#maybe chuck a chair or something at another

[jaeyunverse]

chapstick challenge

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

genres: fluff, suggestive

wc: 1163

warnings: making out

summary: the chapstick challenge is just an excuse for you to get heeseung to kiss you. thankfully, he’s more than happy to oblige.

note: i don’t have the motivation to write but i didn’t wanna let the blog die either so here’s another repost :)

masterlist

“Heeseung!” you popped cheerfully and poked his cheek with your pencil. “Can I ask you something?”

The boy looked at you suspiciously. “What do you want?”

“Do I always have to want something from you?” you asked, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

“You’re being weirdly nice and unnecessarily upbeat at 8:30 in the morning so—” he shrugged— “yes.”

“Okay, yeah, I do want something,” you deadpanned, dropping your charade immediately. Heeseung rolled his eyes and you shoved his shoulder playfully in response. “But you have to promise you won’t say no.”

“No.”

“Boo!” you complained. “You’re such a party pooper!”

Refraining the urge to roll his eyes again, Heeseung reminded you, “The last time you made me promise to not say no, we ended up in the goddamn police station.”

“That’s on you for running too slow.”

“You forgot to pick up the bag with the fucking spray paints, Y/N!” he exclaimed incredulously. “They’re expensive!”

“I didn’t mind ditching the bag if it meant our parents remained uninformed about what happened that night!”

Letting out a long sigh of exasperation, Heeseung said, “Just tell me. The free period will be over soon.”

“Okay,” you declared and dragged your chair closer to his desk. Gesturing for him to come closer, you whispered in his ear, “It’s a TikTok challenge.”

The disappointment on Heeseung’s face could not have been more evident. “I thought you had something interesting to tell me. This was so lame.”

“C’mon!” you urged. “I swear it’ll be fun!”

“You know I’m not into TikTok.”

“Are you opposed to the idea of kissing me too?”

“Oh.” His demeanour changed immediately and he leaned towards you with a curious expression on his face. “Tell me more.”

“You’re such a dork,” you teased.

“I’m down for anything that involves kissing you,” he admitted shamelessly and shrugged. “Maybe this will finally persuade you to be my girlfriend. What’s the challenge?”

You snorted. You and Heeseung were definitely more than friends, but you weren’t exactly dating either. He wanted the two of you to be together, but you weren’t inclined to get involved with him—he was moving to another country for college in a few months.

It was already hard for you to come to terms with the fact as a friend. You weren’t sure you’d be able to cope if you began dating him.

Heeseung tried to convince you that you could make a long-distance relationship work, but you knew better than that. It wasn’t realistic—the timezones weren’t compatible at all and you were both way too career oriented to be able to commit to someone who lived on the other side of the world.

So, you just flirted with each other without ever putting a label on whatever you were. A few platonic makeout sessions here and there, a few not-a-real-date dates to make memories, but never girlfriend and boyfriend.

“I apply a bunch of different chapstick flavours and you try to guess them.”

Heeseung grinned mischievously. “Oh, I love what you have in mind.”

“Meet me at our usual spot during lunch break?” you asked, your lips mirroring his contagious smile.

“Can’t wait.”

“Will we be recording the challenge?”

You raised an eyebrow and looked at Heeseung over your shoulder. Tightening your grip on his hand as you tugged him along faster, you said, “I wasn’t planning to. Do you want to?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ll just get self-conscious.”

You laughed. “Are you saying you’re camera shy?”

“I’m saying I would rather focus on the challenge!” he exclaimed, the tips of his ears turning red with embarrassment.

“Relax.” You chucked and let go of his hand. “I’m just messing with you. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Fetching an eye mask from the pocket of your hoodie, you handed it to Heeseung and told him to put it on. He did, and you uncapped the first chapstick.

After putting it on, you grabbed his tie and pulled him closer. His arm immediately wrapped around your waist, his hand finding its way to your jaw and cupping it gently.

Then, his mouth was on yours. You were a little surprised by how easily he was handling you even though he couldn’t see anything. It made you realise just how well he knew you—how much you’d gotten used to being with each other.

Heeseung tilted his head to the side for better access and ran his tongue over your bottom lip, sucking on it to get a better taste of the flavour you had applied.

“Strawberry,” he guessed without bothering to break the kiss.

You hummed. “You’re good at this.”

He smiled against your mouth and kissed the corner of your lip before pulling away. Removing the eye mask, he asked, “At guessing flavours or at making out?”

“Guessing flavours,” you said with a smirk and slung your arms around his neck. “I’m gonna need to conduct more experiments to reach a conclusion on that regard.”

“Oh, yeah?” he teased, running his thumb up and down the curve of your waist. “Go ahead and apply a second flavour then.”

You did, and this time, Heeseung wasn’t sweet nor gentle. He pretty much had you pinned against the wall, your fingers weaving through his hair and tugging at the strands.

The kiss was deeper and messier, as if the boy couldn’t get enough of you. Could never get enough of you.

His tongue forced its way into your mouth and you knew he wasn’t holding back anymore. He nibbled on your bottom lip, sucking and licking till you lost sense of everything else but him.

Out of breath, you broke the kiss, but Heeseung, it seemed, was nowhere near done. He placed his lips on your neck, allowing you to get some much needed oxygen into your system.

“That’s not where the chapstick is,” you whispered. You wanted his mouth back on yours. Now.

“Chocolate,” he muttered, sucking hard on the underside of your jaw. You hissed in both pleasure and pain. “It’s chocolate.”

Panting, he detached his lips from your skin and leaned against the wall next to you. You glanced at him and noticed that his tie had come loose.

Not only that, but part of his shirt had also somehow untucked itself and his hair was sticking in all directions. What you loved the most about his dishevelled appearance, though, were his swollen lips.

“Bingo,” you confirmed, resisting the urge to pull him against you again. “It was chocolate.”

Heeseung smirked. “Do I get a reward for passing the challenge?”

You didn’t answer immediately, instead fixing your uniform and hair. He watched you intently with dark eyes.

On your way out of the alley between the two secluded buildings at the back of your school, you said, “Why don’t you meet me back here after class and find out?”

The mischievous glint in Heeseung’s eyes was all the answer you needed.

#enhypen imagines #heeseung imagines #enhypen scenarios #heeseung scenarios #enhypen fluff #heeseung fluff #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #enhypen oneshots #heeseung oneshots #enhypen #heeseung #enhypen fanfiction #heeseung fanfiction #enhypen drabbles #heeseung drabbles #enhypen headcanons #enhypen reactions #enhypen soft hours #heeseung soft hours #enhypen timestamps #heeseung timestamps #enhypen blurbs #heeseung blurbs #enhypen fanfic #heeseung fanfic

[luveline]

Omg ok Jade my love can I request a princess soulmate au with Steve? Where reader is Prince Steve’s soulmate but maybe she’s not royal herself and is struggling a bit with being the future princess?

Almost like similar vibes to some of the loser gf with rockstar Sirius things you’ve done

thank you sm for your request! (sci-fi fairytale au) prince!steve

cw talk of losing weight to fit into a dress 

Prince Steven sits across from you with a bowl of grapes and a pair of embroidery scissors. He's going to stab me, you think morosely. I'm wretched and boring and he's going to stab me and then the stars will give him another soulmate and he'll forget this whole misfortune.

He seems lost for words as you are, or uninterested. You think he's going to talk and he eats another grape instead, hair fluttering in the breeze that filters in from the balcony, his eyes trained on the holoscreen. He's pretty —soft face, softer hair, almond shaped eyes that seem perpetually amused— but more alarmingly, he's fit. Physically fit from years of sports. Royals do all manner of olympiad competition, evident in his toned shoulders and his sun-kissed skin. 

"How's your embroidery?" he asks suddenly. 

You startle, pretending you'd been attending to that rather than staring at him uselessly. "It's going well, Prince Steven," you lie. You've never embroidered before —you have practical sewing skills for darning scuffed trousers and patching elbows, but embroidery is a labour of time. Time is a luxury you haven't had. 

"Steve," he corrects. 

"Do I… Is it really okay for me to call you that? Won't people think I'm presumptuous?" 

"Ten dollar word." He slides the bowl toward you, a beautifully glazed ceramic piece that likely cost more than your month's rent. "Well, they usually let me have whatever I want, and I want you to call me Steve. And to relax. And eat more." 

"I can't. They said I need to fit into my wedding dress." 

"The wedding dress needs to fit you," Steve says, the simple cut of his button down pulled snug to his chest as he leans back in his chair. "Not the other way around. Is that why you didn't eat much at breakfast? Or was it just gross?" 

"It wasn't gross," you say softly. 

"You don't have to do any of that stuff, either, if it's boring." 

You run your finger down the creamy linen stretched between your bamboo hoops. "I don't know if it's boring. I can barely do it." 

"You're too mean to yourself," he says. 

Steve stands and puts his arm behind his head, pushing his elbow until something clicks. Embarrassed by his dismissal, you stare at your hands and fume at yourself when they begin to tremble. 

It's too much. All of it. The cruel Palace attendants who know you're not good enough. Steve and his good nature. The wedding dress, the fine China, your wonky stitches. 

Steve steps to your side. He holds out his hand, and you pass him your embroidery without meeting his eyes. Your mood worsens at the sharp slink of snipping, sure that Steve will cut your pattern from the sketch and tell you to start again. 

"Sorry, your white knot at the back was bothering me. Pass me a slimmer needle? I'll tuck it behind your stitches." 

Astonished, you pass Steve a smaller needle from the pin cushion. His brows creases gently as he works, rewiring the white thread with patience and efficiency. 

"There. It looks really nice, honey. You're a fast learner." He passes you the hoop. You take it a beat too slow and he either doesn't notice or doesn't make a fuss, chucking you under the chin softly. "Don't worry so much. I'll talk to Cordelia about your wedding dress, the idea that you need to fit into it like it's one size fits all is dumb. It's made for you. Like, what are they expecting?" 

"They're probably hoping this is all a big mistake." 

"Did someone say that to you?" 

"Nobody had to say it to me, I can tell from the way they look at…" Steve takes your face into his hand, effectively killing anything you'd been trying to say.  

He seems royal, then. Used to getting his way, maybe, the disapproving lining of his otherwise sweet eyes. You get a flash of a memory, the morning you'd been presented, Steve in his finery with his platinum crown like a beacon in brown hair, you in your best dress, embarrassingly drab in comparison, your hand offered. He'd been meeting with eligible women all week. 

You were there as a formality. Never for a second did you think your soul mark would react to his, lines of light around your opposite wrists. 

To think you'd worried about touching him. You could never imagine how beautifully careful he is, how tender. You didn't know men were like this until Steve showed you, his niceness apparently bone deep and in everything he does. 

"If people are being jerks, you have to tell me." You never imagined how casual and vulgar he'd be either. "What's the point in being a princess if people don't respect you?" 

"I'm not a princess," you say. Your heart is a hummingbird as he turns his hand and strokes your cheeks with the backs of his fingers. 

"You will be. Nothing can change that. You're going to be a princess, and you can do as much or as little as you want, because those dorks left me in charge and I say so. I can decree it, if that makes you feel better," he says, dropping his hand, the phantom of it lingering like static shock. 

"What if I'm not meant for this?" you ask quietly, shy but terrified enough to ask. 

"I was meant for you," he says, tone matching yours in timidity. His sleeves rolled up as they are, you can see the soft light of his soul mark taking a pink hue. "Right?" 

Your soul mark glows a gentle pink to match his. Because you and Steve don't know one another well, not yet, but the feeling is there, thrumming under the skin like a pulse. Not love, not not love, a glowing desire. A want to know him.

There have been moments where you wished he wasn't a Prince, but then there's no guarantee you ever would have met. 

"Right," you mouth, offering him a small smile. 

"We were meant to be together…" Steve bends at the waist, meeting your eyes. He's yet to kiss you in the week since you met, but his touches come braver everyday, the unfamiliarity between you melding into butterflies. His smirk shakes them awake. "So let's be together the way we want to. Think of princess-ing as optional." 

"And you as mandatory?"

"I'm also optional," he says with a warm laugh. "But dinner is not. I need to know what you like, if we're going to get married."

You practically gulp. Right. You're going to be his soulmate, his princess, and his wife. 

"Don't be scared. I'm not cooking it, chef Joyce is." Steve brushes hair from his eyes like a model from the giant holo screens, unaware of his own attractiveness. "I'm a shitty cook. My talents lie in other things," he drawls grandly, "like lacrosse, and neck massages." 

He winks. You laugh genuinely for the first time since you met him, and his face splits with glee.  

—

if you want to request anything for this AU please do! steampunk princess soulmate and her smitten prince is my new fave thing

#prince!steve au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

[grippingbeskar]

strip poker

matt murdock x fem!reader

warnings: explicit content 18+ minors dni (mxf, dirty talk, honestly kind of tame if i’m honest) swearing, gambling?? idk it’s literally the title

a/n: i have been getting a few messages to write more matt so HERE IS ME FULFILLING THAT REQUEST! i’m so glad you guys liked the first one! hope you enjoy! also this gif is how i imagine him looking for the whole first part. fuxk he’s so hot anyways.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. How is that even possible?” You shout, nearly spilling your beer on the already sticky table at Josie’s. You’d been playing poker in the shitty little set up at the back, a bunch of screwed up twenty dollar bills half heartedly thrown in as Matthew Murdock won yet another round.

“It’s unfair, really. Gets the looks and the brains. He either folds right away, or wins the whole game.” Foggy shakes his head, shoving Matt on the shoulder. “I lost a lotta money to this guy in college.”

“Yet you still play him.” Karen chucks her cards in the centre, watching Foggy re-shuffle the deck while Matt takes his winnings, shrugging.

“I didn’t say I learnt from it.”

“But how does that even…work? Because, you’re—well, you know…” You lean back, trying not to think about Matt’s attention, and how it had been on you the whole night. Especially now, as his fingers card through the new wad of cash in his hands, almost like he’s doing it just for you.

“Blind?” He smiles, and you make a noise of agreement while finishing off your beer. “I’m just very good at reading people.”

“Oh, I get it. You cheat, don’t you? Feel the fibres in the cards or whatever.” He scoffs, shaking his head.

“Feel the fibres?”

“Okay— well, it’s something like that, though. Isn’t it?” Even Foggy was interested now, snatching the deck that was now in the centre of the table. Matt shrugs again, hanging one arm around the empty chair next to him.

“I don’t cheat. Most people give away their hand as soon as they open their mouth. You just have to know the tell. Poker is just a waiting game.” He says it casually like winning every single poker game he’s ever played is the simplest thing in the world. “Plus, like you said. It’s not like I can look over your shoulder, can I? How would I cheat?”

“Well, whatever it is, I hope it fails, because I need to start paying off this tab if Josie’s gonna serve us anymore.” Foggy deals out the cards, and you watch Matt intently. He never even picks up his cards, just sits there with one hand wrapped around his beer, head turned in your direction. “Alright, Karen?”

“I’m out. I’m running out of money.” Foggy boo’s, and she laughs, sliding off her chair. “Maybe if my boss’ paid me more, I’d be in.”

“Okay, ouch.” Foggy pouts, but deals your cards, skipping over Karen’s empty seat. “Matthew, you start.”

“I’m in.” He smirks, his free hand lightly tracing around the edges of his face-down cards. “Your turn, sweetheart.”

“In.” You look at Foggy, and he sighs, pushing in his money as well.

“Last round. I’m all in.” All in doesn’t mean a lot to Foggy considering he’d only had about two chips and a one dollar bill left, but you and Matt still had a fair amount. Both of you match his bet, and he flips over another card. “Well, fuck.”

“See? Everyone’s got a tell.” Matt laughs and you roll your eyes. Foggy chucks his cards in the centre.

“Anyone could tell Foggy was gonna lose.”

“Hey! I had a fair chance about an hour ago.” Leaving both you and Matt laughing, he turns to go find Karen. “You two kids get home safe, okay?”

“I’ll look after her.” He says, his head still angled towards you. Your grip on the cards in your hand gets a little tighter, and he taps his finger on the table, asking you to flip another card. “Come on. You aren’t giving up yet, are you?”

“Definitely not.” You flip the last card, and it’s a King. The one you were looking for— you had a full house. A strong hand, but you didn’t want to give yourself away. You say nothing, remembering what Matt said earlier, and he smiles after a beat of silence.

“You aren’t talking to me now?” He teases, leaning over the table on his forearms to get a little closer to you. He smells like beer and cedar— a strange combination, but somehow intoxicating on him. “You know I’m gonna beat you anyways. No point in getting all quiet on me.”

“Shut up and make your bet, Murdock.” He’s still got that smirk on his face, the one that says he’s going to beat you before you’ve even put your cards down, and he matches your bet, sliding a few bills into the centre. “Showoff.”

“Just trying to impress you.” He was making it increasingly hard to keep a poker face, and you know he couldn’t see you but somehow it felt like he could see straight through you, like he knew how every one of his sweet words ate away at that feeble resistance you’d built up to try and keep him out. “You can fold if you need to. I promise I won’t hold it against you.”

“Does this whole act usually work for you? The girls eat this shit up, don’t they?” He shrugs, leaning back and leaving his still turned down cards on the table.

“Most of the time.” You push in double the amount of money he bet, and somehow he knows exactly how many, because before you’d even sat back he was matching the bet, smiling sweetly at you.

“How?!”

“How what?”

“How do you know you’ll win?” You lean forward and he moves too, mirroring you and nearly meeting your hands in the centre of the small table.

“I can’t give away all my secrets.” You roll your eyes and lay your cards face up on the table. He doesn’t so much as flinch, both your bodies still leaning towards each other.

This part of the bar was quiet and secluded, and you swear if you angled yourself just right no one would even be able to see you from here. The thought drove your brain to a whole lot of dirty thoughts you had been trying your best not to have about your literal boss, and you physically shook them away. When he spoke again, you had to squint to focus.

“Wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

“Oh, piss off. Let’s see what you have.” You deflect, holding out hope you could still make something of this game. Still smirking, he keeps his head angled towards you, reaching over and sliding his cards to you. You’re hesitant to take them, and he knows it.

“Help a guy out?” He reaches out to the wrong spot on the table, a clear ploy to get you to flip them for him. He was delaying this— dragging it out because it was fun to him, and as much as it sucked you were losing money, you’d probably empty your wallet if it kept him this close to you.

“I’m not falling for your helpless act. I’ve seen you in a court room.”

“Indulge me.” Deciding not to delay the process any longer, you flip them all over in one go.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” A royal-fucking-flush.

“What is it?” He says smiling, keeping as close to you as possible.

“A— you know what? I’m not even going to tell you.” He breathes out a laugh, leaning back finally, and it’s only when he’s sitting in his chair again that you manage to get your head screwed back on straight. “Now I’m really out of money.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Happens to the best of them.” You scoff. That’s the second time he’s called you that, and it seems to make you fidget in your seat more every time.

“Just means you have to cover the tab.”

“Don’t pout.” Instantly you steeled your face, and just as you were about to ask him exactly how he knew, he spoke again. “I tell you what— you want your money back, we can play a new game. All or nothing.”

“I feel like this is a trap.” He laughed, the sound drawing you in like some kind of siren song. You leaned forward again, reaching out for your money on the table, but he was faster, his own enveloping yours. His hands were rough and large, and you couldn’t peel your eyes away from how you practically disappeared underneath him.

“It’s not a game we can play here, though.” You swallow hard. You’d always flirted with Matt— it was easy, and honestly the best part of your day was seeing that playful smile, or even when his ears got a little pink when you got particularly close to whisper something about a case.

But this? He’s talking about leave a bar with him. On a Saturday night. To play a game. You chugged the rest of your beer, needing the liquid courage.

“Alright, Matthew. I’ll indulge you. What kind of game are you talking about?”

“Poker.” Laughing, you watch as he gets up from his chair and grabs his jacket, already resigned to the idea you were both leaving. Now.

“We are playing poker.”

“It’s not that kind of poker.” He’s right next to you now, edged between you and the chair cemented to the floor next to you. He was so close you had no choice but to lean into him, not that you could think of anything else you’d rather be doing.

“Not that kind of poker?” You say softly, and he hums. The sound vibrates through his chest, and you resist the urge to flutter your eyes close and just listen to him talk. Something about his voice has you floating on air, and it’s part of the reason he’s so hard to resist. He just never stops talking.

You jump slightly when you feel his hand brush against your shoulder. You were wearing a silk dress that hung off your shoulder, so he took his time, grazing along your soft skin. His fingers carded through your hair lightly, and to top it off, he brushed the hair back, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck, tilting your face upwards gently.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were suggesting something unprofessional, Mr. Murdock.” His face splits into another smile, but his hand drops from your skin. Instantly you feel colder without his touch.

“You tell me to go to Hell right now and I will. No hard feelings. You’re a good lawyer, and I won’t mess this up for you.” Now you understand why he stopped touching you. Matthew Murdock— self professed people reader, was unsure if he’d read this situation right. The thought occurred to you once to fuck with him a little, but when you looked up at him and saw how tight his jaw was, you melted a little. That tiny wall of resistance you’d built up was crumpled from the inside.

“And if I say I’m interested in this little game?”

“Then I’d say I’ll meet you outside. Balls in your court, princess.” He presses a light kiss to your cheek, and you nearly get dizzy from the gesture if you hadn’t seen him grab your money as well as his off the table before he disappears into the crowd.

You call after him, but all you get is a shrug and a laugh that is unmistakably his as he disappears into the crowd. You don’t move for a second— your heart screaming at you to get on your feet and follow him, but a small, stupid part of your brain tells you to not. He was your boss, after all, and you needed this job, but it was also Matt.

You knew he was a little bit of a lady killer— Karen and Foggy making a thousand jokes at his expense which he managed to laugh off. Even with clients he always managed to win the girls over with his charm, but as much as people talk about it, ever since you came around you haven’t seen him so much as flirt for more than a few minutes with anyone but you. Sure, you weren’t with him every second of every day, but between the late nights and weekends spent in his office to getting lunch and sometimes dinner on your days off, even Foggy had made a few passing comments about how he’d staved off women.

You didn’t have a leg to stand on to get jealous even if he did— but it made your heart stutter in his chest to think you had something to do with it. He was always showing up with an extra coffee for you, walking you home if you had to stay late, paying you endless compliments… and the way he spoke to you, teasing but never cruel, always making you laugh even when you hadn’t slept for 24 hours.

Really— your decision on whether to follow him out was made months ago when you first met him. The moment you saw that stupid smile and the first time he said your name; you nearly took the chair with you with how quick you jumped up to find him outside the bar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I’ve never been to your place before.” You listen to the sound of Matt pouring you a glass of wine as you hang your head off the back of his couch. You have to squint to block out the streaming colour of light that shines through the giant windows; hues of pink and blue billboard warped from the rain that was coming down outside.

“It’s an acquired taste.” He taps your leg and you shift to sit up, him sitting close next to you handing you a glass. “You like red, right?”

“I drink anything as long as it’s free.”

“This one’s on me.” You laugh into your glass, taking a long sip and enjoying the burn that comes with it. It tastes expensive, and you expect nothing less from him. He’s facing you, one arm lazily hanging behind you on the couch, and your heart is racing even without the wine.

“So, did you really invite me up here for a game of poker, or was that just a ploy to get in my pants?” His laugh fills the quiet apartment, and he leans forward to pull out a drawer, his hand reappearing with a deck of cards.

“I never say no to a pretty girl in my apartment, but if you want your money back, you’re going to have to play me for it.” You snatch the cards from him, shuffling them dramatically.

“And tell me why, exactly, we couldn’t play this all important game in the bar?” You watch him carefully, how you always do when your alone, and you see his tell tale sign. The slightest hint of red on his cheeks, just at your question. “Matthew?”

“You’re out of money, but we’re still playing poker. What do you think we’re betting?” Now you were the one blushing.

“So this really was a ploy to get in my pants.” You try to sound nonchalant, confident like he always manages to come across as, but your voice shakes a little at the end of your sentence, and you were still shuffling the cards even though they were way past ready. You quickly put them on the table and down the rest of your wine.

“Can you blame me?” He asks lowly, and you cross your legs, ignoring the heat that grows in your stomach. “Listen, you know I love these games we play, but I don’t want you to—“

“If you’re bitching out now, I can take the money in credit or cheque, too.” He stops talking, mouth open a little, and scoffs out a laugh. The last thing you wanted him to do was think you weren’t a hundred and ten percent here for whatever he wanted to do with you. To you. Shit— that wine was going straight to your head.

“Alright, you asked for it. I was gonna go easy on you, but…”He sighs and shakes his head, and you roll your eyes, dealing the cards.

“Sure you were. Pick up the cards this time.” You all but shove them in his hands, and he takes his time pulling away from you, smiling like he could feel your pulse through the small touch and knew how much he affected you.

Looking at your cards, you tried to see a way to win with what was on the table. You had nothing, really, but he didn’t know that, and you still had a chance. Besides, if he wanted to play that kind of poker, you were positive you wouldn’t have to rely on the cards to distract him. If you could keep your thoughts under control.

“It’s a real shame you aren’t going to win, you know.” You bait him, and his head tilts up from where he was pretending to be looking at his cards.

“And why is that?” You shift in your seat at his voice. Again.

“Well, I dressed up all pretty for tonight.” You flip over the next card on the table, and suck in a breath. “And it’s just a shame you won’t get to experience that.”

“You know the point of this game isn’t to keep your clothes on. No matter how pretty you are in that dress.” He flips over the final card, and you bite down on your lower lip. You have nothing. Nada.

“Exactly, but the best part of my outfit isn’t the dress. It’s what I’m wearing underneath.” His eyes close, and you watch as he sighs and lets his head fall back.

“Can’t believe I was going to take it easy on you, sweet thing.” You can’t stop the grin on your face as he looks up at you like he’s in legitimate pain. “Play your cards.”

“Ohh, so serious now!” He manages a small ‘hm’ and although you were joking, he doesn’t seem so playful anymore. The look on his face was more akin to what he was like in court— focused and ready to win at all costs. “Don’t pout.”

“You’re bluffing, aren’t you?” He says, and you feel his hand on your opposite shoulder, the arm laying around the back of your couch sneaking closer while you were distracted. You shuffle slightly closer, allowing him the space.

“I thought you knew everyone’s tells.”

“You’re a little harder to read than most, I’ll admit it.” You make a noise in surprise, but he just shakes his head. “That doesn’t mean I won’t take you apart just as easily.”

“Guess you’ll have to play your cards to find out. Unless you want to fold?” He laughs, breaking up the tension just a little, and while you two were inches away from each other, he tosses his cards half heartedly onto the table, face up.

“How’d I do?” He leans closer, taking the extra space when you turn your head. You feel every word he speaks on your skin, lips not even an inch away from being on you. You could hardly keep your eyes open, let alone focus on the cards.

“I think you win this round.” You manage, shakily exhaling as you practically feel his smile on your neck. The hand that was around the back of the couch leaves you completely, while the other slowly creeps up the bare skin of your arm, making you shiver. “Th-three sixes against a four of a kind.”

“Hmm. Unlucky.” Shallow breaths were the only ones you could take with him this close. Gentle fingers find the soft material of the strap of your dress, hooking under it loosely. You told yourself you didn’t wear this dress for him— but you knew how it would feel. Silky and smooth against your skin, if he couldn’t see how good you looked in this dress, he would damn well feel it.

He slowly drops the strap down your shoulder, then the other hand encourages the other side down. You use your arms to keep the dress up, making him work for it a little, but as soon as he tugs lightly at the hem you let the dress fall over your breasts.

Matt’s hands feel the lace of your bra, lingering a little longer than he had to. Then he flattens his palms on either side of your rib cage, pulling the dress lower. He feels every curve and ridge on your body, and you can’t take your eyes off his face. He was enamoured— completely lost in the feeling, so much so that his eyes were shut tightly, even the light was taking too much away from the sensation.

“Matt, hurry u—“

“Shh. Let me enjoy my prize.” He finally leans closer, a soft kiss to your collarbone nearly melting you into the couch.

His hands reach your hip, and then get a little more aggressive, fisting the soft material and pulling rather than guiding. You shimmy your hips and let him drag it down your thighs. He seems reluctant to move past the faint excuse for underwear you were wearing, but eventually the dress falls to the floor, and he sighs.

“You were right.”

“About what?” His hand catches your chin, thumb pressing on your bottom lip lightly.

“You are even prettier like this.” Your knuckles were going white with how hard they were trying to stay at your sides, but now you were half naked, and he hadn’t so much as taken his jacket off.

“You think so?”

“I fucking know so. And these—“ The hand on holding your face to his is still on your hip, and one finger hooks under the lace. “—these for me?”

“You haven’t won that yet.” He presses his forehead to yours and groans, and then leans back, but doesn’t go too far. “Your turn to deal.”

“Fine.” He frowns like a little kid who just got told he can’t have ice cream, and quickly swipes up the cards. It’s only then that you notice these ones— his personal set, have braille on them.

“You can read these ones.” You say, and he nods.

“This game is much more important.” Biting your lip so hard it’s probably bleeding, you watch his talented hands quickly sort and deal the cards. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m cheating.”

“You’re so funny.” You squint, and he smiles.

This round is much faster. He’s clearly in no mood to fuck around anymore, and makes every opportunity to touch you now you’re sitting in front of him in nothing but a few strands of lace. In front of anyone else, you think you’d feel insecure, or at the very least cold, but with the way he’s acting like he’s starving for you— it has enough heat in that look to warm you for an entire winter.

You actually have a good hand this time, and to your surprise, you win. Your Aces beat his fours, and he takes off his jacket.

“That is hardly fair.”

“Are you trying to get me to take my clothes off? Because that is entirely unprofessional.” You want to laugh, but what you want more is to tear off the buttons on his shirt and— “Your cards, sweetheart.”

“So, are you going to tell me how you know you’ll win?” You take them quickly, trying to ignore how you missed him reshuffling the deck completely because you were too lost in your thoughts of fucking him right here, right now. What else was going to happen here, though? It was the anticipation that was driving you wild— the inevitable burn of what was months in the making.

“You really want to know?”

“Please.” He smiles again, flicking through his cards.

“I can hear your heartbeat.” You laugh, and he faces you again.

“You’re kidding.”

“It gets faster when you’re winning.” You look down at your cards— another solid hand, and you think he might of had something to do with that.

“I don’t think th—“

“It’s getting faster.” He leans closer again, tilting his head like he could actually hear you internally losing your shit. He was right— it was getting faster, but it had nothing to do with the cards. “You have a good hand, don’t you?”

“Maybe?” He laughs, and his hand touches yours. You watch as his hands— the hands you’ve spent way too many hours looking at, and they read your cards.

“Shit. I’m starting to think you might be cheating.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt, but your hands reach out, stopping him.

“My turn.” Keeping your hands on top of his, you relish in his surprised expression as you swing your leg over him. He all but gasps when you sit your weight down fully, the underwear hiding nothing from him or you as you press yourself against him.

Your fingers are as soft as his were, moving his tie to the side while you slowly undo each little button. When a new one opens, more of him is revealed, and every inch of unexplored skin has you nearly panting. Not to mention the way he’s holding you, his hands roaming the bare skin of your back and hips to pull you closer.

When you finally reach the bottom of his shirt, you nearly rip at it trying to remove it, but Matt takes it from you and slips out of it within a second, throwing it away somewhere behind you. Your hands are gentle as they slide up his chest, trying your best to avoid the scars that might still be painful. You had no idea he had so many scars— the image of him shirtless is even more alluring now.

“I don’t want to play games anymore.” You whisper, and his hand is already tangled in your hair when you finish, hauling your lips to his in a hungry kiss. Its fiery and hot, everything burning at once. You wrap your arms around his head and in one motion he stands, a small squeak of surprise coming from you as your legs wrap around his torso.

You couldn’t stop obsessing over the feeling of his skin on yours, the way he felt so warm against you; how his hands were rough and gentle at the same time, grabbing and pulling at any part of you they could find purchase. Eventually he stopped moving and your world fell backwards, landing on soft sheets and being encased by Matthew Murdock.

“Matty…” You whine into his mouth and he hums against you, his tongue opening you up, taking control of every single breath you take. Your eyes flutter open when he moves lower, kissing your jaw, and you inhale sharply when his teeth bite lightly at the sensitive spot on your neck. It felt electric, almost, the way he followed the harsher touch with gentle kisses and soothing hands.

“Fuck, you liked that? My sweet little fucking thing. Thought about this every day.” He groaned the confessions against your skin, leaving you helpless to do anything but moan and squirm underneath him. You were at his mercy, and you were pretty sure if he didn’t fuck you soon you’d implode. “You’re beautiful. Beautiful.”

His hand slips from your side down between your bodies, quickly finding the spot between your legs that has you nearly screaming his name in the first ten seconds.

“Oh God, more—please.” You beg shamelessly, rolling your hips into his hand as he takes his time drawing slow, firm circles on your clit. His other hand holds your hips down, making you whine in protest.

“I know, baby. Feels good?” You nod quickly, eyes squeezed shut.

“I need you—“

“You’re so fucking pretty like this. You want me to take these off? Have I won these yet?” He whispers, that casual confidence thick in his low tone.

“Anything you want. You w-win.” He tugs at the now ruined fabric, and you practically beg him to get rid of them, a mixture of ‘pleases’ and ‘yes’ in high pitched tones must convince him. He quickly slides them over your knees before his hand returns to your clit, making your legs shake with how close you are. He had you on the edge with just one of his talented fucking hands— but then he drops down, shoulders forcing your legs apart and buries his face in you. You hardly have time to realise what’s happening before your hands are threaded through his hair and your hips are fighting in his hold to stay still.

“Fuck, Matt!” You scream, and he only wraps himself further to you, hooking his arms under your thighs and holding you on him. When he takes your clit in his mouth you lose all sense of reality, and are shoved towards the edge of consciousness, white hot pleasure stripping you bare. “God—“

“You taste so fucking sweet— cum for me. I want to hear you say my name like that again” He murmurs into you before going back to driving you into the hardest release you’ve ever felt build before.

“Matt. Matt—“He holds you so tight you couldn’t squirm away if you tried, and when your orgasm washes over you, you all but drown in it. Electricity shoots up your spine and your back arches, hands gripping Matt’s hair hard enough that you feel him groan into you at the feeling.

“Harder.” He moans into you, and you were still so lost in your own pleasure that you couldn’t do anything but obey— nearly yanking him upwards, but he just moans again and takes everything you give him.

He only drags himself away when you jolt at his touch, kissing his way up your stomach, chest, and this time when he gets to the fabric of your bra he lingers longer, taking his time to enjoy the feel of the lace under his fingers. When he starts kissing your neck, leaving a multitude of hickeys you’ll never be able to hide in the morning, you notice at some point he’d taken the rest of his clothes off.

His hips slot between yours and he’s fucking hard— the feeling of him pressed against you makes you gasp. He was bigger than you’d expected, and every so often his hips would move slowly, running the length of him through your wet folds making you whimper into his mouth again.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His voice was gravelly and layered with restraint— hands gliding up and down your side, grounding you.

“Perfect, Matty. Please…” He kisses you again, gentle and sweet, nodding as he slides himself into you. You gasp into each others mouths at the feeling, and he pulls back, watching your expression melt from a little bit of pain as he waits and kisses you, to pleasure, taking the hint of your nails in his shoulders to start moving slowly.

“Oh, fuckfuckfuck— so fucking good. Jesus Christ.” He moans in your ear and you shiver. It was always his voice that drove you crazy, but hearing it now, so broken and not put together like he always is. The words hit you in the chest, pleasure blooming in every single one of your veins, overtaking every part of your body. “So tight.”

“Right there. Harder, please Matt. Please…” He holds you tighter as he does what you ask, and your whimpers turn into screams as he fucks you into the mattress without another thought. Your eyes must roll back or close because you lose the sight of his face, but all you need is to hear him.

“Good girl. Good..fucking…girl.” Hearing the way he says your name, all drawn out and heavy— how he whispered how he wanted to fuck you for days, how he thought about ducking you at your desk for just as long as you secretly did. Everything about him, mixed with the brutal pace he fucked you with hurtled you into another wave of pleasure, screaming his name so loud there’s no way the rest of Hell’s kitchen didn’t know exactly who was making you feel this good.

“There you go, baby. Gonna…fuck— gonna cum. Sweet fucking thing.” His hips stuttered and you were still cumming, every word spurring you further out of your mind.

“Give it to me, please please please—“ He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you felt the warmth of his release on your stomach and thighs. He was still breathing praises into your skin even after he pulled out, wrapping you into his body, not caring about the mess you had both made. He couldn’t find the care to let you go.

When you had both finally caught your breath, he dropped beside you, curling your body to fit perfectly against the front of his. His hand tangled in your hair, lips pressing to your forehead and cheek as he used his own shirt to clean you both off gently. You were both far too lost in each others mouths to do it properly, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck. You’d gladly spend the rest of your days losing hours in Matt Murdocks mouth.

“Stay tonight.” He whispers, voice cracking.

“Only if you admit I won.” You can feel him smiling against your skin, the sensation sending a different kind of warmth all the way down your spine.

“Yeah. You win.”

#matthew murdock x y/n #matthew murdock x you #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #daredevil x y/n #daredevil x you #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #matthew murdock smut #daredevil #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fan fiction #daredevil fanfiction

[trash-king18]

M pt. 4

he’s extra moody today and nobody seems to know why

miguel o’hara might just be more interested than just animal curiosity…maybe?

————

the next day you come in late, you weren’t going to but when you woke up your head hurt so bad you just needed to lay in bed for another hour… maybe two. 

you were woken up around 10 again by Lyla buzzing on your watch 

“Lyla i’m coming in late what’s wrong”

“uhh I think it might be time for a little “chat” with the boss.. like.. now. he’s acting extra… uh peeved today.”

“that’s a nice way of putting it”

“he’s already thrown two chairs this morning.” 

“perhaps,” you say as you start to try and get out of bed, “he’s acting that way because he is simply just an aggravated prick.”

“Y/N this is serious, i’m worried i haven’t seen him this-“

she hesitates before using the word to describe her boss 

“..moody in a long time. i mean sure he’s always brooding but somethings different, he’s upset i’m worried it might trigger something”

you sigh and then groan before dragging yourself up 

“ok Lyla i’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“thank you… please hurry.”

“only he would find a way to drag me in even after giving me the day off.”

you walk through the lobby and everyone seems slightly on edge. 

Hobie and Pavitr run up to you, 

“thank god you’re here” 

Is it that bad? 

the boys look between each other 

“he threw Peter B in the go home machine.”

“was mayday with him?!” 

“no not today, which probably would’ve saved him”

“Ay dios mío, el hombre es un dolor en mi trasero”

this man is a pain in my ass

Hobie looks at Pavitr

“don’t look at me dude i speak hindi not spanish.”

after you walk away Pavitr nudges Hobie 

P- “hey do you think after they finally do it they’ll fight more or less”

H- “more.. definitely more.”

you march up to his office and there’s no one around it, it’s cleared it like a fallout zone. 

you don’t even knock you just push the door open. he’s sitting on the ledge that his desk stands on. brooding, of course. 

unfortunately you were not a spider person so you couldn’t just swing up. 

“O’hara would you like to explain to me why i get woken up by Lyla calling to tell me you’re throwing chairs and then i get here to find out you’re chucking people into the go home machine.”

no answer. 

“seriously? nothing. ~now~ youve got nothing”

no answer. 

“when you’re ready to communicate like an adult i’ll be in my lab. try not to throw any thing or any ~one~ else.”

you turn but he jumps down suddenly and lands behind you. you turn around and find him standing right there. 

“you left.”

“what”

“you left that night, you were gone before i woke up and all i got was a note telling me to come in for blood tests

and then you lecture me about communication and not being able to give you this that and the next thing and tell me i don’t care 

you couldn’t even bother to mention it” 

“we’re not teenagers, i didn’t think i needed to kiss you goodbye and send a sappy text so we could discuss our feelings. we ~sort of~ hooked up big deal” 

“wow.. should’ve put that in the note too”

“oh my god you and the note, i didn’t know what to say, i ~thought~ we could talk about it in the morning-“

“-how was i-“

“-but noooo-“

“-supposed to know that-“

“-you had to leave for another one of your dark op solo missions with no warning!”

“oh i’m sorry that’s kind of part of my job description honey”

“honey? don’t you honey me o’hara”

“well i wasn’t aware that i had to explain myself to you”

“Oh por favor cállate niño crecido” 

oh please shut up you overgrown child 

“i’m the child?! you showed up here last night stumbling over yourself like a teenager who drank too much at a party”

“well at least my heads not so far up my spandex covered ass that i don’t know how to have fun you glorified action figure”

“ah de verdad? ok. Bueno, ¿por qué no empiezas a comunicarte como un adulto y entonces tal vez tengamos algo de qué hablar contigo, mujer demonio?”

oh really? ok. well why dont you start communicating like an adult and then maybe we'll have something to talk about you demon woman

“you know what?”

“no i don’t know! please tell me id love to hear it”

“you’re an ass miguel. i’m going home.”

“oh great just come in late and then leave early sure, tal vez deberías dejarlo entonces”

maybe you should just quit then. 

“maybe i should!”

you slam his office door and you’ve never been more greatful for nobody being around because you’re sure they would’ve heard everything

you walk past the boys again 

Pavitr “what was all that that about?”

“don’t ask, he’s just in a particularly impossible mood today. he’ll get over it”

Hobie: “are you ok?”

“yeah hobie i’m fine”

“really mate? cuz your eyes are red. and we didn’t have that kind of fun last night far as i know.” 

“i’m good, you should be getting back. if i remember correctly one of you has an 1130 lecture and you, you say wagging a finger at hobie, have band practice.”

the check their watches and curse when they see the time 

“See ya y/n!”

you rush to your apartment before the tears that have been stinging your eyes can escape and collapse on your couch again. you spend the rest of the day napping snacking and just watching movies. 

you just finished cleaning up dinner when you hear a soft short knock on your door. you figure it’s one of the kids or peter asking you to babysit which both happened frequently 

so you open the door, not expecting miguel to be standing right in front of you. you just scoff and close the door in his face. but he just calls softly from the other side of the door 

“can i come in?”

“no. was that not clear?”

“y/n please. i fucked up”

“you didn’t have to come all the way here to tell me that”

he groans in frustration, “look if you would just open the door so i don’t have to stand out here like an idiot”

“why so you can stand in here like an idiot instead”

“will you please stop being so childish and just talk to me”

you whip the door open. 

“so you went from a sorry excuse for trying to apologize to insulting me in the span in thirty seconds and you thought that would help how?” 

he sighs

“you’re right i’m sorry i just wanted to say that-“

“nope don’t care.”

you try to close the door but this time he catches it and let’s himself in. 

“what the fuck get out o’hara”

“no! no.”

he grabs you by the shoulders 

“all i want to say— is that i am an idiot and i messed up. i should’ve come to see you after the mission was over instead of chasing after anomalies to avoid dealing with the situation.”

you won’t even look at him. 

“and that i shouldn’t have spoken to you like that this morning especially at work” 

“are you done?” 

“no uhm also i didn’t mean to treat you like a child last night or invade your space. i was worried that you could’ve gotten hurt and i handled it poorly. so uhm i’m sorry.. for that” 

“did lyla write that for you” 

“..no… maybe” 

you still won’t look at him so he lets go and sighs in defeat snd starts to head for the door 

“o’hara wait” 

he half turns back to you 

“i guess i didn’t handle everything as well as i could have either so” 

“is that what you call an apology” 

you look at him with annoyance 

“oh cmon i did it” 

you don’t budge 

“it’s just two words” 

you roll your eyes and through gritted teeth you say, “i’m sorry”

he chuckles 

“god you’re even more stubborn then i am cariño” 

you look uncomfortable at the pet name 

“… right.”

“you should go”

he steps towards you 

“we still have to talk about..” 

“what’s there to talk about. you weren’t in your right mind, something happened, and then it ended.” 

“is that all it was” 

“i don’t know? can you tell me for certain that that night was more than your equivalent of a drunken nothing” 

“i-“ 

“then we have nothing to talk about.” 

his eyes are pleading but your guard is up and you refuse to let him of all people tear it down. 

he slips out out the door wordlessly leaving you to finish putting away dishes. 

#miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #atsv #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #2099 #miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o’hara headcanon #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara fic

[soleilnomoon]

Hiya!! I’m absolutely in love with this event you’re doing and wanted to put in an order with you if possible 🥲❤️

Can I please have a glazed donut with caramel and a touch of whipped cream, a Neapolitan rose cake with poppy seeds and whipped cream and a #1 (Kidd) from the secret menu?

For a f!reader (Gn reader is also perfect, whatever you’re comfortable with!)

Thank you so so much!!

hihi!! ty for being patient with my very slow writing 😭💓 anyway i love kidd he's so fun to write and he's just so silly being grumpy like that all the time. i wrote this like i was possessed so i hope you enjoy 😊also as u know enemies 2 lovers is my shit, i love it sfm.

3.3k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; smut, enemies 2 lovers, hurt/comfort, a splash of angst (nothing major it's so tame i promise maybe), and fluff if pretend real good (jk it's there somewhere); feat. oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), fingering, kid being a bigass bully but reader dishes it back, kid is a mean bitch when he's jealous but what's new, reader likes it ok; is this toxic??? maybe a lil idk, i'm into it ok. both of them need to do better; killer makes a brief cameo! (if u see grammar/spelling mistakes, no u didn't :))

“listen, memory’s got a hard heart and a soft head. / whatever light the eye sees, the heart says dark, dark, dark.” — charles wright

an empty beer bottle shatters on impact the moment eustass kid chucks it at the wall near your head; thankfully your keen senses allow you to miss the attack, just barely.

“care to explain,” you say as carefully and as cordially as you can, teeth grinding against each other every time you pause to calm yourself, “why the entire fuck did you throw that at me?” you keep your distance from your hot-tempered captain, staring fiercely at him, not at all fazed by his intimidating presence.

kid pours himself a glass of scotch and ignores you altogether, grunting noisily before downing the drink all at once.

“kid,” your tone is anything but amiable, he can taste your annoyance even from across the room; everyone had cleared the kitchen once you and kid started arguing — the crew has been privy to one too many explosive fights and they were tired of breaking them up. when it doesn’t look like he’s going to answer truthfully, you roll your eyes and toss your hair over your shoulders. “know what? i’m done, i’m leaving this stupid ship, because there’s no way i’m going to survive with a shitty captain like you.” the words leave your mouth much too fast, spurned by the two glasses of wine you had previously.

you weren’t even mad that he threw the bottle, you were used to the outbursts and you were equally as destructive as he was — much to the chagrin of your crew mates, who constantly reminded the two of you to figure something out quickly.

kid knows better than to encourage you to leave, even though the words touch the tip of his tongue, but he thinks better of it and says nothing. instead, he fills another glass and drinks again.

“do whatever you want,” he dismisses you with a wave of his hand, eyes closing as he lounges on a chair lazily. he doesn’t mean it, of course, but you decide to interpret that as him giving you permission. bile rises to the back of your throat, and you will yourself not to let a single tear fall. you sniff loudly and turn your face away before storming out of the kitchen.

you bump into killer on your way out, but before he can ask what’s wrong you run off. he doesn’t chase after you as he has a sinking feeling that you and kid had yet another fight that requires his mediation.

a thankless job if anyone were to ask him.

he finds kid with his eyes closed and a frown stitched onto his face. killer sits across from his captain and sighs loudly.

“start from the beginning,” he says smoothly, watching kid carefully to see if he’s actually going to give him the whole story this time.

kid doesn’t move for a long moment, but he knows he can’t avoid killer so he relents. he tries not to think about the shape of your mouth, or the curve of your hips; he tries and tries and tries, but he can’t get your face out of his head.

“it’s not a big deal,” kid says gruffly, voice low, irritation spiking all over again when he slams the glass on the wooden table — the force of it rattling the furniture nearby.

killer crosses his arms against his chest and fixes kid with a steely glare, one that penetrates through his mask. still, kid insists on pleading his case.

“you know she argues with me on purpose, why are you always on her side?” he will never understand; if anything, his crew should side with him always. loyalty above all else, after all. there’s no legitimate reason for why you and kid are always at each other’s throats — it’s probably because you’re more alike than you think and your stubbornness always clashes with his; he’s also controlling and bossy, pigheaded and a pain in your ass.

and yet, there you are, sighing in defeat as you press your face into your pillow and try not to scream.

the funny thing is, as much as you both like to deny it, everyone can see that this is pent up sexual frustration that will implode sooner rather than later. kid would rather gut himself than admit that he likes you, would rather swallow nails for ninety days before confessing to you first. similarly, you hate the idea of him having this sort of power over you — that’s what you tell yourself anyway; if he knew how much you liked him, then you’d never hear the end of it.

his ego knows no bounds and you don’t know if you’d be able to tolerate him being that smug around you.

still, you’re sorely tempted to just tell him and get it off your chest; maybe if he sees where you were coming from, then he’ll ease up. you doubt it, though. while you’re not oblivious to the heated looks that kid gives you, if you give into that desire, there’s no coming back from it unscathed.

your poor battered heart can only take so much, you need to protect it from men like him — men who come in like storms, wrecking your life without remorse.

killer’s lecture only pisses kid off even more, but his best friend has never steered him wrong, so he takes his advice seriously. his issue with you is so painfully simple that if you knew you’d make fun of him forever — at least, that’s what he thinks anyway.

his attraction to you has only grown stronger over the years and you have an iron grip on him without even realizing. he fucks other people to get you out of his head and it only gets worse. you tried your best to flirt around in the hopes of finding someone to take your mind off him, but everyone you meet pales in comparison.

there’s never anything wrong with them — they’re just, so nice, so… tame. and you hate that kid has gotten you accustomed to a certain kind of chaos that you crave without meaning to. you know that you’re much too intense for just anyone to handle, so you don’t try that hard anymore. for some reason, this pleases kid more than it should. he actively sabotages anyone’s interest in you for the sole purpose of keeping you to himself, all without telling you, of course.

killer wants to tell you to wise up about kid, but knows that it’s not worth it; you won’t listen to reason anyway, will you?

you like to lie to yourself and say that you hate him, but you know you don’t. and kid doesn’t want to admit that part of the reason why he likes you so much is because you’re dismissive around him and are one of the few people who dares to talk back to him. he likes that part of you so much that he’s sure it’s an unhealthy obsession at this point — hence why he’s always acting out whenever you’re nearby.

you know you should just let it go, try to find a middle ground with him — and he keeps telling himself that if he fucks you once, maybe you’ll calm down and stop nagging him so much.

one can only hope, right?

after docking the ship on a small island, you take to exploring around the closest town. the others follow kid to a pub and drink heavily. because it’s packed inside, kid opts to finish his drink outside, where the breeze caresses his skin gently; he finds solace in the cool evening temperature and almost heads back in when he hears laughter.

a few feet away, you’re standing with an unknown man — a civilian from town, most likely — smiling like a mischievous cat, batting your eyelashes and touching his arm every so often. kid narrows his eyes, jaw clenched as he finishes his drink, his anger steadily rising at the sight.

you’re in the middle of accepting a date, when kid calls your name out. loudly.

you try to ignore him, but you know that he’ll only be tempted to do something outrageous so you apologize to the stranger and stomp over to your nosy ass captain.

“what do you want now? can’t you see i’m busy.” your face is flushed from embarrassment — and the stranger leaves once he sees the fierce look kid gives him from over your head — and anger, a deadly combination that makes you look every bit as cute as you are alluring.

 he wishes you’d stop being attractive so he can get over you quickly; but yet there you are, fussing at him without a care in the world. your lack of fear only makes him want you more. he licks his lips and motions for you to follow him back to the ship.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you say, holding your ground and not moving an inch.

kid swivels on his heels and his audacity reaches new bounds when he says, “either you walk on your own or i carry you. either way, you’re getting back on the fucking ship.”

something about that stirs something forbidden inside of you, a wicked heat that makes you squirm a bit under his gaze. if you don’t comply that’ll complicate things, but if you do that’ll only mean you’re giving in to his demands and you don’t want that.

right?

lips parted, an argument rolls onto your tongue, but he grabs your face roughly with his hand and stops you from saying another word. “i’m serious.” and you know he is. you swallow hard and nod, following after him quietly, heart beating much too fast. you tell yourself you’ll make it out of this in one piece, but you make the mistake of following kid back to his room, all of your self-preservation thrown out of the window when you close the door behind you and sigh.

kid’s anger nearly blinds him; he didn’t think he’d ever be that jealous, but he saw the way your soft features were illuminated in the moonlight, and it became painfully obvious that he wanted you to look at him like that too. but, again, stubbornness and cowardice work in tandem, making it easy for him to avoid that sort of vulnerability for the time being.

“you can’t keep bossing me around, you don’t get to tell me what to do,” your words come out sharp, but your voice lowers when he steps closer to you and backs you against the door. “you also can’t get jealous because you and i aren’t dating.” this is the first time you’ve actually said that out loud to him; he considers your words, but only chuckles darkly in response.

“and that’s where you’re wrong.”

you stare at him, wide-eyed; what an impossible man. whatever residual irritation you have steadily dissipates, as you try to tell yourself that fucking eustass kid will only bring you more headaches. but then he pushes his leg in between yours, and then you’re leaning into him, back arching, chest heaving the moment he kisses you.

there’s nothing delicate about the way kid handles you; with brutish strength, he rips through most of your clothes, laughing when you shriek and chastise him over it. he kisses you repeatedly, tongue swiping against yours playfully as he grabs your ass. heat courses through your body viciously, making you pull away so you can unbuckle and unzip his pants, stroking his stiff cock without prompting, admiring the length and thickness.

this man will be the death of you, that much is certain. but you’re going to enjoy the ride the entire time regardless.

you sink to your knees, the wooden floor cool against your skin. you run your tongue along the length of his cock, soft hands massaging his balls with skill and ease. kid fights to not moan your name, instead opting to tug on your hair roughly. “stop teasing me,” he says in a low, gravelly voice, lust fueling his thoughts and actions.

he’s trying to be considerate, but at the pace you’ve set, he has half a mind to just take over; but he lets you have the reigns briefly, watching you with half-lidded eyes, tongue gliding along his bottom lip as you suck on the thick head of his cock.

“fuck.”

you take that as confirmation to continue, looking up at him, desire burning through you as you open your mouth and slacken your jaw to take in more of him. whatever you can’t fit in your mouth, you compensate by using your hands. his hips jerk forward, and he braces his heavy, mechanical arm against the door, while his other hand grabs onto your hair and tugs you off him.

“make it sloppy,” he says roughly, and you squeeze your thighs together, plush lips parted as you exhale deeply. you know better than to disobey that command, so you give him what he wants, bobbing your head up and down his cock, hands twisting and pumping around the base. your saliva coats his length and he sucks in a harsh breath when you moan and suck on his tip, persistent and playful.

he ends up thrusting into your mouth, cock gliding further down your throat with his help. you let him fuck your face, his groans loud, vibrating along your skin, making your pussy slick with your arousal. his hips jerk forward, his breathing uneven as you hold onto his thighs for support. if he doesn’t fuck you soon, you might pass out honestly. he knows if he continues, he’ll only end up cumming in your mouth and he doesn’t want that just yet.

when he tosses you onto the bed, you get on all fours, tempting him with your ass — that he’s admired for far longer than necessary — you look over your shoulder at him, lips swollen from his kisses. he thinks you look pretty like that, a dazed look on your face, insatiable in your desire for him. he’s in the same exact boat as you, muscles tensing as he pulls the rest of his clothes off.

you shiver slightly, rub your lips together and let out a shrill whimper when he licks along your slit, your arousal dripping onto his tongue once it slides in between your folds. you don’t think you’ve ever had someone taste you like that — like you’re a coveted fruit, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t devour you whole right now. kid eats your pussy with fervor, leaving open-mouthed kisses and slurping messily.

grabbing at the bed sheets, you make an attempt to shift away from him, but he holds you steady, tongue circling dangerously around your throbbing clit. you yelp, cry out loudly, and beg for more.

he hums absently, before he slides a thick finger inside of you, pumping it in and out, watching as you fuck yourself against his hand once he inserts another finger. he scissors them recklessly, and you shamelessly buck against him before he swaps his fingers for his tongue.

“yes, fuck, right there,” you chant, breathing erratic as you chase the high that kid is dangling right in front of you. he’s barely holding on himself, but he has a point to prove. he swipes at your clit again, flicking his tongue against it before sucking on it hard. a flash of white blinds you, and when you cum forcefully enough to make you slump over.

still, kid’s not done with you.

he admires all the marks he’s left along your thighs and ass, smiling to himself haughtily. you know he’s probably grinning like a fool right now and you don’t even care to argue with him about it. you rub your ass against his cock once before he thrusts his cock inside of you; he grants you a bit of mercy, pausing so you can adjust to his girth before snapping his hips forward and fucking you at a merciless pace.

with a hand on your back, kid bucks his hips roughly against yours; your thighs tremble and your voice grows hoarse from how loud you’re moaning for him. the walls in the rooms aren’t thick, so no doubt some of your crew mates have heard you already — not that you care about any of that right now anyway.

his balls slap against you with each stroke, his cock burrowing deeper inside your cunt without remorse. he grabs you by the back of your hair and pulls you flush against his chest, back arching as he powers into you with short, frenzied thrusts. your pussy is soft and warm around him, making him think irrational, impossible things — making him want to be different with you.

the pads of his fingers are rough when they rub against your clit, and he wraps an arm around you to keep you close as he fucks you faster. sweat pools at your temples, the room is hot but not uncomfortable. he pushes you down onto the bed, pulling out of you momentarily and panting lightly. when he enters you again this time, he plunges in deep enough to have you babbling incoherently as tears glide down your round cheeks.

he laughs at your whimpering. “big baby,” he says teasingly, the taunt dark with intent. “all that mouth but you can’t take my cock, what a damn shame.” you know he’s joking, but your face burns with shame anyway.

“shut up,” you manage to say with great difficulty, moaning shamelessly as he rolls his hips against yours. kid presses a kiss to the side of your neck, and you’re surprisingly okay with the intimacy — and he is too.

strange. very, very strange.

it’s when he angles his cock like that that you cum again, clenching around his girth, holding him hostage as his thrusts become sloppier and frenetic. there’s a feral possessiveness that he exudes when he rolls you onto your back and throws your legs over his shoulders. you barely have the strength, but you do your best to keep up, hips lifting to meet his menacing strokes, pussy squelching loudly.

his bed sheets are soaked, but he doesn’t care; all he cares about is this. you. he realizes that now — very belatedly, but still. he finds himself tipping over the edge when you lean up to kiss him sweetly, almost affectionately. he meant to pull out so he could cum on your stomach and thighs but doesn’t, he cums inside you instead.

it’s thick and hot, you whimper against his lips pathetically, nails clawing along his back, head spinning from the intense way he fucked you.

after a minute or so, he pulls out and clarity hits him. you look over at him as he stretches out on his large bed, lazy like a mountain lion, eyes closed briefly. you wonder if this is where you get kicked out and you dread the walk back to your room — especially since kid rudely ruined your clothes. he feels you shift on the bed, arms and legs shaky as you sit up. he frowns, not liking the idea of you leaving and grabs onto your arm, tugging you towards him gently.

although with a man as large as him, his idea of gentle is different than most. you find yourself laying on top of his chest, confused but also content, smiling secretly as you duck your head to avoid his gaze. he plays with your hair before yawning.

“i was going to—”

he pulls you closer and you clamp your lips together, afraid of saying anything else that might disrupt whatever peace has settled between you two.

kid hesitates only for a moment before saying, “stay.” it’s almost cute, the way he’s suddenly very demure, as if the idea of asking anyone to stay over has never occurred to him. but he knows that if he lets you leave, then things might go back to normal, and he doesn’t want that.

not that he knows what he wants exactly, but that’s beside the point. he’ll figure it out in due time, but for now, he’ll enjoy having your body next to his.

#finally finally done #fic request #milestone event #500+ followers event #🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event🧁✨🍭 #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #eustass kid smut #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid x y/n #kidd x reader #kidd x y/n #one piece angst #one piece fluff #eustass kid angst #eustass kid fluff #eustass kidd smut

[scholastic-dragon]

Hi, I've been thinking a lot about asking for something, so I hope I'm not bothering you.

You could do something like a “kissing as a distraction”, maybe the Reader just wanted to annoy Rocket so that he would leave work for a bit and be by her side for a moment.

By the way, I love your Rocket and reader posts, since I discovered them I haven't stopped reading them.

I love them 💖✨💖✨💖✨💖✨💖✨💖

It's so nice to know that another tmnt blog also likes Rocket!!!

Of course!!

Rocket x fem!reader

Distractions

At the beginning of your relationship, Rocket was sure that giving you a desk against his was a good idea.

He hated his past self.

Not lifting his eyes up, he continued to twist two wires into the newest version of his watch. He could see you in front of him, head resting on your hands, waiting for him to look up.

He felt your foot come up and nudge the outside of his thigh. "Knock it off, I'm working,"

"You've been working all day," You complain, spinning a screwdriver in your hands.

"I like working," He counters, still not looking up.

"Just take a 10 minute break,"

He groans rolling his eyes, but you can tell from the small smirk on his face that he's being playful. "No, I want to finish this, I'm almost done with it,"

You don't respond.

"Alright, I'll be quick with this and then I'm yours for the rest of the night, how about that-" He glances up, shocked to see that you're no longer in your chair across from him. "y/n?"

He jumps out of his fur when you appear behind him, your hands resting on his shoulders, gently massaging the muscles.

"Buttering me up won't work," He mumbles, thoroughly enjoying how your hands were getting out the knots in his shoulder.

"I think it is," You murmur, noticing how his hands loosened on the wires and his eyes were struggling to stay open.

One hand went the opposite way through his fur, traveling up his shoulder, around his neck, tilting his head up so he was looking at you upside down.

You giggle as you lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. As you pulled away he groaned, one hand coming up to cup your face and pull you back down.

"Told you it's working," You say in a sing song voice, pulling back and standing up straight.

You yelp as Rocket grabs your arm and pulls you roughly into the table, your backside pressing into the metal. He laughs, chucking all his tools to the side and getting right in your face.

"You're in for it now,"

#guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy headcannons #guardians of the galaxy imagine #gotg #gotg headcannons #gotg imagines #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 imagine #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 headcannons #gotg2 #gotg2 imagine #gotg2 imagines #gotg2 headcannons #rocket #rocket raccoon #rocket raccoon imagines #rocket racoon headcannons #rocket racoon x reader #it is my works #thanks for the ask!

[hannahssimblr]

I tap a knuckle against the study door. 

“Dad?”

There’s silence. 

I knock again. “Dad? Are you busy?” 

He’s moving around in there, I can hear him. Closing browser tabs, maybe. Shuffling around and rearranging things, in a blind panic trying to look like he’s doing something important. I huff out a tiny laugh at the thought of him hurrying to close the minesweeper window before someone can come in and catch him doing something unserious. I don’t really know what he does in his pokey little study all evening, but one of Jen’s crazy theories is that he’s chatting online to his twenty two year old YouTuber girlfriend, to which I need to remind her, once again, that my dad is too boring to have an affair. Mom says he’s writing reports and even that sounds too exciting for him.

“Come in,” he says eventually, and I let myself into his lair where he is sitting stoically at his computer, a stack of paper, no doubt with exceedingly dull information on them is right by his side, and his hand hovers over it so I'll know he’s especially busy, and whatever it is, I had better make it quick. 

I close the door behind me and approach him while his eyes settle curiously on the stack of soft cover books in my hands. “What are those?”

“I spoke to the guidance counsellor at school this week. She gave me some college prospectuses, and I thought we could... um, look through them together”

He heaves out a sigh and gestures to the second chair. The guest chair, I suppose, not that there’s ever guests in here to sit on it. It’s uncomfortable like a lot of furniture in this house, all style but no substance, and I perch on its edge, my knee doing that annoying anxious jerking thing while dad takes off his glasses and swaps them with another pair. “Show me what you have.”

I pass the stack to him and he drops it onto his desk with a thud, picks up the first and immediately flips the front cover towards me with a completely uncalled for attitude. “What’s this?”

“A prospectus.”

“Rhode Island School of Design?”

“Yes.”

He tosses it aside without so much as a glance inside it and grabs the next, “School of the Art Institute, Chicago,” Then reads the blurb incredulously “‘Art and design change the world.’ Alright…” He raises his eyebrows and puffs out a breath as he chucks it into the discard pile. “CalArts, nope.”

My face gets hot. 

He snatches another and flips over to the back, “‘Studying here is different,’” He reads, “‘It is about making a better world, about becoming a creative force and learning to change the world through bold and curious thinking…’” He mumbles the rest and then scoffs at it as if it’s some political argument he disagrees with inside the Sunday Times, and he goes on and on in this manner while the rejection pile builds and builds and so does the feeling inside me. 

“What is this?” He says eventually. “These are all American schools. American art schools.”

“Yes.”

He scrutinises me like he believes I have gone mad yet says nothing because he doesn’t need to. I already know what he’s asking. 

The words come out of me in a rush. I rehearsed this in the hall for five minutes before having the nerve to knock, “Because I think I would get a chance at a really great education there. It’d be good for me to be away and independent and to learn a lot of new things, not just education and art, but also travel and culture. I’d really like to go to college somewhere that’s exciting and dynamic and… and…” Damn, I forgot the other adjective I’d chosen, “...Um, fun, I guess. It’s just that whenever I think about college I imagine myself in the US. I really think that’s where I should be.”

“That’s because that’s what you see in those movies.” He says movies like one might say hardcore pornography, because Christopher doesn’t waste his time with such things as movies. Christopher works, and studies, and reads endless, endless books about World War II. “You’re not going to college in the states.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a waste of time and it’s a waste of money. Do you know what it costs to attend just a year of college in the US? Before your living expenses?”

“I know, but I spoke to the counsellor about it, and she explained that there are scholarships.”

He laughs, “You’re not going to get a scholarship,” and switches back to his other glasses and shakes his mouse to wake up his PC, which has some kind of thrilling spreadsheet open on it. This 2009 financial report must be rapturously exciting if he’s more interested in it than the future of his only son and firstborn child. 

I inhale sharply, “But why couldn’t I get a scholarship?”

“Because,” He types some numbers into the sheet, “You’d have to have a pristine academic record, a long list of extracurriculars and a very persuasive personal statement,” he peers briefly at me over the rim of his specs, “I’ve been through the US education system, and I know the standard that these colleges expect of their scholarship students. You’re just not up to it.”

“I could be, if I worked hard. I’m already doing pretty well in all of my classes, like, I get Bs in most things-” I stop myself before unhelpfully adding, without even trying, “And I have extracurriculars, like, I play rugby and help out Jen with her maths work…”

“You have to understand that the kinds of people who earn these scholarships do a lot more than that.”

“Well I would do more things if I had more time to myself in the mornings, or in the evenings, or after school, or at any other point in my day when I have to ferry Ivy back and forth from-”

Dad barrels on as though he hasn’t registered that I am speaking, “And you know, as well as the extracurriculars, all of these scholarship students have exemplary records. They're well mannered, well behaved, they never get into trouble, never get detention, never mind suspension. Twice.”

I snap my mouth shut. 

“Honestly, if I was the dean of one of these,” he plucks at the limp corner of one of the prospectuses, “Art college places, and I saw an application from someone with your record, I would simply toss it out. There’s not a chance, and before you ask, I am not paying for art school when you could easily do that here. For free.”

“Okay, I understand that, but I don’t really want to go to college here if I can avoid it.”

He doesn’t ask me why. He already knows but doesn't want to acknowledge it, and it’s easier, as it always is, just not to discuss feelings. Any feelings, especially mine, which are the most irritating and irrational feelings of all. “Why art school?” He hums, idly poking around with something on screen. “Couldn’t you choose a more academic course?”

I’m surprised he thinks I’m capable based on all the things he just said about me.

“You could apply for something in Trinity. Math, maybe?”

“Maths.”

“Or if you want something more artistic you could try English. Literature. That would be interesting, don't you think?”

“Or I could just… do art.”

“I would just hate to see you become one of those arty types. One of that NCAD crowd loitering around Thomas Street with their facial piercings and crazy haircuts.”

Oh no, a haircut. I sigh, “I’m not going to NCAD. I was kind of hoping you’d be more enthusiastic about my choices, but if you don’t think they’re right, I mean… what can I do.” I loathe the laugh that comes out of me, this strange, nervous titter that I didn’t even realise I was capable of.

I get up and begin to gather the stack of prospectuses laying forlornly on my father’s desk, my hopes and dreams bound for the recycling bin. “I’ll speak to the guidance counsellor again about my options, I suppose, and then I’ll try and choose something that’s more realistic for me.”

Before I let myself out I force myself to pause and turn to him one last time, “Do you… um, if I come up with more choices for colleges, do you think you’d want to sit down with me some evening and go through them? Like, I mean, really look over all of the options and help me decide what the best thing is?”

There is a lengthy pause. 

“You know, Jude, I’m really busy, and-”

“Okay.” I leave the room and shut the door with a gentle click.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2009 #there Jen he did it #are you happy now #anyone who thinks Christopher is hot can KEEP IT TO YOURSELF #no dilf comments here #he's a heartless bastard

[givemea-dam-break]

Like A Movie

“ Hiya! I absolutely adore your lockwood x reader fics. They are so good! I was wondering if you would write some Lockwood x reader fluff where the reader loves the rain and so when they have a quiet moment on day Lockwood takes her outside to dance in the rain and then they share their first kiss. That would be amazing, thank you! ”

a/n: @nessa-stark your wish is my command!! hope I've done it justice <3

warnings: none gn reader

Outside, rain lashes down onto the pavements in thick sheets, drowning out the sound of the kettle boiling in the kitchen, or George's strange shuffling around in his room - probably some sort of yoga, though you dare not go and check. The sky is a deep grey, and it's hard to see anything out of the living room window with all of the raindrops on the window. Instead of people watching, you opt to follow the falling droplets, racing down the clear glass to reach the windowsill.

There's something about rainy days that calms you. Maybe it's the sound, or the comfort of sitting inside, dry and warm, as the weather takes its toll on the world beyond.

The living room door creaks, and you glance over at it. Lockwood walks in, holding two steaming mugs, and grins at you. At the sight, a shiver runs down your spine, and you smile, pulling yourself away from the window to gratefully take one of the mugs from him.

"I remembered the honey this time," he says as he sits on his armchair. "Didn't want a repeat of last time."

Rolling your eyes, you sit on the sofa, propping your feet up beside you. "Don't be dramatic. I still drank it."

"You looked like you wanted to cry," he says.

"Did not. You, Anthony Lockwood, love to exaggerate."

He only laughs, turning his attention to the magazine you set out on the table for him this morning after picking it up on your shopping trip. It's funny how enthralled he becomes by them, totally oblivious to the world around him. You could set the sofa on fire, and he'd still be busy reading about how Rotwell has released a new prototype, or Penelope Fittes hosting another party.

You sit content just admiring him for a minute. His hair falls onto his forehead, still slightly damp from when he'd nipped out to Satchel's earlier to stock up on more salt bombs and such, and his cheeks are rosy from the heat in the living room. In one hand, he holds the handle of his mug, perched on the arm of his chair, while the other holds the magazine. He reads it as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. Rather than his usual shirt and tie, he's dressed more casually today, wearing his rarely-seen hoodie and T-shirt combo. It suits him.

"Let's go outside."

Surprisingly, Lockwood looks up from his magazine. "What?"

"You heard me. Let's go outside."

"It's chucking it down," he says, frowning. "We'd get soaked immediately."

Leaning over the sofa's arm, you pluck your shoes off the ground, haphazardly thrown there after your shopping trip this morning, and tug them on. You scamper into the hall, tossing Lockwood's into the lounge, looking at him expectantly.

For a moment, he just sits and stares at you, one blink away from being bug-eyed, but he eventually relents.

"If I get a cold, I expect you to look after me."

You grin. "Colds aren't caused by rain, actually. Now, come on!"

The kitchen is cold and, when you throw open the back door, you're struck with a blast of freezing air that chills you to the bone. You've left your jacket but, regardless, you step out into the rain.

Immediately, you become drenched. The rain is heavier than it looked through the window, but you don't mind. Each drop feels like heaven.

Lockwood stands in the doorway, clutching his jacket tightly around his body. "You're insane, you know that, right?"

You spin in the rain, laughing. "Absolutely. It's why you hired me. You needed someone to make you feel less crazy."

Your jumper clings to your skin, and your hair is plastered against your face and neck. Water fills your shoes. The long, uncut grass grazes your legs, soaking your jeans even further.

"Get out here," you say with a laugh, running over to Lockwood.

Before he can protest, you grab his warm hands and tug him out of the door. His head ducks slightly when the rain hits him, but, despite it all, he's grinning widely.

Lifting his arm above you, you twirl beneath it, hair whipping out behind you as you do so. The rain drips over your face, lashes against your back, and your skin is covered in goosebumps, but you barely feel the cold. Lockwood's laugh is enough to keep you warm.

As cheesy as it is, he keeps moving to let you twirl, or shuffles along with you in some kind of dance to only the sound of rain and distant cars speeding through puddles. It feels like a movie, a rom-com musical where the love interests dance in the rain, but if people were to look upon this, they'd see nothing more than two teenagers who have lost their minds. Two teenagers that definitely aren't love interests.

Right?

If your story were a movie, it would be the one with unrequited love. The one where the girl pines after the guy, no matter how hard she tries not to. A movie full of secret glances and little gifts, longing looks and eventual heartbreak. Well, that's how you've always seen it, and you've been given little reason to believe otherwise.

Lockwood can charm anything that moves with nothing but a smile and some pretty words. It's in his nature. He charmed you long ago, caught you in a net of emotions that you can never escape. No matter how many magazines you buy him, or how long you sit, admiring him, hoping he'll notice, he doesn't seem to realise. Not that it's his fault. He's the most oblivious guy you've ever met.

You don't mind too much. Having him as your friend is better than not having him at all, and you're content. Every day is spent with him in some regard, and that's more than you could ever ask for. You get to hear his little sarcastic remarks, the sound of his laugh when someone is being an idiot, see his enchanting smile. Nothing in this world would be tempting enough for you to give the privilege of seeing and hearing those things up.

Once more, Lockwood lifts his arm for you to spin, but you stumble, catching your foot on a rock hidden in the long lengths of the grass. Before you can even come close to falling, his arms close around you, holding you close to his chest.

He's impossibly warm, skin practically steaming in the chill of the back garden, and it's a warmth you can already feel yourself melting into.

Your eyes meet, and you're captivated. His eyes are dark, but they shimmer in the bleak outside with emotions - happiness, and something else, something hidden just so. You can feel his breath on your cheek, faces closer than they should be, but neither of you makes a move.

"Falling for me now, huh?" he says, but his voice is quieter than you would've expected.

Swallowing, you say, "That was the cheesiest thing you've ever said. Never do it again."

He smiles down at you, and your heart skips a beat. "If you say so."

Even still, you stand, held close to his body. His apparent reluctance to move has butterflies swarming in your stomach.

"I -" The words get caught in your throat. You're too busy studying his face - the way his eyes flicker over your face, how his lips quirk up in a softer rendition of his infamous grin, how his hair, plastered to his forehead, catches his eyelashes.

"Can I kiss you?"

The words catch you completely off guard and, for a moment, you need to confirm that you're not actually dreaming. But, no, the rain feels real, the chill feels real, his hands, carefully holding one of your arms and your back, are real.

It takes a minute, but you nod, unable to speak.

He smiles, moving a hand from your arm up to your cheek, holding you gently. Raindrops cover his eyelashes, glittering like little crystals.

Ever so slowly, he leans forward, and you meet him halfway, eyes fluttering shut.

Maybe your life is a rom-com. Dancing and then kissing in the rain, something you never thought you'd do, nevertheless with the guy you've been pining after for months. Sparks fly when his lips touch yours, and fireworks explode in your mind as your brain and heart throw a celebration. His lips taste like slightly too bitter tea, and they're chapped from the cold, but it's something you find you quite like. His hoodie, soaked beneath your hands, is soft, and you clutch it tightly, filled to the brim with emotions you can barely contain.

It feels like years before you part, breathing softly and gazing at each other, looking like idiots in the heavy rain. Lockwood is grinning like a madman, and you're probably no better, although you're likely bright red.

"What was that for?" you ask, and your voice comes out as little more than a whisper.

"Something I've wanted to do for a while," he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. "Is that allowed?"

"Kiss me again, and I'll let you know."

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #george karim #lucy carlyle #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

[jimraisedmeup]

TICK // 10.1 - magic man

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (angst, language)

Word Count: 1800

A/N: this is the epitome of drama. sorry, not sorry.

☾

Cold, late night so long ago When I was not so strong you know A pretty man came to me I never seen eyes so blue You know, I could not run away it seemed We'd seen each other in a dream

☾

February 14, 1984 - junior year

Eddie tapped his pencil on the desk with nothing but resentment.

After school detention was a literal hell. His punishment was to write lines, I will not vandalize school property, over one hundred times on the paper in front of him. But it wasn't his handwriting, or his paper, or even the detention itself, that irritated him.

It was the fact that you were in there with him, sitting a mere four desks away, and he hadn't heard a goddamn word from you in over two months.

He stewed over what you could possibly be writing lines for. Have you ever even been assigned detention before? A few punishments popped into his mind that he thought you deserved.

I will not abandon so-called friends.

I will not be the epitome of avoidance.

I will not ignore Eddie Munson in the halls every fucking day.

I will not make out with a man on New Year's Eve then literally act like he's a stranger the next day.

The pencil suddenly snapped in his hand, and Eddie threw the pieces on the floor.

Mr. Eulin, the unfortunate teacher supervising this detention, immediately saw this. Eddie could have snorted with arrogance at the fact that Eulin actually looked up from his Anne Rice novel to shoot him a nasty glare.

"Munson, pick that up or it's another detention for you tomorrow."

"Oh, woe is me."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, sir."

"That's what I thought. Now clean up the mess."

Eddie looked towards the windows, bright warm light shining through the dusty panes of glass. It was a freezing February day in Hawkins, but the sun seemed to wish differently.

He knew that you were looking at him. He could feel your eyes on him, even though you were a few rows back. Anger rose up, like a disease feasting on its victim, his stomach turning over. There was no controlling it now.

Lacing his words with instigation, he touched the piece of paper in front of him, crumpling it slightly. 

"Sir, I would much rather watch Buckley pick up the pieces."

Eulin stared at him again, his bushy eyebrows rising up in surprise as he flopped his book on the desk. 

He knew he was already dead set on another detention. Like a wrongfully accused prisoner on death row, Eddie Munson felt the need to be vindicated. What else did he have to lose? It was fucking Valentine's Day, of all days, and your stare on the back of his head in detention was burning holes through his skull.

"Now, why on God's green Earth would your fellow student do that? You got a bug up your ass, Munson?"

"Maybe. There's definitely something up there, sir. Wanna check?"

The old man before him nearly had an aneurysm. Exactly what Eddie wanted. He didn't even need to turn his head to see your reaction, he could literally hear you fidgeting in your chair, picking at your fingers.

 "Munson! Out, now. Let's go, tough guy." Eulin stood up, pointing at the door.

Faking reluctance, Eddie also rose from his desk. All of the students in the room were focused on him now. Honestly, he just wanted an excuse to get the fuck out of the same room that you were in.

Before leaving the classroom, Eddie balled up the paper on his desk and chucked it at you. It hit your chest, making you jump, but you still refused to look him in the eye.

In the hallway, Eulin still had his index finger out, this time in Eddie's face.

"You think you're untouchable, don't you?"

Eddie leaned against the locker behind him and didn't respond. He turned his head away from the educational professional trying to verbally assault him.

"Munson. Listen up. You're going to end up just like your father. Doesn't surprise me one bit that you're in detention every other week these days. I would shoot myself in the foot before I'd believe you would graduate."

Inching closer to Eddie, Eulin's face began to redden. At the close proximity, Eddie visibly flinched, resisting the urge to bitch slap the man with a fat finger too close to his face.

"You are the scum of Hawkins."

☾

"Come on home, girl" he said with a smile "You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile But try to understand, try to understand Try, try, try to understand, I'm a magic man"

☾

The classroom door was already open, but you slammed it against the wall anyways.

"Fuck you, Eulin."

Taking a step back from the brown eyed boy on the lockers, Eulin was stunned to see another one of his students beginning to cause a scene.

"Girl, you better get back in the-"

You laughed rudely, immediately interrupting him. "You think I'm going to let you talk to him like that?"

"What's going on here? Buckley, get back in that classroom," Eulin choked out.

Eddie stared unabashedly at you. One hand was clenched in a fist, ready to go down swinging at his teacher's harsh words. His other hand rose to his own mouth in shock.

But you ignored Eddie's presence, as usual. You just hounded Eulin.

"Sir, I'm not going back in there." 

Your words were polite on paper, but the tone of your voice was the exact opposite. Eulin seemed as speechless as Eddie. 

A few seconds of stuttering, and Eulin finally found a comeback. "Buckley, don't you dare get involved in this. Don't be a failure like Munson."

Eddie audibly gasped as you actually spit in the teacher's face, saliva dripping down Eulin's cheek.

"Fuck. You." 

And then you were gone, rushing down the hallway towards the doors leading outside.

☾

Winter nights we sang in tune Played inside the months of moon "Never think of never let this spell last forever" Well, summer lover passed to fall Tried to realize it all Mama says she's worried, growing up in a hurry

☾

"Buckley! Buckley! Helloooo, feral woman on the loose!" 

Eddie ran after you, abandoning detention, abandoning Eulin standing dumbstruck in the hallway. He finally caught up with you as you made your way through the parking lot, your hair flying in the frosty wind.

"Hey!" he touched your shoulder, trying to slow you down. "Will you talk to me?"

You shrugged his hand off and kept walking. "What's there to talk about? Eulin's an asshole. End of story."

"Oh, sunshine, I think there's a lot that needs to be discussed between us."

"No idea what you're rambling on about," you mumbled.

"You gonna ignore me for another two months?"

You almost paused for a second. Eddie knew your mind was racing, he could see how tensed your muscles were as you stormed past the parked cars. 

Eddie continued to poke at your temper. "Where are you even going? You don't have a car, you don't have a license. You don't even know how to drive!"

Turning on him in a flash, the look in your eyes made Eddie stop in his tracks. 

"Maybe I'd know how to drive if you actually taught me like you said you would!"

Eddie snorted. "C'mon, now. That's not what this is about. People don't just spit on teachers because they're butt hurt about not being able to drive."

You threw your hands in the air, let out a frustrated laugh, and stomped away. "You're the one who brought up the license thing! You're such an infuriating creature."

But Eddie was surprised to see you stop right at his van, which was parked at the back of the lot. You sat on the rear bumper.

Now it was his turn to be dumbstruck. 

"Happy Valentine's Day, Eddie," you exclaimed sarcastically. "Take me home, will you?"

☾

"Come on home, girl" he said with a smile "I cast my spell of love on you, a woman from a child" But try to understand, try to understand Oh, oh, try, try, try to understand, He's a magic man, oh, he's got the magic hands

☾

Instead of taking you back to your own house, Eddie drove towards Forest Hills trailer park. He knew that you were confused, but you remained silent in his passenger seat the entire drive, peeling some paint off the trim of the door.

The van came to an abrupt halt in the grassy area of his uncle's trailer. Eddie could see a few small kids running around the other homes, screaming and playing.

He was struck with nostalgia from his childhood, back when things weren't complicated by a doomed future and unruly hormones and a drunk father in jail for dealing drugs.

"Why'd you bring me here?" you uttered quietly, ripping him from his tortured thoughts.

"This is my home now, Buckley. If you would have been a good friend the last couple months, you'd know I moved in with my uncle a little sooner than I anticipated."

Eddie didn't try to hide the bitterness in his voice. He wanted you to know how hurt he was. Before you could get a word in, he snapped on you.

"Did you even think about checking on me when my dad went to jail? The whole damn town was talking about it. I'm really living up to the infamous Munson name, aren't I? I'm a pariah, a phenomenon."

You chewed on your lip, staring heatedly out of the window. "Of course I thought about you."

Gripping the steering wheel, he was seething. "So why have you been ignoring me? You act like New Year's never happened. So help me God, if you don't answer-"

"You know why I was in detention?"

Distracted, Eddie's leg bobbed with anxiety. "No, but you've piqued my interest."

"Eulin caught me trying to put something in your locker this morning."

"Something? What something? Why would that land you in detention?"

You huffed. "A letter. And I got detention because I wouldn't give it to him."

Eddie thought for a moment and laid his hand out dramatically. "May I have my letter, then?" 

You gently slapped his outstretched palm away from you.

"No," you replied offhandedly. "I tossed it."

He rolled his big brown eyes and opened the driver's side door, hopping out. The snow crunching underneath his boots was harsh. The cold air filled his lungs, forcing his nerves to calm and bringing him back to some kind of reality.

Walking around to the passenger side, he opened your door for you. 

"Come inside, then. I can make us some hot chocolate."

☾

But try to understand, try to understand Try, try, try to understand, he's a magic man

☾

(song lyrics credit: "Magic Man" by Heart)

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#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddiemunson #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #eddie munson slow burn #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x buckley!reader

[wandafiction]

In Every Universe - Part 3

Warnings: Small mentions, and slight descriptions of torture.

You startle awake at the feeling of ice water being chucked over you, gasping for air as you feel it drip down the back of your throat, rolling off of the bed onto the hard floor. You cough and splutter trying to clear your airways while always trying to get air into your lungs from it all being pushed out from the fall. You feel your arm twisted at a slightly weird angle, due to your hands still being cuffed, and try to roll about to get it to feel somewhat normal. 

“Wakey, wakey.” You choke slightly when you’re lifted off the ground by the back of your shirt and forced down onto a metal chair, your eyes opening to see some blonde chick and a man you know to be the winter soldier, who you think they mentioned yesterday is now bucky. 

“Xa-xa , и��ний солдат. Как спок��йная жизнь относится к вам?Скучно, я вижу, так как вы решили привязать меня к стулу для удовольствия.Несмотря на то, что я могу признать, что у вас есть некоторые взгляды, вы.” You smirk as he pulls your arms over the back of the chair, the angle causing a small sting but nothing you can’t handle, and tying them to it. (haha, the winter soldier. How is the quiet life treating you? Boring I see since you've decided to tie me to a chair for fun. Even though I can admit you got some looks going for you, you've got the wrong equipment to satisfy my needs.)

“No you don’t get to talk.” The blonde chick puts a knife to your throat, her eyes filled with a small amount of emotion and you can only chuckle when you recognise the symbol on her knife.

“Oh, she knows how to play, itty bitty baby widow.” You laugh as a hand comes into contact with your face.

“Did you really just quote Harry Potter while we are tying you to a chair? Crazy bitch.” You shrug laughing as the blond removes the knife from your throat now you are tied up to the chair properly.

“What can I say? I love a bit of movie magic, sue me?” You shrug, or do your best to, as the two of them give each other a look. “So did I know you two too, or are you doing this harsh interrogation technique because I have no link to you?” 

“What?” The winter soldier grabs another chair facing the back towards you and sits down, crossing his arms over and resting them on the top of the chair.

“I just mean that you know before the whole you disappeared act, which by the way I still don’t believe but I’m playing along because I like games, this is the best sort of game. Wait no, maybe monopoly or scrabble because everyone gets real mad real quick and it always ends up in a fight. Wait no Russian roulette. Yes, that is my favourite game, you should play it some time. It is very fun, very very fun. Should be an olympic sport.” 

“Do you ever shut up?” You turn to the blonde chick who has taken a seat next to the winter shoulder, sitting on her chair properly with her knife twirling against her knee.

“Do you ever ask questions because all you’ve done is get me wet and tie me to a chair. Just a normal Friday night if you ask me, although normally I’m the one who is tying the woman to the chair. You know a lot of men think it's some kind of kinky game you want to play, again I’m a big ole lesbian and never would, but when you put the knife to their throat and just. swish.” You laugh bouncing in your seat. “God it gets the blood pumping, literally all over the fucking place. Work of art. Should take a picture and send it to a gallery I could earn millions.”

“Earn millions from other people's deaths? You’re sick.” You laugh looking between the two in disbelief.

“So are you two. I mean come on the winter soldier and a black widow, I’m assuming you’re a part of the group that is helping free them all. You know you’ve gone all free all widows, which I mean is pretty cool if you ask me because what is up with mind control? Now that's something sick and perverted.” Again they both look at each other, but you’re too busy rambling about if there are black widows there must be super secret ninja organisations to notice. 

“How do you know who we are?” 

“Well first of all Mr I always look grumpy it's not hard to determine who you are. I mean the arm is a dead give away, and the eyes, just something about the eyes being so dead inside most of the time. As for you Miss I’m another blonde Russian, possibly Ukrainian, hard to tell the accent, you literally have the black widow sign on your knife. Pretty dumb to use it if you don’t want people knowing.”

“I mean she is not wrong, you are very dead behind the eyes.” 

“Yeah and you are stupid for using a knife from your old work place.” The blonde assassin gasps with her hand on her heart. 

“Excuse me old man, but I’m sorry that I hold a memento for destroying, as you said, my old workplace.” Bucky mimics Yelena with his hand as he puts on a squeaky voice.

“My name's Yelena and I destroyed a super secret organisation with mommy and daddys help, oh and my big sister because we are all one big happy family.” You bite your lip smirking to yourself, not missing the name of the blonde assassin.

“Oh I'm such a grumpy old man I refuse to listen to any music made after 1950. Oh and the fact you still haven’t admitted to Stevie wonder that you want to be me more than friends.”

“Ay! Another gay! Welcome to the alphabet mafia my friend, it is a wonderful place to be!” Now they both turn to look at you, seeming to remember what they were here for.

“I’m not gay.” You and Yelena both raise a brow.

“Okay fine so you're a raging bisexual.” The man sputters for words but doesn’t find anything, and you wink at Yelena who is holding in a laugh. “Man, do you like dick or not?” 

“What?” He spits out bulging eyes as you ask the question so nonchalantly. “I don…Pfft me...I mean…why, why would you think that….I…fine yes I like….”

“Dick, just one simple word. Who thought the English language was so hard?” He glares at you  and Yelena chuckles pointing at him.

“Ha, she has you there!”

“Shut it Yel.” Yelena gently hits him on the shoulder gasping.

“Rude.”

“Come on man, it's just 1 small word. 4 little letters. You just gotta say it. Dick.” You lean forward as much as your binds allow you to. Smiling, actually smiling cheekily, tilting your head slightly.

“What does saying the word make it official or something?” You nod your head quickly, Yelena following suit.

“Well duh, if you can’t say dick how are you gonna you know? Eat it would be the wrong word, you eat pussy but you don’t eat dick.”

“Wow you really have no filter do you?” Yelena scrunches her face in slight disgust at your ease of talking about it and you simply shrug your shoulders. 

“Do I look like I care about having a filter? I’m tied to a chair having the time of my life watching a nearly 100 year old man stutter over the word dick. And he has one. I’m sure back in his day he was comparing sizes like Bro my dick so fucking big.”

“Okay stop right there, ew ew ew.” Yelena covers her ears, shaking her head as you laugh sitting back in your chair. 

“I’m just saying how is it meant to be okay with himself internally if he can’t accept the fact he wants a dick in his mouth?” Yelena fake gags as Bucky rests his head on the top of the chair, hitting it gently a few times.

“Fine, I like dick. Can we move on please?”

“Oh yeah no problem. So what sort of torture techniques you are going to use on me?. Car battery? Waterboarding? Maybe breaking my arms, knocking a few teeth out, breaking a cheekbone or both. Up to you I have two, both sides are my good side so it doesn’t really matter which one gets hit, and if you do both then it's still even and I still have two good sides. Win win for me. Or maybe you’re going to dope me up with some kind of truth serum? Highly possible, made it and used it before. Rather funny to watch people have no control over what they say. So what’s it going to be?”

“How about you just tell us what we need to know and we will be on our way?” You groan, throwing your head back at the man's words.

“Booooring. Come on, I wanna see some action or something. It's been so long. Come on just one little punch you know you want to. Just one itty bitty punch right to the side of my face. I promise you it won’t hurt me, I’m a tough cookie.” You smile smugly as both of the people look at each other, having some sort of silent conversation before turning back to you.

“You know you are pretty much as they described you.” Now your brows furrow as Yelena dismissively shrugs. “Right Buck. I mean she is so annoying and talks too much, a little too crazy and out there, bit of a gloater if you ask me.”

“Wha..”

“See that's what I was thinking. Oh and weak because who can’t break out of some simple rope ties and handcuffs. Get this they say she has pyrokinetic powers too, whatever that big fancy word means.”

“It means I make fire you dumb bitch.” You spit, hating how they are talking about you like you’re not even there; not actually caring what they say about you too much.

“Oh, have we angered her? Oh dear look at that, wiggling around in her chair trying to get to us. Pathetic. I mean, for some top secret Hydra goon you think she would pack a little more … punch.” 

“I’m not just some Hydra goon.” They continue to ignore your presence and you can feel the frustration building. 

“I mean I’ve managed to gather more information from a dead body before which is pretty freaking difficult because they’re dead.” Yelena laughs at herself shaking her head. “I mean if we aren’t going to get anything from them we might as well just leave them here.”

“Yeah I don’t think we are going to get anything useful out of them. I mean they were dumb enough to try and break into the avengers compound and think they could get away with it. So dumb.”

“They really are. I’m surprised that that sort of mission didn’t require their top agent. You know someone who can sneak in and out without getting caught, doesn’t make as much noise as this elephant did, can hack better than Tony himself. I know they have those sorts of people, but this chick ain’t it. For someone who looks like a cyborg she’s useless.” Now that got to you, talking about your few prosthetic limbs like it made you less of a person. 

“I was sent here to kill Wanda Maximoff and I would have done it had that stupid man who hides in the vents hadn’t spotted me. I mean who the fuck hides in vents, a fucking coward thats who.” You spit trying to push yourself from the chair, but instead falling with it and landing harshly on your side. 

“So you were sent here to kill my friend. Why?” You lock your jaw realising what you’ve said looking up at the two of them with a steel gaze. 

“She asked you a question.” You grind your teeth together breathing harshly through your nose ignoring the pain pulsing your side from falling to the floor.

“I wouldn’t leave me waiting if I were you.” Yelena places her boot on the side of your face pushing it against the floor more. “I asked you, why were you sent here to kill Wanda Maximoff.” 

“Why were you sent to kill her?” Bucky shouts, slamming his metal fist on the ground as he crouches down to look you in the eyes, your steel gaze not wavering. 

“Answer the fucking question.” Yelena applies more pressure and you fight the urge to give in, even with the pain causing tears to build in your eyes. 

“Do you have a death wish? Answer the fucking question!”

“Enough!” The two of them are thrown off of you with some force and you squirm on the floor a little, relaxing your jaw and shaking your head ever so slightly, trying to soothe the pain. 

“What the fuck wanda!” At the mention of her name you look up to see her holding her two teammates against opposite sides of the room with her magic, a rage in her eyes that scares you a little.

“Could you not see you were hurting her.” Wanda’s voice breaks slightly and as her gaze moves to you it softens and your heart constricts slightly.

“Well how the fuck do you expect us to get answers if she won’t talk.” Bucky argues and you lock your jaw, tearing your gaze away from the woman in front of you.

“You heard what Bruce said. We just have to wait. We can question and try to jog her memory but that doesn’t mean her ending up on the floor with a boot on her face and a gun pointed to her head.

“You had a gun!” You tilt your head back to look at the man who looks … apologetic? No you must be seeing things. “Should have put a bullet in me, Hydra will come after me. And when they do, when they find me. Each and every one of you will be so fucking sorry for keeping me here.” 

“Sure, so where are your Hydra pals now!” You turn your gaze to look at Yelena who has her brow raised in question and when you don’t answer she looks at you smugly. “That's what I thought.”

“Enough both of you.” Wanda gently places her friends on the floor, extending her magic out to you and undoing the ropes keeping you to the chair. “Don’t try anything.”

It’s all the warning you get from the red head as you slowly stand from the ground, throwing the rope to the floor in front of Bucky. Your features harden as you glare at the two of them, softening slightly as you look at Wanda before taking a few steps back until your knees hit the bed. They all watch as you sit on the end of the bed, putting your head in your hands as you take a moment to breathe, all of them deciding they would quietly leave. 

“Miss Maximoff.” You turn your head to see her turning around in the doorway outside of the cell.

“Hmm, yes?” You smile a little at her.

“Thank you for, you know, getting me out of a bind.” She chuckles lightly, giving you a small nod.

“It's no problem, get some rest. I think you are expecting another visitor soon.”

“Good bye Miss Maximoff.” 

“Good bye Miss y/l/n. Oh and one more thing.” She waves her hands and the cuffs around your wrists fall to the floor. “I don’t know why we didn’t take them off yesterday. You have my apologies.”

“It's quite alright Miss Maximoff I am a prisoner I do not expect to be seen as any different.” Wanda hums with a sad smile.

“Hopefully you won’t be for too long.” You don’t say anything in return simply laying back down on the bed listening to the distinct click of the door as you close your eyes. 

It feels like it's been 5 minutes since you closed your eyes when you're startled awake by a crashing sound outside of the cell, sitting up straight with your eyes assessing the threat. You relax when you see Peter picking some things up off the floor, tilting your head when you notice his laptop under his arm.

“Are you okay spider boy?” Peter freezes looking up to you with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah I’m okay, did I wake you. Oh my gosh I did wake you, I am so sorry. I will just get going and leave you in peace.” He fumbles with everything in his hand going to turn around.

“Pete, wait a sec.” You stand up moving to the glass door of the cell. “What did you come in to ask?”

“Well I was just thinking that maybe we could have a movie night. You said a movie night would help to relax me and it did, then I thought that maybe it would do the same for you. I know you're like a prisoner blah blah blah political bullshit but I mean you’re still human.” He rambles and you can’t help the smile that grows as you take in the selection of snacks he has. 

“I think a movie sounds good, but I hate to break it to you. I don't think I am going to be having snacks.” You knock gently on the glass separating the two of you. “Since I am in here and you are out there.”

“Uhm, well about that.” He stumbles to put everything on the floor, opening his laptop and connecting a wire from the panel on the door to his laptop and you watch as he clicks away on the keyboard. “And I know you don’t actually remember me, because Wanda did tell me that just in case so I wouldn’t be disappointed if I found out myself.”

“And are you disappointed?” He quickly shakes his head pressing a few more keys and the door slide opens.

“Not at all, I mean you pretended to know who I was because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Which is something that Y/n, well I mean who you used to be or still are but not right at this moment, would do.” The kid picks up his laptop and the snacks once more, keeping the laptop open, making his way into the cell.

“So what have you brought to watch?” You take a few steps away from the door watching as Peter presses a few buttons and the door closes again.

“Star wars. I hope that’s okay. They’re my favourite.” You smile sitting back down on the bed tapping the place next to you. 

“Well I can’t promise comfort or that because, well, we’re in a cell. But I can definitely be a good movie buddy.” Peter puts a small device on the floor, plugging his laptop into it and pressing a few more buttons. 

“It’s cool I brought a blanket in my backpack.” Peter says it with a wide smile as he pulls out a big grey fluffy blanket out of his backpack sitting down next to me and against the wall. 

“Is there a way to turn the lights off?” You shuffle back keeping a small space between you and Peter as he leans down to grab the snacks and put them in the gap, as well as turning the small gadget on the floor on.

“Friday lights off.”

“Yes Master Parker.” You jump slightly at the disembodied voice but settle quickly when you see the projection on the wall of the film. 

“That's so cool.” You smile widely as Peter throws the blanket haphazardly over your legs as you get comfortable on the bed.

“Yeah I have also wanted a big cinema like screen so I bought a projector, took it apart and made it better so it was 4K HD instead of the shit things you get in school.”

“That's a pretty freaking cool kid. You made it?”

“I did.” He beams as you look with wonder at the gadget. 

“That's amazing. So how many movies is this?”

“Well 6, but technically 9 if you watch the new ones but there's also side movies and series. But for now we will just watch the original trilogy.” 

“Do you have any pillows in that backpack of yours? Just I have a very thin one and I don’t think either of us will be comfortable leaning against the wall for too long.”

“No, but, give me two minutes and I will have a solution.” He jumps from the bed pressing his phone as the door slides open and shut. “Just stay right there.” 

“Not like I can go anywhere.” You chuckle with a crooked smile.

“Right. Anyway, I won't be any more than two minutes.”

“Take your time spidey.” Peter smiles widely walking to the main door. 

“See you later Helios.” He runs out of the room and as the door closes you are sucked into a hazy memory.

/\/\/\/\

“No, we have to come up with some super cool name for you. You can’t just go around calling yourself Y/n! You literally set things on fire, including yourself and everyone looks to the sky and goes woah there goes … Y/n.” He says your name with lack of enthusiasm and you gently hit his shoulder laughing.

“Oh sorry Mr im a teeneger calling myself Spider-man. Boy you ain’t no man.” You laugh as  Peter’s jaw drops with a perplexed chuckle. 

“I didn’t come up with it, the news did. Anyway, back to you. Maybe something like flame, or ignite.”

“Flame or ignite.” You raise your brows and Peter flails his hands around in response.

“Oh whatever, you come up with something then.”

“Me! This is all your idea spidey, all of it is you. I don’t mind my name, it's a good name.”

“It is, but it's not a good superhero name.” 

“Whatever Pete.” You gently shove him away and you burst out laughing as he ends up rolling off the bed. 

“That was rude.” You lean over the edge of the bed looking down at him smiling cheekily. 

“What happened to your Peter tingle?”

“It’s not a peter tingle, it's my spidey sense.” You hum with a chuckle. 

“Sure it is. Now up you get I want to watch this movie.” You roll back onto your space on the bed pulling the blanket over you and grabbing the remote. 

“Have you ever watched this film?” You look at the start menu shaking your head. 

“Nope, I have never watched Percy Jackson and the lightning thief.” You say the name slowly, not sure what you think based on the title.

“You’re going to love it.” He smiles climbing back on the bed next to you pulling the blanket over himself.

“We shall see.” Just as you are about to press play Peter gently hits your arms a few times. 

“I know what your name could be!” You smile widely at the excitement on his face. 

“Yeah and what's that?”

“Helios, the Greek god of the sun. The sun is fire and you are fire. So helios.” You feel your cheeks hurt from smiling so widely as you watch Peter get all excited.

“I like it.” 

“Yes! So helios, when is your next adventure?”

/\/\/\/\

“Hey I’m back.” You smile as Peter walks through the door to the cell that closes behind him, his arms wrapped around a large number of cushions and pillows and by the looks of it an extra blanket. 

“I was just about to start the movie without you.” You joke and Peter drops the things in his hands faking hurt. 

“You would never.” You chuckle, smiling.

“No I wouldn’t, especially since they are your favourite.” He squints his eyes at you slowly crouching down to pick the things back up. 

“Yeah and you probably wouldn’t know how to work that thing anyway since I made it.” He smiles smugly dumping the stuff on the end of the bed starting to organise it so you can both be comfortable.

“I have a request for the next movie night once we’ve watched all of star wars.” Peter settles next to you as you place a few cushions and pillows around you so you can have the utmost comfort.

“Sure what is it?” You smile softly as he looks at you, his brows scrunching at your small silence. “You know you’re going to have to tell me if you want to watch it.”

“Percy Jackson and the lightning thief.”

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader

[obae-me]

Upside Down- CH 12

Warnings: Allusions to mental illness, mentions of death. As Always, Read Safely.

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Missing Pieces

---

“Aaaaand…” The moment was drawn out, the slight suspense hovering over everyone’s heads as the gentleman with the devilish smirk flicked his wrist. The final card swirled over onto the pile in the middle of the table. “I win, suckers!” Mammon leaned back in his chair with a bright grin on his face as everyone else groaned. He tilted the chair back a bit, balancing the furniture on its back two legs as he kicked his own up onto the table. His body was quickly shoved off the tabletop, almost sending him to the floor as Levi huffed. They got into a little spat, Levi claiming Mammon was cheating. Their argument seemed to be so natural, Beel and Asmo treated it as simple background noise. You were starting to learn to do the same.

With a sigh, Asmo chucked the rest of his cards on the table and shrugged. Perfectly painted nails ran through the strands of his hair. Locks shimmered, and you could’ve sworn you noticed tiny sparkles of glitter here and there. “And with that, I’m out.” He stood from his seat and strutted off, turning his head over his shoulder towards you as he waggled his fingers a bit. “Bye,” his voice cooed a little. “It’s been fun.” But even with that not-so-subtle flirting, he left as if he was dying to get out of here. Your brief time spent with him was already over.

The sound of the door shutting seemed to bring Mammon and Levi out of it. Your first pact-mate was still riding the high of his victory, even if he didn’t seem to be winning anything from it. “Well, want to go again?”

“No,” Levi groaned, settling back in his seat with slumped shoulders, Envy radiating off of him. Still, he showed no signs of leaving at the moment, and leaned forward to take his drink in his hands. “We should play something else. You win any card game because you cheat.”

“I don’t cheat!”

The heat of the second fight was snuffed out by an almost amused hum as Beel spoke. “I don’t care what we do. But maybe Levi is right, we should switch it up a bit.” The youngest of the humans present continued to eat the spread on the table. Frankly, you agreed with the other two. All of the snacks were nearly gone by now. You had spent the better part of the evening playing this colored-card game. You were trash at it, even though the rules weren’t too complex. Blame it on your frazzled mind. The day up until now had been rough, and you still couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of anxiety that had clung to you ever since you saw that flash of the camera. Mammon had continued to try to convince you it was simply someone following after them, but that didn’t make you feel any better. If anything, it made you feel worse.

Apparently Lucifer wasn’t the only famous one out of the seven. They all had some fame in their own right. Part of you had to wonder if it was due to their enormous influence in the Devildom. Mammon, as he said before, was a model. Posted on websites and magazines, adorning some of the most expensive brands on the market. Levi was a streamer, more popular online than in public, but people still knew his face. Satan was quite the brilliant prodigy, famous for entering competitions he’d had no previous history being in just to wipe the floor with everyone else, reveling in their wrath. Asmo was another influencer. Vlogging, photo-shopping, graphic design, interior design, dipping his hands into the fashion and makeup industries, he dabbled in quite a few areas, his following garnering huge numbers. Beel apparently was a famous football player, but had recently quit and left his team. Probably due to Lilith. And Belphie… well, actually, you still didn’t know a lot about him. No one wanted to talk about him almost as much as they didn’t want to talk about Lilith. So, yes, at the end of the day, the picture could’ve been centered around any one of them. To the outside world, you were just a sudden random stranger hanging out with the Morningstars. You could imagine the rumors now, being painted as some sudden love-interest that would cause the drama and intrigue that humans couldn’t live without. The thought made you groan.

“We should play a video game!” Levi announced, suddenly brightening at the thought.

Mammon scoffed. “No, because you always win those.”

“We should go outside and—“

“No,” both Levi and Mammon buzzed, cutting poor Beel off before he could even get his thought out.

Gluttony looked downcast for just a second before shaking it off, his head raising to look towards you. “What do you feel like doing?”

“Hm?” You straightened your back a bit. “Me?” Beel nodded and you fell silent as you thought about it. “I’m not sure,” you said honestly. “I haven’t done anything like this in a long time.” That seemed to send all the other humans into their own thoughts. You could read the same expression on all their faces. They hadn’t done anything like this in a long time either.

“We should probably clean the dining room up before Lucifer comes home,” Beel finally announced, picking up empty boxes and bags and eating the last few bites of everything while piling the trash into his arms.

“Don’t think Lucifer’s comin’ home tonight,” Mammon stated, but hopped up to his feet, grabbing his drink and his own bags off the floor, leaving his spot cluttered. “If he’s not home at this time of night, he’s not comin’ home at all. So we don’t hafta worry about it. Besides, it’s not like he ever comes here anyway.” A swift kick was made under the table, Levi’s foot coming into contact with his brother’s ankle. That’s when you both caught a glimpse of the deep-rooted sorrow on Beel’s face. Mammon got the message.

“I hope he comes back home soon,” Beel muttered. The way he said it, it sounded as if this sort of thing happened often. Lucifer was gone a lot. The red-haired human took a breath as if he was going to say something, but then changed his mind, taking himself and some of the trash out of the room. Beel vanished out into the hallway without another word.

“Way to go, idiot,” Levi hissed.

“What?!” Mammon bared his teeth for a second. “I… I was just being honest, ya know? It’s not… I don’t like it either! I…” He gestured angrily towards the door Beel left from before letting his hand drop, his arm swinging limply back to his side and hitting his thigh. You turned your head a bit, the last threads of intense sadness fading from the room. That human… was not okay.

Levi finally stood up, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. “I’ll go check on him.” He walked away from the table and stopped for a second to look back at you. “I- uh- hope you like w-what I bought you. If you hate it, you can just throw it away!” After he was done shouting, he skittered away like a nervous lizard.

A frustrated hiss of air was pushed between Mammon’s teeth. The human muttered something about ‘unfair’ and ‘my gift was better’ and ‘I thought of that too, he just got to it first’. You rolled your eyes a little. “It’s not a competition.” While shopping, apparently Mammon and Levi both had the same grand idea to get you matching gifts. Mammon had so graciously gifted you a wallet. Apparently it was some popular brand, as if that meant anything to you, but it seemed to mean wonders to him. He claimed that he figured he’d might as well snag you one as a thank you, and as a means to finally have somewhere to place your money that Simeon gave you. Supposedly it was pretty dangerous to just have that piece of plastic just floating around in your room and pockets. Levi on the other hand, had bought you a phone case. When he finally noticed your device was ‘naked’ as he put it, he almost had a panic attack. So, he purchased you one. Stylish and functional, he claimed. Supposed to protect this little rectangle from cracking. Make it easier to hold. And he made sure it was one like his. It was rather amusing if you thought about it hard enough. Humans had the strangest ways of marking.

Greed couldn’t seem to find a proper reply. “Yeah…well…whatever.” Seemed like his mind was on other things.

“Is your brother going to be okay?” You curled your legs up, heels planted into the seat as you held your ankles. Every time you had met Beel so far, a simple phrase was all it took to send him away. Like it was painful to be around everyone. But a look in his eyes suggested that it was more painful to be without anyone. A dangerous double sword.

Mammon occupied his worried gaze by trying to admire some of his items in his many bags. “Beel? Yeah. Maybe… I dunno actually. He’s been having a real rough time ever since… You know.”

Lilith. “You’re worried about him.”

“Of course I am! You think I wouldn’t be?” His lips pursed a bit in thought, not noticing that you’d gotten to your feet. “We all suffered, but Beel… is taking it extra hard. Doesn’t help that Belphie… he’s not here right now. And they’re usually attached at the hip.”

You lowered your head a little to look straight into his eyes. It unsettled him, his pupils dilating as he flicked his sight away. “Mammon,” you coaxed, waiting until he eventually stared back at you. “I think it’s time you told me about Belphie.”

The house had gone quiet. It surprised you a little. Typically with so many people in one home, you could hear at least one person staying up with the moon. Yet, tonight, it appeared as if everyone was getting decent sleep. Even Mammon and Levi were resting. They were still recovering it seemed. And while you had strict orders now to do the same, you figured you would start taking this… job of yours a little more seriously. Seven whole humans were under your care now, and yet there were several brothers you’d only really met once.

Cloaked in your power, feeling a bit better after the prince’s intervention, you stepped through the halls. You were only just now starting to get a feel for the home, for all its twists and turns. But other than Mammon’s, Levi’s, and your own room, you had no strong sense of which doors led where. You hadn’t particularly cared to map this place out before, but now… this all felt much more real. Every day away from the Devildom cemented it further into your head that this wasn’t a joke. You were meant to stay here. A full year. Watching over these humans as if they were treasures. And now you had a pact with two of them. Perhaps you even felt… okay with staying here. There were worse places to be.

Silently, you started opening doors. The room right across from Mammon’s opened easily and without any noise. Faint little glowing lights illuminated certain spots of the room. The scent of vanilla and rose wafted out into the hall. Flowers and fabrics and elegance. Asmo’s room. You moved on. The next door stood out to you a little. It seemed slightly different than the other doors, not quite matching the house. A replacement for an older door perhaps. Inside was a mess of books and random objects of curiosity. Whoever was sleeping inside was tossing and turning. Satan. You’d leave him to his restlessness. The next discoveries were pretty uneventful. A storage closet, the bathroom, a little entranceway into an attic. Down at the other end of the hall, you entered into a vast bedroom. A master bedroom if ever you saw one. Empty. No one was inside. The stale fading scent of coffee beans and rustic wine. Lucifer’s domain. Although, much like Mammon’s had been, the bedroom hadn’t been used much in recent days. It felt cold. Empty. Mostly there for presentation’s sake. Much like the man himself.

Turning out of the room, you headed towards the last door on the upper floor. Before even peeking inside, gentle snoring could be heard from out in the hallway. Inside had not just one, but two beds. Each side of the room mirrored each other in layout, but had opposite designs. One bed had a lump of a human inside, the other was completely vacant. Without making a noise, you walked inside. Stepping over to the empty bed, you stared at a picture frame hanging from the wall. It was the same photo Lucifer had in his office… The one with all of them together and the sibling you could only conclude was Lilith. Now that you had some more time on your hands, you took a closer look at the picture. Lucifer was standing tall behind everyone, looking at the camera like one would properly pose. His hands were on the brother in front of him- Levi- keeping him from dashing away. Mammon was by Lucifer’s side, and Asmo by Mammon’s. Both of those two were doing their best to make the other one look the least photogenic as possible. Beel had pulled two others into his arms. Lilith… and another one. A younger boy with darkened hair and a soft look in tired eyes. Belphie? And now that you were looking at it, you realized you had been mistaken. Each brother was not there. You had counted seven people and your mind had filled in the blanks. But one person was missing. Satan wasn’t here. You did remember saying that Satan had been brought into the family last… perhaps this was before he came to be a Morningstar.

This side of the room had no scent… other than the lingering smell you associated with Beel. Belphie had been gone for a long time… You turned your head away from the photo and sat on the bed. The mattress squeaked a little, causing Beel to turn in his spot, waking a little. “Belphie?…” He muttered, half-asleep. His eyes stared past you at Belphie’s empty bed. The human laid there quietly before turning back on his other side. The snoring didn’t kick back up.

“Hospital?” You had asked when Mammon finally gave you an answer. “Is he sick?”

Mammon had struggled finding the words to say. He had fiddled with his hands, walked around his room, touched nearly everything he owned in a form of distraction. “In a way… Guess his mind wasn’t doin’ so well after Lilith died. He had always…struggled, but it got worse. And then one day… he just wasn’t home. Lucifer told everyone he was bein’ looked after and he’d be back home soon, but… that was a whole year ago now. Although we’ve finally heard that he’s coming back. Prolly within’ the next month or so.”

And that was that. No more information. No way of being able to check on Belphie. Lucifer seemed to be the only one with that information. And there was no way in heaven or hell that the eldest would give you permission. Hadn’t even let Beel see his own twin. Mammon had said Lucifer explained that it would be ‘better for Belphie’s recovery’ that way. Forced isolation. There had to be some way to find Belphie. For all you knew, some demon was already getting their claws into him. But… that would not be a problem for tonight. For the rest of tonight… maybe you’d do what was asked of you and let your body recover. Standing up from Belphie’s old bed, you snuck carefully past Beel and left.

The guest room… your room, felt strangely… different than normal. It was a well furnished guest-room. A bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a small table and chairs, some shelves, a bookcase. More than one might need for a temporary guest, but perhaps it had been created in the event the Morningstars added another person to their family. However, even with these things, something wasn’t quite… right. It was empty. And… while you really didn’t particularly care for human things… a new sin inside you couldn’t help but compare your room to every one else's. Levi’s envy… a pesky thing. A constant nagging in the back of your mind, complimented by Mammon’s greed. You needed something. Something that would now mark this room as yours officially.

Mammon’s room was quiet. The only lights that were on were a few soft display lights positioned above the car in it’s special loft. The shine from the metal sent glittering silver rays streaking across his ceiling. Must be comforting to him to open his eyes and see his room shining. His room definitely seemed much more lived in than the first time you’d been in here. Not as…empty. Although most of that was due to Mammon’s recent spending fervor. Bags and open boxes lay clustered by his couch, covering a good portion of the floor. His spending spree from earlier was… self-indulgent to say the least.

Your pact-mate was fast asleep, sprawled out under his covers. The aroma of his cologne was especially prominent. You stared at him for a while, little flashes of Greed and Envy flowing through your veins. The jacket that he had worn earlier was still draped over the end of his bed, slowly sliding off the mattress every time Mammon moved his foot. You snagged his jacket and left.

There was still light coming from under Levi’s door, but you heard no sound. A quick twist of the doorknob and you looked inside. Envy was resting curled up in a little ball on his bed. Seemed to you like he’d fallen asleep over his covers playing a game on a handheld device. He’d passed out during it apparently. You rolled your eyes a bit, padding over to him to take the game from his hands and set it on his nightstand, taking a bunched up blanket settled in his computer chair and draping it over the sleeping human. Strange troublesome creatures. Didn’t temperature greatly affect them? What if he got cold and died in the middle of the night?

Levi had a great many things in his room to choose from. None of which really stood out to you. You didn’t care for the figurines or the posters or the novelty items. There was a cushion of sorts on the floor, one in front of the TV in the corner of his room. A controller was settled on it, specific bumps and indents that suggested he rested his arms on it while playing. You crouched over and put the game controller aside, picking the cushion up to look at it. It was a pastel blue, almost minty color, with some kind of design on it that you were sure had some significance to Levi, but one that was completely foreign to you. You tucked it under your arm and walked out.

It was only fair. You had made two pacts, both without asking anything from them. They owed you more than they could ever pay back. These little trinkets were fair game, and frankly you felt as if you deserved it. You took your newly purloined items back to your room and put them both on your bed. Now it felt… more right. Greed and Envy were satisfied in you for the moment. Annoying little sins… Good thing you wouldn’t have to deal with any more of them.

You settled yourself into bed, able to close your eyes without having to worry about anything tonight.

A distant door shut.

The sound woke you instantly, every nerve in your body blaring. High alert. It took a moment for your memories to trickle back into your sleep-addled brain. But still. It was late. Well, for humans anyway. And for the Morningstars, it was well past Lucifer’s lockdown curfew. Unless it was the accursed man himself finally slinking home. But the codes… Maybe… was someone leaving? With a little groan, you got up to your feet to investigate.

The entrance hall was quiet. No new shoes were thrown near the front door. Someone must’ve left. You closed your eyes, reminding yourself that you wouldn’t overdo it. Nothing big enough to send Simeon snapping back at your heels. Just a little magic once more to make sure everything was alright. The skin across your body tingled as you went invisible, opening the front door and scanning the front yard.

A person was tapping away at a security lock on the inside of the gate, raising his head as the entrance to the property was opened. You jogged down the driveway and out of the grounds just before the gate shut behind you. Feet shuffled away. A glimpse of ginger-hair before a hood was pulled up over his head. Beel? Did he do jogs this early in the morning or something? His pace was steady though, rather slow. This wasn’t a mindless walk either. You had assumed for a moment that he had been antsy, perhaps walking off some anxiety, but every turn he made seemed intentional. Easy to keep up with at least. You tagged a few feet behind him, constantly turning your head, making sure no more eager demons could get the best of you.

Neighborhood homes eventually dwindled, approaching a more quiet side of town. There weren’t any towering buildings and crowded streets this way. You both passed a park, a little school, a pond. And then you approached a large gated off property. A tall mental fence curled up from the ground. Sharp metal arrows studded the top, a few bent in wrong directions from time and abuse. There was a large metal gate, two swinging doors frozen in place with a chain and lock. A pretty simplistic security system even for demonic standards. Even if you were from a different world, there were still universal signs and signals that you could pick up on. Do not enter. Not in the dead of night at least.

Beel turned, following the fence along it’s side, moving away from the gate. Curious… The both of you rounded the corner, at the back of the grounds now. Beel stepped off the sidewalk.

A stump sat near the pavement. Based from the size, it must’ve been a grand tree in it’s time. Now it waited for someone to finally pluck it from it’s eternal home in the ground. Although until then, it seemed to serve another purpose. Beel stepped up on it, looking over his shoulder. You pieced together what he was doing just as he gripped the top of the fence, his fingers snug between the spikes. Somehow, you kept yourself from hissing his name, remembering at the last moment that you were a shadow, nothing more. In a easy fluid motion, Beel hopped the fence. You were rather surprised to see how agile he was, even with his bigger frame. Either he was more skilled than you gave a human credit for, or he’d done this before. It was possible it was both. He landed on the other side with hardly a grunt, straightening his jacket before moving further across the lawn. You sighed softly to yourself. Even Beel, the one who you had assumed would be the least problematic… was trespassing… Could you have a single easy night? Was that too much to ask? Yes. Apparently it was.

Quickly following after him, you leapt, toes just barely touching the stump before you spryly hopped over the barrier without needing to use your hands. And while you scarcely made a sound, Beel still turned, stopping in his tracks, scanning the area. A few seconds passed before he continued on, looking rather relaxed for someone on forbidden grounds. You couldn’t help but seem to notice he knew where he was going too. Even with your stellar vision in the dark, you had almost tripped on several headstones while keeping the human steady in your sights. Meanwhile, Beel swiveled around graves in the dark, continuing towards his destination.

Eventually, Beel slowed. He stood in front of a pristine slab of stone, a name etched into it, a depiction of angelic wings cut into marble. He settled, sitting on the ground right in front of the headstone, crossing his legs under him. He adjusted the flowers that were there, noting with a crushed petal between his fingers that they needed to be replaced. You felt the lungs in your chest shrink a bit tighter. All you could do was watch. Yet, even as hellish as you were, invading his space and eavesdropping felt… too wrong. This was meant to be a private moment. So, instead, you’d simply make sure he was safe. A nearby tree suited surveillance purposes, just out of earshot of the human. Your claws dug into the bark before you pulled yourself up onto a branch, settling in with your back against the trunk, one leg dangling down as your tail served as proper support.

So this was where Lilith was…

Beel hunched himself over, his lips moving as he began to talk to the dearly departed. There was no smile on his face. There were things he needed to get off his chest, things he perhaps thought only the dead would listen to.

The fluttering of feathers caught your attention. A beautiful stark-white dove landed beside you, sharing your branch. Its head turned and twitched as it observed Beel in the distance, then turned its focus towards you despite your invisibility. It blinked innocently at you.

You couldn’t help but sigh loudly, a bit of your energy chipping away. “What are you doing here, angel?”

The dove cooed humorously before white swirled quickly in front of your vision, the creature revealing its true form. “Can’t I say hello outside of work?” Solomon grinned, trying still to bat his eyes at you in a wholesome manner. His casual body language as he curled his legs over the branch and the subtle shimmer around him suggested he was keeping himself from human view as well. To others, he probably still resembled a dove.

You scoffed a bit at him. “You’ve never bothered to reach out before.”

“Well, I’ve been busy!” He explained, pausing for a moment as if expecting a little bit of praise. When he wasn’t getting any, he moved on. The subject changed completely, successfully dodging the question you asked. “He comes here a lot, you know.” As his legs swung, he kicked one foot in Beel’s direction. “More frequently as of late…” Solomon’s personality thus far had been… some might say shady. Infuriating on some levels. Helpful in the ways that only seemed to benefit him at the same time, always taunting you with hints that suggested he held the keys to all your questions. Rather demonic, really. An angel with a dangerous smile working together with a demon with virtuous goals. What a match. That all aside, for once Solomon appeared sympathetic, almost… guilty. That couldn’t be right though, could it? Why would he be?…

“Does he break in like this often? If he keeps going like this, he’s going to get caught.” If Beel got dragged away for something like this, you didn’t want to imagine the next lecture Simeon would give you.

Solomon went back to smiling, that remorseful expression entirely gone. “Oh, he’s already been discovered.” A bubble of laughter drifted up to his lips. “It was on his first night jumping the fence too. Fell right in front of the security guard. She was about ready to drag him out by the ear and call the cops, but one look at his pleading face got her to rethink things. She allows him come by after close every so often. Brought him cookies last week. Her mom used to be a baker, so she says. He only does this on especially bad days.”

As you listened to the angel, you watched Beel talk to Lilith’s cold grave some more. The human swayed back and forth in his place, like he was trying to comfort himself. You raised an eyebrow at Solomon. “How… do you know all this?”

For once, the man gave you a rather straightforward answer. “I’ve always had my eye on them.” That only raised more questions.

“If that’s true, why didn’t Simeon make you stay with them?” Surely an angel who already knew them better than you did would make a better bodyguard.

One shoulder shrugged. “The prince has his reasons.” Sure he did. How annoying. "And, as you know, the Celestial Realm is real serious about interfering with mortals."

Right... you remembered something like that. It was brought up to you once before. A very long time ago... when you had asked an angel for a favor. “Still... I'm not blind. You both are keeping things from me. I don’t like it. Is Simeon lying to me? What are you both really after?”

A tut. “Come now. You don’t give away the twist of Act Three before its dramatic reveal.” His hand swirled in a performative gesture. “Simeon knows exactly what he wants. Meanwhile, I know how to get it there. And you, my darling friend, are the beating heart that keeps it moving forward. We are all required to do our part.”

Was he really your friend? You found that hard to believe. Allies don’t often keep things from each other. They weren’t supposed to keep each other at arms length for safety reasons. “I don’t like being moved around like a pawn.”

You waited for some half-hearted reassurance that you were not a pawn, but it never came. Instead, Solomon held out his palm and cast a sparkling spell. “Here.” He handed you a white box.

“What is it?”

“An olive branch.” The corners of his mouth lifted, a gentle smile on his face, but his eyes still glistened with a playful coyness. “Listen, everything will be laid out full in time. Just trust Simeon and I to do our proper work behind the scenes.” He judged the look on your face and chuckled. “He can get a little… you know… authoritarian when things don’t go quite like he expects it to, but he’s your ally. He wants what’s best for all of us. The Morningstars included.” You could’ve responded in a myriad of ways, but instead, you decided to leave things be. For now. An easy movement opened the lid of the box. Inside was a round cake, covered in uneven pink frosting. A yellow smiley face and several icing flowers decorated the top. Two plastic forks were settled inside. You shut the box again, raising your eyes to see Solomon suddenly beaming. Something about the cake had invoked the most genuine excitement from him yet. That made you nervous… “I made it myself.” You figured. This was nothing close to Luke’s. You’d have to give that little demon some kudos next time you saw him.

You nodded politely and settled the box in your lap despite something deep within you encouraging to throw the thing as far as you could. You wondered why… “Thank you.”

“You should go share it with him,” Solomon suggested. “It’ll probably make you both feel better.” With that said, his form flickered, a fog rolling over him till the little dove was back at your side. He chirped twice in a ‘goodbye’ and flew away as strangely as he came.

You looked down at the box in your lap before observing Beel again. Sparkling tears ran down his face. This was a bad idea… yet, something compelled you to do it anyway. Hopping down from the branch, you snuck behind the cover of the tree before becoming visible once more. You strutted out, making sure your footsteps made enough of a crunch to announce your presence. When you were close enough, Beel snapped his head back to look at you, quickly wiping away his tears. Fear crossed over his face, and then confusion. “MC?” He blinked, having to look at you several times before he had confirmed that it was you he was seeing. “What… are you doing here?”

“Ah… your brothers said I might find you here.” A terrible lie, but you had no other excuse. You lifted the box in the air and sat by his side. “In the mood for cake?”

Tag-List

(Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from this list!) 

@rayanicaraynbow

@designatedbreadbox

@qrowsofafeather

@crystal-freak24

@coffeeandtealol

@crxwned-mxnarch​

@your-next-daydream​​

@josiedoesdoodles

@zerchlia

@xxrougefangxx

@hearts4aloise

@lex-icon

@hobin-gnoblin

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me beel #obey me solomon

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (9-10)

parts 9 & 10 of ?? | 898 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

He will admit that he’s not at his best today. Probably shouldn’t have tried, except Robin was starting to shoot him concerned looks when he ignored a total babe (her words, not his) entering the store. He’s trying, but. Well.

9.

“Steve,” Robin sighs after the third girl he’s struck out with all day. “Steve, Steve, Steve. That was. . . . I’m not going to sugarcoat it, that was ‘change your name and move to another state’ levels of bad. And I say that as a witness to your nautical-themed volume control issues over the summer. Am I going to have to bring back the board?”

“No,” Steve grumbles. He slumps against the counter, leaning on his elbows and dropping his head into his hands. 

And, okay, he will admit that he’s not at his best today. Probably shouldn’t have tried, except Robin was starting to shoot him concerned looks when he ignored a total babe (her words, not his) entering the store. He’s trying, but. Well. 

Robin comes around from putting back returns and settles a hand on his shoulder, shaking it a bit when he doesn’t immediately react. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I’m just—”

He’s hungry. He isn’t used to being hungry, and it’s frustrating that it’s so hard to be normal like this. The phrase ‘take it like a champ’ has been trampled into his very soul over the years, but this is what’s going to take him down: poor planning and an inadequate food budget for the month. 

“—Discouraged.”

“Aw.” Robin chucks him under the chin, goofy and from the side. “Hang in there, slugger. We’ll find you your person.”

Steve smiles a little at that. He has yet to fill her in on the newest development in his whole TBD thing, but she’s still leaving space for it. It’s nice. 

The only reason he hasn’t told her yet is because of the whole . . . Eddie Munson part of it. That Eddie on that night in particular night had sparked Steve’s first conscious, self-aware thought that, actually, maybe another dude could do it for him . . . but at the same time, blackmailing and extorting him for coming out of a gay club. Robin would bemoan him if he told her that second part. She would lament, and other theater nerd sort of words that he’s picked up from her over the past half a year. 

And that’s not even touching the part where Eddie had been dressed to go into that same club himself. (He wonders if Eddie dancing with him would have been like dancing with those other guys. The way they’d pressed up close, put their hands on him, transient with the beat of the music—)

It’s all very complicated and inextricable. He couldn’t even try to explain any part of it without the rest, short of lying (which he won’t do, not to his soulmate), in a way that she won’t despair over. So he keeps it to himself for now, something to let Robin in on well after he’s finished paying Eddie off.

10.

“Look, Henderson,” Eddie says tiredly at the end of the session. “Let me be perfectly clear about this.” He leans his elbows on his haphazard pile of notebooks and folded DM screen, presses his palms together, and heaves a sigh, eyes falling closed. “If you do not stop talking about Steve Harrington, I’m going to start bleeding from my goddamn ears. Think the elevators opening at the end of The Shining, alright?”

Mike perks up from across the table. “Why would—”

“If you don’t know,” Eddie interrupts, his eyes snapping open, “then watch the damn movie, Wheeler. It’s rated R, but I’m sure your patron saint can rent it for you on his own account. Please also remember to never cross the street before looking and to always, always run with scissors.”

The club’s three freshmen exchange looks that Eddie doesn’t bother to try and read. He’s tired of hearing praises sung about the guy he’s weaseling hush money from. 

Jeff drops into the chair next to him though, despite being all packed up and ready to go. “You okay, man?” He drops his voice and adds, “How’s Wayne doing?”

Eddie tries to shake it off even though he knows it won’t do anything; the queasy guilt feeling sticks to him like a burr. “Better. He’s. . . . Yeah, he’s getting better.”

And that’s true, so he can’t even mentally tack on but what at cost to the end of the statement. 

When he turns back, Dustin is standing right next to the other side of his chair. “Jesus H.—Wear a bell! Christ.”

“So your uncle’s going to be okay?” Dustin asks, eyes wide and damp. 

For a moment, Eddie hesitates. He’s not a pessimist and he doesn’t believe in much outside of the Munson doctrine, but he almost doesn’t want to say. Doesn’t want to jinx it. But there’s also the idea of putting what you want to see happen out there into the universe, so here goes. 

“Yeah, of course he is.” Eddie manages a lopsided grin, and halfway through saying it the grin even starts to feel real. “A few more weeks left and he’s going to be fine.”

What the hell is it with this kid, winding him up with all the Harrington talk but then emoting so earnestly over Wayne when he’s never even met the man? Mike and Lucas exchange glances again behind their friend’s back, so they seem to know whatever backstory is behind this. . . . Eddie will figure it out someday, resolution noted in triplicate and filed accordingly in his very crowded mental library.

#steddie blackmail fic #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things fic #slow burn #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #jeff (stranger things)

[unchartedthelostlegacy]

So maybe the meeting with Meenu's teacher hadn't been handled in the best way. Chloe was ready to accept that. A little.

Maybe the notes like "speaks out of turn" and "disturbs classmates" had touched a nerve. So she's an extrovert--admirable actually--I was so quiet and miserable at that age did not elicit a positive response from Mrs Macquarie. "Miss Fraz--Miss Frazer. If you will let me finish--" and what's this about 'she stares out the window too much'? I did that? What're windows for? "Miss Frazer if you will take the time to read the rest of the note, the problem is Meenu demonstrates limited engagement in subjects she is not interested in."

Bursting out laughing in her seat at this certainly hadn't endeared Chloe to the educator.

The bespectacled woman took in a sharp breath and pinched between her eyes. "You mentioned not having documentation of any of her previous education."

"In her circumstanc--"

"I bring this up only because attention deficit hyperactivity disorder is often diagnosed under the age of five."

"Bugger!" Chloe's temper had flipped. She shot to her feet from the cheap sweat-smelling chair. "She's a kid! They get bored at school!"

"Charming," the woman said icily. "Meenu's 'boredom' affects her classmates. She threw a sausage roll at a boy in her class."

"He asked for it."

"Excuse me?"

"Really," Chloe said. "He literally asked for it. He said was hungry and she chucked him a snack and he caught it."

"It was still not appropriate behaviour during lecture. Do you happen to throw things at each other at home?"

Chloe couldn't answer. Yes, she was forgetting her keys and having the ten-year-old toss them out a window to her in the parking lot multiple times a week. Yes, remotes, bananas, laundry, sunnies were often airborne in their household. Meenu had thrown a 12-pack of loo roll into her hands from eight supermarket aisles away.

"She grew up in a shop in a loud, crowded market," Chloe muttered.

"And what does this--"

"Sitting in one quiet and boring place for hours just doesn't work for every kid. She's doing better than I ever did. It's an adjustment for her."

Meenu wasn't at the top of her class, okay. But she excelled in some of the things that Chloe thought mattered most. And she was the youngest on the debate team despite still having a low reading level for her age.

"I am recommending an ADHD evaluation for Meenu," Mrs Macquarie said, like she hadn't heard her. "Regardless of your excuses, both you and her would benefit from taking this more seriously."

"Right," Chloe snapped as the snitch papers were scooped off the desk. "What's another drug to a kid?"

"It's a well-documented treatment that can change a child's future for the better," Mrs Macquarie had stood up and walked out from behind the desk and now waited by the door. "If it comes to that. There are treatment options beyond 'another drug'."

"Yeah?" Chloe said as she turned on a Chelsea boot heel. "You'd have stuffed me with pills thirty years ago with the way I wasn't paying attention, mate."

"And you may well have benefited, Miss Frazer. Good day."

Now, sitting in the car looking into the middle distance (meaning a Macca's and a concerningly phallic owl statue) Chloe wanted to bite something harder than her lip.

She shouldn't have said all that, yes.

But what was she supposed to say?

Her mum had never attended anything like this on her behalf. Leah Frazer could barely walk in a straight line most of Chloe's childhood after losing Mahit, how would she keep an eye on her daughter's grades or lack thereof? Would she even have cared? Had she?

"You were stuffing yourself with pills," Chloe muttered into the steering wheel. "Maybe you'd have liked them drugging me too. Give us something in common."

No, that wasn't a spiral she needed to go down now.

This was about the childhood Meenu was currently experiencing. There was only one thing to do right now.

Chloe pulled her phone out and hit Nadine's name in the frequent called list. The ex-Shoreline leader hardly got a single syllable of the word "Hello" out before being subjected to ten minutes of play-by-play color commentary of the parent teacher conference.

"...can you believe that, china?!"

Chloe only noticed the fact there was dead silence on the line moments after, and checked the powersave-darkened screen sheepishly to make sure Nadine hadn't just hung up on her.

"Nadine? Er. How was your week? How was the--"

"Boring," Nadine said flatly.

"Which--"

"Both."

"But you were looking forward to--"

"I went at the wrong time of year."

"Well," Chloe said, "you can hardly blame Iceland for your poor ability to research--"

"Say that again," Nadine said with a voice like a knife. "My researching ability is unparalleled."

"You thought it was winter at the top of the globe too," a smile was creeping onto Chloe's face. "Got a faceful of sunlight the whole time, did you. Rookie mistake."

"I haven't had a vacation before."

The words hung in the air so solemnly that Chloe couldn't even quip anything back.

Nadine had wanted some time to process losing Shoreline and how much of her identity and personal power it held for her. A quiet trip alone sounded perfect.

But had she actually spent the whole time tossing and turning, jet lagged to hell, circadian rhythm haywire, thinking about how she'd failed and how different her life was now?

"China...you'll get to see it next time. You'll have a clearer head to enjoy it, too."

She heard the other woman sigh. Then: "Do you want me to be honest? I'm with her teacher."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, whore."

"Whore yourself," Nadine fired back.

"Double whore."

"What did you expect? Her teacher just wants her to be a student."

Chloe didn't have an answer.

Nadine said, an edge creeping into her voice again, "I do, too. You let her play Dead by Daylight at age ten--"

"I knew you would bring that up!" Chloe quiet-shouted. "She's been through serious shit, that game's not gonna--"

"--my parents had me doing extra homework on top of my homework from school--

"--and you still go to Iceland on a month there's no Northern Lights--"

"--you can tell her you'll love her no matter what her grades are, but that doesn't mean you don't care about her grades," Nadine said. "It's the opposite."

Chloe swallowed. The shadow of a truck in the distance flickered over the dashboard. It reminded her how bright the sunset was getting, and she put down the visor.

"I do care," Chloe mumbled, looking down at the keys she was fidgeting with. And then, quietly, "she says reading's really hard for her."

"You didn't tell the teacher that," Nadine sounded accusatory.

"Because she wouldn't have fucking believed me," Chloe bit into her lip. "The asshole didn't listen, china. Meenu says when she's staring at the book and trying really hard and listening to everyone else turning their pages faster it feels like she's the stupidest person on earth. And when they make her stay later during break to finish it. I remember them doing that to me. Fat lot of good it did, too."

Nadine said, softly, "And you reminded her that she's above-average in maths?"

Of course Meenu was above-average in maths. Any manipulative shopkeeper latchkey kid worth their salt would be. Meenu had the eerie power of guessing the sum of a coin purse's contents by weight.

"Not the word problems."

Nadine snorted. "You're lying. They don't still do those."

"I wish. Sorry for taking up so much of your time, love. Bet you've got better people to get called names by."

As she said it, Chloe looked at the screen again, and was thrown for a loop that it had been almost an hour.

"Stop letting her watch TV so much," Nadine said.

As if on cue, Chloe unlocked her flat to:

-a child cross-legged on the rug in front of the television

-an AusPol channel blaring, and

-popcorn everywhere, including an almost-empty bag in Meenu's lap. As if they didn't own bowls.

"Meenu."

The girl didn't show any sign of having heard her. Maybe watching Aussie politicians scream at one another was Meenu's homework for the debate club, but she loved it. Chloe bit her lip, hands on her hips, squeezed her eyes shut, and made a 180-degree turn.

The fridge, a vault of solace, opened too easily to reveal a treasure trove of her beloved ice-cold Lager flanked by the yogurt and pasta sauce.

Just one. Just one to make a difficult conversation easier.

Chloe let the fridge close and picked the bottle opener magnet off the door, or was about to. But it had been propping up their calendar. It had been a gift from a Chinese buffet nearby, each month a different painting, this one of a lake with shadows of distant birds and mountains in the background that reminded Chloe of the Western Ghats. Today's date was circled in red marker with meeting with Mrs Macquarie, DON'T BE LATE in her handwriting.

But she had been late.

She'd walked into that room fifteen minutes late blaming the traffic and still had the nerve to speak like that to Meenu's teacher.

How would that reflect on Meenu?

No wonder Nadine had sided with the opponent.

"Meenu!" Chloe said, louder.

Thus summoned, the girl shook herself, pushed off the floor, and waddled over, shoveling the remaining kernels into her mouth like a zombie.

"Turn the TV off," Chloe said tersely.

Meenu's eyes were suddenly sharply awake. She screwed her face up.

"Macquarie is an idiot," she said.

"This isn't about her."

"Yes it is," Meenu's fists were clenched. Chloe could see her little jaw tightening. "Macquarie's out to get me. She hates my accent."

"You don't have an accent, love--"

"Everyone has an accent."

"Look," Chloe folded her arms, "Miss Youngest-In-The-Debate-Club, there's a time and a place."

"She grabbed my shirt and said I smell bad."

"Meenu, you are lying."

Like a little mirror, Meenu folded her arms. "Why would I lie about that?"

"Because they didn't even do that to me," Chloe said, crouching down to her level. She pushed Meenu's flyaway strands behind her ears. "Thirty years ago. If they really think you're dirty, they don't touch you except to beat you."

"Well," Meenu said, "She thinks I smell bad. She makes that face whenever she looks at me."

"And you should have said that. Don't lie to me."

If Nadine was here. Oh, if Nadine was here. She would have either been laughing her gorgeous butt off or fuming.

Chloe straightened up. "She got mad that you talk a lot in her class and she thinks you aren't trying hard enough. Look. Meenu. Honey...she doesn't see what's going on in your head. She thinks you're just not paying attention. Meenu. Meenu..."

As she'd been talking, disbelief, embarrassment, disgust crossed over Meenu's features like shadows on a wall. She almost immediately covered them with a mask of defiance, but it was too late. Chloe saw a tear run from the corner of her right eye as she blinked, a shiny line on her cheek.

It reminded her too much of Nadine. Maybe every little girl destined to be a leader had the same hurt buried.

"Macquarie's an idiot," Meenu repeated.

"Here's what we're gonna do," Chloe said. "I don't want to meet with her again. At least not about this. You've got three hours after you get home, no TV--"

"Three hours?!"

"--I'll check up on you three times and you gotta have everything done by six. if you want to watch anything. Or play any games. Got it?"

"I'm going to talk at class five times more," Meenu said angrily. "I'm going to start a fire."

"Oh, aren't you adorable. I tried to burn the place down when I was your age, too," Chloe finally snapped the top off the slightly-less-cold beer and returned the tool to the calendar. "They make schools hard to light up 'coz of the bushfires here."

She'd had a lightbulb moment. Meenu didn't have to feel rushed with her reading if she read ahead at home. Which...if what she told Chloe had some truth to it, Macquarie would claim her better work away from class was due to Chloe's help.

And three hours of reading at home was still a form of torture for Meenu, but at least it came with the company of her parrot and whatever Kpop band she was into this week, right?

#chloe frazer #meenu #uncharted #the lost legacy #adoptivemom!Chloe #kidfic #fanfic #Meenu does eventually fall in love with reading don't worry! #chlodine #but in the background tbh #nadine ross #there is an overabundance of places bearing the name Macquarie in Australia and it's dumb #Meenu the debate club champion tbh #public speaking would come naturally to her #Chloe: I'm not good at the people thing #Meenu: I am *only* good at the people thing

[blamemma]

OMG OMG IM SO EXCITED YOU’RE DOING THE MICRO FIC MEME! Your circus au has a chokehold on me so obviously I need to prompt SEAWEED! But take this in any direction you want.

very very sorry this is not mermaid au themed at all (although i am working on a v small thing for that actually) but this is where my mind went for this one

Martin had texted him, off-handedly, asking if he was free one night this week. Daniel groaned when the text lit up his screen, another Miami night out, or a Vegas pool party, wasn't what his aching bones needed right now, especially the week before Coachella. His diary was blocked off, tanning in the LA heat, sun beaming down on his skin, dirt bikes if he could be bothered to leave the house at all. He replies with a maybe and watches as the bubbles at the bottom of the screen appear, whilst he chucks frozen fruit into his blender.

Sick

Teams in LA for most of the week prepping for Coachella. You should take my new sound engineer on a date.

Daniel scoffs, turns the blender on and grimaces at the loud noise. He hasn't put any greens in, just sweet tangy berries and bananas with a splash of oat milk, refreshing. He pours the liquid into his glass, sticks a glass straw into it, and then texts one handed as he heads outside.

Who do you take me for? Dial-a-date

Send me a photo of him at least!

No. Martin replies.

Wednesday 9pm work for you?

You'll like him. You'll have fun. Promise. If not I'll comp all ur drinks at Coachella this weekend.

Daniel lays back on his lounger, brings the smoothie to his lips and takes a big gulp. It's been a long time since he-- Martin means well, knows what Daniel likes for the most part. It could be fun. Something different.

Okay. He responds

If it's a shit time though you're covering the bill as well. Daniel adds.

It won't be :) Martin texts back instantly.

-🍣😳🍷-

The waitress leads Daniel to the table he'd reserved, a quiet corner near the back, a wide table, space for plenty of food for them to share. It's one of his favourite Japanese restaurants, one he's been dying to come back to since he arrived back in LA. He'd asked Martin for the guys details, so that he could text him the address himself, but he'd refused to hand them over, told Daniel that Max would be there on time, and not to worry, reassured him again they'd have fun.

Daniel wipes his hands down the front of his colourful shirt, an unreleased one from his own Enchanté collection, a conversation piece he can fall back on if the guy is into fashion as well.

"Daniel?" He hears closely behind him, a thicker accent than Martin's, more European. Daniel turns in his chair, simultaneously standing up at the same time.

"That's me." He quips, holding his hand out to be shaken. It feels overly formal to do, considering they're on a date, but it's second nature to Daniel, at corporate events or in the paddock, to hold his hand out and deliver a firm handshake. Max takes his hand, shaking it firmly.

"I am sorry that Martin put you up to this. We have been friends for a while now, but now that I am working for him, he keeps on trying to set me up with his friends. I tell him I am too busy, organising all his crap and making sure it is all smooth, but he knows my schedule this week too well." Daniel's taken aback a little, by how standoffish Max is being. "Oh, I am Max by the way, did Martin tell you that at least?"

Max moves towards his chair as he's talking, pulling it out and sitting down, leaving Daniel there, standing, taking him in. Daniel fumbles, sits back down, gets his own leg caught on the table leg and tries to play it off cool.

"Yeah he did." Daniel replies, picking up his glass of red wine and taking a sip.

Daniel gets why Martin didn't send him a picture of Max. He's attractive. Muscular and shaped, long hair at the top of his head, all ruffled like he'd barely bothered trying to style it. He's got a loose white shirt on, top button undone where Daniel can see pale skin. A freckle atop his lip that Daniel can't seem to look away from. He's not conventionally attractive by any means, but Martin's done well. Martin knew.

"So, how did you end up working for Martin then?" It seems like common ground they can talk about for now, whilst they wait to order.

"Well, I have known him since we were very young, but he went off and started doing his music stuff, and I went to university and I started studying civil engineering but then moved into audio engineering. Whenever Martin was home, or I visited him, the music was fun, it seemed good fun. So I of course change my degree for him but he had someone very experienced on his team, so I worked for some smaller DJs who were not as good and I helped make them sound better. Anyway, Harry has now quit and Martin asked if I was interested still."

"Wow, so you changed your whole life plan for your best friend?"

"No, it was not really like that at all. I do not think I would have found the job I am now doing if it was not for Martin cause he introduced me to that whole world, but I am not just doing it because of him. I have two cats at home, I would not travel this much and be away from them all the time just for Martin, I enjoy the job."

Max emphasises two cats as if he's left a wife and two children at home, fending for themselves whilst he's off basking in the Ibiza sun or jetting off to another remote festival.

"You travel a lot as well Martin was saying?" Daniel smiles gently, finally being asked a proper question. Polite date etiquette.

"Well, I used to. First year of retirement for me. Was an F1 driver. Won a couple of championships, 'ya know. So yeah, not travelling as much now. Went home for a while, back here now for a bit, go see some friends, find out what life is really all about. Home is Australia by the way."

"Yes, I used to watch you. You were a very good driver actually." Daniel notes how Max says that as if he's an expert, as if he's been commentating on Sky Sports for 25 years and can spot a generational talent from miles off. He feels like he should be offended, but he finds it endearing, complimentary. He has this innate feeling that if Max thought he was a crap driver, he'd say.

"Well, thank you very much, I guess." Daniel says, taking another sip from his red wine.

The waitress comes back over towards them and asks for their order. Daniel takes over, ordering for them both. He's tried so much of it before, he knows what's good. Tuna sashimi, California Rolls, Chicken potstickers, Vegetable tempura, Salmon maki. All different types of things they can split and share between them. The waitress smiles softly at Daniel, closing her notepad and bending to get the menus from them.

"Can I please get a Gin & Tonic, and the Beef noodles please?" Max asks.

Daniel shifts in his seat a little, taken aback, but also slightly worried he's been rude. The waitress jots down Max's order and promises to bring his drink over soon.

"Sorry, thought we could share." Daniel remarks.

"I guessed you thought that, but I am not a very big fan of seafood. I guess Martin did not tell you that." Max's eyes glint as he smiles, and Daniel relaxes again.

"Did you know, the seaweed salad you ordered, most places that is in fact just shredded cabbage. It is much cheaper for them to make and of course most people never know the difference." Max tells Daniel.

"Well I hope it's proper seaweed if I'm paying $40!" Daniel says aghast, and Max laughs, clapping his hands together.

--🍜😄🍸--

They order plenty more drinks, and enjoy all the food before them, with Daniel having a few take-out boxes stacked in front of him to carry home, due to his presumptuous over-ordering.

Daniel adores how delighted Max gets, small jokes enticing the biggest laughs out of him, and how direct he's being. When Daniel says something wrong, he corrects him straight away. Daniel's also taken aback by how complementary Max is. He tells Daniel within 15 minutes of their date beginning that he likes his smile, and when Daniel moves on to the easy topic of his clothing line, Max praises the new designs Daniel shows him, and gently offers pointers as to what he thinks would work better.

When the waitress brings the bill over, Daniel almost feels saddened that it's over, unsure when he'll see Max again, maybe during the Coachella weekend, but he'll be busy, he knows Martin has a few warm up shows in Las Vegas and at Brooklyn Mirage before he plays on Sunday, so Max won't be at the festival the whole weekend. But he hasn't felt like this in a long time. Not since Scotty. And he doesn't want to let go just yet.

"I've got a cool vinyl collection back at my place if you're into that? Do you like cheesecake? We could get some on the way back." He tries.

"That would be very lovely." Max replies, a beaming smile lighting up his face that cause the skin around his eyes to crinkle.

"Great!" Daniel retorts.

--🍰😏🎶--

He wakes up to a dead arm in the morning, Max laying atop of it. Daniel pushes some of his hair out of his face, kissing his head gently, and then his lips, right over the freckle, before pulling his arm out slowly. He shakes it above him, trying to get some feeling back into it, before leaning over Max and grasping his phone.

A new text from Martin sits above the rest of his notifications.

Guess I'm not paying the bill then 😉 It reads.

#i gave myself 45 mins to write this hence why the last restaurant scene maybe feels a lil rushed idk sorry #but yeah #throws another lil fic out into the ether x #dr #mv #max/daniel #fic rec

[thelaundrybitch]

The Gingerbread House Competition

Hello My Turtle Doves 😍

I hope you're ready.

Because it's time to build some gingerbread houses.

and this was a collaboration with @post-apocalyptic-daydream you can find her portion HERE

Look out, I threw another OC at you 👀🐢💚

18+ content - for mature audiences only!

Reblogs only, please!

The Gingerbread House Competition

Prologue:

It all started with J.

With his makeshift gingerbread house he was building using graham crackers and vanilla frosting.

Sitting at the table in the kitchen, constructing and decorating to his heart's content.

You enter the kitchen with his brothers

A stack of pizzas in hand

*Heckling commences*

Hearing their teasing remarks, you make a decision.

"Maybe everyone should build a gingerbread house. The winner gets to choose their Christmas gift from me this year," you tell them.

All five boys exchange glances and nod with huge smiles.

"Well, if THAT'S the case…" J says, "I'm due for an upgrade," he tells you with a wink.

SO…

Each of the brothers does their research and plans out their design

And the results are phenomenal!

Well…

Almost.

Don

We all know our resident genius is a perfectionist with his projects

Methodical

Architectural

Mathematical

He draws out full-blown blueprints

And concocts the perfect gingerbread house-building material.

This bitch is structurally sound.

Could withstand an earthquake test.

This gingerbread house would put Taipei 101 to shame.

Steps back and assesses his current project.

Isn't satisfied with his results.

Has an idea that would blow the other houses out of the water for sure.

But it's gonna mean some slight disassembly and reconstruction.

And a buttload of icing.

Sighs and mutters, "Maximum effort" under his breath.

A few pots of coffee and two batches of iced snickerdoodles later…

He's wired lights to the inside of his little house for added flair

He clicks the lights on and stands back.

Totally worth it.

Raph

Big hands

Small crumbly gingerbread walls

Icing that's stickier than tacky glue

LOTS of swear words

Every single one in the book to be precise.

This poor man is struggling.

He chucks his second attempt at a "Stupid-assed house" across the room when the roof caves in for the fourth time.

He knows it's time to take a short break

Decides to work on his project in his woodworking shop

And that's where inspiration hits.

Suddenly he's in the kitchen

Rolling long sticks of Gingerbread and baking them.

Goes to Don and asks about the best combination of confectioners sugar and egg whites for the ultimate hold

Raph is Don's favorite, so he shares 😂

Thanks Don

Goes back to work

Starts with an open floor plan

Builds miniature furniture using candies and other snack foods.

Then he builds the house around his miniatures

And he builds a mother-fluffing log cabin

Like a boss

Shrubbery

Santa Claus

There's a rocking chair on the porch and everything

"Are those… candy… glass… WINDOWS?"

Red gives you a quick wink

*Peers in the little windows*

"Raph! Is that a fireplace inside?!"

"You know it is, baby," he smirks

Mike

Alright.

They challenged the wrong dude.

"Chef Angelo"

Mr. Kiss the Cook, himself

Fucking Mike

Has been blessed by the culinary Gods

And this culinary genius has DWARFED everyone else's creations

It's as tall as he is when it's sitting on the floor.

Towers

Gables

A working chimney

There's no beating this

Especially because not only does it look good…

But it tastes good

It's the Amaury Guichon of Gingerbread houses

"Mike! This is amazing! It looks absolutely incredible!"

*Winks*

"Looks aren't everything baby, once you have a taste, you'll be begging for more…"

*Gets smacked upside the head by Red*

J

Now

I know what you're thinking

Baby boy was caught in the kitchen with crackers and frosting

But don't forget

He is the perfect specimen

Brains for days

Artistically Inclined

Unbelievably competitive

Comes out with a fucking CASTLE.

It's taller than he is

And that's saying something

He's 7'4

It's equal parts gorgeous and unique

Looks like a culinary impossibility

Realistic trees

Hanging towers

A drawbridge

"How'd you get lights in the windows? I don't see any wires…"

"Oh. No lights. The whole thing was built on top of a mirror. The rays of light are refracted by candy glass in the peaks of the towers," he says like it's general knowledge.

*Crickets*

J just shrugs

Leo

Totally looks like a 5-year-old built it.

Imagine one of those "nailed it" memes

*Insert Leo's gingerbread house here*

Leaning

Drowned in frosting

Looks like it needs a “condemned” sign posted on it

And he was so proud

Until he saw the rest of his brothers’ creations

“Is there actually any gingerbread under there?”

“I think you used too much spray foam insulation…”

Chortles

Snickers

Cackling

“Well, shows how ignorant you all are,” Leo says with his arms crossed.

“It’s a Picasso piece, you uncultured swines,” he announces

All the guys bust out laughing while Leo pouts and sticks his tongue out at them

Like a 5-year-old

Splinter

Decides to jump in on the fun

And leaves them all gawking

Building a traditional dojo

That looks like something right out of feudal Japan

"Dad wins," says Basilio, at his first glance as he walks into the lair.

"Thank you, son. But I'm not actually part of the competition. I made mine for fun," he says, giving you a quick wink.

"Actually, these are all amazing. Can I take one to the hotel? I'd love to display one at the front desk," he tells his brothers.

The guys agree, and Basilio walks around to choose his winner.

"What happened here?" He teases his twin.

"It's modern art," Leo tells him in mock pride.

"Mine wouldn't have come out much better," Basilio whispers, placing his hand on Leo's shoulder.

"J! I'm taking yours," he announces.

"He only picked yours because you're the youngest," teases Mike.

"Favoritism," scoffs Raph.

"He doesn't want you to feel inferior," adds Don.

"I'd pick J's, too," says Leo.

*Cue everyone throwing a piece of gingerbread house at Leo*

Epilogue

You make your choice

Leo wins

By default

Because his is the worst and his brothers are relentless in their teasing

He requests a date with you.

It's a few days after the Gingerbread Disaster

(Click that link to find out) ⬆️

You show up early for the date

Finding him in the kitchen

*Gasp*

"Leo?! Did you make all these?"

Insert bashful Leo

*Swoon*

Ok back to the story

"Yeah…"

"They're fantastic! Why didn't you build these?"

"They're my tea houses. I didn't think they'd qualify…"

"Tea houses?" You ask him

He picks one up and places the mini house on a mug.

"OhmygoodnessSoCUTE" you whisper through gritted teeth.

*Chuckles*

He grabs your hand and walks you to the table where he has all the supplies to decorate gingerbread people.

"Is that what I think it is?" You ask.

Leo smiles at you.

"That's not funny, Leo."

"Don't worry," he giggles. I made a brand new batch of Gingerbread for these."

He pulls a chair out for you, and you start selecting materials for your Gingerbreadians

Leo comes over with a cup of black tea - mini house included

"You know, I would've definitely named you the winner with these… " You confess, smiling at the tiny house.

Leo closes in on you, a smile playing at his lips

"You know what would be really good with this tea right now?" He asks.

You shoot him a questioning look

"A candy cane," he says with a wink.

If you enjoyed it, Please reblog for others to enjoy🤩💕

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@leosgirl82 @post-apocalyptic-daydream @nittleboo @sharpwindow @tmnt-tychou @8pmblackcoffee @drowninghell @mysticboombox @raphsweapondealer @raphslovemuffin80 @turtlesmakemehappy @fluffytriceratops @chicchanmooshy @roxosupreme @xanadu-702 @pheradream15 @mistyroselove @ashleighclark98 @jurikyu-blog @sewerninno @tmntspidergirl @raphielover @zombiesnips-blog @meowph-132 @lazygirlfanfic0-0 @soryuwifeyxx @clockworkmorningglory @hotredphoenix @dilucsflame33 @sketch-and-write-lover @fyreball66 @memes-in-a-half-shell @dangerous-collection-nightmare @bonsaiturt47 @screamingnoodl @sais-matters @happymoonangel @jaenisamusculargurl @writinandcrying @yumefuusen @angelcatlowyn @rheawritesforfun @digitl-art-monstr @lec743 @doctorelleth @toomanyotpslove @tkappi @freakishfandomfiend

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[noforkingclue]

Love to Hate and Hate to Love, Chapter 1 (River Cartwright x OC)

Summary: so far Olivia's time at The Park had been relatively uneventful, despite working for a Service Legend. However, when her boss manages to piss off Lady Di she's forced to cooperate with the Slow Horses. And only one team is only going to get out of this alive.

Author's note: my first of my Slow Horses OC fics (and first OC fic in general...). Title might change though

Slow Horses tag list: @cillmequick

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites spngingerbread21,  @layazul,  @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

Olivia tapped her pen on her desk and she glanced down at the paper in front of her. Her colleagues had seemingly abandoned their work for the meantime in favour of focusing on the message.

“Remind me,” she said, “why are we doing this, oh, how did Fitz describe it again?”

“Dealing with the fuck ups,” grunted Kara, “chuck that over.”

“Why?”

“I want to see if there’s a message in it.”

“Why?”

“You’re still new here Olive. When you’ve been here as long as we have you learn to pick things up.”

“Olive,” Olivia muttered as she folded the paper into an aeroplane, “never going to live that down am I?”

“Nope,” said Laura as she relaxed back in her chair, “you aren’t. Besides, it suits you!”

Olivia threw her a glare but chose not to snap back. She chucked the plane over to Kara who read it in silence. She sighed and put it down heavily.

“Nothing,” she said as she ran a hand through her straight black hair, “that’s disappointing.”

“You were expecting something?” Asked Olivia

“Maybe a little something,” Kara admitted, “then again Fitz is a bit cagey about his Cold War days. Especially when it comes to his old colleagues. You can’t really blame me for being suspicious.”

“And even more when it comes to Jackson Lamb,” said Warren, “heard they almost came to blows more than once.”

“Definitely,” said Laura, “you must’ve heard of Jackson Lamb right Olive. Despite still being a bit green.”

Olivia rolled her eyes and swatted Laura’s hand as she ruffled her hair. She had only been in The Service for six months but it was hard not to have heard of Service legends like Jackson Lamb or the infamous Slow Horses. Even her boss, Max ‘Fitz’ Fitzgerald was a Service legend in his own right and you don’t become one of those without doing some shady shit.

"So why are we involved?" she asked

"Because Lady Di thinks she's being funny and she’s also punishing me."

Olivia, who was the only one with her back to the door, jumped at the sound of Fitz’s voice. Fitz just gave her a bright smile and clapped a hand on her shoulder. For someone so short he was a lot stronger than he looked. He was only five foot five and yet his presence always commanded a room's attention.

“And you are coming with me.” He said

“Why me?” Asked Olivia

“Because Lamb’s bringing someone with him and I want you to distract him.”

“Fitz! I thought you said that honey traps weren’t your style.”

“Nothing like that. I want you to piss off River Cartwright.”

*

Cartwright, Cartwright, Cartwright.

Another name you couldn’t go five minutes in The Service without hearing. The grandson was just as famous as the grandfather although for completely different reasons. Actually, famous was the wrong word. Infamous was definitely more like it. Olivia bit her lip to avoid ranting to Fitz. He had already had enough of hearing about it in the office.

“Remember what I said?” Said Fitz, “level head.”

“But distract him,” Olivia said through gritted teeth, “I know. Trust me, I know. I have the perfect distraction.”

The only thing keeping Cartwright in The Service (if Slough House could be called that) was his grandfather. That pissed Olivia off. Anyone else would’ve been cast out but no. Precious little River Cartwright still had a job. Fuck, she thought she had left the nepo babies behind at university.

“We’re here.”

Olivia was dragged out of her thoughts as Fitz spoke. She looked up at the pub and wrinkled her nose. It looked like the type of dives she would’ve gone to as a struggling student. Flaking paint, cracked windows and a general air of unkemptness oozed from it.

“It’s a shithole.” She said

“I know but Lamb chose it so it’s not surprising. Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

Fitz opened the door and gestured for Olivia to go in. Olivia sighed and tried to hold in her grimace as she entered the pub. However, when she walked on the sticky floors she couldn’t help but let out a disgusted noise.

“This your new girl, Fitz? Heard you got a new one. Thought you’d bring someone with a bit more fucking experience.”

“Jackson,” Fitz said grimly, “I’d say good to see you but we’re both too old to bullshit each other. So cut the bullshite and let's just get on with it. I doubt neither of us want to spend too long in each other's company.”

Fitz walked towards the two men in the corner of the pub with you following closely behind. Olivia had to admit, she had been curious about meeting Jackson Lamb (less so River Cartwright) but he wasn’t what she expected. She had been expecting someone like Fitz who was always very well presented and never seen out of a three piece suit. She wasn’t expecting someone who, to put it bluntly, looked like a homeless man and nothing could prepare her for the smell. His companion on the other hand…

“River Cartwright.” He said standing up and offering Olivia his hand

He flashed her a bright smile which he probably thought made him look charming. Fuck, she could just imagine what the others would be saying. Well, at least he had some manners unlike his boss. Oh well, time to ruin it.

“Olivia Moher,” she said taking it, “nice to put a face to the name of the person who crashed Stansted. I saw the video. The Park uses it as training on how not to fuck things up.”

River narrowed his eyes and let go of Olivia’s hand. Lamb let out a snort of amusement.

“Very fucking funny,” he said to Fitz, “I can see why you brought her. Now tell your fucking idiot to piss off.”

Fitz opened his mouth and quickly closed it with a snap. He nodded towards the door and Olivia took a deep breath. Secretly she was glad to get out of the pub.

“As long as you tell your Slow Horse to piss off as well.” He said

“Gladly. Cartwright, fuck off.”

“But-“

“Now!”

Even Olivia flinched at the harsh tone in Lamb’s voice and she was already nearly out of the pub. River practically pushed past her and she grimaced. Well, thís is going to be awkward. Not like she cared that is.

There was a heavy tension in the air. Olivia folded her arms and leant against a wall. She could quite bring herself to care about whether or not she hurt his feelings. Probably not the best idea to piss off someone you're meant to be working with.

“I suppose you think you’re funny.”

Olivia glanced over at River and smirked.

“I’m fucking hilarious.”

“It was a training exercise, you know. And I was set up.”

“And I was only following orders.”

“That’s the oldest excuse in the book.”

“And yours isn’t? I wonder how many agents tried that excuse before being thrown out? At least you had your family name to rely on.”

Olivia gave River a sharp smile and River slowly approached her. She pushed herself off the wall and folded her arms. She looked up and him as he said,

“What’s that meant to mean?”

“Maybe if you spent half a second thinking about it instead of asking questions you’d be able to figure it out for yourself.”

River opened his mouth to snap back but a shoot from inside the pub stopped him. Olivia and River glanced at each other in confusion. The door flung open and a furious Fitz was in the doorway. He glanced between you and snapped,

“What the fuck is this? Sexual tension?”

Both Olivia and River recoiled from each other

“Not fucking likely.” Said Olivia

“Good. Now hurry up. We have to go back to The Park.”

“Already?”

“Yes,” Fitz gave Lamb a disgusted look as he pushed past him, “it’s the only place he can’t get to.”

“I wouldn’t count on that Fitz.” Lamb practically spat the nickname

“Moher, let’s go.”

“Ok. See you around Cuntwright.”

“It’s Cartwright!”

“Yeah but Cuntwright suits you so much better!”

*

“So,” Kara kicked out and wheeled her chair over to Olivia, “what was the infamous Jackson Lamb and River Cartwright like?”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen Fitz that pissed before,” said Laura, “and I’ve been working with him for three years.”

“I’ve been working for him for ten and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him like that.” said Warren

“Cunts,” Olivia said, “especially Cartwright.”

Warren put down a mug of tea on Olivia’s desk and offered her a pack of biscuits which she gratefully took.

“Well this certainly bodes well,” Warren said, “you annoyed, Fitz pissed. Looks like they both got under your skin. I thought Fitz wanted you to do that to Cartwright, not the other way round.”

“And I did.”

“And it looks like he did the same to you,” said Kara, “say, is he as handsome as people mention? I never had the pleasure of meeting him before his fuck up.”

“His personality ruins it.” Olivia said through a mouthful of digestive

“So he is handsome,” said Kara teasingly, “careful Olive. You might find yourself compromised.”

Olivia wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

“I think I’d rather quit the Service.”

“Don’t let Lady Di hear you say that,” said Fitz, “she might just take you up on that offer.”

“Why?” Olivia asked

“Because she hates me and wants me to suffer.”

“What did you do?” Asked Laura

Fitz sighed and took off his glasses. He cleaned them on his tie before putting them back on. For the first time since Olivia met him, Fitz looked his age. He looked tired and he leant against her desk, stealing the mug of tea that Warren had made her.

“It’s ancient history,” Fitz said at last, “the past is the past and should remain so. However, when dealing with people like Jackson Lamb, the past never remains buried for long. He has an uncanny knack of digging things up at the worst possible time.”

He took a sip of the tea and winced slightly as it scolded his tongue.

“This was back before the wall fell,” he continued, “you four would be too young to remember it-”

“I vaguely remember something on the news,” said Warren, who had just turned forty, “but I was too young to take in the significance of it.”

“Well,” Fitz gave a one shoulder shrug, “I spent a lot of time behind the wall. Doing… off the record things.”

“Off the record?” asked Olivia

She glanced over at Laura and Kara. Laura mimed cutting her throat and Olivia looked over at Fitz in horror. Fitz just grimaced and said,

“What did you expect when you joined The Service? Everything to be sunshine and rainbows?”

“Have you all killed people?” Olivia asked

“Now is not the time for this conversation,” Fitz said, “We need to focus. And I need a fresh cup of tea. This is too weak.”

Fitz shoved the cup at Warren who sighed but ultimately made him a fresh one. Fitz looked at it and nodded.

“Better. You never leave the tea bag in for long enough.”

“Yes I do! The others agree with me.”

Warren turned to look for backup but suddenly everyone was interested in the floor. Even Olivia looked away, uncomfortable at seeing the hurt look on Warren’s face.

“Back to the matter at hand,” Fitz said grimly, “most of the ‘off the record’ was carried out abroad. People we,” Fitz coughed and gave a bitter smile, “found difficult.”

“And did this just happen abroad?” asked Kara, a hint of cynicism in her voice

“Well,” Fitz ran a hand over his face, “most of the time. All the stuff I did was.”

“Most,” Laura paused, “What do you mean by ‘most’.”

“You killed your own people,” said Olivia, “I thought we didn’t do that.”

Fitz shrugged again. His nonchalance about the whole situation was starting to irritate Olivia.

“We don’t.”

“Then what does Lamb have you on?” asked Olivia

“On me? Nothing.”

“So who does he have dirt on?”

“Well there’s nothing concrete,” said Fitz, “but in this game nothing needs to be. All it takes is a rumour and,”

He clicked his fingers and smiled when his team jumped,

“Gone!”

“And this is what Lamb has?” asked Laura, “something that could potentially be damaging?”

“Ladi Di wants us to check it out,” said Fitz, “yes. If it’s enough to get her spooked,” he let out a soft chuckle, “then it’s worth checking out.”

“So why are we working with the Slow Horses?” asked Laura, “they’re Slow Horses. Can we just go in and demand they hand it over?”

“Because they’re led by Jackson Lamb,” said Fitz, “and he’s someone you have to play London and Moscow Rules at the same time.”

“So what does Second Desk want us to do?” asked Olivia

“Second Desk, fuck me,” Fitz said rolling his eyes, “you don’t have to be so fucking polite in here.”

He walked towards the windows of his team's office. Fitz managed to snag one of the few remaining ones that had a view out onto Regent’s Park. For a moment his team had wondered if he had actually heard Olivia.

“Ladi Di wants us to see if he actually has what she thinks he has and get it back. So unfortunately we’re going to play the long game and go along with his pathetic little game. And in the end,”

Fitz turned around and grinned at them.

“I’m going to destroy him.”

#fanfiction #slow horses #river cartwright #river cartwright x oc