#GOOD NIGHT IT'S 2AM jfc not again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blooming-violets · 2 years ago

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You know by now that something in this caused me to break. I’ve come to the conclusion that it was Honey’s stubborn depression of staying in her room, refusing to drink despite dying of thirst, and refusing to eat or move, and wanting to punish herself for the actions of others. Mix that with Peter’s guilt of blaming himself for every single that happens, my 2am sleepiness, and you created a perfect cocktail for trigger some weird ptsd response that I occasionally get when viewing certain media. Aka this was amazing and the emotions hit exactly as they should have. You’re very good at writing emotions. You don’t over do it. Sometimes I think I over do it when I write. But you’re great at keeping them subtle enough that they feel genuinely like real people. It truly feels like their alive. Fully fledged characters. The way they speak is natural and honest. It’s awkward with a need to please and not be rude but full of emotion bursting just under the surface. My favorite part of this series so far is whenever you intercut a sentence with their inner monologue of self hate.

For example, this:

Just let her go... monster... Just get her as far away from here as possible. Somewhere warm, sunny beach somewhere... pariah... Just get as far away from her as possible... no good can come from this...disgusting pest... Don’t let her see what you really are.

or this:

She prayed silently that he wouldn’t kick it down and respond—fucking brat, little bitch, I’ll show you—to her actions.

That shit in bold/italics is what triggered that response from the other day for me. Not exactly from that paragraph but from the whole story. I don’t always like to use the word triggered too much because I think people overuse it and it dulls that real meaning of it. But that’s what it did. It triggered a negative response in my brain to create a panic attack. Once again, THAT’S NOT A BAD THING. I lowkey love that your work made that happen because jfc that means it’s some seriously good shit. Like damn. Amazing. I always appreciate anything that can make me feel and my favorite emotions to wallow in are misery and pain (emo bitch). I love finding movies that can make me cry and break down. I love reading books that ruin me. I love anything that hurts me in that way because it makes me feel alive. A true angst lover. I think I sound insane now wtf am I talking about. I gotta stop. omg

Usually I like to pick out all my favorite lines from each chapter but since I read it the night before on my phone instead of on my laptop, I didn’t save them. I made a mental note to remember where they were so I could easily go back and find them again...but then immediately forgot because I have the memory of a goldfish.

This was beautiful. I loved how Peter needed to go to sleep with her because he was so afraid of letting himself relax without her by his side so he knows that she’s safe and not going to disappear on him. Everything was wonderful and soft but also edgy and dark. Like you.

sugar and vice, pt. 7 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: For better or worse, they're talking it out.

words: 8.4 k

warning: mob-typical violence. graphic depiction of gun violence, whump. hurt/comfort. descriptions of violence. references to drug use. coersion. kidnapping. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

this is a darker, messier version of TASM Peter.

18+. you’re responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, something, something, something, dark side... should mean something to you.

Go back to Part 6.

Part 7

What’s your biggest regret?

Where to begin?

Peter felt weak. The weight of Honey’s body in his arms was too much to bear. She sat with her back to him on the floor, legs akimbo, hunched over herself. Violent sobs racked through her body as she bawled, and screamed, and begged. Neither of them were even sure what she was begging for.

“Jus’wanna disappear,” she mumbled through hiccups and wails. “Please jus’wanna go’way...dontwannabehere...idont wanit... i don’t wannit”

Sitting on the floor behind her, he tightened his grip. His forearms harnessed her in, crossing them loosely across her chest. Every once in a while, she’d dig her nails into his skin, either knowingly or unknowingly. It didn’t matter. He let her. He’d let her flay him alive if it would end her suffering. Except that he knew that it wouldn’t. Personal experience.

She won’t forgive you. She won’t look at you. She was right about you.

weak... pathetic puny... useless

She was right. In many ways, this was his fault.

It’s a strange exercise to think of the million different decisions one makes in a day that binds them to their inevitable fate. In Honey’s case, all she had to do was smile at him. All Peter had to do was keep coming back to visit her. In the case of the two unfortunate victims of Fisk’s rage, all they had to do was show up for work.

And Honey didn’t know what Peter knew. Didn’t know the gory details the police left out of the press coverage. He wondered if he should ever tell her.

...you failed to protect them, you will always fail, you can’t protect the people you love, you can’t protect anyone, you are useless... alone... a drain on the world...

He listened to the voices in his mind as he listened to her agonized weeping. Soon the sounds were the same. A contrite sinner, standing trial for his crimes against the world. Ready to take whatever judgment handed down to him.

Her cries began to fade, her body drained of its energy. He helped her stand, her legs wobbly, and moved her slowly to the couch. There, she buried her face in the cushions and cried even harder.

It was like a broken limb, even the slightest touch sent searing pain through ravaged nerve endings. The pain of a broken heart. The kind of pain that makes you want to detach from reality.

Peter knew it all too well.

His heart ached at the sound of her sobs. All he wanted to do was help the pain go away. Outside of jumping in front of a train, he only had one thing to offer her.

Hesitantly, he made the suggestion—the same dose of medicine she swallowed the day she arrived at the cabin. The only kindness he could offer was the reprieve from him. A break from the world that he’d trapped her in.

Without a second thought, she agreed. Hollow. Apathetic. Reckless.

With a frown, he crushed a pill and dropped the pulverized powder in a glass of juice.

He gently declined her request to give her back the bottle of champagne to wash it down. Watched her sorrowfully, as she downed the juice without a moment’s hesitation.

He knew it well. The kind of pain that makes you want to detach your soul from your body.

Without another word, she laid down on the sofa, squeezing her eyes shut and waited for unconsciousness to overtake her. Only when her eyes closed did he allow tears to squeak through his lids.

He had fought them off for as long as he could, rubbing his eyes furiously. Dragging his calloused fingers down his weathered face, muffling quiet sobs with his palms.

He listened carefully, focusing on her steady breaths. She was asleep at last. Peter was alone again, just him and his failure. He observed her body as she sunk into the sofa cushions, drifting further into a dreamless rest. He hoped that wherever her mind was, it was at peace.

He considered the awkward angle of her spine, the way her chin jutted in a way that was surely going to strain her neck. It looked uncomfortable. She was uncomfortable. He wanted her to be comfortable. His instinct was to pick her up and carry her to bed.

He stopped his hands from moving on their own accord. His heart sank as he thought about where his mind was leading.

Not her bed, but his. Their bed, if only she wanted it to be. It all felt so futile. A silly dream. For a young, foolish boy with nonsensical, fairy-tale thoughts, an old skateboard, and holes in his jeans.

He lifted her body from the couch and once again ascended the staircase. This time, he stopped at her door. The gate to her cell.

He laid her on the bed, carefully removed her shoes from her feet, and buried her in blankets. Brushing the hair from her face, he frowned at the tear trails on her cheeks.

He went to her bathroom and warmed up a washcloth. When he returned, he gently dabbed at her makeup, removing it to the best of his ability. Her skin was already so ravaged from salty tears, rubbing was only making it worse—you’re hurting her—no peace, only pain— and cursed himself again. He went back and located the makeup remover once it had proven to be difficult.

Returned to the bathroom. He used another washcloth, soaking it in cooler water, wringing it out, and using it as a compress against her flushed forehead and swollen eyes.

He sat in the armchair in the corner of her room, listening to the steadiness of her heart. The calmness of her breath. When the cloth had warmed up and dried out, he replaced it with a fresh one.

Again and again.

Over and over.

For hours.

He caught sight of himself in her mirror and could barely recognize the person staring back. Peter looked—he felt—so old. When did he get so old? Tired. Worn out from more sleepless nights than the current one. Dark-rimmed bags under his eyes. Stray silver hairs and dried blood dotted his dark beard. The lacerations made by her fingernails healed almost instantly. But he could still feel them.

They say that beards make you look older. He looked geriatric. Still, he didn’t look as old on the outside as he felt inside. Inside he was ancient. A relic. He’d only been on the earth for just under thirty-five years, but every breath felt like a chilly gust of wind through a decrepit, old tomb. His heart was a fossil.

You should’ve stopped Kingpin a long time ago, the quarreling voices reminded him. You could’ve saved those women. They’re dead because of you.

it should’ve been you... you are the weakness, the disease... you are the parasite... they are dead because of you...

Light was not her friend.

It fact, it was skull-fucking her.

Honey groaned as she wiped a semi-dry film of saliva from her cheek. Gross.

She felt gross. All over. Her head was throbbing, sinuses sore. Like the world’s worst hangover with a dash of the flu. Her mouth was desert dry. With bleary eyes, she glanced around to find herself back in her ‘guest’ room. Her prison cell, made of down-feathers and sherpa blankets.

Daylight chased away every shadow and lobotomized her aching skull. But it illuminated another fact: she was alone.

It was unclear whether that was a good thing, given that she felt like death. She glanced over and her eyes narrowed on a glass of water sitting on the nightstand. She practically licked her dry lips at the sight. She didn’t remember bringing the water to her room. Nor did she remember going to bed. Or drinking so heavily that she blacked out. Or—

Darkness shadowed over her like storm clouds on the horizon. She felt her heart sink into her chest as she suddenly remembered.

The party. The laptop. The news article.

Peter Fucking Parker.

Whatever sickness she felt multiplied ten-fold. It was like being sucked under the current of a black sea. She was drowning in agony once again, and all she could do was bite her wobbly lip. She had no more tears to shed. She’d cried them all out last night.

The details of the previous night were still unclear, like remnants of a dream slipping away. Only a vague recollection remained—her blubbering nonsensically to be knocked out.

He must have obliged her. Nothing after that registered.

She glanced around at her bed. It looked like she had been the only occupant. Looking to the beside, she noticed the wingback armchair had moved overnight. It drifted several feet from the corner, and had crawled suspiciously near the edge of the bed.

She glanced back at the water. It was from Peter. A kind gesture. An olive branch, perhaps. Something to ease pain that he knew she would feel in the morning.

She buried her face in her pillow, swallowing back her dry tongue.

Fuck his olives.

Hours passed.

She repeated the action of waking up to her nightmare, and then diving back under the waves, hoping to drown her misery in sleep. The cycle repeated, at least 5-6 times.

The sun shifted.

Her throat was raw.

The water had probably long-since warmed to room temperature. Maybe even more from being cast in the sun. She didn’t want it. Didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to care.

At some point, between the 8th and 9th cycle, she heard a light knock at the door. Two quick beats, then a third.

“Honey?” a voice called from the other side.

It could only be one person.

She rolled her eyes, the action reminding her just how dry they were. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“You awake?”

She stayed silent. Hoped to fall asleep again. Hoped he’d go away and leave her alone. Leave her in that room, to wilt and die like a neglected plant.

“It’s gettin’ pretty late in the day,” he explained kindly. How dare he provide her with that information. “Wonderin’ if you were hungry.”

Was she hungry? Yes. Did she want to move? Never. She should say so. She should tell him she’s not hungry. She should tell him to jump off a building. She should give him a piece of her mind. Scream. Scratch him again, but this time aim for his eyes. Bite.

She just didn’t want to move. The thought of getting out of bed, opening the door to see his likely apologetic face, and then spitting in it seemed so stressful, she’d rather not do anything at all.

Hate was exhausting. She’d never hated anyone before.

“I, uh, made you some food, uhm...”

She flicked her apathetic gaze back to the wall. Scoffed lightly. Pulled the blankets back over her head.

Seconds passed. She expected more of his charmingly-shy kind offers to spill out from behind the door, but instead there was silence. She wondered if he could somehow hear her indignation, as impossible as it seemed.

“Well, it’s ready. If you are.”

He sounded sad. Not just sad, but defeated. Resigned. She heard the scuff of his leather heel, then footsteps retreating, reverberating off of the hardwood floor.

Then it was quiet again.

She was alone. Again.

Another knocking rhythm. This time, when she opened her eyes, it was significantly darker. Late afternoon. Her stomach growling could confirm that.

“Honey, you decent?”

She rolled her eyes. How grandpa of him.

“I’m comin’ in,” he followed up, and suddenly she wanted to shout in protest. But the handle twisted and the door popped open, and from her periphery she could see Peter’s tall silhouette in the doorway.

She adjusted her head to remove him from her view. It was the most she’d moved in hours.

“How’re you feelin’, huh?”

She tucked her chin down, pulling her head further under the covers.

“Yeah, figured as much.” His somber tone held the weight of being the sole participant in the conversation. Much to her disappointment, Peter didn’t leave. Instead, she could hear him enter the room, the sound of his footsteps mingling with a gentle rattling noise.

She threw her eyes over at him for a moment. He carefully steadied a wooden tray in his arms. A several plates of different comfort foods were spread out, the aroma of which was enough to make her dizzy with starvation. She tried to ignore the gurgling of her stomach as he padded closer to her.

“Brought you some dinner,” he said as he approached the bedside, a pitiful glimmer of hope in his voice. She pierced him with a silent glare. “I know you gotta be hungry by now. I can hear your stomach growlin’ from downstairs.”

He said it with a light chuckle. She said nothing.

He sat the tray down on the foot of the bed, getting a good look at her broken state.

Good, she thought. Let him. Let him look upon his work, and despair.

Peter glanced over at the glass of water on the nightstand, still untouched. He frowned at the sight. Looked back down at her, chocolate eyes full of pity.

“A little water’ll make ya feel better,” he gently offered.

She stared into nothingness, avoiding eye contact. Imagined that she was a dead body. He was talking to a corpse.

Her silence made him fret. He kept trying. “How ‘bout a hot bath, then?”

“Why, were you planning on waterboarding me, too?” Her voice came out sharp and raspy, like the hiss of a rattlesnake. Her words packed the same amount of venom, too. She looked over at him selfishly, just to see the tissue damage her toxins inflicted.

A glimmer of disappointment crossed his face, his lips turning downward. It made her feel bad.

Damn it to hell.

He gazed at her quietly, reeling from the bite. Pursed his lips. Set his jaw firmly in place. “You gotta eat,” he declared with a carefully controlled tone. It was an edict.

She glowered defiantly. “I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped back, nearly before she even finished her sentence. His volume remained muted, but his eyes were not. “You gotta take care of yourself. S’not a suggestion.”

“And what if I don’t?” Her voice had dropped an octave. She challenged him through slitted eyes. “What then, huh? You’re so busy with trying to protect me, what if we just cut to the finish? Take one thing off your to-do list.”

Peter’s jaw tensed. Nostrils flared. The sight of his anger was intimidating, despite her bratty resolve. Briefly, her nerve started to falter, but then he took a slow breath. “You’re angry,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I get that.” She was thrown off by the calmness of his response, despite every word coming out clipped. “You’re angry at me. I get that, too. You wanna take a shot at me? That’s okay. You wanna hit me, hit me. What you did yesterday? It felt good, din’it? Made you feel better. Stronger. By all means, don’t stop.”

As much as she fought against it, she felt a tinge of guilt at that. He railed on.

“Do whatever you want,” he added, raising his voice in challenge. “Scratch me. Beat me. Hit me with a rock. If you wanna hurt somebody, hurt me.” His eyes hardened as he fixed his gaze on her, timbre dropping deep. “But you are not allowed to hurt yourself. Got that?” His eyes pierced her as he said it, as if he could shoot lightning from his fingers and write his commandment in stone.

She gulped unintentionally, the courage she had moments ago evaporating in the heat of his stare. She locked her jaw to keep her lip from trembling. Her own weakness enraged her.

“Now sit up if you understand,” he reprimanded, through gritted teeth. As if she were a child. She felt like one—little in his gaze. Peter fixed a hard look on her, waiting impatiently for her to comply.

With rageful eyes, she sat up, yanking back the covers. Her spine cracked from the lack of movement. She threw her socked feet over the edge. Came to a firm stand, straightening herself in front of him. She took a bold step forward, holding his gaze. Bitterly and slowly, she reached for the tray of food.

Then she shoved it off the bed onto the bedroom floor. The china shattered with a crack, food and liquid splattering on his shoes, pieces of glass splintering out in every direction.

Neither of them ever broke their steel gazes.

She glared up at him and he leered down at her, both silently fuming. Hearts pounding. Chests aching.

“I think I’ll have that shower now,” she nonchalantly replied. The arrogance in her voice was sharp. Stunning, especially to herself. They remained in their stalemate before she took the first step, brushing past him into her bathroom and slamming the door.

In retrospect, it was a dumb idea. She stayed in the shower longer than necessary. Part of it was to maintain the facade of her new-found, devil-may-care attitude. The other utility was that she could hide.

After her bold protest, it took her all of about 5 seconds before she jumped back across the bathroom to lock the door. She prayed silently that he wouldn’t kick it down and respond—fucking brat, little bitch, I’ll show you—to her actions.

Frozen, she stood still and listened to the shower running. Listened for his inevitable footsteps. When they didn’t come, her shoulders relaxed. She took deep breaths until she had enough confidence to rid herself of her clothing and step inside the shower.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she cracked the door slightly. Peered inside. She opened the door a bit wider and glanced around. Peter was gone. So was the mess. She sighed with relief. And a bit of guilt—Always cleaning up your messes! When will you learn?—that she pushed to the back of her mind.

Wrapped in a bath sheet, she padded bare feet across the room towards her duffle bag on the dresser. She paused before reaching it. Felicia’s revelation from the night before echoed in her mind.

She turned to the double doors of the closet in her room, gazing at them nervously. Stepped up to it, as if she was approaching a gateway to Narnia. Threw open the doors to look—but this time, she really looked.

It was a gateway to Narnia. Or to a Neiman Marcus.

For all intents and purposes, it was a room within itself. A beautiful collection of steel-gray wooden cabinetry and opaque frosted glass. The room was brightly illuminated by recessed fixtures, and each shelving unit was individually lit. In the center of the walk-in closet—or, more aptly, the portal to a fashion blogger’s wet dream—there was a freestanding island for accessories next to a tufted ottoman.

Fascinated, she stepped over to one of the wardrobe doors and opened it. Lights flickered on to reveal a section of blouses hanging on a rod from velvet hangers. Each item of clothing was organized by color, starting with black, travelling with the natural flow of the spectrum, and ending on white.

The pattern repeated over again, this time sorted by type. Long sleeves. Short sleeves. No sleeves. Another cabinet revealed a drawer dedicated to dress trousers and jeans. Divided by fit and style, and then again by wash and color.

Whatever space there was reserved for pants, seven times that amount was dedicated solely to dresses.

So. Many. Dresses.

Bodycons. Shifts. Sheaths. Empire-waist. Cinched-waist. Drop-waist. A-line. V-line. Peasant, peplum and princess. Midi. Mini. Maxi (in case she grew a foot). Every color of the rainbow. In every pattern imaginable. For every imaginable occasion—weddings, funerals, runways, and run-ins with the law. Covering cocktail parties and Casual Fridays.

Additionally, each label was an alphabetical roll call of every reputable designer name, from the bold cuts of Alexander McQueen to exotic, flowing gowns from Zuhair Murad. Or so she guessed, since she hadn’t heard of most of these designers. They had yet to make their way to her local TJ Maxx.

She’d watched The Devil Wears Prada before. Certainly, Meryl Streep would’ve died of a heart attack at the sight of this room.

Jaw still agape, she turned her attention to the island. Approaching the side with drawers, she slid open the chest and her eyes went wide.

Lingerie. Sexy, sweet, and sensual. Row after row of lace, silk, satin, and mesh stacked neatly with coordinating pieces in rich colors. Fabrics that felt silky on her fingertips. Fabrics as soft and intimate as the inside of her body. She picked up and examined piece after piece, imagining the woman who would wear each one.

A black mesh and polyurethane open-cup playsuit with matching diamond garters and a jeweled leather collar. Perfect fit for a Femme Fatale.

For the Servant, a pink satin and lace brief paired with a Shibari-inspired body harness made from twisted, plaited, silk rope.

A silky-smooth navy blue corset embellished with cut Swarovski crystals on the bust for the Enchantress.

A lavender silk babydoll dress with a plunging V-neckline and French Chantilly lace floral accents for the Maiden.

So many women. All the archetypes represented. A multitude of girls to choose from.

She felt ill. Dizzy. Felt so hot under the recessed lighting, the back of her neck was sweating. Lightheaded. Clammy skin. She backed away from the island, fingers gripping the doorframe.

She remembered thinking, foolishly, that all of this must have belonged to other women. A girlfriend, or ex-girlfriends. Or just... girls. As if Peter had a harem, or a rotating troupe of interchangeable parts. Each of them serving their own utility. Each of them replaceable.

She was wrong.

Peter wasn’t a player. He was particular. A planner. And every item in that closet had been planned for her. Meticulously, he had chosen each piece. For her. Not for a multitude of different women. But for her to be any woman. Every woman. Whoever he wanted her to be.

His doll. Accessories included.

Two distinct forces clashed in her belly, like storm fronts converging. Pressure shifting. A cyclone forming.

One fomented horror—outrage, even—at this obsession with her. All of it looked like her size, too. How did he know her measurements so intimately? Clearly, he’d been looking at her—really looking. Fixated. That half of her brain felt disrespected by his objectification. Violated. Dirty at the thought of him picturing her in such intimate and provocative ways.

The other half felt heat building in her core. Tension pulled taut at her insides. Wetness between her thighs.

Each thought made her shiver.

The last remnants of the sun had vanished when Honey opened the door to her bedroom. She had changed into a conservative loungewear outfit: a pair of silky soft joggers and an oversized cotton t-shirt. She was extremely relieved to have found it.

Hesitantly, she poked her head out around the door, glancing down the hallway for any sign of Peter. Nothing. She looked down to her feet. On the floor next to her door was a covered plate. She picked it up. Inspected it.

A plate of turkey and cheese sandwiches. Cut into triangles, just like the picnic platter. She felt a pang in her chest at the sight.

Frowning, she soured at the memory of throwing her food on the floor. Such a waste. She would've never gotten away with that as a kid. Or even as a baby. It was so rude—ungrateful brat—why? Why was she always so rude?

With a sigh, she brought the plate inside her room and quietly cherished the meal. When she was finished, she had the urge to be a polite houseguest. She carried her emptied plate and empty water glass down the stairs to the kitchen. The least she could do was wash her own dishes.

She stopped suddenly as she rounded a corner, seeing Peter leaning over the kitchen bar. On the table surface, he had two books open in front of him, one of them a ruled composition book. He popped his head up a second after she arrived, mirroring her surprised expression.

She noted the dark-framed glasses on his face. He took a moment to push them back up the bridge of his nose. They made him look boyish. Cute, even. It was another bizarre subversion of expectation versus reality. Peter Parker, fearsome mob boss: hunched over his kitchen bar, scribbling notes like he’s studying for a Spanish quiz.

The moment he locked eyes with her, he was already looking away. Helplessly flustered by her appearance. He cleared his throat. “Um, hi.”

She shifted her weight between her feet, outwardly gripping the plate and glass in an awkward stance. “Hi.”

A long silence followed, for an indeterminate amount of time. Days, probably. “I... have this plate. And a cup.”

It was a promising beginning.

“Oh,” Peter replied quietly and uncomfortably, as if he were part of some odd British comedy. “You can just leave them by the sink. I’ll get to ‘em later.”

“I can wash them.” Her stomach was twisting in knots.

“No, no need for you to do that.” Kindly, he waved her off.

“I...I-I can put them in the dishwasher, if you’re gonna run it?”

“Oh, uh... I, um, don’t think we have enough for a full load.”

“Right. Conserving water. Important.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll wash ‘em before I go to bed.”

“But... I can wash them now.”

“No, really—”

“Peter,” her voice came out clipped. “I want to wash my dishes.” It was an edict. He pursed his lips, looking away sheepishly. She finally moved from her spot, carrying on to do what she came downstairs to do. She stopped at the kitchen sink, glancing around the counter. “Where do you keep your soap?”

“Oh, uh—under, under the-the sink.”

“I don’t see it.”

“It’s there. It’s... uh... blue.”

Her head was in the cabinet below when she exclaimed, “Jesus Christ, is this Ajax? You cheap bastard.” She pulled her head up over the edge of the counter, throwing him a scandalized look. “Where did you get this? The clearance section of a Dollar Store?”

Her abhorrance triggered a smile, flitted across his face as he shrugged. “Hey. It works.”

She wiggled her head, staring at him in disbelief. “It works, like... like the atomic bomb worked!” Her passion was evident. “You’re irradiating your hands every time you use this stuff.”

A light chuckle left his lips. “I’ve had worse.” His tongue stuck out idly as he licked them, a peculiar quirk. Her eyes were glued to the action. She remembered to close her mouth, then composed herself quickly. She could see and hear the vibration of his knee bouncing anxiously. Or it could’ve been the sound of her heart.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. She exhaled sharply, eyes dropping to the floor. Full of guilt. “I shouldn’t have hit you. I never should’ve done that.”

Fidgeting, he tapped the pencil in his hands, but kept his tone calm. “It’s-It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she countered immediately. The shame in her voice was palpable. “That’s... never okay. I’m sorry.” Her eyes wandered around the kitchen until she finally had the strength to meet his gaze. When she looked up at him, his eyes were heavy with a similar burden.

He exhaled gently, closing his notebook. “Look, it’s late.” He reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his index and thumb, shifting his glasses briefly. “We both should get some rest.”

She mellowed as she observed the vulnerable gesture and decided that the glasses suited him. They were adorable.

Wearily, Peter pushed himself up to a stand, limbs heavy from exhaustion. He stepped out from behind the bar, stopping an arm’s length away from her. Politely, he extended his hand to her.

She looked down at his outstretched, calloused palm, then back up at him. Confused. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“To bed,” he said. As if it were obvious. The most natural thing in the world.

Her heart fluttered dizzyingly. It irritated her endlessly that she could not determine whether it was from excitement or fear. Her body tensed regardless, hair standing on end. A look of worry darkened her features. “I...uh...” She gulped. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He tilted his head, disappointed. “It’s sleep. Just sleep.”

“That’s...” She struggled to form words, “No, I don’t know—”

“We can make a wall of pillows if it makes you feel more comfortable,” he teased flippantly.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for us to sleep with each other,” she declared with resolve. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling exposed. He read her face, recognizing her discomfort. “Next,” she urgently clarified. “Sleep next to each other. On the same mattress. Especially after...” She let the sentence drop. “Everything.”

Peter sighed gently, “That’s exactly why we should.” She tilted her head, curious and confused. She waited for an explanation. “Look, my Uncle Ben had a rule. When he and my aunt would go at it about something—it wasn’t a lot—but when it happened, he always made sure that they didn’t go to bed angry. No matter how bad it got.”

Honey gazed at him in disbelief. “That’s... what you think this is?”

“I don’t know what this is, Honey,” he replied. “And I don’t think I can figure that out tonight. So let’s sleep on it.”

She shook her head in timid protest. “Peter—”

“Please,” he replied, cutting her off. The vulnerable sincerity shone through his tone. “All I’m asking is for you to sleep next to—” He cut the sentence short, as if he could hear how it sounded and was frustrated. She watched him push his fingers back through his hair, tugging nervously. Brought his hand to his calloused lips, rubbed tiredly. His face told the story of an anxious, needy, touch-starved boy afraid to ask his crush to the prom.

“I need... I just need...” he struggled to say the right words as his eyes darted in every direction but towards her. Each time he’d open his mouth to speak, he’d slam his jaw shut, losing the nerve. He sighed in defeat, gazing up at her with warm, bourbon eyes. “I don’t think I can sleep,” he said, “without knowing you’re beside me. That-that when I wake up, you’ll still be there.”

There was something tragic in the soft way he spoke that threatened to rip her heart out of her chest. One look at his Bambi eyes and she felt weak. For a woman who’d always doubted that she possessed any maternal instincts, the urge to comfort this man reigned supreme. Forget the fact that he had a beard and was older than her. His vulnerability made her want to let him crawl into her lap like a kitten.

She sighed, and hated being a cat person.

Honey stood on the side of the bed that Peter had delegated to her two nights prior. There wasn’t any communication that affirmed that side of the bed was hers. It just happened. She pulled back his percale cotton covers and slipped her body inside.

It took some adjusting to get used to. She wasn’t used to wearing pants to bed, even if they were technically pajamas. But given the circumstances, Honey didn’t even want to remove her socks, like a Puritan zealot trying to pray the devil away.

And speak of the Devil. She glanced over in his direction right he approached.

The expanse of Peter’s milky-smooth skin yanked her from her thoughts and made all other brain function falter. Uncontrollably, she ogled him as he distractedly strolled into the bedroom, nonchalant and shirtless. Time slowed enough for her to take a good look. And she was embarrassed by how hungry for the sight she must have seemed.

What she couldn’t see from the back in the shower was on full display. He was ravishing. In sweatpants, no less. Deliciously carved pectorals, abdominals, biceps, and triceps, and suddenly she was an anatomy scholar—all the names for the muscle groups that she failed to remember in biology sprang to mind.

He had the same light freckling across his chest that she’d spotted on his neck and back. A few hairs on his chest, but the majority of it was located south of his navel, blazing a delectable dark trail beyond where his waistband hung low on his hips.

A closer inspection revealed discoloration around his ribs—the skin appearing as different shades of pink and white in contrast to his primary tone. Her eyes widened sinfully at the V of his torso. It was like a giant neon sign, and had always been her favorite part of the male physique to stare at.

Even at that moment, she was gawking. Imagining his torso as a slip-and-slide. His Adonis belt as the ridges of a soft-serve ice cream cone. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth.

“Thirsty?”

She snapped out of it, her face blushing red. Back as straight as a board. “What?”

“Sometimes I bring a glass of water to bed,” he explained, conspicuously innocent. “In case my throat gets dry.”

“Nope. No. I’m good.” She was nodding too much. “No dryness here…” The sentence crashed in her throat as she focused on the pattern of the silk duvet.

She could feel the heated smirk emanating from him, like a solar flare on her blushing cheek. “Good,” he muttered in a tone so low it bordered on obscene.

He pulled back his side of the sheets and crawled inside. As his body slid home, she sat up urgently, putting more space in the gap between them.

“Look, I don’t know what you think is going to happen tonight,” she blurted out shakily, “but-but I’m not that kind of girl.”

He raised a brow. “And what kind of girl is that?”

“The... I… I don’t—” Her brain shot forward faster than her mouth could articulate. “’m not … I don’t just—I don’t just sleep with strangers.”

The humor died down his face, sinking behind the horizon of his regret. “Is’at what I am?” he mused in the shadows. There was a matter-of-factness to the statement, punctuated by lament.

Goddamn Bambi eyes.

She felt a rush of panic. Sympathy. Guilt. More panic. Self-loathing. Panic again. Then, inspiration. “Look, I’m deeply religious and I don’t believe in sex before marriage.”

Flailing, she clung to the lie like a buoy in the South Pacific. Wincing, she peeked to see his reaction.

Both of his brows raised now. “Is that a proposal?” he grinned. Mischief returning.

“Yes,” she quickly replied. More panic. “I mean no! Not—“ She huffed in frustration, mouth moving uselessly like a goldfish out of water. “I-I-I just... I don’t want you to touch me.”

Face flushed red, she looked like she’d just ripped off a bandaid. But it once it was done, her voice steadied. “I don’t want to be touched,” she declared, more confidently. Eyes bore into him. “Tell me you understand that. You want me to trust you, then swear to keep your word.”

He hesitated for a moment, sobering as he observed her veracity. His eyes softened. Nodded.

“Promise me, Peter,” she said. “I need you to say it.”

A shadow fell across his face. A memory, perhaps. Something bittersweet.

“I promise,” he replied. “No touching.” He gazed at her, watching her shoulders relax. There was a twinkle in his amber eyes—a Cheshire smile that didn’t quite reach his lips. “Until you ask me to,” he added.

She fixed him with an incredulous look. His cockyness was breathtaking.

Not that she was focused on his cocki—

“Deal?” he nudged her, recapturing her attention.

She held her gaze for several seconds, measuring the sincerity of his response. With a sigh, she nodded. “Deal.”

A few moments later, Peter turned out the bedside lamp. In the dark, she stared up at the canopy of the four-post bed, trying to steady her pulse. Trying to get what was happening out of her mind. Whatever it was that was happening.

The next morning, she woke up alone again. The room was quiet, and this time, she listened for the shower. Nothing. She used the opportunity to slip away.

Wandering down the hallway and tip-toeing back to her room, she paused at the top of the stairs. The TV was on, voices echoing from the great room below. Curiously, she followed the sound down the stairs until she saw her sorta roommate.

He was hunched over, sitting on the sofa, resting his weight on his elbows. There was a grim look souring his face, and at the same time, his eyes were distant. Like he was somewhere else again. His ankle moved anxiously, causing a bouncing tremor in his knee. He cupped his hands against his mouth, absentmindedly brooding in the glow of the TV screen.

He was fully dressed, wearing pressed dark trousers and a crisp black dress shirt. A slim silver neck tie hung loosely around his neck. Not a lock of hair out of place, as it swooped up into a dark, thick, gelled wave in the front. A tiny curl escaped the crowd. How someone could look so dapper and so... disheveled, was beyond her understanding. It was confusing as much as it was unsettling.

Honey waited at the foot of the stairs, unsure whether or not she should interrupt his—whatever this was.

“I stopped an armed robbery once,” Peter said to her.

The morose statement jarred her. She paused, eyes wide and blinking away confusion. She hesitated long enough to question whether he was addressing her. Wearily, he looked up at her, confirming his intent.

When she found his eyes, they were darkened with tragedy. Bleary. Red-rimmed. It was a contrast from the confident, flirty man she saw the night before. Gently, he patted the seat beside him, beckoning her to sit.

Nervously, she urged herself forward. Sitting next to him, she had the strange sensation of joining an awkwardly-tense family discussion, in front of TV dinners over an episode of Jeopardy!

Instead of a game show, Peter had been watching New York’s local morning newscast on mute. She was grateful, because having a TV on in the background had always been troublesome for her. She frequently found herself distracted, disoriented, and unable to distinguish each voice from one another. It made those awkward evening discussions much more tense—what are you, deaf? I asked you what you did in school today!

Idly, she glanced at the screen to see reporters mouthing silent words about a Nor'easter approaching. Powerball numbers scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Up next, footage of an early morning fire in the Bronx, and coverage of a press conference the Mayor gave last night.

“I know it’s probably hard to believe,” Peter began ruefully, pulling her back to the present, “‘specially seein’ me now. Like this.”

He gestured to himself and around the room at the fancy house, as if they were the same thing. The spite in his voice piqued her focus.

“You probably look at me and think I’m some rich asshole, but it wasn’t always like this,” he explained softly. Honey thought of disagreeing, but he wasn’t waiting on a reply. “My parents died when I was little. And no one ever plans to die young, y’know? So when they left my aunt and uncle were it. The only family I had.” A crease formed in her brow. She was confused as to why he was telling her this, but she listened attentively.

“We got along fine most of the time,” he continued. He sounded like he was recounting a fairy tale with a sad ending. “My aunt got sick when I was in junior high. Breast cancer. She fought it off, though. Into remission. She was always a fighter.” A bittersweet smile melted his lips. “Downright scary when she wanted to be.” The smile faded, as did the visage of whatever it was he was remembering. “Anyway, medical bills are a bitch. So this—now... Is, uh...more than I ever had growin’ up. But they tried. So hard. To make sure I had what I needed.”

He pursed his lips, lost in thought. She was unsure of what to say next, or whether or not she should say anything. Should she congratulate him on his financial success? Something like ‘I’m sure they’d be proud of you if they could see you now’ seemed in poor taste.

“I could be a real prick sometimes,” Peter recounted, dejected and regretful. She saw the faintest tremor reach his lip. He bit down to steady it. “When I was 17, I got into this big fight with my Uncle Ben. I was, um... goin’ through some stuff. Changes, I guess. I was supposed to be somewhere and I wasn’t. He got pissed. I got pissed. I end up stormin’ off. Even broke the front door on my way out.” He sighed, relieving the memory with each word. “I had to get outta there. Needed to blow off some steam, I guess. Didn’t even know where I was goin’. I stopped into a bodega, to get somethin’ to drink. And then this guy walks into the store and pulls a gun.”

His voice quivered, describing the odd twist of fate. “I see ‘em put the gun in this guy’s face, demand the money in the register. It’s like everything was moving slow. I couldn’t move. I just stood there.” Peter swallowed hard, and Honey followed the lump in his throat. “He takes off,” he continued delicately, “and then it hits me. I can’t let him get away.” Another deep breath. “So I go after him, chase him down this alley. He’s trying to get to a car waiting outside. But I catch up with him, bring him down first. The car speeds off. I look up, just a moment. I see the driver. His partner. He locks eyes with me. And he knows. I got ‘em.”

He described it carefully, with a sweet sense of victory attached. Seeing his eyes light up caused Honey’s heart to swell. It materialized as a smile on her face.

“By the time the cops get there, their job is pretty much done, right?” he laughed softly. “Bad guy’s tied up with an old clothesline. I got the money back. Handed it over. I tell ‘em everything I saw, figured that they’d handle it because it was their job.” He stopped suddenly, his voice growing thin. He swallowed hard. The pain in his eyes made it seem like he was swallowing glass.

“When Uncle Ben found out what I did— I… I’ll never forget that look on his face. He tells me I did a good thing. Calls me a hero.” Honey spotted the first signs of overwhelming emotion threatening to break him down. A light glimmered from the rim of his eyes. “That was the last conversation I had with him,” he declared, gravely.

Her brow dipped down, not expecting the sudden turn. “Went home,” he recounted. “Went to bed early.” He drew a shaky breath. “Next thing I know, bullets start flyin’. Guns goin’ off all over. Hundreds. Rapid fire. AKs.”

Eyes wide and entranced, she listened.

“I took a bullet to the thigh,” he explained, “but I don’t even remember it. All I could think about was my aunt and uncle. Gettin’ to them—”

The sentence cut off with a strangled noise. A weak, final breath before the darkness settled in. Peter looked decades older. Eyes staring blindly, haunted by horrible memories. “I found them on the floor in the kitchen. Arms wrapped around each other. Blood all over. So many bullets hit my uncle, I… I couldn’t recognize his face. He didn’t have one anymore. He’d tried to protect May, he was covering her body, but… didn’t matter. You never forget what a gun like that does to a human body.”

Honey was holding her breath unintentionally. Her skin crawled as she imagined what younger Peter must have gone through.

Taking a shaky breath, he continued. “Cops show up not long after. Didn’t even have to call ‘em.” The pools in his eyes grew deeper. “I told them what happened. They didn’t believe me. Said I couldn’t have heard that many shots fired at once. They kept trying to change my story around. That’s when I realized those bullets weren’t meant for my aunt and uncle. They were meant for me.”

He practically spat out the phrase, a bitter taste left behind. The corners of his mouth pointed downward, ire in his words. “You see, the guy I caught was a little fish. He worked for someone bigger. And the cops were in on it. They told me I didn’t hear that many shots because those could only come from an automatic weapon. Police-issued.”

A breath caught in her throat as she understood his meaning. He pressed on, self-loathing in every word, “The second I ratted out their guy, my family was as good as dead.” He swallowed hard, almost unable to finish the sentence. “That’s when I realized that everything I knew was a lie.”

She tilted her head in confusion and he looked directly at her. “The good guys versus bad guys story is all a sham,” he explained, spitefully, “because no one is ever truly good. There’re monsters everywhere. All over.” She noticed the nausea overtaking his expression, like he was describing a roach infestation, and not the state of the world. “They’re in the streets. In the law. In the banks. They even hold office. Right all the way to the very top.” She grew more unsettled as she listened to his bitter summarization of humanity. “Corruption is the game. All the players are evil. Everyone else is just collateral damage.”

The coldness of his voice stunned her, chilling her. She pulled back her gaze, confused as to where this was all coming from. It’s like he could read her mind.

“I know you think I ruined your life,” he explained. “That I destroyed everything. But bad shit happens to everyone, regardless of whether they deserve it.” He paused for a moment, and she noticed the glimmer in his eye return. He bit down on his jaw hard, in an effort to hold back. “Everyone that ever loved me is dead. Did they deserve that? Did I?” His words went over her like a dagger to the heart. She pitied him, even if she couldn’t understand where this was coming from.

“You asked me what my biggest regret was,” he explained. She recalled their earlier conversation and the question that was left unanswered. “It’s the night I tried to do the right thing, and I lost everything for it.”

Her heart twisted as he said it. She was in awe of the bitter, broken man beside her. He’d lost so many things and isolated himself so completely, it’s a wonder that he was still alive.

“That’s how I ended up on the other side of the law,” he preached from an invisible pulpit. “From this side, I have a clear view. People show me who they really are.” Reflexively, she shook her head, but stopped immediately. She didn’t have any evidence to support her argument.

“I can see now that the only way to fight fire is with fire,” he added, his voice growing stronger. More resolved. “So i'm all in with everything I got. Soon I’m gonna rain down hellfire like it’s the Fourth of July And when the smoke clears, the man who hurt your friends will be dead.” His voice echoed as he said it, as if she could hear bells in accordance, proclaiming his glory. “That's my promise to you, Honey. Whatever it takes, I’m gonna burn it all down.”

Peter’s eyes left her face and focused on the television. “I’m gonna make him pay,” he said darkly. He took the remote and turned up the volume.

The sound of the Mayor’s voice cut in, stretching the limit of her focus. She struggled to ignore it, trying to process what Peter had just said, but the volume was turned up too high. It was footage from an earlier press conference.

She watched as the stocky man stood behind a podium at City Hall with a dozen microphones fixed at his mouth. He towered against the backdrop of the American flag, his deep voice bellowing, “The crime element that poisons this beautiful city is out of control. Abhorrent acts of violence, like those perpetrated against those women in Midtown this week, will not go unpunished.”

Her eyes lit up, recognizing who he was talking about.

“I’m committing to working closely with local law enforcement, and will not stop until the animals responsible for these horrible crimes are brought to justice,” he proclaimed. “Whatever that looks like.”

Against a valiant array of uniformed police officers and banners of patriotism, it seem like more of a joke than it actually was. Another politician’s promise to be forgotten after a few weeks.

Except that it didn’t feel funny. There was nothing remotely humorous about the tone.

Perhaps it was the tension in the room sitting with Peter that gave her pause. She felt something ominous building. Something threatening. Like crawling through brush and hearing the slithering rattle of a snake.

“Whatever it takes,” the man on TV declared. “I will restore law and order to this city.”

She heard a slow exhale release from the man beside her. She glanced over at Peter to see his eyes narrowed into slits. Intense. Focused. Possessed.

Honey blinked at him, and looked back at the Mayor of New York, dread filling her.

He wasn’t…? Wait, was he talking about—

“Are you talking about him?” she asked, trepidation filing her voice. Her eyes went wide. “Are you talking about Mayor Fisk?”

Peter’s jaw twitched. He kept his eyes glued to the screen. “We don’t say that name,” he muttered with a look of pure loathing.

A chill came over her as the pieces connected. The name he had spoken the night of her kidnapping. Wilson Fisk.

“To me, he’s the Kingpin.” Peter looked her dead in the eye, aflame with righteous fervor. “And I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

To be continued...

a/n hee heee heeeeeee

i'm excited for what's next. are you??? thank you for reblogging! if you want to be tagged in future chapters, you must reblog. (it's the only way I can keep up)

#fic recs #sugar and vice

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pepperful-qt · 4 years ago

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hello!! i saw that your requests are open so,,, anyways, can you please make a hcs of kenma, kuroo and any other hq boys u like and their reaction when their s/o sends a video of them with i love you written on their cheeks? thank u and always take care!! ♡♡

this is so cute what🥺 almost went with Suna but decided on Tendou bc i just did something for him recently! & he deserves something like this tbh

Kenma, Kuroo, & Tendou when their s/o sends a surprise video with ‘i love you’ written on their cheeks

*****

Kenma

you don’t send it to him in when he’s in public which he is thankful for

you do, however, send it out of nowhere. no special occasion or anything, which makes it so much more special to him tbh

you guys are video chatting while playing minecraft or stardew valley if you’re like me (or another online game of your choice) and you pause yourself and say you’re going to the bathroom or smth and mute your mic

it’s not really a big deal, so he doesn’t think too much on it and just continues building his redstone mechanism or w/e

until he gets a notification from you

his first thought is that you ran out of toilet paper and he’s like why would you text me we’re not even in the same house-

but, that’s not what he sees. instead, it’s you in one of his hoodies that you stole

you painted your nose and drew cat whiskers, with ‘i love you’ as the top whisker on each cheek and two lines beneath so cute wth

he thinks so too

it’s a short and sweet message, but clearly something you put thought into

but-

achievement unlocked! you broke him

seriously, he stops breathing for the entire video

he’s an absolute blushing MESS currently pulling up his hoodie to cover his face. pulling the drawstrings and everything

direct affection like this always makes him flustered. always

which is why it��s so cute hehe

he’s not much for pda or anything so you take your chances where you get em

little did he know, you were hiding just off camera where you could see the whole thing and you are currently 🥺

you just hear your name in an exasperated groan from the call

“y/nnnnnn” muffled by his hoodie ofc

you’re smiling like an idiot bc✨mission accomplished✨

“hehehe did you like it?”

you still have the makeup on and his soul leaves his body

“why would you do that to me?”

“awww can’t you read?”

more blushy blushy

he wants to hug you or hold you so bad in that moment like it’s absolute torture

and next time he sees you, oh boy is he stuck to you like glue. good luck getting him off you ever

* * *

Kuroo

you decide to drop this on him while he’s en route to nationals. you weren’t able to come until the second day for school or work reasons, but you still wanted to show your support for your bf, esp for something so important to him!

you know he’s the type to keep his phone on dnd or airplane mode while he’s on long trips, as he prefers to sleep or read in peace

and you use this information to plan the perfect surprise! you send the video during his trip so he’ll see it when he’s going through notifications when he finally arrives

you tell/bribe Kenma to record his reaction for you too, which he may or may not do

your relationship with Kuroo has always been one of teasing and banter. for pet names you call each other ‘babe’ or ‘sweetheart’ as easily as ‘dork’ or ‘dumbass’

so it’s very very amusing to him when you start the video with “hey dummy~” while you have ‘i love you’ written in red on one cheek and ‘Nekoma #1′ on the other

the moment he sees you this guy has the biggest stupidest grin on his face. not even in a smug or cocky way, just completely lovestruck

he’s doing that thing where he covers part of his face with his hand and shakes his head a little bc he finds you so adorable

the video is actually really sweet with you hoping he got to the inn safely and wishing him good luck, and promising him a special kiss if he wins so you can see him play the second day

talk about motivation ammirite ;)

and your surprise works; he’s totally caught off guard

by the end of the video the genuine grin definitely turned devious lol, and he’s not one to blush easily, but you definitely got him a lil bit

some of his teammates heard a very ominous giggle from their captain, and his expression is even more disturbing

no one who asks is allowed to see, you're for his eyes only, but he does brag about the wonderful video his s/o sent him

excuses himself immediately so he can facetime you

if you’re still wearing it he just starts laughing again, and try as he might he can’t stop smiling

says some stupid cocky playful line

“hey baby, you got something you wanna tell me?” or “looks like you can’t contain your love for me” smh

partially scolds you for trying to catch him off guard (in public)

“i love you too but you’ll regret that” etc

okay this mf is suggestive af fill in the rest

you better be looking forward to more than just a kiss when he sees you is all i’m saying

* * *

Tendou

happens at like 1-2am on a school night when you’re both texting memes back and forth bc you enable each other

and tbh you’re feeling a bit delirious,, like at this point you’re actually laughing irl at the stupidest things he sends and muttering to yourself

so once the idea pops into your head your impulse control may as well not exist

he doesn’t really notice your absence too much, just keeps sending da memes. in fact he’s spamming so much he doesn’t even notice what you do send LOL

so you’re sitting there like 👉👈 waiting for him to react,, until eventually you’re like: ‘hellooo?? did you see what i sent??’

LEAVES YOU ON READ LMAOO before a keyboard smash and then silence

bc he is freaking out

like Kenma’s, it’s a cute, sweet message where you’re just gushing about how much you love him

it’s a little rambly and your words are a bit slurred but that just makes it all the more endearing

“tendou~~ look i just love you so much i need the whole world to know!!” while pointing to your cheeks

poor bby is about to cry fr he's overwhelmed

he’s just watching it over and over again like🥺🥺🥺

and you’re back to waiting for a reaction and you’re starting to feel a little silly. you’d already accepted that he’d tease you over it but now you’re embarrassed--

but you know what? he sends his own video back, with 'i love you my angel!' haphazardly scribbled on his forehead

“y/n~~~” he’s totally mocking you “i can’t believe you love me so much you’re gonna make me cry~” doesn’t mention he already did a bit “i can’t believe i’ve been blessed with such an angel--”

he’s just going on and on until he hits the video size cap

congratulations you’ve absolutely ruined each other at 2am and you have a test tomorrow and he has morning practice

but do either of you care? no

he cannot stop smiling the next day he’s just glowing and is just all over you

and you didn’t realize you’d written in sharpie so there’s still a little bit visible that you tried and failed to hide with concealer

he’ll never let you live that down😌😘

*****

THIS REQUEST MADE ME SO SOFT WRITING IT JFC😭

#kenma kozume #kenma kozume x reader #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #tendou satori #tendou satori x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu writing #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu imagine

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trenchcoatkitten · 5 years ago

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So I’ve been reading Temperature of the Heart, and you’ve mentioned how you have the whole thing written already. Can you describe what that’s like? What’s your writing process? How long does it take for you to write everything start to finish? Do you plan it all out or just kind of wing it? How long do you sit in an idea before you start?? Sorry about all the questions, I’m just so curious >_

bro!!! are you sure i will scream about writing for days omg

first of all THANK YOU its so freaking cool that you came to ask your questions and that you like my writing, im still sort of getting used to my writing not just being garbage that i read in the dark at 2am and never share with anybody, and i am always excited to answer questions waaaah

(THIS IS GOING TO BE LONG I APOLOGIZE IM PUTTING A READING BREAK IN CAUSE I WENT OFF BRO, IM THE WOOOOORST)

my process is pretty weird, it’s kind of all over the place? I’m kind of a halfway planner halfway pantser. I have an idea and usually make some disjointed notes about character and the main idea, in my phone or maybe on a google doc, and then a pinterest board maybe? Something to get excited about, a visualization. I ALWAYS tell myself im going to make an outline first and then i ALWAYS just jump right into writing because I’m too excited/impatient to wait. give me words on a page. give me dialogue.

Usually when I’m a little bit into the project, when i know that I’m not going to abandon it to the depths off where my WIPs go to die (rip like literally over 300 individual and unique works, this is NOT an exaggeration, you should see my document bank its gross) Ill say “ok fuck you sami its time to actually know where you’re going” and I’ll sit down and make the grossest outline you have EVER seen. like im talking, my outlines are littered with memes, me yelling at myself, actual stuff thats going to end up in the final project, and just general random garbage? its so gross. Ive literally only showed one of my outlines to one person ever (hi akira!) bc im super self conscious of them and hate the way that i write them. making an outline usually sucks up an entire day of writing. they’re pages and pages because some parts will be INCREDIBLY specific and other parts will be so vague you dont even know

From there, when im done with my garbage outline, (after going back through what I’ve written and fixing the shit that was just me going off like a psycho) I usually start writing in earnest. I’ll highlight the parts of the outline that I’ve done and I’ll go back and check it often to make sure im following through on my plans and the character arcs and such, making sure that everything ties in and such. This section is me like. every day getting home from work or whatever and sitting down at the computer and not moving until 2am, this is the section where i forget to eat and I dont sleep enough and i forget to drink water or take my vitamins and I do word sprints with myself and have days where I write 10 thousand words in one sitting. (very not healthy and also terrible i do NOT recommend) this is the section where I’ll handwrite anything i can in the back of classes and at rehearsals because im pouring out words.

during this section I go back and edit ENDLESSLY. i cannot write something and just let it be. I go back to the section I wrote the night before, I go back to the section I just wrote, i go back to the very beginning. I generally dont have to do 1st 2nd 3rd draft this way, but it is much more time consuming as Im just writing. i dont know if i reccommend this its a MESS

THeN once i finish writing the whole thing, i sit down and reread/edit the whole thing once through. this makes sure i have good flow, the paragraphs go together well, the prose feels right to me, timelines make sense. during this time i make ENDLESS paper notes with calendars, section notes, additions, drabbles, thoughts about my own shit. i have notebooks full of just garbage. im not kidding. full notebooks.

Once I finish that read/edit through I’m usually happy. only once something is completely finished will I consider posting. I go back too much, I add shit, I can’t let go of shit, not until it’s done. While I’m posting - I go through the chapter I’m going to post with a fine tooth comb, try to catch any tiny little mistake, add words here and there, but never change anything large if I can help it. Then i format it on Ao3 (this is literal hell, fuck the HTML editor it wants me to die) and then post it. Deciding to post a chapter to actually hitting ‘post’ usually takes me 1-4 hours, depending on the length, the difficulty of formatting, and how many goddamn links i wanna put in the chapter notes cause im the worst~ (insert jean ralphio voice)

~~~

LISTEN im probably super extra but I’ve been writing since I was in sixth grade (thats twelve years! time is an enigma and i hate it!) and so I have a bit of practice, i have a bit of experience and while I’m not the best me that I can be, I KNOW myself, and this is just what works best for me.

As for timing - it depends on the length of the project and how motivated I am. It took me about a month to write Royal (~50k), just a little over a month to write All Might’s All Night Shop Stop (~75k), and just about two months to write Temperature of the Heart (~115k). I try to post every few days, because as a person I hate waiting and I don’t want to do that to my readers!

~~~

As for the ‘how long do i sit on an idea before writing it’ it really depends. Some things I will receive inspiration or a sliver of an idea and start writing it in the next ten minutes, even if I have to stop working on something I’m already working on, because that was Brain Has Decided. Sometimes I will consider an idea for like. months before actually doing it. I’ve had the idea for FBoW (the newest thing im working on oops? have i told anybody about this NO cause that will make it REAL) since before I started Royal, which was like. Last november. But I just couldnt quite do it for some reason, and it wasn’t pressing. My brain is super broken, and a lot of times I get sick over ideas. I can’t sleep or eat until I’ve written, and I will repeat phrases to myself until i can get them out of my head by writing them down. (Sometimes this is something nice or poetic - “The golden hour lights up the whole world, wiggling its fingers into every nook and cranny, lighting up two people lounging on a bench-swing, someone leaned onto porch stairs with a mug of tea, the space between those walking down a dirt road, a couple of dogs laid out on the deck.” and other times its literally “Ranch Fiddlesticks.” I’m not kidding. i have a note in my phone that says ranch fiddlesticks because I was actually going to Die if i didnt write it down.)

I do wish my brain didn’t do this - but I guess it makes some fun art, doesn’t it?

WOW OKAY THIS WAS SO LONG im so sorry jesus christ. SOrry i will ALWAYS go off about my process and what it’s like to write. Writing is so so important to me, I LOVE it with every tiny atom of my weak, alcohol-infused, overworked heart. Despite how scary it is sometimes I am very glad to be sharing my work with the world, seeing peoples’ reactions and hearing things about my words, hearing how this little picture in my mind has gone into yours.

okay jfc im done now im so sorry. thank you again and again and again, a thousand times over, for reading my work and enjoying the worlds that i enjoy building. It makes me feel like I’m worth it. It makes me feel like I’m doing something good.

ily :’)

#my writing #dont open this unless you're ready #its like 1.5k words long #I WENT OFF #i have so many feelings ok #i have so so so many feelings #thank you so much for sending me an ask #i love you nonny #sami answers

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ramblingshit · 6 years ago

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Jane Eyre - 1934 - 4/5

Vodka-less and tired and very cold, we begin our journey to the very first talkie version of Jane Eyre.

ow my bra hurts. I wish I had vodka. this is so sad. wait i have a rokerdelig brb. depression strikes syet again - i drank it earlier. alright lets get started in the 30s whoop. wow audio quality 10/10 lolol. opening with john reed hunting her down and she's blonde oh no she's been found. holy fuck he's throwing shit at her - SLAP BITCH GET HIM. nooooooooNOOOO why is it errored. okay fixed. aunt mary? oh damn she collapsed cause he pitched that cup at her what an ass - bessie is reading to her naw. she's cut out of a lot of them and never shown so kind at the time she's actually. oh shit. ahaha 'they're bad and i hate them.' 'since you hate us so much i bet you'll be happy to know i'm sending you to an orphanage.' 'yes i am happy' looool. 'go away! GO AWAY! goodbye!" hell yeah lil Jane you stand up to that bish. not quite the snappy shebang she says in the others but very satisfying nonetheless - a lot braver and more obstinate love it. oh no her curls snip snip. ohh her hair is cute af. and very 30s ahaha what a coincidence. wow she talks back like hey ahah. she's looking down at lowood preacher dude down her nose ahah. didn't say hell? ahahaha omg this is great so far. she's the best lil Jane I think I've seen. ohh interesting way to show passing of time - the flipping book pages and the showing of the top of the next chapter - skipping quite a few ahead. skipped helen? straight to her ahah oh shit -- teaching. she's standing up to brocklehurst like no ones business. 'you're dismissed! get out!' 'I'll get out - gladly!' ohmygod she's great she's so great none of that simpering and passivity she's taking the world by the balls. 'you cruel dingy childbeater!' 'you ought to be tarred and feathered you ugly old crocodile!' lmao im in love with her. she walks off laughing and happy about being dismissed. miss temple loves her and gonna miss her so sweet, brocklehurst was like holy damn wtf. ahaha her drivers a drunk, fukn flying across the road she's like bye m8. she's proud and above him and annoyed she has to walk rather than die in a carriage crash. oh damn now she meets no? yeah she's not even made it --oh fuck that horse FLIPPED. she helps unprompted and isn't hesitant in talking back and speaking up oh my god she just stalked off after helping him up ahaha. ahaha oh shit the drunk driver works at thornfield and when they asked why she walked instead of taking the carriage she covered his ass and said she just wanted to walk through the meadows and he's like oh thank fuck thank you jesus she just rolls her eyes with a smile. she speaks 3 languages and draws and plays - very accomplished. he's adele's uncle? Samuel Poole ey what a g m8. and he warns her out of the blue to keep her door locked at night. that 30s makeup is crazy awesome. round face, rosy cheeks, long brows and dark eye makeup and lips. short hair. Adele gives her the tour. she's proud and self-assured. poh damn they're only allowed on one side of the house - sam is married to grace poole. just dunno why she's blonde? probs cause she's supposed to be like angelic? anyway she's gorgeous and the angles are nice and the lighting is good--andw what era are these dresses jfc there's no way she could afford that dress fuck. and who curled her hair and that's a low bow whats happening it looks like a southern gone with teh wind situation. he's smaller than she is. he's bathed in darkness - the light is dimmer on him than her. she's even got a necklace. they're not sitting by the fire. he was too busy looking at her to notice her giving his tea. awkward sips ahaha. it's got like a diamond on the necklace. he looks like he's squatting on that tiny chair. oh shit she's gonna sing instead of play. yikes i hope she can--she's literally taller than him. oh she's gonna play and sing. she looks like blanche is supposed to look? and of course she can sing - all framed by candlelight and hanging crystals. the audio is crackling ahah wow incredible they can do it at all - one of the first talkies damn. 'lovely' wow she a mary sue? please don't be a mary sue.sings and yeets outta there not even finished her tea. far out that dress is not doing it for me. what world would a governess be dressed like that? she wears nothing but white. and journalling is never a good idea. but my god she's gorgeous---lots of SCREAMINGGG. and they're telling Jane that its just a servant and its clearly not grace poole doing the screaming? Fairfax knows? Jane can't blame Grace? Jane's like not freaked about it - i suppose she's journalling about it. Adeles a 'mischief' lol nice. she's ran from her lesson and climbed a tree and now she's stuck up there and Jane like doesn't hesitate just scales that tree after her 'uncle edward help! my foot's caught!' 'her foot's caught' 'her foot's caught, so i gathered.' he seems so gentle and kind and pleasant. gets adele out of the tree - 'and where would you like this package delivered, miss eyre?' ahaha cute ooh they know when rochester is leaving to london. he's handsome i'll give him that, it's better --wait when was blanche introduced. asking him when he's getting married and he says next month and adele asks if he's gonna marry blanche and he avoids the question and she starts on but is interrupted by a frantically gesticulating Jane shaking her head, and she cuts herself off and skips away all innocvently lol til she slips moron kid hit her knee ahahaha what a dumbass. Jane's helping clean the chandelier? and Adele is helping as well, that's cool. wtf this kids a moron getting herself headdown stuck in a vase and JAne smashes that shit and snaps at Rochester's amused quip at breaking his shit and blanche laughs and Jane turns on her lol what a savage and storms off. dancing around her room to the sound of the music downstairs that's nice and cute I'd do the same thing ahaha. she's all petulant cause brought blanche who hasn't been introduced properly? is she gonna put her fancy dress on? no? i hope not. damn they're in a ball room? nice. blanche has dark hair and looks much older than any other, not a bad thing just different. they call her beautiful and pretty - not even trying to pretend she's plain and simple. he's suddenly all over her staring intensely and accompanying her into the room and now they're dancing no way? no? no. governesses and landowners don't dance? she's down here without adele. he's sad she didn't dress up - she didn't want to appear as anything than what she is : a governess! at least she's proud of it. he's amused. and charmed. she thinks he's mocking her. now they're being introduced - an interesting way of doing things but rather natural compared to immediately knowing each other. Adele's sitting here with some old guy talking shit about people wow that's mean. fkn kids and this lord ingram is encouraging the hell out of her ahaha. but when she taunts him suddenly its not so funny ahaha. blanche is nice but sarcastic? it's a wedding party ooooh? adele m8 letting things slip? it's 2am and she's dreaming of him - and damn she's going straight for the curtains with that candle and its not lighting? then we see an altogether put together lady return with teh candle to the room upstairs before crazy cackling. god Jane is pretty. oh shit the house is on fire. nah just his room. there's no dramatic music - yes! she's the one to tear down the curtains and open the window - she's legit the most assertive main character i've seen - he's woken up and the fire is like already out. she's got this sorted all he has to do is give her a blanket 'why didn't you call for help?' 'I didn't think it necessary...' noice. here have some alcohol - from the same cup: might as well kiss. she burnt her hands and HE KISSED THEM. she's like bye. she is outies not taking any of his affections like she got better things to do, like sleep. he's in her room? he brought her a book. they're standing very close. he wants her to help redecorate the west wing - he's quite sure he's getting married in a month and that she'll have things to suit the lady's taste. eyeyeyeyyy. its a pupppppppppppyyyyy. oh it's adele's room. ohmygod so fuckin cute rochester is putting adele to bed and she's saying that she wants an aunt that she can choose and she wants it to be miss eyre and he says she wont have them and she says he has to ask her and she'll make sure she says yes. 'that'd be very nice'. cute af ma8. 'don't forget to ask her!' he grins happily. she chooses a cutain (?) and rochester jumps in 'we prefer this one!', and ol mate says 'i congratulate the lady on her discerning taste - the room will look delightful!' what a thing to say. she looks fkn miserable lolol she thinks she's choosing shit out for blanche - they're choosing out jewels now. she's fkn despondent. she flees the jewellers, he follows her and she cries and tells him she's off on holiday. he's not happy like did you think that would go well?? she's not even saying goodbye to him ahaha bye adele and fairfax nevermind here he is marching up the stairs weren't you gon' say goodbye????? tajes her bags and back upstairs to show her the room she designed? she loves it and he's happy and taking the coat off - 'it's incomplete' 'incomplete? everything seems to be in its proper place - what's missing?' 'you.' ohmygodddddddd. 'can't you see i've been falling in love with you all of this time?' rochester yaaaassss. she's not about to argue lol. whoops - 'you must never decieve me again' she chides lovingly and he laughs and shakes his head. like duuuuude i haven't forgotten this is Jane Eyre. okay he's very handsome and she's gorgeous what a lovely couple. now she's dressed in enormous dresses and jewels much more fitting now I suppose, though she did just say she didn't want to be lavished and pampered. oh what the fuck lol what 'edward my husband!' ahaha oh shit bertha just popped nicely out of nowhereeeee -'you can't separate me from my husband again! no one shall!' oh shit. oh shit. wow that was so brushed over - 1930s sensibilities??? Jane's like uhhhh what was that explain yourself he's like I love you you make me so happy i didn't want to tell you I was married to a psycho that I keep in the attic and take care of. she almost forgave him then he rushed off to help with his violent wife - what she gon do?? she waiting forever surely not she's better than that. yas ohmygod is she gone? SHES GONE AHAHAHA YAS DAMN GO GIRL. she wrote a goodbye note to Adele but not him ahaha savage I love her. ohh a star wars cut noice. he's just gon sit in his library? took mrs fairfax to be like yo dude she couldn't have gone very far ahah she's hiding from him in the shadows all misery and rain. searching for her in the dark- thornfield's on fire! oh yikes it's seriously on fire. get out of there ya;ll. it's so odd not to have any action music oh damn he's going into the house to get bertha he's in his tophat ahaha fire effects! fire effects! fire effects! whoo. she's found herself in a soup kitchen very nice Jane you're an angel. she's going to india huh oh damn we speeding through this bit - 30 seconds after we meet Rivers he's proposing ahaha. she looks insulted, thanks him and storms out. she's pouring soup an hour before her wedding to Rivers and Sam's just popped up looking fucked uppp. i think he's just drunk tbh. bertha burned to death. Jane's frantic and upset m8 and yeah Sam's drunk af. so JAne went to him - he's blind and angry and an't see her and she's crying and he's shocked my god he's in the light and he's in the dark and he's reaching toward the light and touching her face - lol she raced back to thornfield in a day. lol you want some tea Eyre, it's nice for you to call. he's convinced ---ohhhhh--- "strange, you pity me when I'm blind and yet when I was worse than blind you had no mercy.' he's sending her awayyyyy noo he literally just told her they never belonged to each other and they never did like damn son that is fuckin colldddddd. she's so emotional and he's like yep I guess. She was awesome, he was handsome and had his fine moments. It was cute af m8 noice.

#jane eyre #1934 #jane eyre 1934 #virginia bruce #commentary #review #ramble #shit #colin clive

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ackbang · 7 years ago

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I made it. Flew out of JFK Tuesday at 2am (after having a lovely dinner with @flecksofpoppy and @mjolklizard. Thanks again guys, it was such a good time and start to all of this!). I somehow got graced with a window seat, so it made sleeping a little easier. However, apparently the airline I took bans mobile phone use for the entire flight, which is where I had all my music and fanfics saved... So I had to deal with cat napping and watching Wes Anderson films for 15 hours. Which I guess isn't all bad. Had a layover in Guangzhou where I could have bought sweat corn... Damn, I really should have. Stretched my legs a bit before ending up in Tokyo. Pretty sure I snapped a pic of mt Fuji peaking through the clouds as we came in. Hella cool. I'm on the shinkansen to takasaki now to stay at my friend's house for the night. I'll head out to Osaka tomorrow, while trying to hit Kyoto as well. We'll see how the day ends up! I'll start taking non-phone camera pictures then too. And welcome to my trip blog. Jfc. Sorry. Lol

#ack rambles #ack in the real #ack in Japan

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stealsyou · 7 years ago

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☾ cute character questions ☽

THE BASICS.

NAME : eliza josephine ibbson. AGE : 27. ZODIAC SIGN : scorpio. ONE GOOD TRAIT : she loves children and is really great with them !!! ONE BAD TRAIT : everything else about her personality.

HABITS.

ONE BAD HABIT : setting aside the murder for smthn more Mundane , she chews Everything. headphones , keys , bits of fucking rubber , whatever ( and she alWAys forgets to bring gum with her ). ONE GOOD HABIT : ummmmmmmmmm she’s pretty devoted to her job ? she’s almost always punctual and takes it pretty seriously and in general is a pretty excellent employee. ONE HABIT THEY CAN’T BREAK : picking fights when she’s drun k to try and hurt herself >:| like she recognises it’s stupid bc 1 ) it’s a waaaay more obvious to Hurt People than her usual murders and stuff so it’s a LOT more likely to get her picked up by the law and 2 ) she hardly ever actually gets hurt jfc i mean it’s p rare for her to find a human that can take her and when she doEs she ends up getting herself in like , gang fights and being seriously fucked up jfc. ONE THEY’VE BROKEN : smoking !!! tbh she didn’t take it up for long , it was just a few stressful months but still she tried to quit a couple of times n couldn’t but !! she stopped eventually i’m proud. WHAT THEY’RE AFRAID OF : being powerless again. although she knows realistically that nothing like her captivity will ever happen again , there’s always that paranoia in the back of her mind that makes her properly Panic when even a LITTLE power is taken away from her.

FAMILY.

THEIR PARENTS NAMES : david ibbson , josephine pink ( those two are her biological parents ) , adriel alexander. THEIR SIBLINGS NAMES : felix pink , babel alexander , abigail ibbson , arwen ibbson. FAVOURITE CHILDHOOD MEMORY : probably fishing with her dads ? it was a big thing in their family and they ate a lot of fish to avoid hunting. it’d often be a whole family outing and they’d drag josephine along even though she hAted it and was always cold and wore like twelve layers and then eliza taught the twins when they were old enough and !!!! idk man wholesome shapeshifter family fun. FAVOURITE CHILDHOOD TOY : well bc of the vast number of siblings she had , nearly all her toys were shared ( and then lost , broken , washed away in the sea ... ). she had her own gameboy which was AWESOME and felix had one too so they would share games and play together a lot that was cool. also each kid did get their own spade , like a proper nice metal one and eliza loooved that. hers was red and a lil too big for her when she got it but still whenever they went down to the beach n were making sandcastles she would do all the digging and leave the actual Making to the others ( and she dug a good few holes in their tiny patch of garden in protest from being brought home at dusk ). EMBARRASSING STORY : she really doesn’t get embarrassed a lot tbh ? i mean she does dumb things or makes mistakes but they tend to turn into either funny stories , bad hangovers , or Serious Emotional Trauma so lmao. idk tho i literally can’t think of a single one apparently eliza has been spared the emotion of embarrassment in general wtf. FAVOURITE FAMILY MEMBER : felix. HONESTLY , ok , she really does adore her entire family and misses them sooooo fucking muuuuuch it hurts me to think about it but. man felix has always been her closest friend and the purest lil ho ok they’ve supported her sm and made her passionate about things she’d never even care about and. god when they were in london felix was her entire fucking world ok she loves them s o mu c h it makes me so sa d they’re not in her life she’d be so much happier >:| A STORY ABOUT THAT FAMILY MEMBER : exCELLENT ok i’ve so briefly mentioned this in another post but !! so felix has been v attached to the lgbt+ community and their queer identity pretty much forever and when they moved to london felix was going to every pride event they could FIND and the entire gang was dragged along to pride every year. highlight of felix’s year. and THEN this one year. so the gang are just out and about the night before the parade and they sorta split up so think nothing of it when felix and a couple of the others aren’t home the next morning. BUT just before they’re about to leave one of the missing ones comes running back saying felix is at fucking hospital.

turns out that last night they’d met a drag act that was performing this morning and had been invited to join so. felix got their drunk ass in 10 inch heels on stage at like 11am that morning. and fell flat off and broke their leg is now in fucking hospital. the gang is literally about to leave and are super disappointed but eliza’s like u know what nah which hospital they at. drags the gang around there and storms in to essentially break felix out ( who is of course still hammered and , like , crying with happiness at seeing them there ). they cover up their half - done cast with glitter and rainbow face paint and CARRY THEM all the way to the parade. felix gets the best view of their life sitting on top of everyone’s shoulders and is generally adored by the parade crowd. best pride ever , man.

WHAT THEY PREFER.

COFFEE OR TEA ? probably tea if she had to choose ? SHOWERING IN THE DAY OR NIGHT ? normally like 4am when she’s all blood - sticky Gross :/. TAKING BATHS OR TAKING SHOWERS ? showers but nice bath bomb baths are ok. TV OR MOVIES ? ehhhh tv i guess she doesn’t really watch either which i Detest her for. WRITING OR READING ? reading. but even that is only like , reading on the tube if she’s been recommended something recently. PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC LOVE ? platonic. romance can succ. ICED TEA OR LEMONADE ? iced tea she’s a starbucks ho. ICE CREAM OR SMOOTHIES ? ice cream om g she’s end ur life for a flake 99 any time of day. CUPCAKES OR CAKE ? cupcakes all the way. BEACH OR MOUNTAINS ? B E A C H.

FAVOURITES.

SONG : idk it changes every few months / couple of years depending on new releases , but there’ll always be songs she has amazing memories of ( esp from when she was in a band with felix ). forgive & forget by the kooks is up there rn. BAND : bastille !!! she likes a lot of sorta ‘ indie pop ’ but bastille is her forever fave. OUTFIT : her aesthetic is a weird bit between Very Normal and Indie Art Ho and also varies a LOT depending on face. her fave is probably a big - ol vintage teen , high ponytail and skinny or mom jeans. and always sneakers jfc. she has a couple of pairs of converse that are worn THIN. PLACE : the seaside in general , but the coast where she grew up in kent is heaven for her. she’ll never go back for the fear of it , or of seeing her family , but she aches for it , man. MEMORY : there are so many from her childhood and time with the gang. new year’s sitting on the beach in the dark with her family , all freezing and watching the fireworks over the sea ... skipping school to try out for band competitions with felix and playing on stage ... fucking sitting in mcdonalds at 2am with the gang playing drunk irish snap and making the employees join in ... dude i’m sad she really enjoyed shit before everything went to bollocks ok briNg eliza back her fa Mi l y !!!!!! PERSON : now her family’s gone ... she ain’t got one lmao. MOVIE : she doesn’t really like movies i hate her i hate her i hATE HER. SHOW : same as above idk ?? she quite likes house n greys anatomy n trasy medical dramas like that. she’ll watch whatever people are raving about tbh.

TAGGED BY : @devotedecay ♡ TAGGING : this was rly fun omg @roseloved , @deathreflected , @caeloms , @verycivilofyou , dude anyone feel free to steal this

#& ▨ TAGGING GAMES ! *#& ▨ ABOUT : ʰᵉ ˢᵃᶦᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ ᶜʰᶦᶫᵈ ᶦᵐ ᵃᶠʳᵃ��ᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵒᵘᶫ ! *#long post //#thank u for tagging this was rly coo l ?????#also Irrelevant but i loVe double indemnity that is sUCH A MOVIE OK .

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yg-got7scenarios · 8 years ago

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Better as Three Part 2 (M)

**GIF NOT MINE

Mini-series.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Characters: Mark Tuan (GOT7) x You (OC/Reader) x Im Jaebum (JB, GOT7)

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Slight Angst, AU

Length: 4,713 words

Plot: Mark feels bad for ignoring you for the past few nights – and he is hoping to make you feel better with a pleasant surprise.

Warning/s: Poly!Markbum, Polyamorous relationship, Kitchen counter sex, Overstimulation, Slight Dirty Talking, Fingering, Cunnilingus, just overly detailed het smut and it’s kind of a makeup sex too??? Idk jfc

A/N: I ended up not changing much, LMAO. So it’s pretty much still the same with the first one I’ve posted, I just removed the irrelevant parts and also did my best to proofread though idk if I succeeded haha.

You were stirred from your sleep the next night when you felt the need to drink some water; however, you had forgotten to bring some inside your room.

You’ve gone to work early that morning; the night after the boys had completely ignored you and had sex with each other on the master’s bedroom. You are so annoyed with them that even though they’ve catch you that morning fixing your lunch box and getting ready to leave; you didn’t even spare them a glance and you just walk past them. Mark did try calling out for you and even followed you at the foyer, pouting and trying to hug you but you just glared at him, making it clear that you are not interested in talking, more so hugging, and he took a step back immediately.

“Ugh shit.” You groaned before reluctantly sitting up, kicking the sheets from your body. You glanced at your alarm clock, 2am, most likely the boys are already home and sleeping.

You stretched your arms before finally standing up and making your way downstairs to the kitchen; taking small, quiet steps to ensure that you would not make any sounds to wake the boys up.

When you reached the kitchen, you abruptly stopped on your tracks when you saw Mark leaning against the kitchen counter, clad in his favorite sleep shorts and shirt, holding a mug in hand.

The screeching of your rubber slippers against the tiled floor caught Mark’s attention, and he looked up to you from his drink. He smiles immediately and you looked away before clearing your throat, slowly walking your way towards the counter, ignoring your boyfriend’s presence. Mark just eyed your every moment while he sips his drink leisurely.

You went straight to the fridge in front of him, opening it before bending over, grabbing the small bottle of water from the corner. On the other hand, Mark smirks at the view of your perfect ass and legs while you are bent over the fridge and he automatically licks his lips. You are wearing your normal sleeping attire, a thin camisole and knickers, which hugs your perfect body, and he misses you even more.

He was snapped out of his reverie when you pulled away from the fridge after closing it shut; drinking the water from the bottle. You are about to walk away with the bottle in hand but Mark stopped you.

“Baby?” You turn around to meet your boyfriend’s gaze.

“What?” You asked coldly before crossing your arms on your chest and slumping against the metal surface.

“Can we talk?” Mark brushes the strands of hair that blocks his beautiful face and you stared at your feet, the tone in your boyfriend’s voice serious and pleading.

“We’re already talking.” You tear your gaze away before fiddling with the bottle that you’re holding. Mark chuckles quietly and you look up to him as nods meekly.

“You’re right, we’re already talking.” He drops the mug on the counter before staring at you in the eyes and his stare held you in place. He took a deep breath before gripping the edges of the counter, half-sitting on it.

“I just wanted to say that Jaebum and I were really upset with what you’ve done a few days ago. If only you’ve listened to us, you wouldn’t be in that situation. You didn’t even call us when you already felt drunk, so that at least one of us had fetched you.” He explains carefully and you gripped the bottle tighter; still looking at the ground; avoiding the concerned look on Mark’s face.

“If Jaebum wasn’t there, and something bad had happened to you, I won’t be able to forgive myself, and sure Jaebum won’t either.” He looks to the side before griping the edges of the kitchen counter tighter and you lift your head to take a quick look at his face but promptly dropping it when he moves his head to gape at you again.

“I wanted to go with him but he wants me to stay here in case you have decided to go home. Good thing I had remembered the name of the bar despite you whispering it to me a day or so before it. I was so worried because it took Jaebum 3 hours to find you and finally bring you home, ______.” You blinked a few times before shifting your weight from one foot to another, guilt striking you like lightning. Mark doesn’t talk a lot compared to Jaebum, but when he talks, he sure doesn’t bullshit and goes straight to the point.

“I-I’m also sorry for ignoring you the past few days. I know that we’ve gone a bit overboard with your punishment. I know you hate being alone while sleeping or waking up, or even eating, and you have to endure everything. I am sorry about that baby.” He bites his lower lip and you finally peered at him; meeting his loving gaze and you stood up straight. You close your eyes before breathing heavily; finally responding to your boyfriend’s apology and explanation.

“I-I am sorry, Mark, if I made you and Jaebum worry about me. I’m sorry for not following what you’ve said, or at least try to tell you where I was or if I need help that night.” You trailed off before glancing away, feeling the heat on your cheeks rise when you saw the sincere look on your boyfriend’s face.

“I am also sorry for acting up last night and this morning, I know that I did deserve the punishment but I was still being a brat. I should’ve just apologized immediately but I refused to do that. So, please forgive me, Mark.. I will never do it again…” You gazed at him with your puppy eyes and Mark’s smile is so bright that it seemed to lightened up the entire room.

“You’re already forgiven, baby.” He winks at you and he spreads his arms wide open before lifting his chin, smiling his unique, toothy smile. You bit your lower lip and just stared at the inviting gesture of Mark.

“Come on, I know you want to.” He giggles and you carefully place the bottle on the dining table next to you before rushing to Mark’s arms, your tears now falling from eyes without you knowing as you wrap your arms around your boyfriend’s waist, burying your face against his clothed chest.

“Aww don’t cry, baby girl, I’m here…” He coos you by rubbing your back with one hand while the other is patting your head adorningly, tucking his nose against the crown of you head. You bury your face harder against his chest as you cried silently.

“I’m sorry Mark… I miss you so much… Don’t ever ignore me again…” You murmured against the thin fabric of his white shirt and he giggles before kissing your head.

“I promise baby.” He mutters before cradling your face in his hands. He wipes the tears from your face with his thumbs before kissing your forehead. You smiled and Mark brushes the hair that blocks your face before tugging them at the back of your ear, the intimacy of his touches sending butterflies on your stomach.

“I love you, ______.” He whispers before kissing your lips longingly and passionately. You are about to respond with an “I love you too” when Mark pulls away but he was quick to kiss you again, his hand grabbing your nape gently, holding you in place while the other cups the small of your back. His kiss is warm, full, and it didn’t take long for you to melt in to it. You circled your arms around his waist, pulling him closer to you.

“God, I miss you so much baby.” He moans against your mouth and you barely had the time to breathe when he wraps his arms around your hips, hoisting you up and you circle your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck after letting out a squeal of surprise.

“Oh God that’s-“ You were cut off again by your boyfriend’s eager mouth before he turns the two of you around, placing you on top of the kitchen counter next to his mug of hot chocolate. He licks your lower lip and you quickly opened your mouth to allow him access, his tongue snaking inside, tasting your cavern and you mewled silently when his hands roam around your bare thighs, drawing mindless patterns against your skin before pushing you closer to him, his groin coming in contact with your center.

“You sure miss me that much, huh.” You giggled when Mark’s lips traces a line of hot, little kisses on your cheek, your jaw line, up to the shell of your ear. Mark responded by biting on your earlobe and you moaned, his tongue leaving kitten licks against your ear making your whole body shiver.

Your boyfriend’s lips continues its journey down to your neck, sucking and nipping on your throat and your fingers tangled on his dark brown hair, tugging on his follicles gently while he sucks and bites on your neck.

“Your skin tastes so sweet baby.” He groans against your collarbone as he latches his teeth on the base of it, drawing out a loud moan from you. Mark chuckles before sucking on the bruise that he just left, your body shuddering beneath him and he holds your neck in place as he continues to shower your neck with love bites.

“M-Mark.” You latch a handful of his shirt when Mark’s hands travelled inside your camisole, feeling your naked, hot skin beneath his palms and he licks a burning path from the base of your throat to your chin. His hands finally found your breasts and he groans against your lips.

You whimpered when he tweaks your nipples, taking them between his thumb and index, tugging and circling it between his skillful fingers and you can only push your chest further against his touch.

“You like that?” He kisses your neck before groping your breasts rhythmically, pressing them together before dipping his head down to bite on each of your nipples through the fabric of your shirt. He smirks at you before tightening his hold against your mounds, pushing them up before sucking on one of the buds harshly; the thin fabric of your camisole being the only barrier.

He soon tugs on the hem of your shirt before lifting it above your head, throwing the garment on the floor before pushing you against the counter until you lay flat on it. You immediately pulled him against you by his hips and he smiles before ravishing your lips again, one of his hands cupping your face while the other makes its way back to one of your mounds.

“Ah! Fuck, that’s it, oh God.” You yelped when Mark dips his head to deliver a particularly harsh suck on your nipple while he gropes the other one firmly; the lack of the cotton barrier made you feel each and every touch of his hands and mouth. He switched sides and repeated the same process, over and over and you can feel the sensitivity of your mounds heightening, your arousal pooling at your center, drenching your knickers. Mark started to dry hump against you and you felt his erection twitch when you let out a breathless moan.

Mark pulls away from you and you whined at the lost of friction and touch, but he quickly press a kiss on the valley between your breasts before making his way downwards, sucking, kissing, and nipping on the underside of your breasts, down to your belly button, until his red, bruised lips reaches the top of your underwear. Your breathing is erratic and you looked down at him, patiently waiting for his next move. Mark snickers when he spreads your legs wide open, licking his lips when he sees the trace of your arousal against your lace knickers.

“Fuck you are so wet already.” He grunts before gliding his hands over your bare legs and thighs, before reaching to cup your gorgeous ass; stroking it back up to your inner thighs, spreading your legs wider.

“God, my mouth is watering so bad, I need to taste you baby girl.” He continues and you shivered because of his dirty talking. Without a second to spare, Mark dives in to your clothed core, running his tongue over the expanse of your slit through your panties and your reaction was involuntary, you buck your hips against his tongue and he stops when he reaches your clit, before licking harder over your bundle of nerves, the whimper that left your lips is inhumane.

“Ah fuck.” You can feel your arousal seeping through the fabric, mixing with Mark’s saliva as he sucks on your nub lewdly and you are slowly rolling your hips against the movements of his tongue and it felt so good, but you know it will be better if he would take off the lace barrier.

As if reading your mind, Mark swiftly grabs the hem of your panties before sliding it down your ass, lifting your hips in the process to help and it met with your camisole on the floor.

Mark didn’t waste any more time as he spreads your legs once more, dipping his head in between your folds before sucking harshly on your throbbing clit, his tongue drawing hard circles against it and your hand grips Mark’s hair as he continues to devour you. His tongue prodded your entrance before spreading your arousal over your folds, tonguing each and every part of your lower lips before licking his way back to your sensitive clit, his pace shifting to a slower, harder rhythm and your legs quivered beneath him.

“You taste so sweet baby.” He pushes your hips against the cold counter before biting on your clit and you moaned his name out loud.

“Fuck, shit Mark.” You whimpered when Mark does it again before running his tongue flat over the expanse of your slit, up and down, round and round, over and over, and you felt like you cannot breathe. You tried to push your hips against his sinful mouth but his tight hold on your inner thighs completely disables you.

Mark started to hum against you and it all becomes too much to take. Both of your hands are now pulling on Mark’s hair as he sucks on your clit in a way that would always make you crumble into pieces.

“S-shit I’m gonna cum.” You warned him and you didn’t know how it was possible but Mark sucked even harder while his eyes are bearing holes on you. Your back instantly arch up against the counter, your eyes shut tight, and your legs are trembling immensely when your orgasm washes over your entire being. Mark didn’t stop sucking and licking your clit until you are writhing beneath him, his hold against your inner thighs getting tighter and harder, keeping you trapped against his devious mouth and tongue.

Mark finally pulls away after a couple of more licks and sucks and your body fell against the cold, flat surface, your chest heaving up and down at a crazy rate; your hands loosening their hold against Mark’s hair. Your boyfriend kisses and bites on your inner thighs before making his way up to your stomach, dipping his tongue inside your navel before leaving more open-mouthed kisses against your stomach, to your chest, to your neck, until he seals your lips in another heated kiss, tasting yourself in him. Your hands slid down to grip his biceps before lifting your legs to draw your boyfriend closer to you and he is painfully hard.

You ground your wet, bare core against his crotch and he groans against your skin. However, to your disappointment, he abruptly pulls away, making you stick your lower lip out, pouting. He chuckles at your childish action before cradling your face with his hand, kissing you fervidly, which you’ve returned with glee.

Once he got to distract you with his skilled tongue tasting your cavern, his thumb came in contact with your sensitive clit and you whimpered against his mouth. He grips your nape before kissing you deeper while he rubs the digit eight against your pearl and your knees shook wildly, your hands gripping his shoulders tight.

“Fuck, Mark.” Mark finally pulls away from your lips while he continues the harsh strokes of his thumb against you and you pressed your legs together without your consent but he was quick to separate them.

“Oops, spread them wide open for me, baby girl.” He laid one of his hands flat against your inner thigh while his other hand is busy playing with your bundle of nerves.

“Ugh, Mark, please.” You wailed when Mark plunges two of his long, dexterous fingers inside you as his mouth encloses one of your nipples, his eyes looking up at you hungrily.

“Fuck, please.” You sobbed when Mark jerks his hand, inducing a brutal pace, rubbing that tender, keen spot in you that doesn’t fail to bring you to the edge of the cliff each and every time. Mark smirks against the wet skin of your chest when your body quivered once more and he steps up his game. He started to fuck you at a brutal pace, the tip of his fingers not failing to touch that delicate spot in you.

“You’re coming again, are you?” He sucks on the base of your throat before grinning at you and your head begins to swim when Mark’s thumb returned on your clit, moving it in sync with the plunges of his fingers and you can feel that familiar tingling at the bottom of your stomach starting to build up once again and you can feel your limp body starting to fall apart.

You gasped when Mark’s face disappeared from your neck; quickly lowering his face to your pussy, replacing his thumb with his mouth and began sucking the daylights out of your abused clit.

Your whole body thrashed from the counter when you reach another mind-blowing peak because of Mark’s skilled fingers and mouth. You stopped breathing when your climax started and your hands are flying everywhere until it settles on the edge of the counter by your head.

“Damn it, fuck!” Your voice came out hoarse with how much the pleasure is consuming you whole and Mark didn’t stop; his tongue, mouth, and fingers are still moving, fucking you through your orgasm and you gripped on his shoulders, digging your nails against his clothed skin to let him know that you’ve had enough.

Mark finally withdraws his fingers from your hole but his mouth is still sucking on your clit, both of his hands now holding your inner thighs in place and your chest tightened; his continuing assault on your bundle of nerves setting your whole body on fire.

“Breathe, baby girl.” He says after finally pulling away from you and you let out a huge, raspy breath, your lungs finally releasing the air that you’ve been holding since your 2nd orgasm started. Though Mark’s tongue and fingers already left your core, you can still feel your pussy pulsating because of how hard you came undone.

You are still trying to recover from your huge orgasms when Mark suddenly hauls you up by your shoulders, pushing you against his toned chest and you realized that he is now fully naked. Mark smiles at you before wrapping an arm around waist, while the other one is cupping your face before placing a light kiss on your lips.

“You look so damn hot when you come, baby.” He kisses your jaw and he pushes you closer to his groin and you gasped when his hard cock came in contact with your sensitive core. He guides you to wrap your legs around his waist as his mouth is busy leaving a hickey below your ear.

“You think you can come for me again, baby? With my cock buried deep inside you?” He utters huskily against your ear and the hairs at the back of your neck shoot up and you can feel the anticipation thumping heavily against your veins.

You know that you are overly sensitive and the credits all go to him, but you cannot help but crave the feeling of being filled by his impressive length so you leaned against him before muttering a soft “please” against his cheek.

Upon hearing your soft, pleading voice, Mark jolts into action, cradling your face with both of his hands before claiming your lips once more and you eagerly returned the kiss while you sneak one hand below rake your nails against his abs feeling his muscles tense beneath your fingers. You soon grab his pulsing erection and he is rock hard; a huge amount of precum is already pooling at the tip and your mouth watered, wanting to taste him.

You can feel your boyfriend’s body trembling against yours when you started pumping his cock and he pulls away from your lips before resting his forehead against yours. You swiped the precum at the tip of his girth using your index and middle finger before bringing them to your parted lips, sucking on it lewdly and Mark’s eyes darkened even more when he sees you pushing your digits all the way in to your mouth while your eyes bore holes on him.

“You taste so good Mark.” You winked at him after pulling your fingers out of your cavern, but making sure to let it go with a loud pop.

“Fuck, baby, as much as I want you to suck me off, I don’t think I will last long.” He moans against your lips before grabbing his cock, pumping it a few times before gliding it over the expanse of your slit and you circled your arms around his neck, bracing yourself for more.

“Shit, Mark.” Your head fell back when he circled the head of his dick against your throbbing clit and Mark’s eyebrows furrowed and you know that he is dying to be inside you. You moved your hips to finally get Mark’s dick at your entrance and Mark holds your hips before sliding the head of his dick inside you, his face crunching before pulling out again, teasing himself.

“Come on, baby, I know you’re dying; just fuck me hard, please.” You bite Mark’s lower lip and that seem to be the last nail in the coffin because he now has both of his hands on your hips, gripping them tightly before pushing his cock inside you in one go, delving deep and hard within you and his long legs quaked immensely with how taut your walls are clasping his length.

“So fucking tight.” He groans against your neck and you have adjusted to his size almost immediately so you moved against him and Mark started to pull out of you slowly before thrusting back in deeper and harder. He looks between the two of you, watching how your hole swallows the entirety of his huge dick and he bites his lower lip.

“Your pussy looks so fucking beautiful like this, with my cock stretching you out.” Mark’s dirty talking seemed to be on full-on mode today, not that you are complaining, not when he starts slamming in to you at a fast and hard pace, his grip on your hips bruising but you love it, the pain only heightening your desire. You leaned back against the counter; both of your palms laid flat against the cold surface to balance yourself as Mark continues to pound in to you.

“B-baby, shit, don’t, fuck-“ Mark stuttered when you started clenching around his cock, clamping his length firmly whenever he slams back in and you sneered at him. He lets out an animalistic growl when you started chasing his thrusts, rocking your hips against his synchronously.

“Fuck, baby, if you keep doing that…” He pushes you by your chest gently until your back meets the cold surface of the kitchen counter once more.

“Don’t hold back, baby, fuck me, just fuck me hard, oh my god please.” You plead and whined and begged and Mark grabs both of your breasts, squeezing them hard before pounding in to you hard; the speed and intensity of his plunges doubling and you enclose his hands that are on your breasts when your body started to tremble violently with how hard Mark is fucking you.

“Uh, baby, shit, please tell me you’re close.” Mark says and you are at a loss for words so you nodded vigorously, one of your hands sinking lower to rub your tingling clit. Mark lets go of your breasts to grab both of your legs, hooking them over his shoulders before pressing your thighs against your chest and his dick went even deeper than earlier and you are crying and sobbing out of pure pleasure right now.

“Fuck, Fuck, Mark, don’t stop, baby, please, I’m so close!” You cried out and Mark can feel your walls constricting even more and his strokes never slowed down. You look up to him and his hair is a mess, face and neck beaded with sweat and with the way he is gripping the back of your thighs, you can tell that he is getting close.

“Shit!” You wailed when you felt the knot at the pit of your stomach started to unravel painfully and deliciously and Mark pushes your fingers away from your clit and replaces it with his thumb, rubbing it until your body went rigid, your third orgasm from oversensitivity milking the last of your strength and sanity. Your nails dig deep on Mark’s wrists; desperately trying to hold on to something real as you felt like you’re going to pass out with how much your climax is eating your insides up.

“Fuck!” Mark grunts loudly when your orgasm finally leads him to his own. Your cramped and sensitive walls squeezed his cock and he comes inside you intensely; his whole body twitching and trembling; his breaths choppy, almost matching your own. Mark finally grows to a still, his cock buried deep inside you as he tries to even out his breathing and for his shaking body to become less tense.

He slowly releases his tight grip on the back of your thighs before guiding them on either side of you, your legs falling at the edge of the counter. Your arms that are on his wrists automatically fell on your sides and you can still feel Mark’s length throbbing inside you.

“That was awesome, baby, I came so fucking hard.” He giggles before hauling you up by your arms gently, your breasts slightly clashing with your boyfriend’s naked, wet chest before placing a long, chaste kiss on your lips. You automatically wrapped your arms around his neck and his cock finally softened inside you. He pulls out of you slowly and you whimpered at the lost of contact, and he snickers upon seeing the mess between your thighs.

“Up here, baby, let’s go get cleaned up.” He winks at you and you nodded, too tired to say anything as you drape your tired arms around your boyfriend and he heaves you up from the counter, wrapping your legs around his waist and his arms are holding your hips as he carries you up to the master’s bedroom. You buried your face against Mark’s neck as you close your eyes; breathing in the musky scent of your boyfriend.

“Holy shit.” Mark stopped climbing up the stairs when he sees Jaebum on the hallway, who’s just about to climb down the stairs, looking equally shocked to see the two of you.

“Oh.” Jaebum stared at your limp, naked form in Mark’s arms before gaping at the older boy.

“I thought you’re a burglar; why don’t you turn on the lights?” He whispers and you groaned against Mark’s neck.

“Maaaark! I wanna shower and sleep!!” You whined impatiently and Mark pats your back before going up the stairs. He mouthed a good night and talk to you later at Jaebum before walking past him – going straight to the master’s bedroom.

Looks like Jaebum is going to sleep alone tonight.

FINALLY I’VE MODIFIED THIS SHIT HAHAHAHA I’M QUITE HAPPY WITH THIS NOW LOL I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT TOO!

Part 3

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