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measuringbliss · 1 year

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Spider-Man Read-Through 008: Medusa and Mysterio

MASTERPOST

ASM 62-67

This entry's very compelling, but what a mess.

In this first issue, Peter says that he has ~never fought a female before~.

*snickers* Oooh this is going to be a good one.

This Medusa attacks with her hair and is apparently part of the Inhumans.

...THOSE Inhumans?

Oh Lord.

So she's there to test the Average Joe or something, which Peter definitely isn't.

More importantly, someone has my name! Love his suit, less fond of his face. He's giving Magnus McGilded (real name) or whatever name you know him under (Cosney Megundal for me).

See the likeness? To be fair, I dig the suit.

So Medusa's here for peace and giggles, but capitalism immediately rears its head and that blond guy above ask her to participate in a shampoo add. Which causes all sort of questions. How would she get paid? She doesn't have a human bank account (presumably), she doesn't care about human money (for now, presumably) and she sets up even more unrealistic standards for the human race (which. is interesting. there's something there. but anyway). And when McGilded/Bliss (...) offers to make a contract, she doesn't care and he's overjoyed. This story better hope it's a communist manifesto.

Even with these panels, I can say Peter's a handsome guy.

Meanwhile Osborn and Jameson are acting like an old married couple and I never thought I'd say this but it makes sense! Do they have a ship name? Osbon? Jamesorn? I'll listen to your suggestions!

The source of Norman's internal conflict is that he's progressively remembering about the times he dressed in drag and was a queen of BDSM with young jock DILF-seeker Peter Parker as partner. Norman hasn't been slaying for a while, and it's time he dons the cloth once again!

*snickers*

McGilded says he'll pay Medusa in fame, which is absolutely a scam, younglings, don't fall for it. She agrees with me and tells the producer to get rekt.

The producer motivates Peter to go fight Medusa fists first, questions later (which makes complete sense, remember when he fought the Human Torch?) and Peter has this to say:

"That's the trouble with women... they just can't keep their mouths shut!"

That is not very slay of you, Peter. Give back your woke badge, you're making me want to go read The Killing Joke.

By now, Peter begs every being he fights to not use up all his webbing, as it's very expensive. Peter, you sound like a broken record.

Peter also accuses me, a respected member of the Homiesexual community, of being a liar. This is a hate crime.

In the end, Peter gets back at McGilded, but can't get his mind off Gwen. This issue is gold and we, commies of the 21st century, deeply appreciate it.

This is a good thing, since the Vulture (apparently still alive) is going all Shadow the Hedgehog on us.

So here I was, enjoying a dark story about the Vulture avenging his name and Spidey having trouble with the rain when I was assaulted by an advertisement:

This sent me in a deep dive: who was Donald O. Bolander?

"Donald O Bolander is the author of books such as Instant Synonyms and Antonyms."

Fascinating biography. Don is/was like that one author you subscribe to for one article, who spams you every week with incredibly boring newsletters, but you can never seem to get the courage to suppress them from your daily life. Somehow, they've become part of your waking hours.

We got a bit more information here if you're curious. Anyway, he died in 2010, but look at you, Donald. It's 2023 and you're still making an impact on our lives. Godspeed!

Anyway, Peter goes back home and goes to sleep in his drenched Spidey costume, which is probably bad but I can't say I ever had this specific experience so you do you. He can't fall asleep because his brain keeps acting up, and this is once again proof that Peter has ADHD, thanks for coming to my TED talk.

Peter has internalized homophobia and thus can't ask Harry to give in to his urges and massage his back, but one other interesting thing happens: Vietnam.

So War on Vietnam has been mentioned a few times during these comics. It's not condemned, which is interesting because by 1968, there were definitely people speaking out against it. I think the writers might have wanted to speak out too, but weren't necessarily allowed to do so -- at least, not at that moment. I'm curious to see if the characters go against it.

Someone knocks, and it's Norman, who's considerably less nice than before. Repression!

So that issue was a fun one, the final battle (Vulture vs Vulture vs Spider-Man) incorporated well both Peter's Spidey and civillian lives. I don't care for the Vulture, but the soap opera is great!

The Vulture's attack continues and Robbie Robertson gets a chance to appear, to my usual delight (although I haven't mentioned him until now, he's a reasonable figure in Peter's life and these are usually rare in these comics. In fact, he directly notices that Spidey mentions him by name and figures it's someone he knows. Good going!

Meanwhile MJ gets a dated haircut, Anna and May are still in love with each other, and Anna really thinks her niece's hair are too masculine. Aaah, the Sixties. Gwen still has her long hair and shows off her legs, so she's a much better candidate for a Parker romance, obviously. Gwen's father suddenly recovered from his memory loss - as is known to happen, see the previous arc - so everything's fine again between Peter and Gwen.

Peter uses his smarts and beats the Vulture, but falls unconscious in the street... Will he get unmasked?

I mean, I could absolutely see it, SM2-way.

It so happens that Papa Stacey is here and will *not* let anybody unmask his favorite hero in his presence. He says he wouldn't do it without a legal expert. I wonder what he means by that.

One character mentions it's election year, and I wonder if it's going to be a prominent storyline. Is Osborn mayor already? Is he going to become mayor? Hm.

At this point, both Peter and Norman have been absent for a while and I have to wonder if people thought they had eloped or something. A politician, having a secret relationship with a younger male? Never seen that before!

Meanwhile MJ cameos to scare all of us. Is she in her Cats costume?

So Peter's in prison, he fakes helping prisoner so that he and Captain Stacey get out safely, but Spidey reaffirms his distrust in the legal system by saying that nope, he's not gonna wait for Stacey to testify to his innocence to leave prison. No way.

What a chad.

In the next issue (66), Mysterio's back! Which is nice.

I'm side-eyeing everyone who says TASM2 had too much going on.

Afterwards, the Marvel editors try to figure out how to give fanservice while not summoning their cis male reader base's homophobia. So far, the results have been middling. Either stick to what you were doing before, or show us more skin!!!

He loves dramatic entrances, and I'm here for them!

However, Peter once again questions his character development. Uncle Ben's principles are nice and all, but Peter's starving and needs money.

At least, Peter and Gwen are finally together! That's nice to see, at last. They didn't kiss yet (due to the CCA? nah). At the coffee shop where they go, Robbie and Captain Stacey talk together and reassure themselves that their interest in Spider-Man is strictly professional (in bold in text, twice!!). These men are not doing anything to beat the allegations.

Meanwhile... the Goblin is back! Norman talks to himself and says that his son is "lily-livered" and I'm sure he'd use a gay slur if he was allowed to (he'd be right, but that's not the subject).

Afterwards, Peter finds back his aunt who's absolutely terrified by the telly, which is a Thing that May Does. She's ridiculously fragile, but she's also gay so I can't help but love her.

Here's a small tangeant: we've been seeing the No More outfit (yellow vest, blue pants) for a while now. It's nice to see continuity like that!

So Peter's dead.

I mean. Not really. He's just miniaturized and placed in an amusement park. It's just like in Silent Hill 3! He has now a six inches............... size. Of course.

The visuals are very entertaining - Romita is creative.

Meanwhile, Aunt May is with her ~dear friend Anna~, who takes care of her. Yeah, I'm sure.

Randy, Robbie's son is introduced! Didn't expect that, but I'm happy that Robbie gets some development. The regular (soap side) cast keeps getting bigger...

Overall, it was a quite entertaining series of issues.

After a very entertaining fight, this issue - and post - ends on this. I had a vague feeling of déjà vu when I saw that, so I checked the cover and first page of the next issue and yeah - we're about to enter year 1969 and its Tablet storyline! I've read this one (as told in the masterpost) but I'll be curious to revisit it, especially as I don't recall the Goblin having any involvement.

But before we get there, we have three issues to read in the next post: Spectacular Spider-Man 1 & 2 + Annual 5.

Next time: Black-and-white pages?! :(

#spider-man #comics #osbon #jamesorn #norman osborn x jonah jameson #norman osborn is a drag queen. good for her!#i'm on fire in this entry #peter parker has adhd #parksborn #parksborn but with the other osborn #tasm2

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spideythot · 5 years

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This was requested by @spadestorm696 who asked for an alpha/beta/omega au where Tony has his eye on Peter and gets rid of anyone in his way to have him.

Hope you enjoy!!

Warning: underage, nff, mentions of murder, auctions and possessive behavior

Owned

Tony had been watching his Omega grow up for some time now, waiting for the opportunity to finally take him. Sweet, young, Peter Parker blipped on Tony’s radar when it was announced he’d been contracted to Norman Osborn shortly after presenting. Tony remembered it being controversial at the time - a nobody Omega from Queens destined to be bred by Osborn’s heir. Well, Tony wasn’t going to let that happen - and not because he was opposed to status crossing, no. He wanted Peter all to himself. Osborn’s son wasn’t even an Alpha, he wouldn’t be able to properly care for Peter.

Really, Tony was the hero in all this. He had to get rid of the elder Osborn first. Which was easy enough - a single explosive carefully hidden on the man’s private jet did the trick. A horrible accident, everyone said, a malfunction in the plane’s engine. Without Norman, and the contract never specifying the his son was to receive Peter in the event of death, the Omega was put up for auction.

Tony watched him stand nervously on the stage. Peter had been given standard auction clothes, tight and very short top and bottoms. He was attempting to pull the crop top down to cover his belly, cheeks deep red. Tony’s beautifully shy; little pet. He was ready to just sign over half his company for Peter, but that wouldn’t be necessary. The other Alphas at this auction were out of their league - the first bid (what Norman had paid to have Peter) was pocket change for him. He let the bids rise steadily before throwing in his own numbers, easily doubling what the current offer was.

The crowd murmured and grumbled and the auctioneer remained speechless for a few moments. Then he pounded his gavel and yelled, “Sold, thank you Mr. Stark.” He was delighted with the sight of Peter’s knees wobbling as he heard the name of his new owner.

After the auction was over, Tony was escorted to a private room, where he could alter the terms of the contract. Peter was there, along with another Omega - his aunt, Tony recognized. Her only conditions were similar to those she’d put to Osborn. Peter was to remain in her care until he was of age, which Tony had no problem with. She didn’t specify whether or not Tony had to wait to knot her little nephew. Tony would maintain the funding Osborn had provided the family as well, for welfare and education.

Tony then implemented his own conditions. Peter would stay in penthouse estate if deemed necessary - when his safety was compromised by Iron Man activities - for indefinite periods. Tony also established heat training with Peter, something Osborn hadn’t done because the Omega was intended for his son. May Parker was hesitant, but she really had no choice now. If Tony wished, he could lock Peter up and she’d never see him again. But he didn’t want to make his new Omega hate him - no, he wanted Peter to worship him. And that took a gentle hand.

Peter was coming home with Tony for the rest of the week, to see where he would eventually be living. Peter, now in his normal street clothes, tried to hide his excitement.

“Mr. Stark,” he said, voice wavering only slightly, “I wanted to - to thank you. For taking my contract. And also, it’s like amazing! I’m Iron Man’s Omega now!” He blushed deep red, but continued to babble, “And you’re such a hot Alpha, I can’t believe you don’t already have an Omega. Oh, even if you do, I’m okay with sharing. I know I’m pretty young still, so I don’t know if I’ll be any good for you.”

Tony raised his hand, palm open, and Peter immediately stopped speaking. “You’re my only Omega,” Tony explained, “I’ve been wanting you for a long time. You’ll be perfect for me.” He’d train Peter to be perfect. Starting today. Once Peter bared his mark, Tony would own him completely, body and soul.

Peter nodded, shy smile quickly expanding over his lips. His fingers twitched on the seat, reaching out toward Tony before stopping. Tony took the Omega’s hand in his own and let them both rest on Peter’s thigh. Peter whimpered softly at the Alpha’s touch. He was such an eager little thing already. Tony wondered how Norman had resisted, Peter was practically begging to be claimed.

Tony took them straight to the penthouse once they arrived at Stark Tower, ignoring the gathered paparazzi at his door by slipping in through a hidden entrance. He didn’t need pictures of his pretty Omega all over the media. That would come in time, when no one else could legally claim Peter. The Omega at his side stumbled out of the elevator in awe of the new home. “Mr. Stark!” He exclaimed, “This place is so cool!”

“Welcome home, boss,” Friday greeted. “And guest.”

Peter startled at her voice but quickly recovered. “Is that your AI?” He asked, beaming when Tony nodded. Peter turned his attention to the ceiling. “I’m Peter, Peter Parker. I’m Mr. Stark’s Omega.”

“Noted,” Friday replied, “Welcome home, Peter.”

He was certainly proud of the title. The little tease, ruling up his Alpha’s possessive nature without even realizing. Peter wandered through the house with Tony trailing behind, poking his head into various rooms. They ended the tour at the master bedroom, and Peter whirled around, confused pout on his face.

“Something wrong?” Tony asked. He knew Peter was searching for something, he’d been flitting from room to room, determined to locate something in particular.

“Can... can I see your Iron Man suits?” Peter said.

Ah. That’s what his little minx wanted. Tony grinned and tapped his chest. The Iron Man hub flickered to life, lighting up before Peter’s eyes. The Omega bounced in place in anticipation, he bit his lip to hold back his little squeak. Tony let the silvery nanotech of his armor slide over his body, eyes glowing blue as it took over. Peter reached out and touched the armor, his fingers roaming over the seamless plates. Tony caught his arm and pulled him close. “Hello there,” he purred.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter gasped. He squirmed against Tony, face turning red once again. “I was just- you’re so - I didn’t...”

Tony kissed Peter, silencing his babbling, and slipping his tongue into Peter’s mouth. Peter stiffened in surprise but quickly melted into the kiss with a whine. Tony broke away, nuzzling Peter’s neck and dragging his teeth over the boy’s bonding gland. Peter moaned softly, “A-Alpha...”

Tony moved them to the bed and dropped Peter on to the mattress. Peter flailed for a moment, before propping up on his elbows. He scooted back, nervously retreating from the Alpha. Tony pursued, the armor sliding back into his chest piece. Tony dragged Peter by the ankle back across the bed. “Mr. Stark, we can’t!” Peter protested, “I’m not old enough...”

Tony clicked his tongue and pinned Peter to the bed. “You’re an Omega, Peter,” he said, “You were old enough when you had your first heat.”

Peter shook his head and struggled under Tony, but the Alpha gripped his wrists and held them above Peter’s head. “Breathe in,” he ordered, “You can smell how badly your body wants an Alpha.”

Peter whined again, his eyes fluttering as their scents mingled. Tony waited. He didn’t need to push Peter further, his instincts would eventually take over. He released his grip on Peter’s wrists, but still hovered over the boy. Peter trembled and took in another deep breath. Yes, he could smell Tony’s pheromones... and his body responded.

“Mr. Stark... I’ve never been with anyone,” he murmured, “But... I want... you’re just so... I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Tony nodded, pretending to weigh Peter’s words carefully. He would let the Omega decide that he needed to knotted by Tony - make the boy think it was his decision. And Peter was so wholesome, scared about not being a good Omega. Tony almost felt bad about taking him. Almost.

“Show me what you know,” Tony said. He moved back, allowing Peter space to move freely on the bed.

His Omega sat up, shaking ever so slightly, and began rolling his shirt up to drag it off his head. He pushed it up with hands, fingers splayed wide over his chest, in an attempt at seduction. Adorable, Tony thought. Peter let the shirt fall on the bed next to them once it was off. Then his hooked trembling fingers in the waistband of jeans. He hesitated and glanced to Tony for reassurance. The Alpha gave him a single nod, and Peter tugged his pants off. He kicked them to the side and knelt in front of Tony, briefs still on. Peter’s little cock was hard, outlined nicely by his tight underwear. He had leaked a little too, a dark stain on his crotch all too revealing. Peter hugged his middle with his arms, face flushed, but he didn’t hide himself.

“That’s very good,” Tony praised. Peter’s anxiety morphed at Tony’s words, and he relaxed with a shy smile.

“Will you touch me now, Alpha?” He asked.

How could Tony resist that? He offered Peter a hand and the boy took it. Tony re-positioned them once more, laying Peter back on the mattress and straddling him. Tony shrugged out of his own shirt, but left the armors housing on his chest. Peter gazed at him, eyes wide but excited. Tony freed his cock from his slacks and boxers. He took Peter’s hand and pressed it firmly to his dick. Peter jolted, fingers curling around the thick shaft and he groaned.

“Oh my god...” he gasped.

“How’s it feel?” Tony asked, “You want it?”

Peter’s eyes glossed over and fluttered closed. “More than anything,” he replied, his other hand rubbing over his lower stomach. He could feel a familiar ache growing deep inside his gut, the need to bred as if he were in heat. Peter spread his legs when Tony leaned closer. He gave Tony’s cock an experimental pump listening to Alpha groan. Tony was big - bigger than he ever imagined an Alpha could be. His fingers barely fit around it.

Tony kissed Peter’s neck again, this time he bit down, near the his gland. He sucked a quick hickey there and moved to the opposite side of Peter’s neck. The Omega panted and whimpered, squirming under Tony. The Alpha pressed his hips to Peter’s and began to grind against the boy and his palm. “I’m going to make you mine, Peter,” he said.

“Right now?” the Omega squeaked.

“Right now,” Tony chuckled. He lifted Peter’s hips and the boy released Tony’s cock. The Omega bucked his hips as Tony groped him.

“Mr. Stark...” he pleaded, “I don’t... you’re too big.”

Tony shook his head. “I’ll stretch you,” Tony assured, “You’re already slick, I can see it. I’ll fit.” He pulled Peter’s underwear off, watching with delight as his hard little dick bounced against his belly. The Omega was dripping slick slowly and Tony easily sank a finger into his hole. Peter arched up at the foreign feeling, and attempted to close his legs.

Tony pushed each of the Omega’s thighs back down. Peter mumbled an apology but Tony shrugged it off. He added a second finger to Peter’s tight, dripping heat and began stretching him. Peter bucked his hips again and cried out. It burned but when Tony’s blunt fingers prodded at his inner walls, searing pleasure coursed through him. He couldn’t hold back! Tony had barely pressed in a third finger and Peter was cumming, coating both of their stomachs.

“Oh!” He gasped.

Tony’s fingers stilled within him. Peter shivered and panted, sweat cooling on his skin. “Alpha... I’m sorry...” he cried.

Tony hushed him. “It felt good, didn’t it?” the Alpha asked. Peter nodded, blinking back a few tears. “I’m not upset with you. I want you to feel good.”

Peter nodded again. Tony thrust his fingers into Peter, forcing another mewl from him. “Ah! Mr. Stark!” Peter moaned, “Again... do that again?”

“This?” Tony asked, curling his fingers inside Peter to press against the Omega’s prostate. Peter keened and bucked again. Tony continued to tease until Peter was hard again. He dragged fingers free and Peter sobbed at the loss. Tony positioned himself and thrust into his Omega’s hole. Peter choked out a moan and then grit his teeth together. It stretched him more than Tony’s fingers had and it hurt.

Peter squeezed his thighs around Tony’s hips and whimpered. “I can’t, Mr. Stark!” he pleaded, “Its too much!”

Tony kissed him and rubbed small circles into his hips. He rolled Peter’s hips, back and forth, with his own giving Peter time to adjust. Peter breathed in deep shaky breaths, letting his body relax. He returned Tony’s kisses, allowing the Alpha to slip his tongue between his lips. Tony thrust shallowly, and Peter bit back his moan. The Alpha’s cock filled him so perfectly. As Peter looked down to where they were connected, he could see the bump of Tony’s dick in his stomach. He shuddered and tipped his head back against the bed.

“Mr. Stark!” He begged.

Tony grinned and thrust deeper into him. Peter locked his legs around Tony’s waist and rocked with the man. Peter was hot and wet on the inside, so deliciously right. His muscles instinctively clenched around Tony with each drive of his cock. Tony twisted slightly and pounded against Peter’s prostate. He moaned and babbled as Tony fucked him, “Mr. Sta-ah, ah- Stark! Al-Alpha! Yes, yes! More! Alpha! Ah, ah, ah! Mr. Stark!”

“Gonna knot you Peter,” Tony purred, “Fill you up.”

“Please, please,” Peter pleaded.

Tony shoved his dick in deep, his rapidly growing knot stretching Peter’s rim even more. Peter gasped out, his cry dying in his throat. Tony spilled into Peter, knot fully expanding to plug the Omega. He bit down on Peter’s mating gland this time, breaking the skin and sealing his ownership. Peter came again as Tony claimed him, little cock spurting between them once more. Tony rolled his hips just slightly, still pumping cum into his Omega. He pulled back and offered his on gland to Peter. The boy accepted, stifling a moan as his teeth dug into the space between Tony’s shoulder and collar. Then he went limp, dropping on the bed and just accepting the weight of Tony’s cock and knot still in him.

“All mine, Peter,” Tony said, kissing at his mark on the Omega’s throat. He held the boy close, snuggling and nuzzling at him.

Peter sighed, gazing at his Alpha with a tired smile. “Yours.” He agreed.

#starker #peter x tony #alpha/omega #au #spadestorm696 #@spadestorm696 #nff #possesive!tony #murder implied #dark!tony #requests

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floral-and-fine · 5 years

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Last Song part 1

Spiderman Noir x female reader

Warnings: lemon and cheating

a/n: I tried my best to write this in a Noir style novel, so it’s kinda dark, no one is really a “good guy” and it’s in his pov. Never really wrote anything like this, not sure how I feel about tbh. But I saw some Spiderman Noir fan art that made me want to write something for him.

Summary: The reader hires Peter Parker Private Investigator to search for her missing husband.

Queens, the city where I was born and raised. A city that has declined into darkness. A city drowning in its own filth, overrun with criminals and scum. From the dark alleyways, all the way to town hall was corruption.

Thunder roared outside my office window and lightning struck lighting up my office for a brief second. In the corner, there was a leak in the roof and there's a low buzz coming from the light fixture above.

I've stayed in this city long enough, but every time I think I can get out, something pulls me back.

I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and fetched the bottle of scotch. There was only about a shot left. I swallowed the last bit and sighed. It wasn't nearly enough.

There's a knock on my door and my secretary, Ms. Stacy, peeks her head in, “Mr. Parker, there's someone here to see you, sir.”

“Let 'em in,” I nod, tossing the empty scotch bottle in the trash.

A lovely woman steps into my office. She was wearing an A-line dress and lace gloves and was tightly clutching a matching handbag. Half of me hopes she hear for a date, but I know better in this kind of work.

I motion for her to take the seat across from me, “What can I do you, Miss-?”

“Y/n,” she answers without missing a beat and settles down. “I need your help, I've got no one else who I could turn to. I heard you’re one of the best private investigators in Queens.”

“Get to the point,” I cut her off.

“It's about my husband,” she starts, her eyes laced with concern.“He's gone missing… the police refuse to get involved, but I know there's something fishy going on.”

“Sure he didn't just run off with some hussy?” I questioned.

“I know my husband,” she argued sternly. “If he had a mistress, he would've had the courtesy to let me know he was leaving me for her.”

I roll my eyes, I've had other cases dealing with missing spouses, they almost always ended with them having a new lover.

“Mind if I?” she asks, removing a pack of cigarettes from her handbag.

I nod and push the ashtray on my desk closer to her. Her hand shakes as she tries to light it.

“Listen, Dollface,” I say, taking out a book of matches from my pocket. “I'm not the good guy you're looking for,” I explained to her, swiping the match against the strip. “I ain't gonna do you or nobody any favors out of the goodness of my heart.”

She leans towards the match I'm holding out for her, and she takes a quick drag and blows. “Money ain't a problem if that's what you’re worried about. Just please find him.”

Missing husband cases never go well. It always leads to unnecessary heartbreak. But if she's willing to pay, I'll keep my mouth shut for now. I got bills to pay after all.

“Fine,” I give in. “I'll take your case.”

I tell her to leave the details with my secretary, and with that, she leaves.

I get ready to head home for the night and to check in with Aunt May. I grab my hat and coat by the door and stop by Stacy's desk to say goodnight.

“So, Whaddya you think, Stac?”

She shrugs, “Think there might be something to it and something that might interest you. Here's what she told me.” Stacy handing me a note.

My eyes narrow when they spot a familiar name, Harry Osborn. So, the broad's missing husband was none other than my old chum.

“Small world,” I mutter bitterly. ...

Aunt May welcomes me home with open arms as soon as I walk in. While she has me near, she explains that my dinner is in the oven.

Not feeling hungry, I thank her and tell her I'll eat it later as I head upstairs instead. I can see that concerned look in her eye she often gives me, but she keeps quiet about it.

Digging through a box of old junk in my room, I find an old photo of Harry and myself, back during our school days. Life seemed so simple back then.

I had become aware of the sort of shady business Harry's father had been a part of shortly after high school.

Norman Osborn may have appeared like a saint in public, but that man had a finger in almost every criminal organization in Queens. It took a lot out of me to bring the Green Goblin down.

However, last I checked, Harry had nothing to do with his father's affiliations. And I hadn't heard anything through the grapevine about a new Green Goblin taking over.

But a lot can change over time and this city has a way of changing people for the worst.

Discarding the picture aside, I run my hand down my face, questioning if I can pursue this case without it taking a personal toll.

...

I started my investigation following Harry's last known activities. I searched for clues while following his footsteps.

Everywhere I went, I came out empty handed. Just when I was at my wit's end, one of Harry's employees mentioned a bar his boss frequented and adds that Harry was on his way there after work. He also warned me that the place was known to serve the shady sort of patrons in town.

The speakeasy wasn't easy to find, had to walk through what seemed like a maze of alleyways before finding the steel door to what appeared to be an abandoned factory.

As I opened the door I was greeted by a waft of thick white smoke. All eyes turned to me, watching me with suspicion. I recognize a few faces, several mobsters and petty criminals.

I approach the bar and ordered a drink. So, this is the place Harry Osborn was last seen. Not a surprise with all these shady characters around.

What the hell had Harry gotten himself into?

I run the scenarios in my head. Did he have a drug problem? Couldn't pay back a loan shark? Became a target for kidnapping?... Or worst-case scenario, Harry had decided to follow in his old man's footsteps.

There's still so much I don't know. I needed more clues and information.

My thoughts come to halt as applause breaks out. Shifting my attention to the stage, a man in tuxedo introduces the entertainment for the evening.

“Y/n,” I whisper to myself, as the dame sauntered on stage. Apparently, the missus had kept from crucial facts to herself.

She looked even better than she had the other night. The skin-tight satin dress hugged every curve of her body.

She smiles at the crowd as she takes ahold of the mic, and the music starts. It's clear that she's no stranger to the limelight.

I watch mesmerized as she begins to croon a beautiful but sad song. She sings so effortlessly. Song after song, I find that I can't possibly take my eyes off of her.

Y/n looks in my direction, her eyes locking with mine as she coos some pretty words, and with that, her last song comes to an end.

Applause erupts again as she takes a bow and disappears backstage.

I feel my teeth grind and my fists clenched, as I finally come to my senses. She must've known her husband was a regular patron here.

I practically snarl as she slides into the barstool next to me a few minutes later.

“Mad at me?” she jokes playfully seeing the scowl on my face.

I scoff turning my face and finishing my drink. “I don't appreciate getting played.”

“Didn't know you were investigating me,” she shot back.

“Don't play coy, Mrs. Osborn,” I snap. “You hired me to find your husband, and all anyone can tell me was he was last seen here.”

“Mr. Parker,” she barks clearly displeased with my tone. “I'm sure you could understand, that I would want to keep this side of Harry's life private…”

Y/n sighs, crossing her legs and adjusting her dress, there's a faraway look in her eyes, “I'm not even entirely sure what all he was up to… but I'm scared, Mr. Parker, scared that I won't see my Harry again alive.”

My blood is still boiling over her withholding information.

“Might need to get used to the idea,” I say unnecessarily harsh. “You could've helped prevent that.”

She wipes away a stray tear and I regret my words.

“I'm sorry,” I start but she interjects.

“No, you're probably right,” she murmurs with trembling lips. “I need to tell you everything, Mr. Parker.”

We take a taxi back to my office so we can talk behind closed doors. I shut the door and stand back as she leans against my desk.

“When Harry and I first met I was a lounge singer and he had a bright future ahead of him. He was educated, came from a well to do family… I Had no idea how I caught his eye,” she says with a sad smile. “But we were young, in love, and a year or so later we married.”

“Then things really took a turn for the worst after Harry's father passed, and the ugly truth to his father's success came out to the forefront,” she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “The bribes, the scheming, the manipulating… Harry's not cut out for a life of crime… he's been distancing himself from me and keeping secrets.”

“When I try to talk to him, he gets defensive and puts up walls,” y/n rubs her forehead, her emotions getting the better of her. “I'm afraid that even if you do find Harry, Mr. Parker, he won't be the same man I married anymore.”

“I'll get to the bottom of this,” I promise her. “But I don't know if you'll like what I find.”

Y/n glances up at me with those sad eyes. I cup her cheek feeling her warm tears on my hand.

Next thing I know we’re kissing like our lives depended on it. My fingers caress her neck, and my tongue slides across her bottom lip.

Her coat slides off her shoulders, and my mouth kisses and sucks on her newly exposed skin and collarbone.

I scoop her up by her hips and help hoist her up on my desk. I push her dress up and my hands hastily move up her thighs. In a swift motion, I yank her lace panties down.

Neither of our actions would necessarily be considered loving or affectionate. We were caught up in our passion, lust, and overall desperateness to soothe our pain and loneliness.

Her hands fumbled with my shirt and belt. I feel her delicate fingers on my chest.

I know deep down we should stop, that I should be the voice of reason, but my most carnal desires take over. There's only one thing I want right now, and it's to be inside her, to feel her warmth.

Slowly, I push into her cunt, not being able to resist any longer.

Her nails drag across my shoulders as she clings to my body. She moans, throwing her head back as she takes every inch of my cock. I take this opportunity to sink my teeth into the crook of her neck and gently biting the tender muscle.

I smile against her skin as she tugs on my hair. I teasingly grind deeper into her. Her legs wrap around my hips holding me close.

“Enjoying yourself,” I purr lowly.

She pulls me into another heated kiss and our tongues swirl around passionately.

I can hear the desk rattle as I thrust my hips into her. Slick noises fill the room along with our panting and moans.

Y/n starts getting louder and is in on the verge of screaming as she gets closer to cumming. With a few more rough bucks of my hips, she tenses and her walls squeeze tightly around my cock, milking it for every drop of my seed.

My fingers grip her soft skin tightly as I cum. I rest my forehead on her shoulder, catching my breath.

“Sleep on the couch,” I mutter. “It's not safe to travel alone this time of night.”

She doesn't utter a word as she slides off my desk and lays on the couch. Taking my trench coat in hand, I go over to her and cover her up with it.

When I wake at my desk the next morning, the first thing I notice is the empty couch. Not that I pictured things to go differently. She's a married woman after all.

Yet, a dark part of me hopes that Harry never turns up and that maybe something more can transpire between y/n and me.

…

#spiderman noir #spiderman verse #spiderman noir x reader #au #lemon #peter b parker #noir spiderman #reader insert #spiderman noir fanfic #harry osborn #green goblin

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manicr · 5 years

Text

abandoned WIP OTP 21

I wrote a chapter 21 of my otp challenge but really just lost all interest in it, since it’s like 13 pages long I’ll just post it. If anyone wants to continue it feel free.

OTP 21/30: Shower Sex

Warnings: mental illness & bad coping, substance abuse, mentioned self harm, suicide mention, abelism, abuse, hurt/comfort, D/s, controlling and manipulative.

Notes: Canon Bullseye grew up in a poor neighborhood NYC with Bronx, Brooklyn and Queens all cited as possible places. I’m placing him in the Bronx and that he lived there between the late 70’s to the late 80’s, mostly before the urban renewal of the area but after the lowest point of urban decay.

Canon Lester did blackops for the CIA before his career as a costumed killer, only on page mission was dealing with Contras in Nicaragua.

Bullseye was “healed” by the Hand in an “improved” body in Elektra (2014-2015) after the failed resurrection by Lady Bullseye and the Hand in Daredevil.

Bullseye’s mental health has always been unstable, current comic-canon seems to be Bipolar Disorder (Foolkiller) with anti-social personality disorder (Daredevil).

Beta-read by Izumi

Summary: A call for help sent to an old friend. Rock-bottom ain’t that steady ground.

Daken hadn’t expected a text from Bullseye. In fact, he hadn’t thought twice about the assassin for years, nor had he any idea of how Lester had managed to contact him. It wasn’t like he was listed anywhere, or had the same number he’d had when they worked together. Yet, there it was.

Ozzie cocktail

Bullseye

Short, to the point, and utterly unexpected. For a moment, Daken entertained the notion that it was a fake or an ambush, but it was unlikely that anyone but Lester knew what an Ozzie cocktail was or would want one. It had been his moniker for the medications he’d been on at Osborn’s Avengers. It was presumptuous of Lester to think that he would remember the exact composition of crap that he’d been eating – never mind the fact that he actually did. Daken sighed and set his phone on the table, leaning back in his seat and considering if he wanted to be dragged into the mess that was quintessentially Bullseye.

Tapping the armrest with lacquered nails, he considered the possible scenarios. The simplest answer was that Lester actually wanted his help, that he’d run out of his drugs and urgently needed a top-up but couldn’t procure it himself. Additionally, it might still be a trap and an ambush, but not a premeditated one rather just Lester being himself.

Daken took his phone again and checked the geotag on the text: 1968 Marmion Ave Apt 3D. Bullseye had deliberately left the data there for him to find. Lester still did that CIA/NSA black ops shit on reflex; he was a ghost when he didn’t want to be found. But his chosen place wasn’t much of a surprise. Lester had always been drawn to his old haunts, the Bronx was like a siren call to him, despite how much of the neighborhood had gentrified.

He’d already made up his mind, want it or not. There was too much temptation in figuring out how much of a mess Bullseye had become since he’d seen him last. Certainly, he loathed weakness in others, but somehow seeing Lester’s was like watching a train wreck: morbidly captivating.

Rising and clicking though his contacts, Daken sent a short message to Laura that he had personal business to deal with, and if she needed him to text. He nearly didn’t send the message, hesitating for a long time, trying to justify it to himself. She had invited him to town. They had had lunch yesterday, with Gabby, and she’d talked extensively how she’d come to rely on him. Not that she needed to, Laura was more than competent to take care of herself and Gabby too. Daken pressed send, feeling overly sentimental.

He got dressed and got his keys. With a quick stop to get the drugs, it’d be a 40 minute drive from his Lower Manhattan apartment, if he was lucky. He’d hand the drugs over, investigate Lester’s condition to his satisfaction, and then spend another few years blissfully unburdened by Lester’s particular brand of crazy.

The first part of his plans went well. But knowing Lester, Daken should have expected it to fall apart the moment he stood outside looking up at the red brick house. The sex shop masking as a hair salon and driving school that looked like it had been there since the 70’s really gave the place ambiance. Daken quirked a smile at the equally rundown Gourmet Deli at the corner; Lester had always had a weakness for sub-par deli sandwiches.

He knew that he was hesitating, wasting time reminiscing about the very man he was there to meet. Double-checking the bag with the medication and ignoring the passers-by who ignored him too, Daken steeled himself and pressed the buzzer to apartment 3D.

No reply.

It wasn’t entirely unexpected, so Daken merely pressed all the buzzers until someone on reflex let him in. There was always that one person, even in a neighborhood like this where poverty was a real problem and crime was a common occurrence.

Walking up the stairs, and catching a few stares from the tenants as he went, Daken looked for Lester’s apartment, but for some reason there was no D apartment on the third floor. He couldn’t scent Lester strongly enough either, with the harsh stench of cleaning supplies in the air.

A dark and doe-eyed woman, barely more than a girl, spied at him from her half open door with a look that spoke of pure desire. '

“Excuse me, miss? I’m looking for 3D,” Daken asked with a smile, recognizing a person who would help him if he laid on a little charm.

“3D?” She repeated with a Puerto Rican accent, her smile faltering and face blanching like he’d asked for the address to the Devil himself. Which, to be honest, wasn’t too far off the mark.

“It’s alright, you can tell me,” he reassured her, pushing just a little pheromones to relax her. He should have expected the response. It wasn’t like Lester would be a model neighbor.

“He changed the sign. It’s 3E.” Her accent got thicker as she spoke, her nerves still getting the better of her.

Daken thanked her but she closed the door before he could finish speaking. Lester had evidently rattled up his neighbors well and good. Daken rolled his eyes and went to the right door. Not even bothering to knock, he picked the lock.

As he tried to open the door, he realized there were several bolts barring the way.

“Figures,” Daken muttered to himself, before raising his voice: “Lester, come open the door, or I will break it.”

He could both hear and scent the assassin now, but there was very little movement from him and it was possible that he was either passed out or in a drug or alcohol induced stupor.

“You always had to have things the hard way.”

It took a few firm kicks to break the frame of the cheap door, blowing it open with a shower of splinters flying inward. Daken adjusted his jacket and hair, walking in and closing the door behind him, as best as it could be.

“Lester?”

The apartment was an utter mess. Leftover food, booze, clothes, trash, broken furniture, and a stench of unwashed human were the first impression, followed closely by the way Bullseye had torn up the walls and ceiling with impromptu weapons. Daken didn’t know how to feel about this revelation about his former team mate, it wasn’t exactly surprising but neither was it easy to square with his previous memories. Norman had always insisted on a clean house. But the signs had been there even years back.

As Daken moved in to the living room, he caught the whiff of blood and his nose could tell him that it wasn’t just the apartment that Lester had torn up. Bloody smears on the walls after bloodied knuckles, trails dripped and splattered on the carpeting and walls alike, together with copious amounts of vodka and cheap beer. It was easy for Daken to visualize Bullseye hitting the wall, screaming and punching and punching until he was a ragged bloodied mess, his rage unabated.

Pathetic. Daken sneered and wished that he didn’t have to smell all of the filth. He had half a mind to just dump the bag of pills and leave. Let Lester fend for himself. Still, he went into the bedroom. Predictably, he found Lester, still in his costume, sprawled on top of the bed. He was alive, but about as mentally present as a lobotomized psych-ward patient.

“Tch, Lester. What have you done to yourself?”

Daken set the bag of drugs on the bed, which was as much a dirty mess as the rest of the apartment and stank even worse. The source of the stench was Lester himself, unwashed, unshaven, bruised, bleeding and with some of his wounds having the scent of beginning infection and sickness. He’d lost weight and mass too. Then again by the looks of the trash in the room, he’d been living off pastrami sandwiches, chips, cigarettes, pills and booze. It was hard to see the ruggedly handsome man beneath the grime and stench.

It was hard to believe that he’d sent the text either.

Daken rummaged to find Lester’s phone, revolted to touch most of the things he found, but finally finding it beneath the bed. It was fingerprint locked, which wasn’t any real problem since he had Lester right there. Pressing a limp finger to the screen, it opened. Daken found the text immediately and noted to his own surprise that it was set to an auto-send. The conditions seemed to be a certain time of inactivity. Lester had set up his own SOS to him.

He didn’t know if he was to be flattered by it or just felt pity. It was undoubtedly pathetic and sad that he was the closest to an emergency contact Lester had.

Daken dropped the phone on the bed, and wiped his hands off on his pants. “You really are a mess, darling.”

He surprised himself by actually wanting to do something about it. He checked the adjacent door, and found a bathroom nearly as grimy as everything else. Daken turned on the shower, letting it spray and fog up the small room and puddle in the grimy tub.

Removing his jacket, Daken walked back out to Lester and started to undress him with clinical efficiency. Daken noted the signs of infection, cataloged the new collection of scars and, oddly enough, the absence of a few old ones he’d been intimately familiar with. It was Lester, without a shadow of a doubt, but it was like he’d been partially regenerated. He’d seen on TV that Bullseye had, allegedly, died, so maybe this was the effect of whatever had revived him.

Frankly, if he ignored the signs of abuse, Lester looked… younger. He knew the man was past forty, but the version of him that was passed out on the bed looked thirty at most. Lester’s clammy skin was tauter than it had been, his wrinkles far fewer, and even how his limited body fat was placed indicated a younger man. Not that Lester hadn’t done his best to squander his newfound youth with abuse and neglect.

Once undressed, Daken carried the dead-weight of his one-time team mate with benefits to the bathroom. He could feel that Lester wasn’t as far from consciousness as he feared and it was quite likely that he’d be able to wake him with little effort.

Placing Lester in the tub beneath the spray of lukewarm water, Daken rolled up his sleeves and resigned himself to the task ahead. Lester didn’t stir yet, beyond a reflexive cough at the water in his mouth, so Daken found a bar of soap and started to scrub Lester down, taking particular care with his wounds.

He’d done worse tasks; Lester at least was still alive. Besides having washed dead bodies before, he'd also dismembered people using his own claws -- a messy and intimate job that was smellier than what he was doing now.

“Sometimes I think that you do stupid shit like this just to get my attention, Lester,” Daken said softly as he worked the blood off Lester’s long fingers.

He worked his knuckles gently, bruised as they were. Daken told himself he was doing this because it’d put the mighty Bullseye in his debt and control, and any other action would merely put Lester into the hands of the authorities.

“It’d be much easier for you to just call me, y’know.”

Rinsing Lester off, Daken went to see if he could find a razor in the mirror cabinet. The glass was cracked and the lock broken, and most of the content of the shelves were empty pill bottles. To his surprise, there was a straightedge razor folded there too. It was visibly bloodied. Picking it up and barring the blade, Daken rinsed off Lester’s blood, trying to keep the sneer off his face.

Lester could be so weak and foolish. It got worse when he was unmedicated. Every now and then, he'd just spiral into anger and self-destruction, borderline suicidal and 100% certifiable.

One day Lester would kill himself.

But not today.

Daken went back to the tub, razor in hand, and started to shave Lester’s face. The stubble wasn’t too long and yielded easily to the blade. Slowly, a more familiar face emerged. Lester, despite being a mess, looked much better clean-shaven. Daken debated with himself if he should shave Lester's head. The inch or so of bright blond hair was an unfamiliar sight, but not altogether displeasing now that it was clean. It did, though, make the scar on Lester’s forehead even more jarring. The old scar tissue seemingly recently deepened. Daken, deciding he had done enough, let it be.

At this point, Lester started to stir with slow and unfocused movements, coughing away water and reacting to touch. Doubtlessly, he’d be still drunk or high once he did wake up.

Daken didn’t expect Lester to be grateful or even appreciative of his effort. Cleaning up Lester’s mess had always been fool’s errand. Daken supposed that he was the fool today.

Daken slapped Lester sharply in the face, once and then once more when Lester didn’t respond to the first one. Lester woke with a groan and an immediate instinct to lunge for him.

He easily restrained him and firmly pushed him back down in the soapy tub. “Stay down, Lester.”

“...Daken?” Blearily staring at him, Lester seemed to struggle with what he was seeing.

“You’re in your shitty rathole in West Bronx, it’s Tuesday, and you texted me to come here,” Daken filled him in and stood up, grabbing a towel and wiping his hands and arms, though feeling that it made him dirtier than if he hadn’t. “I brought you your drugs and cleaned up your sorry ass.”

“What?”

Lester tried to get out of the tub and slipped back in even before he’d managed to get up. He was weak as a kitten by all accounts, though slightly more sober than Daken had expected.

Cocking a brow, and fighting the urge to smile at Lester’s expense, Daken noted, “Say: thank you, Lester. Be a good boy for once.”

“For getting me naked, ya freak?” Bullseye snarled and seemed to regret his own vehemence as he cringed, possibly from whatever withdrawal hangover he was sporting.

“You were covered in blood, vomit and booze, darling, and some of those wounds will need serious care or the mighty Bullseye will die from sepsis. In case you didn’t notice its rather cold in here but you’re still flushed. You have a fever brought on by infection. You need antibiotics, which neither you nor I have with us. And that’s without mentioning the other drugs you should be taking.” Daken’s tone was deliberately dry and slightly accusing, he had no intention of pussy-footing the issue.

“Next time you decide to try to commit suicide, remove me as your ICE contact. I don’t fancy finding your bloated corpse.”

Lester grabbed an empty bottle of body wash and threw it at him, Daken easily caught it before it hit his face.

Glancing at the bottle and back at Lester, Daken arched an eyebrow and drawled, “Really, darling?”

“You fucking piece of shit! GET OUT!” Lester roared, as fierce as the aforementioned kitten and flushing further from the exertion of simply raising his voice.

It was hard to take him seriously; looking as young and weak as he did, Lester sat in the tub like an overgrown child, still wet, bruised, and sulking at needing help.

Setting aside the bottle and sitting on the lid of the toilet, Daken rolled his eyes.

“Again, you contacted me. Why don’t you grow up a little, and show some gratitude. Say: ‘thank you, Daken, for saving my life’. And why not add a ‘sorry for the bother’ to that as well. I’m making this easy for you, Lester, since I know how you get when you’re like this. Don’t push me or test my patience, I won’t be so forgiving then.” He put some force into his last words, making it very clear to Bullseye that he wouldn’t tolerate a tantrum from the unstable assassin.

Lester coiled up both emotionally and physically, and Daken could tell how close he was to another outburst. That wouldn’t do. Before, Lester could lash out in whatever manner he had intended – the straight razor resting on the corner of the sink being a likely candidate – Daken grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the tub, water splashing the both of them.

“Settle, Lester,” Daken ordered firmly, easily being able to hold Lester down, weak and poorly positioned as he was.

Snarling and barring his teeth, Lester struggled against his grip but Daken remained unmoved. Wanting it to be quickly over, Daken popped his claws and let the tips graze Lester’s throat. Despite his volatile temper, Lester finally froze beneath his grip.

“Bastard,” Lester hissed in anger, his heart rate far too high and naked chest heaved with each breath.

“Get it though your metal-plated skull, I’m here to help you. What we’re going to do is to get you out of this tub and dressed in something that resembles clean clothes. You'll take your damn meds and we'll leave this dump. You need medical attention and I broke the door getting here. But first, Lester, you need to get your shit together long enough to do any of that. Do you understand?”

Lester glared at him, his blue eyes finally seeming focused and aware, but he didn’t reply.

Daken stared him down and pushed his claws a little closer, scraping skin but not yet breaking it. “Understood?”

“Understood.”

Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t just anger and resentment that Daken scented on the man at his gritted reply, but arousal. He should have known to expect it. Lester had always been turned on by shows of force and, in a roundabout way, by being dominated. Him being naked and probably high did nothing to dissuade that. However, with his condition it was obvious that he wouldn’t be able to perform or enjoy anything.

Daken eyed him again, now that he was mostly clean and awake, Lester looked somewhat attractive again. Last time he’d touched him with that in mind had been a while ago, and with a body that had been in a sense of the word, older and more worn. Still it was a hard shift from before.

“You seem to have gotten an upgrade, Lester,” Daken remarked and ran his free hand down Lester’s wet chest and abdomen, more sensual than he had done when scrubbing him down.

Lester’s eyes flashed and he bared his teeth, still with that same undertone of need making his pissed off visage more of an affectation. “None of your business, bitch. Hands off the merchandise.”

“You seem to like it. I think I like the change too, you were getting a little on in the years. Was starting to think that the next time I saw you, you’d be fit for a nursing home,” Daken mocked and ran his hand along the inside of Lester’s thigh, noting that Lester couldn’t get it up despite his desire. He’d assumed correctly regarding the assassins fail and exhausted condition.

“Fuck you.” Lester hissed and grabbed the front of Daken's wet shirt, tugging him down lower into his enraged face.

However, he also shifted his legs in the tight space in a manner that made Daken’s hand glide lower into his groin and press the both of them closer to each other. Everything Lester did was full of contradictions, desire and violence intermixed. Pity that it couldn’t go any further.

Nearly purring, yet showing control, Daken noted, “So that’s what you want, darling. What makes you think I’d give it to you?”

Lester strained once more in his grip, the muscles in his neck tightening and making Daken’s claw pierce skin. It drew a droplet of blood, which turned pink with the water.

Daken withdrew his claws, unwilling to let the masochistic and self-destructive assassin decide what kind of abuse he’d receive. He’d be a fool to trust Lester’s judgment.

“You’re sick and hurt, Lester. You’d do best to do as you’re told, or I’ll just decide that I can’t trust to be conscious.” His tone was once more serious and matter of fact, the teasing gone.

Bullseye did react on that threat; he could scent the tinge of fear bloom in him like a toxin spreading through his veins.

“You know just how easily I could knock you out. Just a little more pressure on your neck and you’d be out like a light. I’d carry you out of here just as easily as I carried you here,” Daken continued for good measure, his hand now on Lester’s right wrist, pulling his grip off him.

Lester’s eyes grew wider and his lip trembled slightly, though he still held onto his facade of anger. The man had never known how to deal with his own feelings, always reacting with anger.

“You do not control me. You do not command me. You say ‘thank you’ and ‘please’. Understood?”

He was used to repeating himself with Lester, hammering home his message by utterly overpowering him. Lester was always more hassle than he was worth. It had been foolish to come at his call, but he was here now.

“Understood.” The same word repeated. He seemed slightly more honest with his acquiescence this time, but Daken wouldn’t hedge his bets on it. Besides, his agreement wasn’t enough for all the hassle and wet clothing.

“And?” Daken pressured.

“...Thank you.”

Lester said it in the same tone as ‘fuck you’, but it would be the best Daken would get out of the unstable psychopath in a near future. Any manners had to be coaxed out of him with threat of violence or promise of reward.

Daken merely nodded and patted him on the cheek, he did not want to overtax the already weakened man with too much strain. For all he knew, Lester could have a heart attack if he stressed his body any further, those drugs he took weren’t exactly entirely safe with the vodka he could scent on Lester’s breath. Reading the warning labels on the pills had been an experience of its own.

Finally turning off the water, Daken grabbed the cleanest towel he could find.

“Get up.”

Another cut off curse from Lester and a strenuous climb out of the tub, nearly ending with him falling head first back in before Daken could grab him. Clicking his tongue, Daken steadied Lester and wrapped him in the towel, roughly drying him.

“You know, I hadn’t expected to have to give you the assisted care treatment. But you just had to go and fuck things up. Next time, don’t expect me to come running.”

Resentment boiled in Lester like a pressure cooker but he contained himself to murderous glaring, and Daken wondered how much more he could provoke Lester.

“You’re not mute. Say what you want to say.”

Daken tossed the towel aside, leaving Lester shivering, the cold finally registering in him.

“Fuck you, you shitfaced toerag. Fucking fuck you, I’ll fucking rip your teeth out and feed th--” Lester started, building up more rage even as he spoke, the profanity and threats rolling out of him relentlessly.

Daken punched him in the face.

“No. If you have something real to say, use your words.”

Lester stood stunned. Despite his condition, he managed not to stumble back from the blow. Daken had probably gotten the worst of it; he’d forgotten how much hitting Lester’s adamantium skull hurt. Ignoring Lester’s wide-eyed shock, Daken went to grab the least objectionable clothes he could locate.

As he returned with a loose tank and sweatpants, Lester merely spat: “I hate you.”

“That’s better. Put these on so that we can leave, your shoes are by the bed.”

He shoved the clothes in Lester’s hands and seeing how unsteady he was, firmly guided him to sit on the bed. Leaving Lester to dress, Daken removed his wet shirt and threw it on the floor with the rest of the junk. He put on his jacket, pocketing both of their phones.

“You got everything?” Daken asked and took the bag of drugs he’d brought with him. “Any keys, IDs, cash, cards, personal effects?”

Lester shoved on his shoes and got up, going to a closet and getting a baseball cap, a thin jacket and a backpack. Evidently, he’d been well enough, at some point, not to only set-up his SOS but also a go-bag. That spook shit still stuck with him.

Lester moved to leave and Daken immediately went to his side, holding his arm as he guided him out of the trashed apartment.

“You won’t be returning here,” Daken asserted as they walked out of the half open door into the aggressively lemon scented hallway. Lester shrugged and moved on down the stairs. Daken caught the girl from earlier glancing at them from her door, he paid her no heed. He was relieved to leave the squalor.

The damp spring air outside was welcome. Moving steadily to his parked car, Daken dragged Lester with him. He refused to let Lester walk on his own after he nearly did a nosedive into the pavement stumbling over his own feet.

It started to dawn on Daken what he’d done.

He had a wanted criminal in the middle of a borderline psychotic break in his care with no plan of what do do with him beyond patching him up.

“Where are we going?” Lester echoed the question that was spinning inside Daken's head.

“Away,” Daken spoke as he thought. “I'll get you started up at a new safe house.”

He caught the glare Lester was sending him but ignored it pointedly. He didn't have the patience to deal with Lester's petty resentments.

“My car is right here.” Daken grimaced as he noticed that the car had been keyed and attempts at breaking in had been made. He open it and gestured for Lester to get in. It took a moment of mutual glaring for Lester to give in and get inside, still with that sullen look on his face.

“You can stay at my place until I get the right calls gone. Eat your meds and just shut up while I fix things.” It wasn't much of an apology and not really meant as one, but Daken couldn't let go of the, quite likely misguided notion, that he owed Lester something. With this he could clear whatever red he had in his ledger when it came to the psychotic serial killer, as well as enough leverage to keep himself in the clear.

He got his phone and started making the calls even as he drove. If some flatfooted cop wanted to stop him, Lester would deal with it in his usual way. Daken refused to feel any responsibility over that potential scenario.

The first calls yielded him little next to nothing. He didn't have enough sway to pull a safe-house out of his hat that easily, but it gave him enough intel to know who could and at what price. It was all becoming more of a hassle than he'd budgeted for by far. The medic was an easier issue. He would get a house-call that evening and the first step of getting Lester off his couch would be achieved.

“I ain't gonna stay, fuckface,” Lester grumbled as they drove downtown. Daken ignored him and kept on driving.

The silence held for a little while.

“Why the fuck are you doing this?”

“You texted me.”

“Like the fuck that matters. I dunno how off my tits I was to do that, but you fucking came and I wanna know why!” Lester was yelling now. It was all so unnecessary and loud.

Daken didn't have a great answer. “I did, so what of it?”

“No! You don't get to do that. You don't get to betray us all, bail out and then just waltz in smelling like roses once the shits blown over.” Lester was fuming now, Daken didn't need to look at him to know that. At least he'd medicated himself.

“That's exactly what I do, darling. Whatever benefits me. Ozzie's show was going to blow, we both knew that, I just had the sense to get out before you all got caught,” Daken countered, not bothering to deny anything, even if the words felt like the belonged to a man who died a decade ago.

They had both died.

But it seemed like only Daken had come back different.

“So, where's the benefit? How does this fit into your schemes, Daken?”

Lester was so confrontational, so volatile, and the old Daken would just have put him in his place using whatever means necessary. It however didn't feel right. Instead, Daken just ignored Lester's whining.

“A medic will see you over this evening. Get some antibiotics in you and deal with the mess you've let yourself become. Leave after that if you wish. Deal with your own mess.” Daken stared at the road and kept both hands on the steering wheel.

Lester's angry silence filled the car, but Daken didn't let himself be baited by it.

“You died,” he said, breaking the tense stand-off, “how did you come back?”

“None of your fucking business,” Lester spat, once more avoiding the topic.

“True, but I'm curious. It was quite the thing to see you impaled by your dear Daredevil on live TV. Very up-close and personal. You finally got what you wanted: his undivided attention.”

Daken knew he was being cruel, knew that every word would dig at Lester like ticks under his skin. It was a bad habit from the bad ol' days, one that he found himself slipping into far too easily.

It wasn't hard to predict that Lester would attack him, Daken blocked the first hit without looking away from the road. He did however turn and punch Lester in the chest as he stopped for a red light. Lester wheezed and crumbled, too weak to be a real fight. Daken drove on as the light turned green.

“Fucking hate you,” Lester wheezed a while later, and Daken just hummed.

#manicr writes #otp challenge #daken #bullseye #asshole otp

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