Before I could reach it, Steve dove on top of it.

“Get away! Get back!” he yelled. I dropped to my knees next to him, my heart pounded in anxiety but the explosion never came. I realized that it was a dud, one of the grenades used to train with. Steve uncurled himself out of his position and looked over at Colonel Phillips and Dr. Erskine, “Is this a test?” I grabbed his arm and pulled him up to his feet with me.

“Well, that was interesting. I can’t believe you would jump on a grenade Steve,” I shook my head.

“You’re one to talk, I saw you running straight for it too. Even when I was on top of it you still stayed. I told you to get away,” he chided.

“Steve don’t scold me, I couldn't just let you blow up. That was really brave of you though. Not many people would do what you just did.”

“Mr. Rogers, Agent Rogers, please come see me for a moment,” called Dr. Erskine. Steve and I looked at one another and then walked over to the doctor. “Come, follow me.” He led us to a jeep where we hopped in and were taken to one of the office buildings.

Inside the office, Dr. Erskine pointed at two chairs for us to sit in while he went behind his desk and took his seat. “I’ll just get right to the point. Mr. Rogers, I believe you will be the best candidate for this operation. You too Agent Rogers. I believe you both will be the best options for what we are trying to do here.” He explained to us. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This project was supposed to only have one participant, not two.

“If I may, I thought this was only going to be carried out on only one person, why choose the both of us,” I questioned.

Dr. Erskine looked at Steve and then at me. “This is my experiment, I can choose however many test subjects I would like to perform on. Not only that but you both displayed what I would like a candidate for the experiment to have, and that's courage and a good heart. Agent Rogers I’ve known you for a couple years now and I have had you in mind for this for a while,” He paused and looked down at the papers on his desk, “I also believe that since I did some testing with your blood work that the success rate will be greater since the two of you are siblings.”

Steve and I nodded as we listened to what he was telling us. He continued to recount to us what he had experienced with Hitler and Johann Schmidt. He told us of the unfinished serum that Schmidt had taken and that there were dire consequences, he had gained power and strength but at what cost?

“The serum,” he paused, “the serum amplifies what is on the inside, not just physicality. Good becomes great and bad becomes worse. Not only did I choose you because of what I have seen in you but because I know that someone who is weak or has been looked down upon knows the value of strength and compassion, unlike the bully who has had power his whole life.” He poured himself a drink and then two more for us. “Just promise me that whatever happens in the lab tomorrow, you two will stay good-hearted and true to yourself, do not become the perfect soldiers they want you to be. Now, drink up, you have a procedure tomorrow no liquids or food will be allowed after 10 o’clock tonight.” He handed us our glasses and then he picked his own up. I glanced at Steve and after raising my glass in a toast I slung my head back and felt the burn of the alcohol sliding down my throat.

#james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #winter solider x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction

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skimblyshanks · 2 years

Photo

Yes Hi hello class today we’re talking about my favorite Tour V Bootleg, shot somewhere in the window of June 6 to June 8, 2005, that’s right we’re talking about BOISE

Given that window of time + the season it fit under, we can assume that Adam Perry as Alonzo and Amy Phillips as Demeter are the actors to thank for this.

So Boise is. My favorite. I’ve said that already in this post, and multiple times elsewhere. So much of that is just for (?)Amy’s characterization of Demeter, but another part of it are the hints she and (?)Adam find moments for their characters. They already feel connected, in one way or another, so that by the time it came around to Macavity and The Shadow Dance, I was already firm on the track of assuming a shared history with him.

So perhaps it’s fitting that their initial responses to Macavity scares generally mirror each other (You can see it at the end of the 2nd gif; Demeter will pull in and lean down; Alonzo will Bounce, Jump, and Claw the air).

But then in the True Macavity Scare; Act I, between Jellicle Cats Rejoicing and Song of The Jellicles; we get the moment giffed above.

Demeter’s leaned over and doing her scan of the theatre; that’s normal. But then, as she’s closing her reach across, Alonzo’s knees and hips respond to the motion as if she’s pulling him toward her. And he looks to her before he starts to assume the same scan/possibly the Protector Stance. Then the glass shatters and lights flash again and he goes to run up to the car

(To answer before it gets brought up; I’m p damn sure Alonzo isn’t looking at Tugger bc Tugger is actually upstage of him and already hissing/talking at someone (Perhaps the similarly-upstage Munk?) once Alonzo turns his head. I can’t cross out Demeter looking at Tugger, but I think she’s more looking around the Junkyard in general.)

#Flashing--#Flashing lights--#flashing gif--#Demelonzo #Demeter CATS #Alonzo #Alonzo cats #cats the musical #cats musical #CATS Troika Tour

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maybe-your-left · 3 years

Note

GETTING CAUGHT HAVING SEX BY PARENTS WITH EITHER SACKLER OR ALTMAN!💖🥰

MY ANGEL, I LOVE YOU😘😘😘😘

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE KITTEN.

PHILLIP ALTMAN

“I can’t believe we have to sleep in the basement...”

You patted Phillip's shoulder, handing him a pile of blankets with a small smile, “It's okay, your sister needed to use your bedroom and we’ll be okay down here.”

“But,” Phillip tossed the blankets down before wrapping you in his arms. Softly swaying you as you both stood, “I really wanted to make you squirt in my teenage bedroom.”

“Phil!” you swatted him, trying to push away.

“I know, I’m ashamed... but you look so pretty when you do.”

You cocked a brow, eyes darting towards the fold-out bed and then up to Phillip's face. His eyebrows shot up, mouth making an ‘o’, “You dirty minx, you want me to make you squirt here? In my family basement? Next to the laundry?”

“I guess we would have easier cleanup.”

Phillip threw you to the bed, already yanking your leggings down to your ankles before pinning your legs to your chest. Your pussy lifted in the air, right under his chin as he rubbed his beard into your clit. Scratching the sensitive nub, making it twitch in pleasure. You let out a soft yip, hugging your ankles tighter with anticipation. Phillips tongue darted out, licking from your cunt to clit, flicking it over and over as it stiffened more and more. “Philly,” whimpered, bottom lip trembling as he lapped at you over and over.

“What is it? Does my minx want something?”

You nodded, spreading your legs enough for your face to pop out for him. Clenching in his face for you to notice how eager for him to shove anything into you. Phillip nodded in understanding, “Keep your legs up,” he demanded. Pulling off the bed to abandon his shoes before losing his belt. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up before smacking the outside of both your thighs. Watching the supple flesh jiggle before he gripped them tightly and rocked your body towards him. A hand flew to his zipper, yanking it down to pull out his hard cock. Phillip placed a forearm across the back of your thighs, pulling one of your hands to wrap around his girth.

“Play with me, play with your favorite toy minx.”

Your hand squeezed his base, his knees moving his body closer to your hand as he spat on your pussy. Without warning Phillip shoved two fingers until you, hooking them to immediately attack your special bundle of nerves on your front wall. Pulling a wail from your throat in response, your hand stroking him harshly. Your walls began clenching over and over as he fingered you, faster than he ever had. You took in the sight of him, focusing so hard on making you cum. His bicep bulging out of his shirt, his forearm clenched on your legs. The vein on the side of his neck straining against his skin, his soft mouth was popped open in awe as your pussy opened for him. Allowing him to worm in a third finger, “You’re so good for me, you’d do anything to make me happy wouldn’t you?”

“Yes! Phil!” you slipped your fist on his tip over and over. Squeezing over and over as you passed the ridge, gathering his precum and gliding it along his length. Phillip groaned at you, eyes momentarily closing in bliss as his fingers let up. You whined at the loss, bucking as much as you could in your current position.

“You know what would make me so fucking happy?”

You shook your head.

“If you squirted,” he fucked into you fast and hard, your slick gushing out of you as he moaned. “Want you to soak my sleeve, can you do that for me? I can feel how bad you want to.”

“Ah! Please, just a little more!”

Phillip nodded at you, moving his free hand to press into your folded lower abdomen. Applying just enough pressure for you to crack, convulsing in his grip as you wailed. Pussy squirting over and over along him, just as he asked for, your cum running down his forearm as he looked at you in awe.

“Again baby.”

You cried, body aching but you couldn’t stop yourself. His fingers wouldn’t stop fucking into you to stop you from cumming again. You brought a hand up to gather some of your spend, clicking it along his length as you tried to give him a hand job while he made you fountain for him. Phillip groaned, wrapping his lips around your clit in appreciation. Moaning as he tasted your cum, easing one finger out of you, softly petting your walls with his middle and forefinger.

You were drunk on him, eyes lazily opening as you stared at the stairs to your left. Breath catching in your throat when you saw Phillip’s mom momentarily stalled in the middle of the stairs.

“I heard commotion, but I see you both are just fine...”

“Mommy!” Phillip cried, his palm trying to cover your sex from his therapist mom’s eyes, “Announce yourself next time!”

She pranced back up the stairs, yelling over her shoulder before the door shut.

“Like you could hear me over her screams!”

ADAM SACKLER

“Hey,” you snapped in Adam’s face, “You need to be good today. This is your first impression, and they weren’t thrilled when you made sex noises the other day while I was on the phone.”

“Your sister laughed. I heard her.”

You rolled your eyes as you straightened the collar on his shirt. He looked ridiculous, you had dressed him in some nice pants and a button-up, something he didn’t even own until 24 hours ago. He was much too big for normal shirt sizes at the store, his biceps looked like they were going to explode out at any moment. And the pants left little to the imagination, thank god you found dark slacks so his bulge wasn’t noticeable to the naked eye. But your parents were taking you and Adam to a nice restaurant before going back to the house for dessert. He scratched at his neck after you finished, whining when you swatted his hands away. “Fuck, I can’t breathe,” Adam cried, “I look like I mugged a bellboy and stole his clothes.”

“You look very responsible baby,” you kissed his cheek before walking to the front door, grabbing your clutch and opening the front door. “Let's go, before you rip that shirt.”

Your parents were civil at dinner, asking Adam questions about his theater work and woodworking. About hobbies and interests outside of his main focus, where he was from, other nosey questions that he handled like a champ. If it weren’t for the flashcard training you made him go through the past week he probably would’ve gone on a personal tangent about his personal opinions on the salad your dad chose to eat but he knew you wanted him to make a good impression. You were so proud of him, holding his hand under the table and squeezing it when he made a smart joke, or made your mom blush when he gave her a slightly offhand compliment. By the end of it, you could tell he was drained from being personable, his trademark smile was fading as it dragged on. Finally your parents paid the bill and asked you both to follow them home.

Adam let out a big groan when he got into the car, throwing his face towards you as he sighed, “Kid, that was exhausting. This shirt is so uncomfortable and I couldn’t touch you under the table the entire time because your dad was watching me like a hawk.”

“You did so well,” you grabbed his cheeks and gave him a big kiss. Lingering long enough for him to relax into you, humming as your lips worked over one another. Softly tasting each other, Adam’s tongue briefly licked into your mouth, forcing your jaw to open enough to take him. A warm palm slid to your bare thigh, peaking through the slit in your dress. A deep groan sounded into your mouths as he whispered on your lips, “And you looked so good, it took everything in me to devour you. So soft, all for me.”

You smiled, nudging his hand away, “Come on, they are going to be mad if we're late.”

Dessert was quick, all of you flooding into the den where your parents told stories about their college years and courtship. You could tell Adam was checked out, focusing on you more than anything else. After a few glasses of wine, you were feeling flush, turning your attention to your handsome man. Watching you with total admiration and devotion, you wanted to eat him up. And you found that you couldn’t wait to get home.

“I’ll be right back,” you told the room, slowly sauntering away. Letting your hips sway just a little too much, but you knew your parents didn’t notice. They were too into whatever they were talking about to see you and Adam eye-fucking each other. As you turned the corner, you heard Adam excuse himself to the kitchen to get some water, your parents paying him no mind either. The two of your locked eyes, Adam’s completely black as they raked up and down your figure. You gave him a big smile before running up the stairs, Adam's footsteps following close behind.

The door to your childhood bedroom was soon shut as softly as possible before Adam had you pinned to the mattress. Facedown as you giggled at him, hands fisting the sheets as you heard him fall to his knees behind you, his large hands pushing your skirt above your hips.

“You’re such a dirty slut,” Adam groaned, pulling your panties to the side before he shoved his mouth to your folds. Licking deep through them, tasting every inch of your flesh. His thumbs hooked into you, prying you apart so he could look in awe, “Fucking best cunt ever, been teasing me with it all night. Not letting me fuck it before we left.”

You moaned when he dove in again, strong tongue fucking in and out of your entrance. Slurping up your slick that poured into his mouth, filling the room with the sound of your excited sex. You rocked your hips back into him, mouthing at the sheets as he groaned into you, “Coulda filled you with my cum, made you sit in it all night.”

“Sackler...”

“You want like that? Having to sit across from your dad full of my cum? He’d be so disappointed in what a filthy slut you are.”

Adm smacked your thigh, a little too loud, before standing up. He ran his hands across your ass, gripping and bouncing your cheeks as he ground his slacks into you. “M gonna fuck you, right here. Make them hear you and all the pretty noises you make for me.”

“Please,” your voice broke as you looked back at him. Your mascara slightly clumping from the tears that were building from the teasing. “Give me your cum, wanna feel it deep inside me. Please Sackler.”

His zipper was pulled down, yanking his slacks down mid-thigh while he fished his cock out. Lewdly smacking it on your cheeks to leave a smear of precum, slipping it between your legs as fucking your clit a few times. “You gonna show me? How deep I can bury my cum inside your little cunt?”

You clenched in anticipation, his head at your entrance as you nodded, “I’ll show you, baby, want your cum.”

Adam growled as he pushed in, seating himself to the hilt. Cock head rubbing your cervix before he pulled back, beginning to thrust wildly into you without abandon. Both of you creating a symphony of moans, bare skin slapping against one another as you gushed around him. Adam laughed as he fucked you, “Fuckin’ tight cunt, always so wet for me. You like me fucking you here, letting your family know what a slut-.”

The door creaked open, both of you freezing, Adam’s cock buried inside you as your mom’s head popped in.

“Hey, sweetie, letting you know we’re headed to b-Oh my god!”

“Mom!”

She squealed again, eyes darting back and forth between Adams sweaty smile and your fucked out face. She slapped a palm over her eyes, backing out of the room, “I’m sorry! I should’ve knocked-oh my- we’re going to bed!”

You heard her footsteps scurry away, leaving the door slightly ajar in her haste. Adam laughed, thrusting into you harshly as he smacked your ass, “They are never going to forgive me for this.”

You giggled at him, bouncing back, desperate to finish. Adam groaned as you clenched around him, canting his hips harder into you. Pounding your cervix with each thrust, he bent over your body. Chest flush with your back as he licked your ear, “Too bad it wasn’t your dad.”

#adam sackler #adam sackkler x reader #phillip altman #phillip altman x reader #oneshots #ask fridays #i love both the goblins #ashleigh i am dehydrated #adamdriver #adam driver #historyandfandoms50

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captainjimothycarter · 3 years

Note

steggy + 50 for the kisses prompt please? 😍

Ahh this might’ve been more sexual but my brain said SOFT

The morning slowly dawned, filling the bedroom with a golden and orange-hued light. It brought no warmth on this chilly autumn morning but she had all the warmth she could ever need in bed. She was reluctant to move, not wanting to disturb the figure resting beside her. Her eyes followed the golden light that fell to the pillow beside her, brightening the golden hair that stuck out of the covers.

This was rare, her being awake by choice and not by an alarm. She’d already turned her alarm off, having called Phillips to explain in a very earnest voice that she would not be coming in today and she’ll explain later. Rather it was something in her voice or perhaps the cunning, old colonel somehow knew, he didn’t question.

Turning to her side, Peggy breathed in the once-forgotten Captain tucked in against her side. She could feel his sleepy breaths on her shoulder, feel the stubble that gently rubbed against her fair skin. He never used to have stubble, he used to shave so much to the point that stubble could never grow in quite as fast. He also never used to have longer hair than their military protocols allowed or have as many scars or even a distantly haunting look in his eyes either.

Underneath the rugged exterior, this was still Steve Rogers. The love of her life and she’d never change that, no matter how unkindly the future had treated him.

“The future hasn’t treated you kindly, has it?” Peggy whispered, trailing her fingertips over his golden locks. His arms tightened around her frame, pulling their bodies closer together. “You’re safe here. You don’t need to worry about a thing, my darling. Rest as long as you need to.”

It wasn’t exactly easy escaping from Steve’s arms, but she was used to sliding from tight spaces (even if that’s the last thing she wanted to do). After making a simple breakfast of eggs and toast and a well-deserved cup of coffee, Peggy left it all on the table to check in on her new house guest. She watched him hug the pillow in her absence, a small, almost dopey smile on his face as he breathed in the perfume that lingered on the material.

Even in his sleep, he looked still exhausted, an exhaustion no amount of sleep could recover from.

It was selfish what she did next - plain and simple. Peggy Carter was a selfish woman because she swore she’d let Steve sleep in while she pattered around the house to get caught up on some house chores she’s been putting off. How could anyone expect her to pretend to live a normal life when Steve was alive and well in her bed?

Impossible.

The bed slowly dipped as she laid on top of the covers, not expecting Steve’s arms to let go of her pillow in favor of wrapping around her and rolling them so she laid on top of him. That was perfectly fine with her - this position did have a beautiful advantage.

His thick lashes fluttered slightly in the morning light and he breathed a little heavier but he didn’t awaken - not yet. His full lips parted as he breathed a small sigh. She was selfish in dipping her head down, arms braced on either side of his side to press a small, soft kiss to his lips.

Completely selfish - as if they hadn’t kissed enough last night between their screaming, arguing, and crying.

Most of that screaming might’ve been on her part in years of pent-up emotions. He had let her scream too - just to get it out. It had resulted in a very long, long discussion with much whiskey on her part before they ended up on the couch and that lead to the bedroom and a deeper understanding of one another.

She pressed another kiss to his lips, pressing their foreheads together. She could feel his hands moving on her backside, gently rubbing the nightshirt she’d slept in. Her lips trailed along his jawline, spending a few extra seconds to tenderly kiss under his earlobe and down the few small scars. More than just simple shaving accidents, she knew. She knew the pattern glass would make when it shattered.

The poor thing.

She trailed her pattern of kisses along the dimple in his chin, to the other side of his jaw. More of those small scars. How exhausted must’ve he been for the serum not to have caught that?

The questions were put aside as she kissed along his neck, rubbing her nose with a dopey smile. She was glad he wasn’t fully awake to see her like this - he would tease her to no end.

When she pulled away, Steve was awake now. Baby blue eyes with flecks of gold and green stared up at her. His hand slid up her backside, burying itself in her curls before bringing their lips together.

“Is that how you wake up all your house guests?” He purred, a deep rumbling of laughter vibrating her chest. She forgot how much she missed it.

“Only the pretty ones,” she laughed, her laugh being cut off by his kiss. His nose tracing along her jawline as he kissed down her neck. “Only the ones I promised breakfast to.”

Steve’s face pinched as he pulled away, no doubt remembering her other attempts to cook in the rare moments she was allowed or forced to. “How about I cook for you, hm? I promise my skills have gotten better. Nata-my friends insisted I knew how to cook.”

“That’s a better idea, I’m sure the eggs are cold and soggy by now.”

Steve seemed to hum in agreement as he pulled her closer, lazily pressing kisses to her. Despite the agreement on breakfast, neither seemed in a hurry to get out of bed. His face pulled away from her neck, brow knitted together as he studied her eyes. She knew that look.

“What is it?” Steve asked, rolling them to their sides and wrapping the blanket around her too. “You have this look…”

“It’s just...the future hadn’t been kind to you,” Peggy sighed, rubbing their noses together lightly. “And I cannot promise the past will be either but you’re right - we’ll figure this out together. You deserve to rest, sweetheart.”

“I am resting,” he assured her, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “I’m home with you, aren’t I? I can’t say no to not kissing my gal, after all.”

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Nonny Prompt #Steggy Prompt #Kiss Meme #Anonymous

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just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot · 4 years

Text

Soulmate September - Day 2

Day 2 - There is a timer that counts down to when you will meet your soulmate.

Pairing(s): Romantic RoSleep (Roman x Remy/Sleep), background Analogical

TWs: Mild Swearing from Remy __

“No, no, no, you move my 3 O’clock to 4, my 4 O’clock to 5, then cancel it. I don’t even want to have to look at that scumbag from accounting today, babes.”

Remy kept taking on his bluetooth headset as he approached the Starbucks he’d grown so accustomed to. Normally just inhaling the scent of ground coffee, vanilla, and cinnamon spice would be enough to flood his stressed cranium with serotonin. But that wasn’t going to cut it today.

Today he was on a mission; his soulmate timer had stopped during his visit here a week ago, and he was determined to find out who it’d stopped for. With his schedule cleared as much as possible, Remy walked into the Starbucks in his business attire, having only bothered to throw on his leather jacket when he’d left the office. Not that his outfit was unplanned, he had made a point of wearing the same white button up shirt, black waistcoat, and matching black slim cut pants he’d been wearing when he first noticed the timer had stopped. If not for making sure his soulmate recognised him, then simply because he looked damn good.

It was a gamble, assuming his soulmate would be there today, but by now he was desperate. Remy knew the rules; after exactly a week was up, his timer would disappear for good and he’d never know who his soulmate was. And he wasn’t about to let that shit fly. No sirree.

“Now, which one of you is it?”, Remy mumbled under his breath. As he stood just about to open the door and leave, Remy had memorised the men who were present in the cafe that fateful day; eight potential men, two eliminated visually over the first two days when he noted their timers were still going. Another three all eliminated themselves the days following as they revealed themselves to be straight, in a relationship, and very straight, in that order. Remy sighed impatiently as he perused the last three men he’d narrowed things down to.

The first was a short, burly man with chestnut brown hair that tickled his button nose while he leant over to pet the outrageously cute border collie sat by his chair. His cheeks were dusted with freckles that drew attention to his mossy green eyes and sunkissed skin. The blue polo shirt and tan shorts he wore clashed with the fact he clearly worked hard labour in the outdoors. Remy guessed he worked with plants going by his scuffed and dirty boots, and the mud on his pupper’s paws. Remy dubbed him, unsurprisingly, Dog Guy.

The second, Space Cadet, was a far departure from Dog guy; his auburn hair and pale skin spoke of celtic origins while his numerous books concerning the far reaches of the universe spoke of the cosmos. Of a man who harboured an intense scientific curiosity as deep as his sapphire eyes. His black shirt hidden under a dark blue flannel shirt showed the insignia of the local museum, which Remy found fitting. In the nicest way possible, Space Cadet looked like he belonged there with his pristine glasses and tidy upkeep that bordered on neurotic.

And the third man, Anxiety Magnet, was once more a drastic change from the other two. Dark skin melted into an all black outfit consisting of a black hoodie sporting custom purple patches - perhaps he made it himself, Remy couldn’t be sure - alongside black ripped skinny jeans. His purple sneakers matched his nailpolish and eyeshadow framing heterochromic brown and green eyes. Every time Remy would scope out the young man, he’d always be anxiously biting his nails, fidgeting with his napkins, or doodling in the notebooks (Remy noted three different ones at least) he brought with him.

Remy was in for a loooong ride but hopefully today he’d finally figure out which of these lucky doofuses is his soulmate.

He walked over to the counter to order his usual drink, giving the familiar barista a nod as the man recognised him,

“Afternoon, Remy,”, the barista smiled, “The usual for our beloved fairy godmother?”

Remy rolled his eyes fondly, “Roman, babes, kindly shut up.”

Roman laughed, “Come now, wouldn’t want you turning into the Evil Queen, would we?”

“Joke’s on you, babes, I like the Evil Queen.”

Roman feigned a dramatic gasp, only returning to making Remy’s usual once he’d secured a smile from the stressed office worker. Remy twirled his lanyard in his hands; Remy Merryweather. Of all names to be cursed with around a Disney fan like the barista, it HAD to be one of the uncool ones. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if Roman hadn’t insisted on labelling his drinks with “Flora”, “Fauna”, and “Aurora” ever since. Remy didn’t dwell too long on the kindly barista though, he was a man on a mission.

Turning his attention to his first choice, Space Cadet, Remy watched him from the table he sat at; no wedding ring, his wrist was covered from sight, and he was most certainly gay going by the pride patches sewn into the backpack under his table. Perfect, he could just be the one.

As if on cue, Space Cadet shifted his watch and frowned. Perhaps he’d get lucky-

Ah, he’s leaving. Shit. Well, there was nothing else for it, Remy carefully nudged the trashcan by his seat as the man walked past, tripping him. The man let out a yelp and hit the floor. Remy was just getting up to help him when Anxiety Magnet came hurrying over out of the blue,

“You alright?! That looked painful....”

What the fuck. Remy was about to speak up when Space Cadet locked eyes with Anxiety Magnet and for a moment the two were silent as the latter checked his timer, prompting the former to do the same.

Son of a bitch.

Space Cadet sat up and reached a hand out to Anxiety Magnet, revealing that his timer had just stopped.

“Logan Baird, charmed to meet you, dear soulmate.”, he smiled warmly at the anxious man who helped him to his feet.

“Likewise,”,the anxious man responded, “Virgil Peyton. Nice to know my soulmate’s so handsome.”

Ugh. Remy watched as Space Cadet and Anxiety Magnet - or Logan and Virgil as he was now painfully aware - gathered up the fallen books and left together to go be happy and in love. While Remy could only watch as they did so.

Fantastic. Well, at least he knew who his soulmate must be now. Who knew Dog Guy would be the top dog? Admittedly, Dog Guy was Remy’s last choice in a partner, but hey, after all the trouble he went to, he wasn’t about to argue with fate. Once Roman brought him his order - an iced, Ristretto, ten shot venti, with five pumps of vanilla, seven pumps of caramel, four packs of Splenda, and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top with “Prince Phillip” written on the cup this time - Remy made his way over to the lucky fellow.

“Excuse me, mind if I sit here?”, Remy asked as he approached the Dog Guy.

The man smiled warmly, “Oh, not at all, kiddo! Hope you don’t mind my dog or things might get ruff!“. The joke made Remy want to drive his head into the ground at mach speeds, but if they were soulmates, he’d learn to love it. Hopefully. Maybe.

“Like, no worries babes, your dog is totes cute.”, Remy noted the man’s cheerful smile. He sat down and offered his name, “I’m Remy, what about you?”.

“Ah, how rude of me! I’m Patton Fairchild! And this is Foster!”, he gestured to the collie, “It’s nice to meet you Remy!”. Maybe this guy wasn’t so bad of a choice after all; he's bubbly, friendly, gentle, and Remy truly couldn’t deny the sexy lumberjack appeal.

“Likewise, though I hope I’m not intruding on anything here. Like, I don’t wanna take up your time if you’re here on a date or-”

“Goodness no, I’m not on a date! Don’t you worry, you’re not interrupting anything!”, he assured Remy.

“That’s good, I wouldn’t wanna get in the way of you and your soulmate, sweetie.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,”, Patton stated, sending Remy’s hopes soaring before they shattered on the marble floor, “I don’t have one. I mean, I love love and all that, but I never much felt the lure of it myself!”

God. Fucking. Dammit.

Remy’s face fell. None of them were his soulmate. He stayed to talk to Dog Guy- Patton for a while so as not to make the poor guy feel awkward, then watched him leave. Another failure with not enough time left to find his soulmate. Remy sat alone, sipping the dregs of his order. He ignored the constant texts from the office as he stayed til near closing time. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have not paid attention when his timer hit zero? Maybe he deserved this; to be miserable and alone for his negligence. His soulmate probably wasn’t even missing him either. Or maybe they were and now they couldn’t find him-

“Mind if I sit here?”

Remy rolled his head towards Roman, taking in the sweet sympathy pouring from his rather lovely smile. In his hand he held a to-go cup and his work apron was replaced with a red and white letterman jacket. Great, now he was keeping the charming barista from going home. But when had Remy ever cared about not being selfish?

“Sure, take a fuckin’ seat, babes.“, he groaned, no longer caring about keeping up the facade of being more put together than he really was. Roman sat down with a concerned gaze and slowly slid the drink over to Remy.

“It’s green tea. It’s a little less extravagant than your usual tastes, but it’s good for relieving stress..”

Roman encouragingly tapped the cup lid, smiling contagiously, “And something tells me the Evil Queen has some tension she needs to release.”

Remy gave a slightly bitter laugh as he looked up from playing eye-contact-chicken with the table and noted the green tea read “Maleficent”. God, this guy’s such a dork.

“It’s more than just some tension, sweetie,”, Remy began, inhaling sharply as he sat up, “I’ve just realised I’m never going to find my soulmate. I was stupid. I wasn’t thinking and the moment I looked away, I missed him.”. The half-snort he gave came out so much more painful than intended, “I let my timer hit zero, babes, and now it’s almost been a full week. My last three chances just walked out the goddamn door. Two of them as fucking soulmates, Roman! How unfair is that?-”

Roman’s expression gave him pause. It wasn’t the sympathetic expression from before, more like he was seeing Remy for the first time. Like he’d made a cosmic realisation that was about to change his life.

“Your timer… when did yours stop exactly?”, he asked. The wording gave Remy pause as he realised.

He hadn’t accounted for Roman. How could he have been so blind? Perhaps he couldn’t believe the charming barista could be the one. Perhaps he thought the man who smiled genuinely at him every day while he whittled down potential soulmates and greeted him with only the kindest of regards was too good for someone like him.

“It… stopped on Wednesday-”

“Around 2:15 pm? During the lunchtime rush?!”, Roman cut in excitedly. Remy was aghast as Roman pulled back the wrist of his letterman and revealed a stopped timer about as faded as Remy’s. With no hesitation, anticipation growing, Roman gently reached for Remy’s hand, which the latter offered enthusiastically. To their mutual delight, their timers disappeared, proving that they were indeed soulmates.

Both were stunned, Roman’s expression wildly happy, his brown eyes sparkling with equal elation and adoration. As Remy took in his gorgeous tanned skin, beautiful mocha hair, and that wonderful chiseled face he had the growing urge to caress and litter with kisses, all he could say in the moment was,

“Does this mean you’ll finally spell my fucking name right?”

This one was so much fun to write! I think this is the one piece of writing where I mostly nailed Remy’s character, so I hope this one does well TTvTT @tsshipmonth2020

#tsshipmonth2020 #roman sanders #remy sanders #sleep sanders #rosleep #soulmate september #coffee shop au #basically #fanfics #my fics #sleepingbeauty #thats the other name for the ship right #otherwise i put all the sleeping beauty references in there for nothing #anyway i really like this one ehe

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glassbxttless · 3 years

Text

Phillip Altman x Reader

Part 2

Word Count: 1,032

Warnings: smoking, mentions of degradation

You were sitting at the dining room table, sipping your morning coffee as you read through the paper that was left on the doorstep. You weren’t even sure why you still got a newspaper everyday, but it did serve as a nice way to unplug, away from your phone, before you go on about your day. You looked down the hall when you heard your bedroom door creak open. “Good morning.” You say as Phillip’s sleepy face poked out from the room.

“Mornin’, got a cigarette?” He asks softly and yawns.

“You know I don’t, loser.” You say to him as you place the paper down and put your coffee to the side. “You out?”

“Mmm.” Phillip nods, stepping into the kitchen to open the refrigerator, grabbing out the gallon of orange juice. “Was gonna go get some, but I’ll take number two of your journal, instead.” He pours his glass.

“How about you stop smoking and I’ll give you another secret.” You turn in your chair to look back at him and you put on a waiting grin. “Number two isn’t that good anyway.”

“I mean…” Phillip took a swig from his glass, pushing his hair back a bit. “I’ll consider it for it. Fair trade?”

You roll your eyes and get up to grab your journal from the couch. “You’ll consider it?” You ask and Phillip just nodded, smoothing his t-shirt out as he walked over to the couch to sit down. You smiled at him, knowing that he’d hate it. “And I’ll give you the third if you do it. Fair?”

“Fair.” He bites the inside of his cheek and downs the rest of his orange juice. “Come on, let’s hear it.”

You sigh and roll your eyes, opening to your list. “Number two. Hayday.”

“Hayday? So cryptic.” He rolls his own eyes and pulls you into his side. You kick your legs up under you, pulling the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch across both of your laps. “Comfy?”

“Yeah, now shut up before I change my mind.” You laugh, smiling at his small chuckle.

“Carry on.”

“I got a call from my mother today, and it started bringing back feelings from New Year’s Eve, 2012. I didn’t think I’d ever have to have those feelings again. It felt like I was sixteen again and trying not to cry over mom’s belittlement. I didn’t answer her call, but something in me wanted to. Something in me wanted to scream at her for the way she treated me then. Something in me needed to tell her how she hurt me growing up.

I can’t believe she had the nerve to call me. I can’t believe that she brought it upon herself to leave a voicemail. Her voice after all these years sounded like nails on a chalkboard. At 23, I was denouncing my mother after that New Year’s Eve. I finally worked up the courage to end all contact with her and she wants to try this. I can’t even bring myself to tell Phillip. It would be useless anyway. She never did anything good for me. Why he hasn’t even met her. Why I don’t plan on letting him meet her. It hurt me to my soul to hear her again. I need Philly more than ever right now and I don’t want to ask. He’s sitting on the couch, reading over something his mother had given him. I don’t want to bother him whilst he’s working. But jesus christ, I might murder someone if I hear her voice again.”

You read to him and sigh deeply, your cheeks flushing red. You couldn’t help the rage you felt towards her. Phillip knew you and your mother didn’t speak, but he wasn’t sure exactly why. “I’m sorry that you felt like you couldn’t come to talk to me at the time.” Phillip says quietly, reaching out to touch your cheek. “No matter what I’m doing, if you need me… I’m right here.”

“I know. It just seems so silly to be upset about… but she’s just…” You take a deep sigh and close your eyes. “There was something about her growing up that I just couldn’t stomach. She treated my brother so great, but I’d get the shit end of everything. She’d pick up dinner for him and she’d tell me I should make something if I’m hungry. She’d grab me by my arm and squeeze so tight there’d be a bruise after…” You take a deep breath. “There’s so much she’s done, but the thing that tipped me over the edge is when she had the nerve to say something about you.”

Phillip rolled his eyes and smiled at you knowingly. “She doesn’t know half of what we have, sweetheart.”

“She said we’d never work. That you’d get tired of me.” She says quietly. “That you’d find someone younger and prettier and they’d be your new obsession. That you never cared about me and that our relationship was just because you felt sorry for someone who endlessly pined over you.”

“You know that’s not true, right?” Phillip tensed a bit. “Back in school, I had a really big crush on you… but you were a few years under me and I’d built up this… reputation and I didn’t want you to think you were next on the list of my fuck ups.” He shrugged a bit. “But I’ve never once felt sorry for you. You’re such an incredible woman it burns my heart up that she’d even say anything like that.”

“Cutting off contact with her for something so small seems… irresponsible. But I needed to for the sake of my mental health. I couldn’t be one hundred percent if she was constantly demeaning me in my ear.”

“I’m the only one who gets to demean you, yeah?” Phillip winked and you rolled your eyes.

“How about you use the right word there, Philly boy.” You gave his thigh a squeeze and laughed. “Can we stay in today? I’m not working.” You whisper as you just fall into Phillip’s chest, chuckling when he just wraps an arm around you and grabs the tv remote.

#glassbxttless adcu #glassbxttless #phillip altman x reader #phillip altman x you #phillip altman #last thing to know about you // phillip altman #tw: smoking #tw: mentions of degradation #I wrote this so long ago #my writing style has changed so much #I love the concept of the story #but the writing style isn’t how I write anymore

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before-we-get-started · 3 years

Text

Dream Come True

Colin Shea x O/C Corinne MacAdam

Multi-Chapter Story - Complete

Summary: Colin Shea and his band Rock the Cradle are finally making it big - until something unexpected happens. When he meets a girl that makes him reconsider his player ways, he thinks his life may be coming together, until she blows it apart.

Warning: Bad language, smut, suicidal ideations - no one under 18, please

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please do not read if you are underage. I do not own the character of Colin Shea; the rest are my original characters. By reading beyond this point, you understand the disclaimers as posted.

Chapter Five

On Monday, she woke up with a new outlook. Today she’d start a new job, something much different than working for the events management company. Serving as personal assistant to a family friend, an heiress and philanthropist, eccentric and a spinster, but a very nice woman. Cori’s mother had reminded her that her new boss, Ms. Robbins, was prone to mood swings (and forgetting things), but that she’d treat her fairly and appreciate her hard work.

On a whim on Sunday, she’d decided to color her hair. She bought a kit and gave herself light blonde highlights, lightening the chestnut brown. She looked as if she’d been out in the sun, as if maybe she had a healthy outdoor lifestyle, not like she’d been holed up feeling sorry for herself for months.

She dressed in a chocolate brown business suit with a cream blouse, a bow tied at the neck. She put on her brown pumps and some with the crème filigreed toe accent and grabbed her purse. For good luck, she put on the pearl drop earrings her parents had gotten her for her 16th birthday. She’d prepped her lunch the night before and grabbed the thermal bag from the frig, along with her travel coffee mug. She had plenty of time to make the T to the Back Bay neighborhood where Ms. Robbins lived.

As she’d finished getting ready, “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves had been playing on the radio. She found herself singing it softly as she left the apartment. “I’m walking on sunshine – yeah!” she sang, a little louder than she planned, as the door to 6A opened. Colin emerged in his boxers. He bent down to pick up a newspaper, then stood up and took a good look at her as she walked by.

“Mornin’ 6C,” he said with that gorgeous smile. His eyes ran over her from head to toe and she could almost feel it.

She smiled back, gazing over her shoulder as she walked by. “Mornin’ 6A. Have a good day.” She kept walking down the stairs, her optimism bubbling up. What a great way to start the day – Colin in his boxers. She smiled to herself, descending the stairs, holding on to the wooden rail. She looked up just long enough to see Colin, arms on the railing, leaning over to watch her.

“You have a good day, too,” he said, lingering as she bounced her way down and out of the building.

Ms. Robbins lived in a huge terracotta brick home on Newton Street. The house had been divided up into condos and she occupied the entire first floor. It was just her and Yaz, her Yorkie (Ms. Robbins was a lifelong Red Sox fan). Cori had been to her home twice before – once as a child for a dinner party, and once a few weeks ago for her job interview. She entered the front door and rang the bell at the door on her left, the entry to Ms. Robbins’ home.

“’S open!”

Cori entered and walked into the main living area, adorned with floral wallpaper in greens and blues. Wood three-quarter round trim stained a honey color trimmed the room and honey colored hardwoods peeked out from a solid blue area rug. There was a Steinway piano, a Victorian couch and chair and a coffee table in the room, along with built-in shelves that held items from around the world, secured during Ms. Robbins’ travels.

“It’s Cori,” she said in a singsong voice. Yaz came streaking into the room, yapping ferociously. She bent down and petted the silky hair around the blue bow tied around a small tuft on his head. He returned the gesture with little licks to her hand.

“Good morning!” Ms. Robbins had cornered the market on brocade dresses. Every time Cori had ever seen her, she was in some type of beautiful brocade. Today’s was a kelly green/ecru paisley that was beautiful against her ivory skin and auburn hair. In her mid-60’s, she was medium height and quite fit, a few lines on her porcelain skin but they weren’t too noticeable with her impeccable makeup. She was holding a number of envelopes as she entered the room.

She hugged Cori and extended her arms, getting a look at her. “Cori, you look absolutely gorgeous. I’m so excited we’ll be working together.”

Cori smiled. “I am too Ms. Robbins. I really appreciate this opportunity.”

“I’m going to keep you busy,” she said. “Now let me show you around so we can get to work.” She led Cori through a formal dining room, complete with a giant ornate wood table and chairs, into a kitchen that had obviously been recently remodeled. Tall white cabinets, a beautiful light gray granite and a white subway tile backsplash, with larger square ceramic tiles and a beautiful mosaic tile providing a pop of color behind the large stainless Bertazzoni range. The kitchen was immaculate – Cori wondered if any food had ever actually been prepared in the room.

“You can put your lunch bag here,” she said, pointing to the giant SubZero frig, “and are you a coffee drinker?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Cori said, shaking her travel mug in front of her.

“Wonderful! I have a coffee station here, there are an assortment of flavors. Lots of creamer in the frig. Help yourself,” she said, waving her arm in front of the high-end coffee maker like it was up for bids on The Price is Right.

She showed Cori the powder room and where she could store her coat and any other items she brought with her. “I want you to feel at home. Help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen. If you can’t find something, just let me know. Mi casa, su casa,” she said with a smile.

Cori felt a surge of excitement, for the hospitality and for the unknown opportunity that lied ahead.

They made their way to the office, just off the living area with beautiful French doors in the same honey wood. The walls were done in a green wallpaper with wide green velvet stripes. The honey floors carried in and there was a large mahogany desk, built-in bookcases behind it and a high-backed leather office chair.

“This is your workspace now,” Ms. Robbins said. “You’ll find a variety of office supplies in the desk and in the cabinet on the wall. If what you need isn’t here, make a list and – well – I’ll send you out to buy it,” she smiled.

Cori laughed. “Yes ma’am,” she said with a laugh.

“And how about if you call me Amelia. ‘Ma’am’ and ‘Ms. Robbins’ make me feel old.”

“Ok Amelia,” she said. “I love that name.”

“And I love yours. My mother’s name was Corinne. I’m named after my father’s mother. Thank goodness, my mother’s mother was Agatha.” They both laughed.

“I thought we’d operate this way – this new laptop is yours. You can use it here and take it home if you ever need to work after hours. In this book (she opened a leather-bound journal), there are sections. The first will be for your schedule. I’ve written what I’d like you to do this week here,” she said, pointing at a page behind the first tab. “The second section will be for lists. I’ve written this week’s date and a list of items I need you to purchase. The third section will be for your hours. Sign in and out each day, and be sure to include any evening or weekend hours, there will eventually be some. I’ll check it on Fridays, send the hours to my accountant and he’ll transfer money to your account on Monday morning, so pay weekly. Does that work?”

“Yes,” said Cori. “That works perfectly.”

“Great. Whenever you need to go out, Gerald will be available with the car. Let’s take today to get you familiar with the house, the neighborhood and the things I’ll expect you to do. We’ll have lunch on Beacon Hill today because it’s so gorgeous out and tomorrow will be your first actual day with work.”

And so the day progressed, Ms. Robbins doing all the things she promised. After getting familiar with more of the house and where things were stored, they sat in the office and discussed her upcoming calendar and events, and the other tasks she’d expect Cori to accomplish. At 11 a.m. they walked out front where Gerald and the car were waiting. They climbed in the back and Ms. Robbins directed the driver to “run the tour route.” They wove through the streets of the neighborhood and those that bordered. She showed Cori her preferred market, florist, office supply store and other shops. Cori made notes as they went. When they’d finished the tour, the driver stopped in front of a bistro in Beacon Hill with a low brick wall that surrounded a courtyard full of outdoor tables under bright red umbrellas.

“Ms. Robbins, so good to see you. Right this way.” The host showed them to a table tucked away in the back corner of the courtyard. Almost as soon as they were seated, a server set glasses of ice water and iced tea in front of them with a little bowl of lemon wedges. The host handed Cori a menu.

“Will you be having your usual today?” the host asked.

“Yes Phillip. But please give Ms. MacAdam a minute to look.”

“Of course.” The host left the table, passing another server who set a two baskets on the table, one with fresh hot breadsticks in a linen cloth bed and the other little pats of cold butter.

Cori inhaled the smell of the fresh bread, closing her eyes.

“A carb girl, a girl after my own heart,” Ms. Robbins said, pulling out two breadsticks and handing one to Cori.

“Maybe just one,” she said, using her knife to cut off a small wedge of butter and smearing it on the breadstick. She took a bite. “Oh my gosh,” she said softly.

“I know, right?” said Ms. Robbins. “Those breadsticks are my spirit animal.” They both laughed.

Cori chose a salmon salad with a lemon vinaigrette and Ms. Robbins got her usual Salad Niçoise and they chatted away, talking about Beacon Hill, their favorite Boston eateries, Cori’s family, and eventually, Cori’s recent past.

“I saw your mother last year at a benefit and she said you had found your dream job with Spalding Events. Was it not what you had hoped?”

Cori suddenly felt panicked. Ms. Robbins obviously didn’t know what had happened to her, or that she’d been unceremoniously dumped by the love of her life when he banged her best friend the night before their wedding. Just the thought of all of it made her a little dizzy. She took a deep breath. Get it together.

“It was wonderful, but I was in an accident-“

Ms. Robbins gasped quietly and reached for her hand. “Oh dear, are you ok?”

“Yes,” said Cori. “I am now. I actually stepped off the curb and got hit by a cab.”

This time the gasp was much more audible. “My word! Cori! That’s horrifying!”

“It was,” she said softly. “I suffered some serious injuries. The folks at Spalding were kind enough to let me keep working from home once I was able. But I had to do a lot of physical therapy, I moved back in with my parents. Honestly, I just needed a fresh start.” She left out the part about Matthew and Amber.

Ms. Robbins kept her hand on Cori’s, patting it softly. “I’m so glad you’re ok. I can’t imagine what your parents must have gone through as well. Your supervisor spoke very highly of you when I called. She said they’d have you back in a minute.”

“That’s really nice of them,” she said.

“Well, don’t worry. I know events are your specialty. We’ll start out slow but eventually, you’ll be planning my events. I love to entertain and especially to raise money for my foundation. You’ll be able to put that experience to work and for lots of good causes.”

Cori felt a rush of giddiness. Her own events. She loved the sound of that. This was exactly what she needed, what she’d hoped for.

“I can’t wait,” she said with a giggle.

“Good! Now, tell me, if I keep you late or ask you to work on weekends, will I be imposing on a relationship with your significant other? I understand that you have a life.”

The smile ran away from her face. “No, no significant other.”

“Well, then we’ll have more than one goal for our events, won’t we?” she said with a smile.

They finished lunch, which was delicious, and the driver took them back to Newton Street. The rest of the day was spent getting familiar with the office, files she’d need, Ms. Robbins’ rolodex and books from some of her previous events. There were photos and agendas and a list of all the companies used for each event. She recognized lots of them from working at Spalding.

Five o’clock was here before she knew it and she grabbed her bag and headed for the T. She left her lunch bag for tomorrow. The ride home was easy and she ascended the stairs of her apartment building, headed for the sixth floor. On Saturday night during the party, her neighbors said the elevator is almost always out. She was glad it was working when her father helped her move in.

She reached her floor and stared at 6A. She wondered if Colin was home, and if so, what he was doing. Impulsively, she knocked on his door. After a bit, he answered. He was in a Patriots t-shirt and athletic shorts, barefoot, his hair spikey and messy. He looked like maybe he hadn’t been awake for very long.

“Hey! How was your first day?” he said, smiling.

“Really good,” she said. “Very good. Hey, I was thinking, maybe you could come for dinner one night this week. You can tell me about your neighborhood watch program.”

He smiled. “You’ll be a good recruit and I never turn down a free meal. So yes.”

“Great, how about Wednesday at 7?”

“I’ll be there.”

As Cori walked away, she saw a leggy blonde coming off the last step and turning towards Colin’s door. She peered over her shoulder and saw him embrace her, then they shared a long, deep kiss. She noticed his long eyelashes laying on high cheekbones when he closed his eyes for the kiss. Cori felt her knees go weak. She wished for a second she was a leggy blonde.

“You came,” he said. “Nicole, right?”

“Nina,” the blonde corrected him.

“Yeah, Nina. Come on in.” He held the door open for her, placing his hand on the small of her back as she walked in. He looked over at Cori. “Night 6C.”

“Good night,” she replied. The door clicked behind him. Cori unlocked the door and went in, spending the rest of the evening thinking about that kiss. It wouldn’t be as good as the one she got from her mystery man, but she bet it was close.

Tuesday was a normal day, learning and exploring at work, then on Wednesday, she ran to the market after getting off the train to grab a few items. She was in by 5:30, giving her some time to prep dinner. She loved to cook. She wasn’t a chef by any means but she could hold her own. She’d decided to prepare a margherita pasta with shrimp for tonight, with a salad and strawberry shortcakes for dessert. She took a quick shower, put on a little makeup, pulled her hair up in a messy bun after dressing in jeans and an emerald green cold shoulder shirt and jeans and headed for the kitchen. She chopped tomatoes, onions, garlic and basil, seared the shrimp and boiled the pasta. She tossed the romaine salad with some vinaigrette. She set the table, opened a bottle of white wine and put it in an ice bucket, filled two glasses with ice water and as she was setting them on the table, there was a knock at the door.

She glanced in the mirror next to the door – she looked as good as she could, she supposed. She unlocked the door then opened it.

“Hey,” he said. She gasped softly. He was in a cobalt blue button up shirt, black belt, jeans and boots. There was a thin silver chain around his neck, a small silver medallion resting in the valley between his defined pecs. The edge of a tattoo peeked out where the shirt was unbuttoned. His hair was styled. He handed her a small bouquet of fresh flowers. “For you.”

She smiled, a smile that lit up her whole face, and took the flowers. “They’re beautiful. Come in.” She stepped out of the way and he walked the few steps in, making the step down into her living/dining room.

“Wow, it smells amazing in here,” he said, making a show of sniffing the air. “I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t in cardboard or Styrofoam.”

“I hope you like shrimp – and pasta,” she said.

“That sounds great,” he replied.

She pulled a vase out of the cabinet, added a little water and put the flowers in, setting them in the middle of the table. “Everything is ready,” she said, extending her arm toward the table. He sat down at one of the place settings and picked up the napkin, unfolding it and placing it in his lap.

“So how was day three?” he asked.

She pulled the pan of pasta from the stove and set in on the table. “Really good,” she said.

“Tell me more.”

“I’m a personal assistant for Amelia Robbins. She’s heir to Robbins Manufacturing. She has a house over in Back Bay.”

“Wow, nice neighborhood,” he said, eyeing the pasta she was putting on his plate.

“Very nice. She lives in a huge building full of condos. Her home is the entire first floor. It’s really pretty,” she said.

“So what kind of assistant stuff are you doing?”

“I run errands, do some shopping, manage her calendar. Eventually I’ll be her event planner. She hosts a number of fundraisers for non-profits throughout the year.”

He twisted the pasta around his fork and took a bite, stopping abruptly. He spoke but the words were unintelligible with a mouthful of food.

“What?” she said laughing.

He chewed and swallowed. “I said Holy Shit, this is amazing!” He loaded another fork full and shoveled it in. “Absolutely delicious.”

She was pleased. The evening would suck if the food was bad.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said, taking her own bite. It did taste pretty good.

They talked a little more about her job and then she asked about the band.

“So, what’s the name of your band?”

“Oh, Rock the Cradle – like, Boston is the Cradle of Liberty, and we definitely rock.”

“If I wanted to hear you, where would I go?”

“Finnegan’s, O’Leary’s, Rap’s, local bars,” he said.

“Mm,” she hummed as she finished a bite of pasta. “I’m envious. I always wanted to be in a band. I took piano and played in orchestra in high school. It must be great to take the stage and play your own music.”

He sighed, smiling broadly. “It is,” he said as he put his hand over his chest. “It’s the most incredible feeling. I’m addicted.”

“I’ll bet! And I’m sure you have a pretty incredible stage presence.”

“Well, I don’t mind bragging but yeah, I can wrap an audience up, no problem.”

Cori was impressed. “Just think, when you get that record deal, you’ll already be great at performing live.”

His face dropped then. He looked down at his plate. “We took a break for a while a few months ago. There were some things I had to work through.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Did the break help?” She couldn’t help but wonder – guys in bands were often partiers. Did he have a drinking problem? Drugs? He didn’t seem the type, but you never knew what someone else was going through. She stirred the fork around in her plate. “If you guys are that good, I’m sure you’ll get another chance.”

He looked up at her and smiled sheepishly, like a little boy. “It gave me some time to think, and yeah, exactly. I tell the guys that all the time.” He didn’t sound like he believed it.

She smiled, feeling sad for him. He was obviously incredibly disappointed. That sweet smile was gone and she found herself wanting to give him a hug. “Probably get a better record deal next time anyway.”

He smiled. “Exactly. That’s what I told the guys. Everything happens for a reason.” He pulled the fork across his plate, scraping up the last possible bite.

She smiled, happy he liked it so much. “Dessert?” she said sweetly.

His face suddenly shifted and through hooded blue eyes, he smirked and purred, “I never turn down dessert.”

Cori felt the heat flush her cheeks. “Sorry to disappoint you, just strawberry shortcake.”

He laughed. “Ok, I’ll settle for that.”

He picked up the plates from the table and took them to the sink while she pulled the sponge cake, strawberries and whipped cream from the frig. She pulled two ramekins from the cabinet and with a knife, cut circles of cake to fit in the little cups. Colin stood next to her at the counter, peering over her shoulder.

“That looks so good,” he said, reaching over and sticking his finger in the whipped cream. She pulled the bowl away from him.

“Patience,” she laughed. “Go sit.”

He strode to the couch, dropping himself against the throw pillows.

Cori thought about how comfortable all of this was. Dinner together, easy banter, affectionate looks. Everything she thought she’d have by now, with Matthew.

She stared down at her hands and sighed. Colin was sweet and dangerously sexy, but he was just another Matthew. Having a variety of girls was his trademark. Besides, she wasn’t even in the league with the other girls she’d seen at his place.

She shook her head to clear the thought and grabbed two spoons, carrying their desserts to the couch.

Colin admired the sweet treat as she handed it to him. “You’re one incredible cook,” he said, dipping his spoon in and snagging a little of each layer. He hummed as he enjoyed the first bite. “Man, I could get used to this,” he said, smiling at her.

“Well, stay on my good side and I’ll fatten you up.”

He laughed. “Hey, the body is part of the show. But I’ll take my chances.”

They finished and she took their cups. She was so enjoying his company, she spoke before she could think about it. “So, I was thinking, if you want, maybe we could watch a movie or play a game or something.”

Colin glanced at his watch and made a face, then bounced off the couch up the step to the front door and peered through the peephole. “Shit.”

“Everything ok?”

He stepped down from the door. “Can I take a raincheck? I need to get out of here.”

She hoped the disappointment that washed over her didn’t show. “Of course,” she said.

“Great. You’re the best. Thanks – for the best meal I’ve had in a long time.” He reached for her to pull her into a hug and as he touched her arm, they both felt as if lightning shot through them.

Colin jumped back. “Damn, what the hell?”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t know. The two of us together are dangerous,” she said with a smile.

He grinned and looked a little sad. “I’ve gotta go. Thanks again.” He unlocked the locks on the door and left, pulling it closed behind him.

She was a little dazed, lightheaded even after the moment. She hadn’t noticed any static electricity anywhere else. That was an enormous charge. She stepped up to the door and peered through the peephole. Her heart dropped. Colin’s back was to her and he was wrapped around another leggy blonde. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her tongue was down his throat. He turned them around, never breaking the kiss, fumbled with the doorknob and opened the door, pulling her inside. The door closed.

She was right. Not even close to being in his league. She stepped down into the kitchen to clean up.

Monday morning’s alarm rang and she trudged through her normal routine. As she unlocked her door to leave, she heard voices in the hallway.

“I can’t. Look, I would if I could but I’ve got something else going on.”

“Colin, you always do this. I want to go on a date. A real date. You know I only want to be with you.” The voice was female.

She slowly opened the door, embarrassed to intrude on their conversation, but she had to go to work. She slowly stepped out, the conversation continuing.

“I appreciate that,” he purred, running his hands down her bare arms. She had raven hair that was pulled into a ponytail, tight yoga pants and a spandex workout top, her curves on display. “But there’s so much going on with the band, I just don’t have the time right now. You know I like you Brittany –“

“Brianna,” she corrected him.

He smiled that megawatt smile. “Yeah, Brianna.” He fidgeted a little as if trying to come up with what to say next.

Cori suddenly felt brave and started around the bannister. “Hey Colin,” she purred, smiling at him. “Tonight’s still date night, right?” She winked at him and kept walking, saying “See you at 7,” as she made her way down the stairs. She could still hear their conversation.

“You’re dating someone else! You said you weren’t!” Brianna was angry.

“No, she was just kidding,” Colin pleaded. “I’m not dating anyone. But my door is always open for you Brianna,” he said in the sexy low voice.

“As if,” she sniffed. “Goodbye Colin.” Cori could hear her stomping down the stairs above her. She stifled a laugh.

The week was going by quickly. Cori had joined her parents for dinner at one of their favorite spots and had just gotten home for the evening.

“I must’ve pissed you off pretty good, eating and running the other night.” Colin had opened his door and stood in the doorframe as she walked past.

“What do you mean?” she said with a smile.

“I mean telling that girl it was date night,” he said. She looked at him and there was a grin where she thought there might be anger.

“Hey, I was just doing you a favor. She left, didn’t she?”

“She sure did,” he laughed. “I’m sorry about the other night. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing to do. You took the time to cook for me, I could’ve at least stayed and helped clean up.”

“Not a big deal,” she said, unlocking the door. She smiled at him, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. This was all they’d ever have, this banter back and forth, neighbors. She knew how big her crush was every time she saw him with another girl. Why was she attracted to guys she couldn’t have?

“You know,” he said, coming around the bannister towards her, “we could pick it up tonight, maybe watch a movie?”

She hesitated before answering. She had the luxury of the day off tomorrow, a three-day weekend. Ms. Robbins was going out of town and told her to take a break. She had turned the alarm off on her phone the moment she got the news, a Friday to sleep in. She took a deep breath and turned to look at him. “Sure.”

“Great!” he said and when she opened the door, she could feel him behind her he was so close. His woody, musky scent filled her nose. She felt something wash over, something she hadn’t felt for such a long time, a longing. She thought about the girls she’d seen wrapped around him, kissing him.

She’d never wished so badly she was someone else before. Would she ever be comfortable in her own skin, and not so desperate for her sexy neighbor?

As he walked past her into the living room, he ran his hand above her waist and once again, a shock went through them both that nearly knocked them off of their feet. Colin stumbled forward, catching himself on the sofa, Cori bracing against the kitchen counter.

“What the hell is up with your apartment?” he asked, rubbing his hand. “You need to have the super check your power. Something is definitely up.”

She caught her breath. “Maybe that’s my built-in ‘hands off’ alarm,” she said with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to get caught in a trap like those other girls and get all disappointed.” She’d tried saying it as a joke but her voice sounded sad.

“Look, I’m always honest with anyone I’m with. I don’t want anything long term. I like girls, I’m like any other guy. I just don’t have the desire to be with anyone for very long. I tried that once and it didn’t work. I’m not making that mistake again.”

“Must’ve gotten your heart broken pretty badly,” she said, trying to hide the sadness from her own failure.

“Against my better judgment I got involved with someone I thought might be the one. I was wrong. We wanted different things. Brought me right back to plan A,’ he said, bending down to look at DVDs on her shelf. “Besides, when the band takes off and we hit the road, the last thing I want is to leave someone behind and not be able to enjoy myself.”

“Well, I’ll give you that. At least you’re honest. And you’re not playing the field while you’ve got a fiancée on the string.” Her voice trailed off and she looked down, pissed at the tears that were burning at her eyes.

He stood up, a concerned look on his face. “Did that happen to you?” he said softly.

“Yes,” she said, barely audible.

“I’m sorry,” he said, really meaning it. “That sucks.”

“It does. And with my best friend, no less.”

“Ouch.”

She looked at him, willing the tears away that were rimming her eyes. “Pretty much almost ended my life, at least it felt like it. All of this, the apartment, the job, it’s just me trying to get a fresh start. It’s like I don’t know where I belong.”

He gave her that adorable half smile. “You seem like a great girl Cori. I’m sure there’s someone out there for you. And if you need someone to get you back in the saddle, I’m always available for a ride,” he smiled.

Her face broke into a smile. “That’s THE worst pick up line EVER!” she laughed and he laughed too.

“Yeah, that was bad even for me,” he said, running his hand through his spikey hair to the back of his neck, letting it linger there. Every move he made turned her on. This was torture.

“Ok,” he said, desperate to change the subject and spinning towards the TV. “I suggest a comedy, nothing too heavy tonight.”

“Agree!” She pulled two bottles of beer from the frig and threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave. When it was done, she joined him and they started the movie. There was no conversation, just laughter. He’d made himself at home on the couch with his feet on the coffee table. She tucked her legs up under her in the chair. She’d made a friend. That was the takeaway. It wasn’t sad, it was happy.

When the movie ended, he cleaned up the beer bottles and popcorn and headed for the door. “This was great, I hope we can do it again.”

“Me too,” she said with a smile.

“Hey, what are you doing Saturday night?”

She wished she had a fabulous night planned, but the truth was it would be her, her jammies, some wine and a good book. “Nothing really,” she said.

“Great! Come down to Rap’s. The band is playing at 8. It’s just down the street.”

“I know it, Rapscallion’s, right?”

“Yeah, it’s going to be a big weekend for us. We’re playing a festival Saturday afternoon and at Rap’s on Saturday night.”

“Wow, that’s awesome. I’m glad you’re back on track.”

“Yeah, it feels good,” he said. “So you’ll be there Saturday?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

He clapped his hands together. “Awesome.” He stepped up to the door, gave her a wave and left.

Cori suddenly felt deflated. The biggest player on the planet just spent the evening with her and didn’t even try to make a move on her. Of course she’d been an idiot and acted uninterested. But she should be uninterested, she’d been down this road before.

Saturday would be fun. She’d get a friend to go with her. Who knows, maybe she’d meet someone more in her league.

#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans angst #chris evans fanfiction #what's your number #dream come true #colin shea #colin shea fanfic #colin shea fanfiction #colin shea x ofc #colin shea x original fictional character

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misformorales · 2 years

Text

Find Me / Save Me (Bucky x Reader Fanfic) Ch. 5

Summary: Friends since childhood, separated by tragedy. Can you seem to find each other again? Can you save each other?

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, angst, violence, cannon divergence, fluff, mentions of suicide attempt, mentions of blood, torture, miscarriage

Word Count: 174,507

Like, comment, and/or reblog to put a giant smile on my face ♡

|| Masterlist ||

Chapter Five || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

After those words left your lips, things happened so quickly.

Dr. Erskine quickly took you to his base and introduced you to his team.

You first met Peggy, a really sweet girl. But barely got to know her as she was expected to train the other recruit. She did however let you know that she was happy to see a female enter the team. When you asked why she wasn't the one to be selected for this project, she stated she had other responsibilities but that she was proud you stepped in the role.

Eventually you met Howard Stark. You had to admit at first you behaved like a school girl fan. But eventually you got to know him, and you two became good friends. He and Dr. Erskine headed up the project, between science and technology they both had it covered. You would be in good hands.

Today Erskine was introducing you to the serum, your experiment would take place today.

As Dr. Erskine brought you into the lab, you saw two serums. One yellow, one blue. You knew one of these would be for you.

"So which one is mine? Are they the same thing?" You asked the doctor, touching the vials carefully.

Grabbing them from your hand and placing them in their original location again, the doctor replied "you will be taking the yellow serum. The blue is for our other candidate."

This other candidate they kept talking about, you had yet to meet. Supposedly he had to go through intense training before his procedure would take place. Unlike you, who just had a general physical.

"They are similar the two formulas. But each a little different in their own regards. We are trying to perfect the serum. You may not have the same reaction as our other candidate." He said cleaning his glasses on his coat as he often did when he was thinking.

You look at Erskine, finally letting the realization that this is happening today hit you. "Is it going to hurt?"

Dr. Erskine looks at you for a second before responding, "Pain is a construct of the mind Miss. (Y/N). I believe you have the will power to push through anything."

You give a smirk "that really doesn't answer my question doctor."

With that Howard walks into the room, "Don't worry darling we won't let anything happen to you."

You shake your head at them both. You walk over to an assistant and start prepping for the procedure.

"You ready?" the small assistant, whose name has escaped you right now says as she prepares you for your procedure.

"As ready as I'll ever be." You say back. From the corner of your eye you see a couple of people enter the room. You spot Peggy and immediately go over to say hello.

"Good to see you again (Y/N), please let me introduce you to Colonel Phillips. He has been supervising this whole project. He has been very preoccupied with the other candidate. But he didn't want to miss this." Peggy says motioning towards the very serious man in uniform next to her.

"Colonel." You say shaking his hand firmly.

"Miss. (Y/L/N), a pleasure. I will admit I am not too fond of the use of a woman as a candidate. I need soldiers. Men. But Erskine insisted on you. He actually insisted on both candidates. None of you were my choice. But this doctor seems to have more control of this project than I do." He said while shaking your hand. You could see that he honestly had no faith in you.

"Thank you for your vote of confidence Sir" you said, a bit sarcastically. You sent a wink in Peggy's direction and went back to the small assistant to finish preparing for your procedure.

Finally Howard steps up to you to finish setting you up. "You got this (Y/N), I know you do. Make us proud ok?" He said as he led you to a table to lay down.

You nod at him and give him a small reassuring smile. With a small squeeze to your arm, he returns to his spot behind his computers.

"Ladies and gentleman, this is the first of our two procedures. We are introducing our yellow serum to Miss. (Y/L/N) and then bombarding her body with vita rays to produce our hoped outcome. Mr. Stark please procced." Dr. Erskine said and then eloquently nodded to Howard.

Howard proceeded to press a button which caused your table to hold you upright. Needles protruded from the sides of the bed, quickly embedding itself all over your body. "Shit" you exclaim in surprise more than anything else and then feel as the liquid serum enters your body, all at once.

With another press of a button, you suddenly get encapsulated in a box of sorts. You hear Howard outside scream "Vita ray infusion in 3... 2... 1..."

All of a sudden a bright light emits all around you. You feel as if your blood is starting to boil. As if you're being ripped from the inside out. You want to scream, you want to let out a blood curling howl, but you feel as if you're choked up. You can't speak.

You hear Howard scream again from the outside "50%... 70..."

You can't take it anymore. Everything is bright and white. You can't distinguish if you're still in the box or not. You can't see.

You feel yourself at the brink of letting go. But just as you feel you can't go anymore, as if you can't hold on anymore you see Bucky. You see him as if he was right there in front of you. You got this doll. You're the strongest person I know.

With that you close your eyes and allow yourself to push through the pain, push through the excruciating blinding light.

You finally hear Howard scream "100%!!!! Turn it off!!!"

Finally the brightness begins to fade. Yet it doesn't go away completely. It lingers as you try to steady your breath. You close your eyes trying to recover yourself.

-.-.-.-

Howard's POV

As soon as (Y/N) let out a "Shit" in surprise to the needles, you felt a pang of fear. You'd become close to her. A pretty good friend in her short time here. You didn't want her to suffer.

But you knew she was strong, that if any woman could go through this, it would be her. As you pressed the next button you saw her enter the vita ray capsule, you let a small prayer pass through your head. With nothing else but hopes and prayer, you finally say "Vita ray infusion in 3... 2... 1..."

As soon as it started you could swear you heard gasp from the chamber. But maybe you imagined it. The vita rays were so bright, you couldn't see (Y/N) at all.

You looked to your computers, "50%... 70..." all the while worried that (Y/N) had not even made a sound. Was she still alive? Did she pass out? You shake those thoughts from your head as you look back to your computers. You're praying it gets to 100 quick, you're worried. This needs to end already.

As soon as you see the dial hit 100 you scream "100%!!!! Turn it off!!!"

Slowly the bright light emitting from the capsule dims. Yet you see some light still emanating from the capsule. Not caring if vita rays still had yet to diminish you press the button that opens the capsule. You had to make sure she was still alive. You start making a run for the opening capsule.

But when the capsule finally opens you and all those approaching the capsule take a step back.

(Y/N) was laying there. Breathing starting to normalize. But a yellow glow surrounded her completely, like a halo of light. Suddenly (Y/N) opens her eyes and they flash a bright yellow, before returning to her normal color.

You barely find your voice and let out a whisper "(Y/N)..."

#bucky #buckybarnes #buckyxreader #bucky barns x you #bucky barns x y/n #marvel #40s bucky #howard stark

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miss-kittys-magical-library · 3 years

Note

In honor of Rob's birthday, can you write a Rob character of your choice with reader or an OC of your choice celebrating his birthday? Fluffy and maybe some light smut? Go wild. ;)

Your Song

Words: 1760

Warnings: Fluff turned smut

A/N: Just inserting Honey and Leon into random awesome points in music history. Cribbed from a scene in "Rocketman," directed by Nathan's freakishly short dad (Dexter Fletcher)

Leon and Honey stumbled and giggled down a path in the woods behind a house in the Canyon. They stopped to kiss under a Laurel tree, laughing when Leon’s hair got tangled up in some branches. Sometimes he seemed to forget how tall he was.

It was unusually warm for early January, but after a show at the Troubadour a party at Mama Cass’s bungalow felt like a serendipitous idea. They held tight to one another’s hands a bit drunk on elderberry wine. Maybe a brownie or two, their first since coming back to the States.

The couple hadn't been alone in several years, not really. Not since Selina was born. They had left her behind in Manhattan with Honey’s parents with an invite from Johnny (who somehow found himself doing far better in LA than he ever did in London.) Away from the snow and slush and post-holiday angry New Yorkers. The Bartucci’s back in their comedy club that Honey bought back and reopened at the start of a new decade. They really could use a vacation. Who turns down Elton John?

Suddenly, today, Leon found himself thirty years old. The 70s weren't much different than the 60s. Rock music got better, the clothes stayed almost the same. Still the same causes for Honey to throw herself into, Leon by her side but with a toddler strapped to his back. Maybe he would never actually be on the moon, but Honey certainly brought it down to him in their little girl.

“We've gotta get back to the house,” Honey lifted Leon’s hand up and brushed her mouth against his knuckles. “I worked a little something out with Elton.” She started to tug him along.

Leon dug his heels into the dirt, and his girlfriend’s arm nearly came out of its socket. “Honnn eeeyyy,” that sexy whine. “You've gone and brought Mr Elton John into it? Oh I'm not big on my birthday, you know that.”

Honey planted her hands on her hips, “Not everyone in our generation is gonna get to turn thirty. There's a piano in the house, and he thinks it's far out. Now c'mon, don't be a spoil sport.” She mimicked Leon's accent.

“Only if he says it's alright. Know how I am ‘bout doing things that aren't my bag.” Still he followed her down to the house, hands in his pockets as Honey literally skipped ahead, bits of bark in her hair.

It all felt unearthly, being surrounded by musicians whose records they had back in The Village. Or how short they all were. Save for John Phillips, the only person who towered slightly over Leon that night. Everyone called him Kubrick in jest, but his cheeks flushed all the same. He perked up straight away when Cass tugged on his vest. The one Honey made. He wore it now over a long sleeved thermal shirt and tight jeans that boot-legged instead of belled.

“Say this is pretty groovy. This is almost flashy enough for Elton to wear.” Her hands ran over the fabric.

“Honey made it. Our first Christmas together back in ‘67. London. Where I'm from. Well no I'm from Greece but,” Leon stammered.

“Relax man. We don't bite! That's Michelle’s job. Your old lady said you've got a kid back East. Me too. Owen, she's around here somewhere.”

You could tell she was whacked out on something. Everyone here was except Leon and Honey. Not really tipsy anymore both down from the brownie earlier. Looking around, the party goers were at the various stages of undress and sex. It was like the couple got rid of Renatis and replaced him with Mama Cass. Except she was so much cooler, her vibe felt truer and at ease.

“Yeah Selina. She's four I think?”

Leon scratched his head before noticing Honey sitting on the piano bench with a guitar. Topless. Elton beside her, also topless but still in his jeans. What a strange fucking life he and Johnny got into after coming here in 1970.

“Like the moon! I get it, Kubrick! Honey said you really love her. Cherish it man, they'll be us soon enough,” she winked. Then Cass affectionately pat his cheek like a mother would.

Leon’s heart would break a year later when she died. Everyone’s heart would. Always touching his face anytime he heard her sing.

For now she was alive and sat down in a chair. Leon leaned against the doorframe as Honey and Elton started to play. Lost in his own world, everyone else in the bungalow faded away except her. He wrapped a finger up in a stray curl that fell from his ponytail, smiling in her direction.

It took him a moment to realize these two people were singing TO Leon and not everyone else. He was so caught up in the way Honey’s fingers moved expertly over the strings. Was this why she asked for lessons? How he always fell in love just by looking at her.

So excuse me forgetting

But these things I do

You see I've forgotten, if they're green or they're blue

Anyway the thing is, what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

And you can tell everybody

This is the song

It may be quite simple, but now that it's done

I hope you don't mind

That I put down in the words

Later in a loft, Honey and Leon naked on the floor. Leon's lips making their way down Honey’s chest where he stops to take a nipple in his mouth. Sucking hungrily before teasing it with his teeth. Biting somewhere between playful and rough. Alternating between each of her breasts before continuing down over her stomach. Tongue dipping into her navel.

Honey’s back arches into Leon and she moans softly. Her hand lost in his hair as sexual instinct makes her urge him further down. But her brain says through her mouth,

“Wait, it's your birthday. Let me give you head.” The words breathless.

Leon is already diving into her. His tongue snaking deep inside like his fingers often do before going for her clit. Flicking at it a few times, circling it quicker. His hands spread her thighs so he has better access as he works her faster. His head moving up and down the whole time.

Then: “If I wanna go down on you for MY birthday, the only way you're gonna stop me is by saying no.” Leon paused, large eyes gazing up at Honey. His mouth glistening. “Are you saying no, then?”

“Fuck no, I love when you do this. I just figured you wanted to lay back and let me suck you off.”

He smiled and went back to it. Burying his face into Honey further. Then switching from his quick pace, Leon ran his tongue agonizingly slow along her cunt. The entire length of one side, sucking on it, plunging it in to work around Honeys clit then up the other side. Repeating this a few times, tongue manipulating her clit longer and faster.

Honey felt that heat build in her sex. That throb and the contraction. She cried out with that sudden swell of wetness before she came. She was so close but her mouth opened:

“Leon stop!”

Leon sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “What? What's wrong? Too much, love?”

“No no it was the perfect amount of too much. I don't wanna cum before we fuck.”

“Now THAT'S a bleeding birthday present. Time for me to get a toss over?” Leon's eyes shone with excitement. “Can we shag where someone might catch us?”

He stood up and helped Honey to her feet. Walking her to the railing that exposed the loft to the living room below where everyone had played their music before. A couple was already going at it on the couch not very silently.

Leon put his hand on the thick wood and yanked a few times to check its strength. It was perfect.

Honey situated herself in front of him, back pressing into his chest. She lifted her foot up on the bottom part and jutted her hips back into her partner’s erection. She anchored herself with her arms spread along the length of railing where he had just tested it.

Leon covered only one of Honey’s hands, his arm parallel to hers. The other hand taking the head of his cock teasing her with it. Then clutching the thick of her hip, he buries himself up to the hilt inside of her.

In his excitement, Leon began pounding into Honey madly. His hips hitting her ass every time created a rhythmic slapping sound. No longer needing to brace himself on her waist, he covered Honey’s mouth instead as her mewls of pleasure began.

Honey cried out into Leon's hand. Her body twisting slightly to give him better access. They had rutted this way enough that she knew angling her cunt downwards allowed him to hit her G spot. Something it took them both several years to figure out. Now that they had..

Leon lost himself in slamming into Honey with a speed he hadn’t felt since he did cocaine. The sweat created a shean across his cheeks, neck and chest from the heat they were building. Gut told him it would start forming on her forehead and stomach. What little he was grasping also told him Honey’s tits and ribs were crashing into the railing.

“Steady on, love.” Whispering huskily in her ear. “Yeah. I love being inside you. Never gonna get fucking sick of it. Your twat drives me barking.”

Honey kept on and kept up. That cataclysm in her walls, they flexed around Leon's cock suddenly. She squealed loudly into his hand as she came so hard her stomach muscles cramped. Her body still took to being rammed.

But not long, spurred on by the constriction of Honey’s orgasm, Leon exploded inside of her. Releasing completely but biting down on her shoulder to prevent from yelling out into the stillness.

Honey winced, but her gasp came out closer to another cry of pleasure. Her body cumming again unexpectedly. Leon would use that against her happily in the future.

They untangled themselves and were kissing in the dark. Then from downstairs came a humming. It soon turned into singing. The voice belonged to a tiny Englishman with diamond studded glasses.

“How wonderful life is while you’re in the world."

Tag: @robertsheehanownsmyass @badsext @joz-stankovich @elliethesuperfruitlover @nightmonsters

#robert sheehan #robert sheehan character fic #request #neuroticpuppy #leon x honey

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