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nsharks · 2 years ago

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merry christmas, lieutenant | simon “ghost” riley

words: 2k

plot: soap runs into his lieutenant off-duty and meets the girl he’s been keeping secret (you).

tags: pregnant reader, fluff, domestic simon, fem!reader

a/n: I was really inspired by the holiday season and this fic by @wttcsms.

part 2 & 3

Soap has seen you before.

Not in the flesh, but in a photograph. A small little Polaroid that he noticed his lieutenant thumbing in his pocket when they went out to a bar in Prague once with the team.

"Got something worth sharing there, Ghost?" Soap had asked him, mouth humming over the pint he was indulging in.

Ghost had just gave him a lidded look, as if to say "drop it". But later that evening, when Ghost stepped out for a smoke, pulling the little photograph out to look at when no one was around, Soap managed to catch a glimpse. He didn't realize Ghost was outside by himself, thinking he'd run off to the bathroom, so Soap was surprised to see the lieutenant when he'd stepped out for a smoke himself.

Not announcing his presence, Soap saw the little picture of you for just a few seconds. Enough to notice that it was a woman. A pretty woman, at that.

After that, Soap made a few attempts at getting Ghost to tell him about the girl in the Polaroid.

"Taking a little vacation when I get back," Soap had told him once, weeks after the bar in Prague. "Hope I meet a cute bird. What about you, Lt? Got a bird waiting for you back home?"

"Not your business, Sergeant."

It didn't take long for Soap to give up on trying to learn anymore about you. His lieutenant was as secretive as he was admirable out in the field. Soap decided that secrets were secret for a reason; most of the team was quiet about their personal lives, only dropping vague bits and pieces. It made sense that someone like Ghost wouldn't drop any pieces at all.

By the time Soap happens to see you, in the flesh, he's almost forgotten about that little Polaroid of you.

They're on a two month break. It was around Christmas time, the time of year when Soap tried to see as many old faces as possible, so he'd been driving down south to visit some friends before he got holed at home with the family for the holidays.

He knew his skull-faced teammate was from Manchester, which was readily available information given the man's thick accent. But he didn't even consider that he might run into the lieutenant there.

Soap stops by a holiday market on his way to see an old roomie. Hot wine, trinkets, warm food. He's not usually impressed by the Brits, but this market is something out of a movie, he thinks.

He's got a warm cup of Grenache in his gloved hands when he sees a set of familiar broad shoulders, tucked inside a black winter jacket and attached to the familiar skull-covered face. There's no way. No fucking way, he thinks to himself, narrowing his eyes to squint across the crowd of people. But it was most definitely his lieutenant; Soap knew it from the way he walked like a tank, sticking out like a sore thumb among all the civvies.

Soap is smirking the whole time he makes his way over.

He's expecting a look of surprise on Ghost's face. He's expecting the lieutenant to scowl at him before pulling him in for an awkward, half-hug. He's expecting a small chat before they part ways again.

What Soap isn't expecting is to see a young bird next to him.

You're walking next to Ghost, just barely touching his side, and a glowing smile is on your face. You've got on a knitted dress that reaches your ankles and a warm coat, but the layers do nothing to hide the visible baby bump.

Ghost is carrying various shopping bags, assumably all belonging to you, and he keeps looking down at you as if worried you're going to get lost in the crowd or run off to another stall without informing him.

The sight of it causes Soap to stop.

Instead of surprising the lieutenant like he'd planned to, he suddenly feels like he is intruding on a private moment. He's got a girlfriend? Of course he bloody does, Soap thinks, remembering the photograph from all those months ago.

He is ready to backtrack and pretend he never spotted Ghost at a holiday market of all places, when the lieutenant is suddenly looking right at him. Eyes widen at first, but then they narrow considerably. The brief moment that Ghost looks away from you is enough to make you follow his gaze, landing right on Soap about five meters away.

Ghost tries to keep walking, eager to pretend he never saw the Sergeant. But you're already putting two and two together. Soap can see the mental math you are doing, looking between him, then looking at the hulking man beside you.

Your eyes flicker with excitement.

You start waving at Soap.

Christ, I'm sorry, Lt.

He's got no choice but to walk up to the two of you now that he's been spotted.

"Hi!" you chirp, tucking your arm through Simon's so he can't start walking away. He groans to himself- this couldn't be happening. "Gosh, you must be Simon's teammate?"

"Yes, ma'am," Soap gives a nod. The three of you are standing amid the people. Soap's got a better look at you now and he realizes you're not just a girlfriend. The slim band on your finger, the prominent bump under your dress- the lieutenant's got a wife.

"I've never met any of Simon's friends before," you exhale excitedly, and the use of the word friends makes Ghost want to gag. "Simon," you whisper and give his arm a small squeeze. "Why don't you introduce us?"

Soap pities the lieutenant in this moment, but he can't say he doesn't enjoy the way Ghost instantly obeys your request.

"Johnny," he gives Soap a stiff nod. "This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Johnny."

You start chatting with Soap, asking him about what he's doing there and how he's enjoying the wine. Small talk. But all the while, Soap is trying to wrap his head around the bizarrely mundane sight of it all. The fact that Ghost is spending his free time walking around a holiday market, carrying the shopping bags of his pregnant wife. His beautiful wife, at that. Soap never imagined he'd witness something like it.

"Well, I don't want to keep you two," Soap says, but mostly he is referring to Ghost, who has said maybe two words. "Better get going."

"You're not keeping us," you shake your head. "It was so nice to meet you, Johnny. Are you... are you busy this evening?"

Ghost immediately knows what you're thinking. He also knows that once you get an idea in your head, and you get excited about it, it's extremely hard to say no to.

"Well, I-"

"We'd love to have you for dinner," you beam at him, leaning into your husband's side. "Right, Simon? We rarely have guests over."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Ghost clicks his tongue and grumbles under his breath.

The pointed look you give him almost makes Soap laugh out loud.

____

And that was how Ghost ended up agreeing to have his teammate over for dinner. Even more bizarre than the initial encounter is the home you two share, Soap figures. When he arrives later that evening, he brings in a bottle of bourbon and a small wrapped gift. He steps into the warm house, immediately met with an interior that is cozy above all else; dim lights and flickering candles, a small tree already up in the living room, a couch covered in Christmas-themed blankets.

And Soap is surprised to find that his lieutenant is the one in the kitchen, while you're the one greeting him.

"Simon will like this," you say, taking the bourbon.

"And this is for you," Soap rubs his neck, handing you the gift. "Well, both of ya, I suppose."

You don't open the gift until after dinner. Soap learns that Ghost did most of the cooking since it's been hard for you to be on your feet for too long lately. He learns that you're due in 8 weeks, and Ghost has already put the nursery together. (He nearly smashed the crib when he couldn't figure it out for two hours, apparently). You almost offer to show Soap, but decide against it, knowing that your husband was already out of his comfort zone as it was. Some things were best kept just for you two.

And Soap tells you about all the fun times they've had together. The near-death experiences, the times that Ghost almost killed them both whenever he was behind the wheel, all the different cities they've been to.

Simon only speaks up to add comments like, "That's not how I remember it" or "You're a worse driver than me".

Soap notices the lieutenant gradually start to relax, soften up a bit. What he doesn't notice is that it's mostly due to your hand on top of his thigh under the table, rubbing gentle circles.

You open the small present once everyone is done eating.

"It's really not much," Soap says, "Just somethin' I managed to pick up on the way over."

But the contents of the box pull at each string of your heart. You tear off the bow and open it to reveal a small, knitted romper, the color of cream. It's soft to the touch and it invites a moisture to your eyes (because everything made you cry these days).

"Johnny, thank you," you tell him earnestly. You'd only met the man a few hours ago, but already you were fond of him. Trusted him with your husband's life, even.

"Didn't know what the sex is," he explains sheepishly, catching a glimpse of the lieutenant's unreadable gaze. "Thought this would work for either one."

You look at Simon. You wish he'd say thank you, but instead he clears his throat. "Gonna clean up the kitchen," Ghost says gruffly, and stands from the table.

When he's gone, you offer Soap an apologetic smile. "He has a hard time accepting gifts," you explain on your partner's behalf, rubbing the swell of your belly.

"I figured," Soap shrugs. "If I'm honest, I can't believe he's got a family like this... like you. Bit surprising."

"It took him awhile," you hum thoughtfully, recalling the years of patience that your relationship demanded of you. "It took him two years to tell me he loves me. Another three to propose."

"Sounds about right for Ghost."

You nod in agreement and sigh. "I'm grateful he has someone like you. I know he's got a funny way of showing it, but Simon is secretly grateful, too."

_____

Ghost is the one to see Soap to the door. You wave your goodbyes, eyes starting to get heavy. Your husband quietly urges you to "slip into something more comfortable, pet", and you were happy to abide. Soap has noticed how gentle the brooding man is with you. Small touches to your waist, little kisses to your hair, grazing his hand over your belly. It’s a remarkable contrast to the demeanor Soap, and everyone else, knows him for.

As you're changing into your pajamas, Ghost is standing in the middle of the front doorframe, arms crossed.

"Nice place you got here, Ghost," Soap tells him with a cheeky grin. "Reckon I should stop by more often?"

His lieutenant doesn't seem to share his enthusiasm, instead grumbling in annoyance, “Fuckin’ hell. Don’t push your luck, Johnny.”

There is a warning in Ghost’s eyes that Soap knows him well enough to read, loud and clear: don’t tell anyone about what you saw today.

Soap simply lays a hand on his tense shoulder. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Lt.”

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod #call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost #fanfiction #fluff #dad ghost

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judeswhore · 1 year ago

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Yk the trend where girls go up to their bf and just stick their hands out and say nothing? Yeah that but with jude. Going up to him in the living room and sticking your hand out. He’d be so confused and I feel like he’d flip your hand over and kiss it first but when he realizes that you’re a still there he’s pulling out his wallet/asking you if you want money/to go shopping and guilt would just take you up because he’s so sweet and is always offering to buy you something; never letting you leave a store without a bag, lets you order whatever at restaurants, ect.

he’s such an angel

confusion lit up jude’s face when you stopped in front of the sofa, ignored his outstretched arms, which he was clearly expecting you to fall into, and instead held out one of your hands to him. you had your phone in your other hand, recording his reaction for a tiktok trend you’d seen all over the internet and he eyed it a little dubiously. his gaze flickered between your hand and your face, brows drawing together.

“y’alright?” he asked, tone wary because he had no idea what you were expecting from him. his puzzled expression at your lack of reply was adorable and you had to hold back a grin, heart thumping when he finally reached for your hand.

a soft smile curved his lips as he held your fingers, flipped your hand the other way so he could press a light kiss to your skin. his mouth was warm, lips a little chapped because he was always chewing on them but the little action sent a flicker of love through your chest. the idea of the tiktok was to see what his immediate reaction would be if you gave him your hand and you weren’t at all disappointed by the choice he’d made. he gave you another firm kiss before letting go.

“do you wanna-“ jude’s words halted when he realised you were still standing in front of him, your palm once again facing the ceiling. another confused frown twisted his features but this time his eyes bounced to the phone in your other hand and your poorly disguised half smile. you knew he knew something was up but he wasn’t quite sure what, his body shifting on the sofa so he could dig into his back pocket.

“how much do you want? is it for shopping? i can just give you my card if you want it?” he was talking softly, eyes on yours as he pulled his wallet from his pocket, immediately flipping it open to rifle through the few notes he had. you caught sight of a picture of you tucked into the clear pocket, a polaroid he’d taken during one of your trips to greece and a fizzy feeling took off through your blood, love and adoration heavy in your tummy at the man in front of you.

jude deposited a number of notes into your palm, you weren’t sure you wanted to know how much he was so ready to give you, but when you still didn’t move he only went back for more. it wasn’t that you wanted to see how far he’d go, you knew he’d give you everything in there and more without you even asking, just you’d half frozen because he was so willing to hand you money with no questions asked.

“are you going somewhere for lunch?” you watched as he pressed yet another note into your palm, an odd feeling of guilt settling in the pit of your stomach. “if you are i’ll wait and-“

“jude.” you cut him off with a half laugh, switching your phone off and letting it drop to the sofa next to him, your fingers closing around the money in your hand before pushing it back towards him. “you can’t just throw hundreds of pounds at me.”

once again he looked confused, tilting his head as you finally dropped into his lap, thighs settling on either side of his while you started tucking the notes back into his wallet. he watched you with a frown, his hands finding your hips when you let the now closed and full wallet fall onto the cushions. you felt a tug in your chest, feeling strangely guilty about all the things jude gives you and the money he’s always so willing to spend.

this wasn’t the first time he’d handed money off to you, he tries to do it often, pressing notes into your hand when you’re leaving to meet your friends or sending hundreds over to your bank when you’re apart for a few days. sometimes he does it just because he can, money landing in your bank with the note “you’re pretty” because to him that’s a valid reason. he’s also always spoiling you rotten, taking you out to expensive restaurants, buying you jewellery and clothes, heels and bags, so many books he then had to go and buy you a new bookcase.

it was no secret jude liked to spoil and take care of his girl, he was more than happy to do so but sometimes you couldn’t help but feel bad about it, afraid he’d think that’s all you wanted from him. worried he’d sometimes wonder whether you were using him for what he could give you.

“i thought you wanted money?” he questioned, lifting a hand to brush his thumb over your cheek. you leant into the warmth of his palm and shook your head.

“i didn’t want anything, it was a tiktok. i just wanted to see what you’d do if i gave you my hand.” you mumbled softly into the skin of his wrist, kissed the spot before turning your attention back to him. “you give me too much.”

“don’t be ridiculous.”

“jude.”

“what? there’s no such thing. if i wanna treat and spoil my girl then i will, even if it is just for a tiktok.” he tipped his head back against the sofa, soft eyes on your and quirked a smile. “you weren’t expecting me to give you money?”

“i don’t know what i was expecting but it wasn’t you handing over half your wages.” you shook your head, hands sliding up his arms and over his shoulders and watched his eyes roll in mock annoyance. a half glare was your response. “i don’t want you thinking i’m after your money all the time.”

“silly girl.” jude huffed a sigh and gripped your chin, brought your gaze to his and sent you a pointed look. “i don’t think that. i’d never think that because you never ask me for anything. i give you things and buy you things because i want to. because i love you and you deserve everything you want.” he pressed a soft kiss to your mouth, let his lips linger a few moments as though to make you really understand his words. then he grinned, his tone turning teasing. “half my wages,” he mocked your words. “i was only gonna give you twenty quid.”

#hey jude :)#jude bellingham #leigh’s baby blurbs #sinclaiirs baby blurbs #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader

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f6bron · 8 months ago

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for his eyes only. (18+)

pairing : iso x fem!reader

notes : no plot smut, established relationship, p in v, fluff fluff fluff >.<

Iso smirked as he admired two of the photobooth’s polaroids in his hand.

One for him to show off to his colleagues, and one for his eyes only.

The sensation was disorienting, as if reality itself had been folded and twisted, before finally snapping back into place. You and Iso found yourselves standing in a dimly lit storage room, the air heavy with the scent of dust and forgotten memories.

Your head spun with the abrupt transition, trying to make sense of the new surroundings. Iso’s concerned voice broke through the haze, his eyes scanning you for any signs of injury from the intense battle that had preceded your arrival.

“Y/N, you okay?” Iso’s tone was filled with genuine worry as he reached out to steady you, his touch grounding you in the unfamiliar space.

“Yeah, ‘s just a scratch…” you reassured him, mustering a weak smile to alleviate his concern.

“Alright, good,” Iso gave you a soft smile, “Let’s keep moving, ‘kay? We don’t want to linger here too long.” He suggested, his voice echoing in the stillness of the room.

With cautious steps, you pushed open the creaking door, expecting to find yourselves in the midst of chaos or an unknown landscape. Instead, what greeted you was beyond comprehension.

The storage room opened into a sprawling emporium, shelves lined with an array of peculiar trinkets. But what truly caught your attention was the sight of familiar faces plastered across the merchandise that adorned the walls. Looks like it’s a… Valorant merchandise store?

“Whoa… they’ve got merchandise… of us!” you exclaimed, disbelief colouring your voice as you took in the sight of life-sized cutouts and figurines bearing your likeness. More like, your omega counterpart’s likeness.

Iso followed your gaze, a bemused expression crossing his features as he processed the surreal scene before him. “Technically, it’s not us, bǎo bèi…”

You hurried towards the display, your eyes alight with excitement as you examined all the merch, which made a mischievous thought cross your mind.

“Look, Yuyu!” you called out, pointing to a pair of figurines that seemed to mirror the two of you. “It’s us! They even put us together, like a set!”

Iso couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, the absurdity of the situation not lost on him. A nagging question lingered in his mind— Did the existence of these figurines imply a deeper connection between the two of you in this alternate reality?

And, does that mean the both of you fuck in this universe too?

“I’m gonna take these home,” you said, a playful glint in your eye.

“Isn’t that stealing? Even my grandma said—” Iso’s protest was met with a dismissive wave from you. “They literally stole the radianites from our earth. This won’t hurt their pockets.”

Iso conceded, you’re right, they stole from us first. Then, a peculiar contraption caught Iso’s eye.

“Hey, would you look at that,” he remarked, gesturing towards a vintage photo booth tucked away in the corner of the room.

Intrigued, you joined him, curiosity piqued by the big box-looking machine. Iso’s gaze lingered on the faded advertisement featuring your Omega counterparts, with adorable animal filters on their faces.

“I wanna try it.” you said, excitement gleaming in your eyes.

“Go ahead—” he encouraged, but before he could react, you seized his hand and pulled him into the photobooth with you.

You excitedly played with the features on the screen, while Iso stood beside you, watching with adoration in his eyes.

“Yuyu, you need to lean down abit, you’re too tall!”

He chuckled, adjusting his position to fit in the frame.

Sitting beside you, Iso burst into laughter when the bunny filter appeared on his face which made his eyes look round with a fuzzy nose and bunny ears.

“Look at you! So adorable ~” you teased, unable to control your laughter.

He sighed, playing along with your silly antics. Whatever you say, princess.

As the camera snapped away, capturing silly moments frozen in time, you and Iso shared playful banter, making funny faces and striking ridiculous poses. Laughter filled the booth as you lost yourselves in the moment, forgetting the chaos of the world outside.

After the last picture was taken, you eagerly retrieved the photo prints from the machine, anticipation bubbling in your chest.

You giggled at the sight of grumpy Iso in one of the photos, adorned with cat ears and bright pink cheeks.

“Is that too funny for you, hm?” Iso teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Before you could respond, he pulled you into a tight embrace, pinning you against the wall of the booth.

“Calm down, Yuyu!” you giggled, feeling his soft kisses trailing down on your exposed neck.

You gasped as Iso’s hand moved lower, moving your panties to the side, his index and middle fingers searching for your sweet spots.

“What if someone hears us—” you started, but Iso quickly cut you off with a reassuring whisper.

“The store’s closed, baby,” he murmured, pressing you closer to him. “No one’s gonna know.”

“So wet for me…” Iso smirked, his thumb sneakily rubbing your clit. You tried your best to hold out your moan but you couldn’t handle the pleasure, you threw your head against the wall of the limited space both of you were squeezed into.

You whimpered in response, unable to form coherent words as pleasure washed over you in waves.

“Y/N—” his voice filled with longing, his desire, evident in every touch and every kisses. “‘Need you so bad, bǎo bèi…”

Iso pumped his cock a few times before inserting his tip along your wet folds. He nuzzled his face on the crook of your neck, slowly sinking his teeth into your skin as he tried his best to muffle his moans.

“Oh, so good for me…”

“Yuyu, I—”

Iso leaned back, making eye contact with you. “Look at me, bǎo bèi,” he said, his left hand reaching for your right cheek. “Be a good girl for me, yeah?”

You nodded, while holding onto his neck as you let yourself succumb in pleasure.

Iso couldn’t remember the last time he felt this horny. The urge to fuck you dumb right there and then, and he thought he’s going insane. Well, he’s about to.

He began to thrust into you, gradually picking up to a rough and unforgiving pace he knows you usually like.

With your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him closer, he’s impossibly deep inside your fluttering walls. His big hands palming your ass, almost covering them completely while his grip doesn’t falter, strong arms never getting tired.

Wet slapping sound with each thrust filled the room, your fluttering lips hugging each inch of his dick.

“You’re taking me so good, bǎo bèi… Fuck.” He breathed like it’s a revelation beneath your ear.

You let out soft whimpers and moans, thrashing under him as he sped up his pace.

“Y-yuyu, m’ gonna cum…”

You say through watery eyes, your throat dry from the gasping and moaning you’ve elicited as Iso continued to fuck you.

He chuckled, “I know, darling, I can tell.”

Iso knows too well what he could do to you, Iso knows too well when he feels the sweet clench of your walls around his cock.

Before you could mutter another word, the photobooth’s flash went off.

Wait, what?

“Smile for the camera, sweetheart.”

Your attempt to hide your face away from the camera seemed to fail. Iso’s huge hand grabbed your face, keeping you on display in front of the photobooth camera.

His thrusts became rougher and deeper, which made you roll your eyes.

“Only for my eyes only, only for me…”

You didn’t hear his remarks, too lost in the way his tip touched your cervix to care.

(A/N): iso gets freaky… i want him to be the father of my children hehe

masterlist.

#f6bron #li zhao yu #valorant iso x reader #valorant iso #valorant headcanons #valorant iso x you #valorant iso x y/n #valorant imagines #valorant fanfiction

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hai7ani · 1 year ago

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WHAT'S A HEART WORTH? haitani rindou

nsfw (smut) mdni, nothing happens

home collection | playlist

part i / my baby here on earth, showed me what my heart was worth.

Rindou does not understand why people would not want to go home after work.

Like the accountant who stays at the office long after clock out hour. He's finishing up someone else's paperwork willingly while actively ignoring the constant buzz of his phone that lights up a photo of a woman showing up peace signs paired with a beautiful smile which only says 'girl[space]friend' but not her name. He shuts off his phone and continues his paperwork instead of heading home (and also earning free OT cash that he'll probably just spend on some Asahi during payday) . . .

Or the newlywed who slips off the silver band on his ring finger and greets the receptionist with a bright smile -- Ishikawa-san, or Riko-chan, as he likes to call her -- the moment he steps into the front doors of the office. He enjoys leaning on the counter and telling her about the plans he and his friends have made for her that night on a random morning while stuffing the promise with his wife deep into the pocket of his perfectly ironed suit.

"Work's been rough lately, ya wanna grab a drink? Release some steam? Oh, it's just a few of us guys who are my friends, and you. Bring some of your friends as well, yeah? Please come, treat's on us. We're going to Shangri-La after work, 'kay?"

It's especially the father with a polaroid of his 6 year old son and 11 year old daughter that both are not smiling in tucked away in his wallet who rushes off to an izakaya or some club somewhere in the middle of Kabukichō straight after work with a bunch of his lame and nasty ol' colleagues who are somehow also married men. Just drinking and smoking the night away with dirty minds that think of nothing but sticking their dicks into the pussies of younger, sweeter women working by the bar.

While Haitani Rindou is on his way to clock in to work, he passes by the reception table. Ishikawa-san sees him and gives a small bow with a professional smile, before swiftly returning to the conversation with the newlywed. She bends over the desk and starts fiddling with the bright orange tie hanging off the newlywed's collar. There's a name-tag pinned to his tie that reads Ito Haruki.

Ito-kun, or as Ishikawa-san likes to call him -- Haruki-senpai -- is leaning his head on his left arm, cheek squashed a little as he's shamelessly ogling at the loose button that's about to burst open on Ishikawa-san's blouse.

There's a few people in line ahead of Rindou who are clocking in as well. He supposes it is no harm to listen in on their conversation. They weren't even trying to be discreet about it, anyway.

"It's a nice tie, senpai. Where'd you get it from?"

Rindou catches the sudden change in Ito Haruki's demeanour. "Oh. Just . . . Went out shopping last weekend and got it for myself. Looks real nice, ain't it?"

Liar.

Rindou and you were out shopping two weeks ago when he spots the same man holding the hand of his new bride as they went searching for neckties together in the Aeon department store. "I think this'll look great on you, Haruki, no?" His wife brings the displayed tie up to his neck and smile.

"Looks bomb, honey."

When admiring himself in the mirror, he sees the B&M department's Haitani Rindou looking at him from behind. The two men catches eye in the reflection. Ito-kun was sweating buckets, afraid of getting his cover blown off, but you suddenly tugged on Rindou's sleeve, breaking his attention and asking for his opinion on the dress that you were looking to buy for work.

He turns around and leaves with you, not looking at Ito-kun nor his wife as he pretends like he doesn't know the married couple in the same store shopping for neckties, nor the scandalous, nasty things the husband has been doing at work.

And right now, while he's waiting in line to clock in for work, he's still pretending like he knows nothing. There's no point in saying he knows Ito's lying, anyway. It doesn't benefit him one bit.

But to Ito Haruki, Rindou running his mouth to people and letting everyone find out he's been married this whole time to a woman he does not love . . .

And letting his wife find out he has been openly bringing women and girls to hotel rooms and screwing them with his mates behind her back.

It's a risk he cannot take.

Ito-kun who is now standing tall and straight calls out to Rindou, seemingly trying to butter his colleague up to keep his mouth shut. If he starts getting close with me, there's no way he'll snitch. He'll understand.

"Yo, Haitani. Ya free tonight? We're going up to Shangri-La with a few of my friends in Chiyoda. We're having a few ladies over as well, if yer' interested." Ito-kun wiggles his eyebrows and Ishikawa-san stifles a laugh with the back of her hand.

Rindou does not spare both of them a glance.

"I'm married."

He says it like it's meant to be. He's a married man who's actually a decent human being with bills to pay, love to give and a wife to go home to. You just wouldn't understand. And he moves forward with his hands tucked into his pockets.

"Tch, fuckin' snob. He's married? So am-" Haruki stops himself from running his mouth any further with a cough. "Who does he think he is? Just 'cause he's on the line for some promotion? I can do better than him, can't I, Riko-chan? I'm in HR, after all."

"Of course you can, Haruki-senpai. You're the best, after all . . . At all things."

With their lewd whispering and hushed laughters echoing in the space behind him, he slots his employee card into the machine and thinks of all the married men with a wife and children waiting for them to come home and watch Why Did You Come to Japan? on the TV together.

Haitani Rindou could never understand them.

And perhaps it's just him . . .

Guess it really is just him.

Him who thinks there's nothing more relieving than going straight home to his wife, his family, instead of wasting another second at work talking to idiots he don't share the same interests and can never communicate with.

They disgust him.

Working a 9-5 itself is already tiring, so why choose to cause himself more suffering by willingly spending time with literal failed fucking nutjobs who don't respect their family, or anyone, in that matter. He thinks its rather pointless to be with them when he can be at home with you.

At home.

With you.

At home is kicking off his expensive Jimmy Choo's that you bought for him with your last paycheck by the entrance and throwing his goddamned briefcase on the counter, followed by his car keys (a Mazda) and the resident's keycard.

At home is saying ただいま and seeing your figure still clad in your work clothes and an apron, standing in the kitchen stirring up a boiling pot of his favourite miso soup with curry cooking on the stove beside you. It's nothing misogynistic or anything -- Rindou can cook fairly well himself. There's just an unspoken rule between the two of you where whoever comes home first makes dinner. Both of you are working adults in damned Tokyo with a workplace culture of utter hell and bullshit, so it's not everyday you get to go out for dinner at some fancy restaurant downtown. Plus, there's something about cooking and eating dinner together with him that makes you so happy.

Rindou eyes the mat you're standing on and sighs a breath of relief.

"Baby," you call from the kitchen and he makes his way over to you sluggishly. "Taste." you feed him a spoon of the flavourful soup and he smacks his lips. Once, twice.

". . . Needs a little more salt." He reaches for the sodium and you take one sip yourself, "yeah, 's kinda dull."

You see him shake the salt container a bit before pushing you back behind him and grabbing the spoon in your hand to stir the soup. He makes sure you're still standing on the mat.

"Can you help me add more wakame? Been cravin' it a lot lately." He simply hums and tears open another packaging of the wakame on the countertop and throws it in.

And you simply let him take control, opting to step back and take this moment to watch -- or more like ogle, -- at your husband with the sleeves of his stripped Uniqlo dress-shirt rolled up to his elbows, the back of it messily tucked in his pants, and the gelled hairstyle you combed for him this morning nowhere in sight. You also smell the remains of tobacco on him -- he's been smoking again.

You furrow your brows at your latest observation, though you can't deny it's pretty endearing to see him like this.

Completely, utterly at home. And absolutely yours.

You're also sure now -- that watching him like this definitely makes you happy. Domestic and comfortable.

"Yeah, this tastes better." He turns to cup a palm under your chin and feeds you a spoon of miso. A drop falls onto his palm and he simply wipes it off on a washcloth. You hum, it does taste better. "Thanks, Chef Rin." He finishes off the soup you didn't manage to and throws the spoon in the sink to wash later.

He pinches your nose, pulls you by your neck to get you closer, and places a kiss on the crown of your head before pulling open the fridge. It's also one of his ways of saying he's home other than the usual greeting of ただいま.

You giddily lean against the kitchen island, untying the apron and laying it beside you. A pout suddenly forms at your lips and you blow raspberries while slowly unbuttoning the top of your dress, finally able to catch a break and get rid of the uncomfortable clothing.

Rindou looks back at you from your reaction and you tell without him asking.

"My clothes' gettin' tight. Hate it so much."

"We'll go shopping this weekend."

You nod, and he turns back to the fridge, though from the corner of your eye you see that he's been bowing down and staring at the shelves a little too long.

"Wha-"

"Where'd my KitKat go?"

Your fingers pause in their actions.

It's kinda funny how a simple question of your husband suspecting the whereabouts of his chocolate snack bar can make your mind travel to two nights back. It was on Monday at 2:41am when you'd snuck out of bed (out of his arms), and stole his last remaining KitKat in the fridge.

Rindou looks at you and you look back at him.

"Dunno."

Thief.

" . . . I wonder where's the Buenos I bought-"

Not the Buenos.

And suddenly you find yourself clinging for dear life onto your husband, with the best puppy eyes you can muster glossily looking up at him as if you're secretly trying to convey a message, to which he only scoffs at and starts peeling your arms off him.

"Baby, baby. Anythin' but the Buenos. They're mine."

"So was my KitKat."

"You can't blame me! It just looked so delicious I had to absolutely devour it-"

"-the damn Buenos are mine now."

"No."

You spend the next 20 minutes bickering with him about who holds final custody over the bag of mini Buenos sitting in the fridge. He reasons that because you ate his kitkat, and he was also the one who bought the Buenos for you, that he gets to keep it now. You argue that the fucking KitKat was hypnotising you into eating it, resulting in him losing his last KitKat bar because of the KitKat itself, and not because of you, that you get to keep your Buenos that he bought for you all to yourself and he gets nothing in compensation.

You both end up fucking in the bathtub afterwards.

"You're too noisy."

Gasp. Moan. Whimper.

"So are you."

Scratch. Squeeze. Bite.

Rindou is gentle when he holds you as you slowly regain your senses and shift to a more comfortable position. His dick is soft against your thigh and you help him wash off the sticky fluid.

You feel him growing hard again in your hand as he presses a kiss to your cheek and you curl the other arm around his neck.

He helps you align yourself with him and there's a soft blush on your cheeks when he bottoms out, "doc' said it's good, right?" "Yeah."

Yup, Doctor Fujita’s words is absolutely the reason why you’re spending the next hour making love with your husband in the bathtub.

(You just love him so much.)

It's later that night, after you've both finished your little session in the shower and dinner when Rindou brings up a topic neither of you have ever discussed about in the whole three years of your marriage.

He slaps your thigh, telling you to scoot over on the couch and immediately drops down next to you (or more like on top of you) when all you've made was just about a centimetre of space for him. A literal half of his body is on top of your legs, crushing down your thighs and you bite his bulky bicep in retaliation with a quiet asshole coming out of your mouth, trying your hardest to crawl your way out under his heavy, muscular body (that was an overstatement -- he just got back up and waited for you to move over so he could sit down properly). He hisses while rubbing the area you bit and simply stares at you in amusement.

Though annoying, he's careful with your body. He's made sure not to be rough with you and his orbs scans over your form to make sure you're not actually in pain.

You lift your legs up to rest in his lap and he moves his hands to massage your feet. You've been complaining about having feet pain lately, and it's probably one of the many side effects. He makes it a mental note to do research on it and how to help you feel better.

When he sees that you're sitting comfortably and back to focusing on the show playing on the TV screen again, he decides to fire the shot.

"I'm gonna quit my job." Rindou bluntly states.

All that shit in his mundane ass voice too: the one he uses when he's still an immature, younger and grouchier version of himself, fighting with opponents that don't impress him.

You hurriedly press pause on the remote to the show you're currently watching,

How to Get Away with Murder.

and you stare at him blankly.

You might start taking actual notes from Annalise Keating-san, you think.

"What?" You try retracting your legs away from him but his grip is tight as he continues massaging your ankle. You're not in the mood anymore, but it feels comfortable, so you leave them there.

"I'ma quit my job." Rindou closes his eyes and rests his head back on the soft beneath.

"Why?"

"One, 'm sick of it. Two, 's not what I like. Three, my boss' an asshole . . . So I'm quitting."

"And what will you do afterwards?"

"Gonna stay home."

"And?"

"Tsk. What? I've made 'nuff to support us for at least, what, like 20 years. Les' jus' stay home, smoke weed, I'll maybe start to DJ again. Or if you don't wanna, fine. We'll jus' book a one way to Switzerland or like, I don't know, fucking Canada or something and never come back. Heard from a few of the guys in my department 's cheap living there. And there's Singapore too, which is family friendly, I might look into it. What do you think?"

A beat.

And another.

The both of you break into a fit of laughter and you don't stop after . . . three minutes, to be exact.

It's unrealistic for an average salaryman in this economy to be earning an income enough to support his family for 20 years after without a job. Even 10 years is over-exaggerating. It's even more unrealistic that it's happening in Tokyo. In Rindou's case, an average Japanese salaryman who works in a position in his company which handles business and marketing. What made you laugh even harder is the fact Rindou had just brought up three major, rich and expensive countries in the world as cheap places to live in as a family.

The guy you married deserves a beating right now. Maybe another bite, too. This time at the shoulder. Who knows?

You crawl into his lap and squint your eyes, "you sound like you're asking to be single right now. Weed? With me right now? You're definitely asking for it."

"Was jus' jokin', baby. Never doin' that again. Don't divorce me."

"Thought your stupid ass could fool me? Thought you were still 18? You're not funny. You're quitting an office job in this economy, and you're- you're tellin' me, to stay home with you 'n," you pause to laugh, "'n to smoke weed 'n DJ with your ass."

He lands his palms on your hips and rubs up and down affectionately, "’Think I'm funny? At least I think I am," His thumbs subconsciously move to your stomach and traces soft circles on the skin.

"You are. Kinda." You comb through his soft hair with your fingers and push them back. He's smirking now. "Was not lyin' when I said I hate my fuckin' job. Guess I could turn to stand-up comedy if smoking weed and being an at-home DJ doesn't work out."

"I'll kill you."

Rindou brings out another fit of giggles in you and when it slowly dies down, you gaze into his purple orbs with a soft smile.

You cup both hands on his cheeks, "don't smoke so much, baby." You peck his lips twice before moving to smooch his cheeks. "'S bad for me."

"Yeah, sorry. Couldn't help it." Rindou blinks tiredly at your form and wraps you in his arms, his head moving down lower to rest on your chest, placing soft kisses at the tender, soft mounds. He suddenly remembers you've also been complaining about having some breast changes too. He's gotta bring that up to Fujita-san in the next visit, along with your feet issue.

“When’s your next appointment with Fujita again?”

“This Friday at 3. I’m taking the half day off to go, are you coming?”

Rindou is silent as he goes over his schedule for Friday in his head and- Fuck. He’s got an important meeting at 2 that doesn’t end till 4.

“I don’t think I can make it.” You hum softly, “it’s okay. I’ll call you.” Your fingers move to tangle themselves in his purple locks.

“I’ll try to come after I finish my meeting, so remember to tell her about your feet. That could be serious. Your breasts too.” “Okay.”

Rindou stares at your growing stomach, and relishes in how you've been getting more and more pretty each day with the love of you two combined and forming within you. (You've always been pretty. Just extra pretty when you're pregnant with his baby.)

You're aware of how he's been getting stressed out lately. Workload's been piling up, and with the current ongoing promotion offer that he's been nominated for, you know Rindou's just had to work extra harder, put in a little more effort. After all, a promotion in his company is no joke, whether it's a shit company or not. A huge incentive in his salary that can cover a lot more things like saving up for your baby's future education, some personal savings, emergency funds, and being able to invest in safer furnitures in the house to protect you -- his pregnant wife, and soon, the baby. He'll also get more authority in his company, which can lead to having more connections that will ultimately help him create more opportunities in life.

Your husband is a hard-worker. Not so much in his teenage years, perhaps, but he definitely is one now in the present, and you know he can never pass up an opportunity for a raise. After all, things are getting expensive, and raising a child with you in this city isn't anywhere near cheap.

He's past that life, he once swore to you. All the fighting and the drinking and the clubbing; behind alleyways and high up in the skyscrapers where he and Ran would be busy blowing his fathers' money off back in his city, the 2000s Roppongi with many people that he never contacts anymore. Not even Shion, but you know Rindou misses him a lot. They were best friends after all. You've watched them both grow up together from boys to men since you were kids.

"Rindou?" He hums. You press your thumb into a sore spot on his shoulder that he never told you about and you feel him relaxing under your touch.

"Les' go somewhere together, when you're done with your promotion. I'll jus' get some time off sayin' I'm too pregnant, or somethin'. They'll understand. Unlike you, the people at work actually likes me." You suggest, and he pinches your thigh. "You gettin' smug?" "Kinda."

Rindou laughs into your neck. "Yeah, 'kay. Where you wanna go?"

"'Was thinkin' of Hokkaido. I've never been there before," your pointer finger traces random twirly shapes onto his bare back. "Oh, maybe you could take me to Taiwan. One of the girls at work went with her hubby once 'n she said 's real nice there. Please, baby."

"But international flights are expensive right now. You sure you wanna go overseas?"

Crystals start to form at the corners of your eyes and your nose is getting red. "Really wanna go."

This pregnancy is gonna turn him into a saint. "'Kay, babe. Taiwan it is. We'll go to Taiwan, yeah? Don't cry." He kisses your lips. And he does it again and again until you stop sniffling. He wipes away your tears, too. And he pulls back to look at you. All pouty and gorgeous in his arms.

Haitani Rindou sits in the living room with his pregnant wife on his lap rambling his ear off about the cool things one of the girls at work saw in Taipei and he's left dumbfounded because . . .

The men at work? They're never going to experience this kind of life. The domesticity with you. The soft kisses shared before you fall asleep together in bed. The kisses placed on your belly when the baby's kicking a little too hard and you can't sleep. And soon he's going to feel a new type of warmth blossoming in his chest where he comes home after getting asked to go to fucking Shangri-La again, and sees you feeding your baby milk on the couch, waiting for him. Excited to share a new story about what happened with you and your baby earlier.

"She just said her first word, Rin." "What?" "C'mon, say it for your papa, now." The baby wiggles around in her mother's arms and looks at her father, who is now hovering over her and has a warm hand placed on the back of her head. She blinks, and smiles. "Ba-ba."

And suddenly he feels like the happiest man alive.

"Thank you."

reblogs are appreciated! thank you for reading ≽ܫ≼

#writing #home collection #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #haitani rindou x reader #haitani rindou #rindou haitani #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #tr x reader #tokyo revengers

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byhees · 1 year ago

Text

casual affection.

엔하이픈 ・ female reader + word count 700 genre fluff established relationship warnings not proof-read kissing skinship — more

a/n. blank

heeseung

would help you dry your hair after a long day; it’d be the late hours of the night, and he’d stand by the edge of the bed, hairdryer in one hand, brush in another.

makes it a point to kiss you, on the lips, before you two part on your own ways in the early mornings; slips a little playful comment before seeing you off.

would often put an arm around your shoulder, lightly pulling you close to his side with a small smile that almost goes unnoticed.

regularly picks up your favourite snacks on the way home, to the point where the cashier at the convenience store recognises the usual.

jongseong

would learn the lyrics to your all-time favourite songs, so you two can sing them together as an impromptu karaoke session.

holds your hand in almost every situation, finding it comforting to intertwine fingers with you, hands moulding together like perfect puzzle pieces.

cooks two servings when making food, because he doesn’t want you to come home empty-stomached.

keeps an extra hoodie at the backseat of his car, because he knows of your habit of forgetting, and doesn’t want to see you cold on a chilly day.

jaeyun

would change the lyrics of a song, so that it says your name instead; finds your delayed reaction and realisation adorable.

leaves some of your favourite shirts of his aside, and comes up with silly excuses to let you keep them.

brushes stray strands of hair out of your face, and takes the opportunity to leave a peck on, either, your forehead or your lips.

always slips his heat pack in the pocket of your jacket, not wanting you to freeze in the particularly snowy weather.

sunghoon

would be your personal alarm, waking you up to prevent any oversleeping for important events; tells you you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, and ruffles your already tousled hair.

helps you put on a necklace; his hands leave feathery touches on your neck, and as he hooks the chain to the clasp, he has the cutest grin plastered on his face.

takes candid pictures of you when you’re in your element, and uses them as his lock screen.

would rub your back when you’re feeling down; additionally, he whispers sweet consolations and peppers your face with kisses.

seonwoo

would help you remove your makeup, and any large hair accessories, when you’re feeling tired from a long day; does so without any hesitation, despite being fatigued himself.

offers his shoulder for you to rest your head on; soft conversations as he gently caresses your palm, fiddling with your fingers.

draws a bath for you, and even prepares your favourite playlists.

gives you handmade gifts, even without a specific occasion; dedicates a good hour or two to folding origami pieces, and making cards.

jungwon

would send you heaps of pictures of his dog whenever you’re away, hoping that they’d serve as an energy boost for tiring days.

brings around a polaroid camera nearly everywhere he goes, because he loves snapping pictures of you; keeps his personal favourites at the back of his phone.

buys you flowers when you least expect it; always writes a short and sweet note with each ‘flower delivery’, something quirky like ‘if you were a flower, i would pick you, one thousand (and one) percent!’

a hand is always absentmindedly resting on your lower back, because he just likes being by your side.

riki

would tuck your blanket neatly around your body when it slides down, and press a kiss on your forehead, wishing you sweet dreams.

hypes you up for even the small things, and is there 24/7 to support you; movie marathons and late-night talks under the covers afterwards to hear how things went.

lightly bumps your shoulder whenever you say something funny; it soon escalates to chaotic, yet unified, cackling and wheezing (but it’s so oddly comforting).

buries his face into the crook of your neck when hugging.

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @crxzs @g4m3girl @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

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leclerced · 10 months ago

Note

Max is the type of guy to have a polaroid of his gfs titties in his wallet.

But just imagine his gf fighting for equal rights and carrying a polaroid of his titties in her wallet.

Or maybe in a locked he gave her and she always struggles to find excuses to not open it when people ask whats inside.

🫀

UGH!!!! this is all i want. i think a guy might have my titty polaroid in his wallet or smth but im never gonna ask what he did w them.

i can see them taking the pictures together, like they’re spring cleaning and she finds her old polaroid camera and a few packs of films and jokes about putting it to use. max would take it and start taking photos of the cats, and use up the rest of the film in the camera and pout when it stops shooting. probably think he broke it or something and start to feel bad until she takes it back and replaces the film. then she suggests taking photos of something else, and he’s like “uh, why? look how cute they are.” then follows the cats as they wander around the house, snapping more photos of them. she jokes, “i was thinking you could take pictures of my pussy but if you’d prefer those...” he whips around to face her, taking a blurry photo in the process because he was just about to take one of jimmy playing with a toy, and is like, “wait, you mean, you wanted to take nudes with this?” he’d immediately start stripping then ask her why she’s still dressed as he wraps his free hand around his cock, already half hard at the thought of what she’s suggesting. would have too much fun photographing each other and once all the film is gone, the camera is completely forgotten.

then after fucking, he goes through all the photos and picks out a titty photo and tucks it into his wallet after he checks with her that it’s okay. he’d hide it behind all of his other cards and such, in it’s own little pocket so he doesn’t accidentally pull it out with one of them and give someone a sneak peak at her tits.

she would definitely have it in a locket!! she has to go buy a printer so she can print the photo small enough, and she does it as a joke at first, but then never changes it. one day max asks her what she put in it and she shows him that one side is a picture of them, and the other is his tits. he’d think it’s so funny n cute and probably buy more lockets and fill them w funny photos instead of cute ones. or put a dick pic in one before he gifts it to her.

she would def lie and tell people the clasp is broken or something like that, or say it doesn’t have anything in it bc she doesn’t have a printer so it’s just empty! max giggling behind her bc its the dick pic necklace and he knows exactly why she can’t open it.

#ask #🫀anon #mv1

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insuke69 · 7 months ago

Text

What's in a name? P3

✰⁂ Hobie brown × Rich!Osborn!reader

Part I, Part II, Part III

3/3

Synopsis: Osborn is almost a disgusting name because of the messed up things it has and the dirty money that holds it up by threads. And here is the child that sneaks out one night and meets a punk that goes directly against her father.

✩Warnings: cussing, Some angst, 'crybaby' reader, depictions of smut, ‘tantrum’

Rated 13+(??)

✰6.5k words.

⚥Afab/fem reader

____________________

The last month has been.. Blissful.

Relaxing and calm for you, Hobie making you feel things you’ve never experienced with his tongue, hands, and words.

Something about him as the punk he is almost leveled out your expensive life, humble houseboat compared to your marble mansion. Some nights were spent planning, some were small date-like hangouts, some were spent with his lips locked in yours and his tongue teaching you how kissing should feel.

But you didn’t realize how little he mentioned or even acknowledged (y/n) in your presence. You didn’t know if he was fully alright with everything that went down between you two though. He would stop wearing his spiderpunk mask around you and you’d stop wearing your balaclava which probably- or hopefully meant he still trusted you.

You even started taking more money from your dad and buying even more things to donate with less fear of being caught, you and Hobie would go to large corporations disguised as a cute couple that definitely wouldn’t pocket a particularly enticing trinket.

You kind of feel like robin hood, but instead of stealing actual gold and riches, you spend what's given to you for different purposes, one step at a time. Hobie has shown you the differences between real and fake silver, obviously you know how to tell in your jewelry by seeing its shine, but now he’s explained the more simpler ways and reasonable prices for normal people since way back then you never had to look at the multiple thousands on a cute bracelet.

Your shoebox of polaroid pictures grew and so did your relationship with Hobie. You began learning about your own pleasure along with learning of his, what movements you can do with your tongue or hips that makes him whimper beautifully throughout the bedroom of his small houseboat.

And Hobie hasn’t hesitated with taking his pictures and tucking them into the waistband of your panties for ‘memorabilia’, So now that shoebox consisted of pictures of you and him spray painting, your masked smile posing beside another one of your fathers now vandalized buildings, and some of Hobie’s favorites.

Ones where he’s bottomed out, hips against your plush ass and his hand holding your hair in a make-shift ponytail, the other taking the picture. Another one where you’re looking up at him with your eyes doe and tongue out, his seed stained on your lips and chin. The list goes on and on about the lewd adventures you and Hobie have done. Each picture is more intimate than the last.

___________

The knock on the door makes your chest tense, immediately shoving the pictures and shoebox under your bed and leaning your hips against the mattress, looking over at the door.

Roxanne opens it and comes in with a clipboard in hand, head dipped downwards as she began rambling about another event your father is planning to host in your mansion.

“Alright so, security will be tighter but your father will be making a party to celebrate the new opening of a bank, so you’ll be wearing a mostly green dress and most of the house will be open to guests. Unlikely anyone will come to your room but the housemaid will be sure to clean everything top to bottom, left to right.”

You were practically tuning her out since she often covered this information for every event, the same information.

For every event.

The only difference was that this was going to be held at your house for the first time since your mothers funeral. It was weird but you remembered the procedures: Big guard watching your every move, random people whose gross hands you have to shake, rinse and repeat.

“So when is this thing gonna be?” You ask Roxy with a tilt of your head and sitting on the edge of your bed as she remained in her spot where she stood.

“Soon, around the twenty-second.” She answered without her gaze moving from her clipboard, her pen tapping it in a senseless rhythm which expressed her deep thoughts on the subject, Likely thinking about some things more important than your petty dress or makeup.

“That will be all. Your father will give you his black card so you could buy a dress of your liking. Special event means that-”

“I can’t risk re-wearing something I’ve worn before, yeah yeah.” You cut her off with an eye roll, knowing what she was gonna say.

Roxy raised her eyebrows at this attitude but shrugged it off, “Precisely, you’ll be sent out around the afternoon, let's say at around two-thirty.” And with that, Roxanne nodded and walked right out, leaving the door open on her way out.

You stand from your bed and shut the door, pulling out your phone to text Hobie once the click of the knob confirmed its closed position.

“Im going out later with Normans money” It felt weird to refer to your dad by his first name, but referring to him as your dad didn’t feel right either, and calling him ‘Osborn’ had too much association with you.

“K” Hobie messaged back, “what time”

“I’ll actually have to buy something. A pretty dress so do you wanna tag along for that too?” You smiled to yourself, knowing Hobie wouldn’t really want to be in a fancy dress shop and have to judge each and every dress that's even a shade of green-

“Why not”

You can feel the shrug from past the screen, his usual gesture whenever he says something like ‘why not’. And before you knew it, by the time you ran off from your secret service-like bodyguards, you spotted Hobie.

Not spiderpunk- You spotted the handsome man beneath, face covered in piercings and hair being as lawless as his other punk persona. He grins down at you and offers you his arm and with a mocking tone, says “Alrigh’ M’lady, Where we goin’ first?”

“What are you playing at, Hobie?” You ask as your head shook and your arm intertwined with his, walking down the street towards your usual dress shop you’ve gone to since you were thirteen. No other place was ‘trustworthy’ as your father put it, and you’ve never liked the hassle of exact measurements.

“Whatever could you mean, Ms Osborn?” He grinned, looking around the streets at the peoples heads turning because of some random punk star with the daughter of the richest and most powerful man in the city.

You two were in the main street where more expensive shops were, you had your dads credit card so you couldn’t spend it in the smaller businesses Hobie had shown you in his part of town because they would show up in the statements, or because they didn’t even take card. Hobie felt like a fish out of water when he was walking down these sidewalks with smooth brick tiles instead of cracked pavement for once.

“You know damn well.” You scoffed in response, “Do you seriously want to do dress shopping with me instead of.. Emily?” Your voice lowers as you mentioned your masked persona which makes Hobie chuckle and shake his head.

“Well, I wouldn’t be able to spend time with either. Plus, It doesn’ matter now, Wha’ dresses are we gettin’ you now, princess?” He teased in a lower voice with a stupid smirk as the arm that was intertwined with yours slid to your waist. You could feel your face heat up but you keep your head up and continue walking with him beside you, him walking on the part of the sidewalk closest to the road.

“Fucking hell, just.. Okay so the plan is that I’ll try on dresses and you’ll boost my ego in every one and you’ll tell me which one is the best look for me.” You told him, trying to brush off how he called you princess, how you can swear he knows what he’s doing.

He raised his eyebrows then his hands in a faux surrender gesture, “Yes ma'am.” His voice is smug and it’s as if he’s coming along to humor you.

Your eyes roll and you shake your head, walking beside him with his arm intertwined with yours in a playfully chivalrous manner, as if he wasn’t already polar opposites with you. You seem like an elegant quartz and he was a stone pulled out of a vandalized building. Your height differences making you either unfortnately shorter or him somehow taller.

“Here’s the place, just-” You began, almost getting to the dress parlor but Hobie soon pulled you into an alley right beside the building and kissed you, which made you squeak and your hands moving to his chest.

“What the fuck?!” You asked as you looked up at him and he just smugly grinned and looked down at you, his hands on your waist as you continued, “Anyone could have seen. I would be fucked if anyone saw that, neither of us have a mask and unlike you, if my reputation gets a single mark, that would get my dads attention and-”

He rolled his eyes and kissed you again, as if to stop your worries. “It’s fine, tell me: Do you ever look into alleyways when you’re shopping?” He asks rhetorically to get his point across, most people like you wouldn’t care for smaller details and excuse the alleyways whilst on their errands

“.. What if someone decided to look? We’d be screwed.” You retort, shaking your head, which made Hobie shake his head back with a chuckle.

“You’re paranoid.” He scoffed as he took your hand and brought you back out to the sidewalk and towards the shop you had mentioned.

Hobie brown will be the death of you, but spiderpunk always made you feel alive.

_________

You got the dress and Hobie let you go on your merry way before you got picked up so that you dad’s men wouldn’t see you with anyone.

The event had arrived and like you assumed, random rich womanizers with their trophy wives and laughing as if they owned the world. Well, they practically do, But there's one specific couple that makes you seeth.

Your father has always been family oriented so now that an event is at your house, your uncle and aunt will be coming over to be more heads to count at the party. There's nothing wrong with your uncle Wilson or aunt Doris on paper but it’s the kid they have that makes your blood boil.

The kid is named Elizabeth as if she were a respectable person, but she was barely a freshman in highschool who has as much as you did financially, except she wasn’t homeschooled like you were and her ego was as big as the numbers in her parents bank account. She never grew out of her brat phase and she’s more spoiled than you because if she sees someone with something she wants she asks for it tenfold.

“Oh my god! Where did you get those earrings?” She grinned as she ignored your concept of personal space and reached out to grab the shiny jewelry that hung from your ear.

You pull away from her and awkwardly smile once you avoid her touch, “Your Aunt Emily gave them to me.” You answered with almost exaggerated politeness, referring to your own mother as her aunt because there’s no way she’d remember her as your mom.

“Oh yeah! She’s dead right?” She frowned, “She can’t get me anything like that? Where did she get them? Do you know?” Her tone was laced with disappointment.

You almost froze at her words. You never minded much about who spoke about your mom but the way she said it as if she were simply talking about a show that was canceled.

“..Yeah, Last time we saw each other it was literally her memorial ceremony.” You mumbled with slight snark to which your aunt chimed in a half apology before ushering your cousin away.

“But Mom! Why does she get cool things? I wish I were homeschooled and that my daddy was the president! It’s not fair!” She whined dramatically as she threw her arms around, as if throwing a mini tantrum for her mother.

And you think that's the only time anyone has been understanding of your situation, because your aunt swatted her on the back of her head and began telling her to calm down, and that homeschooling would take away her reputation as the popular girl at school which shut Elizabeth right up.

They fade into the crowd and you stand aside, eating an appetizer of a snack before suddenly a large suited man recognized as your bodyguard approaches you and quietly says into your ear, “Have you allowed Ms. Elizabeth into your bedroom?”

When he says this you decide to play it cool and softly shake your head, placing your hand on his shoulder once he begins walking back towards the hall of your room then stopping him. Walking to your room instead, and once you were out of sight from the party, you bolted up the stairs towards the creaked open bedroom door.

You shove open the door and feel your heart drop, you knew your cousin was snooping around your room but what need did she have to look under the bed?

And in your goddamn shoebox.

“What the hell are you doing?” You yelled as you went over to her and snatched the pictures out of her hands, which she sarcastically surrendered with a dramatic gesture of her hands.

“What are you doing? Actually, who are you doing?” Elizabeth grinned as she held out another picture where it was you on top of Hobie, a loose shirt adorning your torso which luckily hid where he disappeared inside of you.

“Shut up! You’re just- you aren’t even supposed to be in here!” You snatched the picture and quickly shoved it into the shoebox, then the box under your bed.

“I was looking for any extra earrings you could give me, not like you have anyone to look good for other than that rando.” She commented with childish snark as she vaguely gestured in the direction of the intimate box and images. “I didn’t realize you had a little boy toy you’ve kept hidden, Does my uncle know?”

Your eyebrows furrow as she asks if your dad knows about him, About Hobie. You keep your mouth shut and glance away as you struggle to hold in your genuine frustration at how this is how you ended up caught.

“.. Still doesn’t explain why you’re looking under my bed for some earrings.” You change the subject off of Hobie and back to how she’s in the wrong for snooping around your bedroom in the first place.

“You still haven’t told me who this guy is! I’m guessing he’s just some booty call, not even a boyfriend to you?” Ellie said with a smirk, but more in a condescending way as if she were better than you for having some kind of relationship that wasn’t based on sex.

“He isn’t just ‘some booty call’-” You began before the teenager continued, looking over another picture.

“He’s hot though, but too many piercings. Does he have a piercing on his tongue? Can’t see your face well on this one but wow, big hands-” She teased which made you snatch the next polaroid from her hand and your cheeks flush red at what that one was this time.

It showed Hobie’s unruly hair between your thighs, which were being held tightly by his ringed hands to keep them open, his eyes straight up into the camera where you took a picture of him feasting on your core. You’re so grateful she was on the more basic side of popularity where she didn’t know punk stars, Hobie seemed like some random emo to her. Luckily.

You could see on her expression that she had a request and something to say, so you gestured your hand ironically, “Go ahead, take your time. Go ahead.” You prompted sarcastically.

“So, It would suck if your dad found out about this.” Her head tilts, “So, Just give me your earrings. Unless you want your dad finding out you have some other ‘daddy’?”

You cringe at how she referred to Hobie as your other daddy, but your stomach soon drops as you realize that she’s blackmailing you just for a pair of your moms earrings.

Dead Moms Earrings.

“You sadistic bitch!” You cursed as you got closer, about to give her a well deserved slap for her stupid actions, wanting to humble her like she deserved before she stopped you and stepped back.

“Hurt me and I’ll go announce it to the event! Imagine the headlines, ‘Norman Osborn’s daughter caught with a random guy!’, your reputation.” she said with a sarcastic gesture of her hands as she walked towards your door.

“Reputation? Fucking- fine.” You yanked her sleeve to keep her from walking out, soon moving your hands to your ears in order to take off your earrings, “I want you to just.. Take care of the earrings. Please.” You mumbled before passing her the pair of jewelry.

“Whatever.” she shrugged as she looked at the shine of the gold then shoved them in her pocket, “Thank you cousin dearest.” She playfully mocked before walking out of your room, leaving you with your own thoughts and leaving the door open.

You nearly slam the door shut then lean on it with your back, eyes quickly filling with angry tears and hands moving to grip your hair in frustration. At how easily you were manipulated, at how your cousin obviously thought little of you, how she called Hobie a random booty-call.. Familiar feelings erupted in a choked sob from your throat.

Guilt.

Rage.

Frustration.

Your fist tightened and was about to be tossed back to punch any surface you could to relieve what you could but soon you heard a twhip and a sticky white rope soon surrounded your hand and kept it from going anywhere or doing anything.

You sigh once you realize what caused it, and soon that reason walks- or drops in through your window, pulling off his Spiderpunk mask and heading over to you.

“You alrigh’?” Hobie said softly as he got the web off of you and kneeled beside you, his hand on your shoulder.

Hobie knows that when you cry it's never for no reason, He has learned about your sensitive habits but he has never seen you like this. Tearing up with anger he had only seen the night you two argued, and the second you choked another sob and your arms wrapped around him he quickly hugged you back.

You felt safe in his lanky arms, comforted and as if he could shield you from dangers or people that couldn’t ever treat you as a person. He couldn’t ever be just a booty-call because he's the only feeling of ‘home’ you’ve had since before Osborn industries became a bigger thing.

After you didn’t answer his question as if you were alright, Hobie simply held you close and cradled you like how you deserved.

Once your breathing calmed and relaxed, you soon moved your hands to cradle his face and he quickly met your gaze with his, “Was this jus’ an excuse to hug me?” Hobie joked with a chuckle to lighten your mood, soon being met with a swat to the shoulder.

“..My cousin blackmailed me into giving her some earrings, but they used to be my moms.. And she didn’t care.” You explained softly to summarize, pulling back and running a hand through your hair.

“Blackmailed? That’s.. That’s dumb, what was she using against you?” Hobie asked as he rested his hands on your waist and looked down at you.

“Your pictures.” You scoffed as your hands lowered to his chest, nodding your head towards the shoebox where the picture of Hobie with his head between your legs was faced up. You saw Hobie’s smirk adorn his lips as he looked at the polaroid and bit his lip, making you roll your eyes and softly hit his chest.

“What! What do you mean by my pictures? As far as I’m concerned, all of that was a team effort.” He cooed as his hands lowered to your hips and he pulled you closer where your body flushed against his.

Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, “You realize that I’m fucked?” You half joke, “She found our pictures, and if she blabs to anyone around here, That will spread like wildfire.”

“Yeah yeah, what if you just stopped worrying? What if I had a solution?” Hobie teased before giving you a peck on the lips.

“Hm?” You question as you kissed him back, “Well, I’ve been fixing my houseboat.. And what if we could sail away together?” Hobie responded smugly.

Your eyebrows raise and you chuckle as if he were joking but his smile remains the same and his eyes gazing into yours. “Seriously? No- I don’t.. I can’t.” you retort with an awkward chuckle, “I don’t have any money without my dad, I wouldn’t be able to contribute.”

“Don’t worry about that, We could run off- spiderpunk can protect another place and you wouldn’t be the daughter of a monster.” He said before kissing you again before you argue and respond. “Think ‘bout it.”

“Hmm.. No.”

As tempting as it was, Seriously tempting, The idea of being able to go away and get out. Be your own person and finally be independent, you couldn’t bear the idea of your dad being heartbroken that you’re gone. He’s a horrible person, a horrible man, But he’s still your father.

And a damn good one.

What he’s done is unforgivable but he always was able to put food on the table for you and never once missed the chance to tell you he loves you. When your mother died it was you and him against the world, even if he was what mostly made up the issues of said world.

Hobie’s expression was like a mixture of confusion and disappointment which makes you sigh and explain yourself with your hands soothing onto his shoulders, “Sorry, It’s just that.. I can’t leave him. He’d be alone without me, and he was already broken when his wife died and no way I’m making him go through everything and worse.”

Hobie smiled at how thoughtful you were, almost too much for your own good.

“Alrigh’, I won’t be able to live with myself if I force you to come with me anyway.” Hobie chuckled before kissing you again, with a softer peck with his lips against yours for a moment.

“Well, okay. I feel like any moment now some random lady’ll knock on your door. You go’a get back to being a princess.” Hobie teased before pulling away from you, soon heading back to the window from which he came in.

“Awh, how will I survive without my knight in shining armor?” You said sarcastically as you followed him, and with a grin he brought you close and kissed your forehead, “You’ll manage.”

And with that, he flopped out and a web shot to a nearby building where he swung.

You watch his figure disappear into the distance and sigh to yourself, taking a breath to mentally prepare yourself and going to your vanity to reapply your makeup that smudged in your earlier ‘tantrum’ as Hobie would tease.

______________

The night breezes by as you stay aside, and thank god it speeds on by as the guests fade away and thankfully all those who are left are your uncle and aunt, and their hellspawn.

Thinking they were in any other place, you go to the kitchen for a snack.

And there was your thirteenth reason.

The hellspawn of satan and the embodiment of one of the seven sins was in your kitchen, sitting on the counter munching on your chips, On your chips you specifically have been saving for a time like this when you were craving them specifically.

She looked over at you before munching loudly on the savory snack, making your blood boil as she seemed to not care she’s eating the snacks you’ve specifically had stored in another part of the kitchen. Clearly implying that they weren’t up for taking.

But before you speak, you notice her wearing the earrings you gave her, her mom obviously knew you didn’t want to give them to her in the first place so how could she just shamelessly wear them?

“Oh, I’m a woman of honor so I won’t need these anymore, they’re heavy and they’re just not my style.” You cousin said as she pushed herself off the counter, with her dusty fingers she removed the earrings and passed them to you, leaving the silver greasy and you’re right about to slap her into the next century until your aunt and uncle walk into the kitchen seeming tense.

Your dad follows behind them, seeming tense as well but his discomfort is much more easily hidden than your aunts.

“We’re going now, say bye to your cousin.” Your aunt said curtly, her hand on Elizabeth's shoulder as your uncle straight up walked out without glancing at you.

“Bye! Good luck.” Your little cousin cooed before leaving with her mom giving you a disappointed glance, then following suit.

“..Dad? What's all that about?” You ask with an awkward laugh that came out more as a nervous outward breath, to which he looked at you and in your hands at the earrings.

“Get those cleaned up from that grease, they were your mothers. At least Elizabeth practically refunded you.” Your dad chuckled dryly before walking past you to the stairs.

Refunded?

Shit.

You place the earrings on the kitchen counter and follow behind him, his objective clearly being to go into your room.

“Wait! Wait- wait, dad, what are you doing? Remember privacy..! Our rule being I can’t go in your room and you can’t go into mine?” You stumbled on your words as you watched him open your door like a man on a mission, You distinctly remember that when you turned around twelve years old and was learning more about what Osborn Industries do, your dad has done his best to make sure you had little to no part in his business, which meant no more ‘office visits’.

He hadn’t been in your room since you took down your My Little Pony posters and stopped using jewelry boxes with music and rotating ballerinas in them.

He abruptly stood next to your door and gestured for you to go in first. His silent order was enough to shut you up and walk in, your father stepping into your room behind you.

“Anything you want to show me?” Norman asked with a tilt of his head, looking at you in a way you don’t think you’ve ever seen happen in your life. You were always a ‘good kid’, meaning you weren’t always caught.

With your answer: Silence, Norman looked away and took a breath with his tongue in his cheek and his hands on his hips. “Take it out.” He ordered, and before you even tried to act dumb in your answer, he repeated himself with a louder tone and pointed towards your bed.

Digging your own grave, you nod and do as he said, going to your bed and taking out the shoebox, placing it at the edge and sitting beside it.

Your dad came closer and sat on the edge of the bed with the box between you two, “So, Do you want to tell me what's in here?” His hand rests on the top of the shoebox and your hands clench into the lace of your dress.

Your dad never was the kind to ask anything unless he already knew, so you really were practically six feet under. If you say no, he’ll make you open the box. If you confess, you have no idea if anything worse will happen.

“..Pictures..” you murmured,

“Pictures of what?”

“Of me and someone.”

At your vague answer, his hand suddenly moved to the side of the shoebox and he pushed it off the bed, the cover falling off and the photos spilling out. He doesn’t look at the pictures at all and instead looks at the wall in the opposite direction away from them.

“Grab a picture where I see who it is.. Try to find nothing inappropriate.” Norman continued, seeming to wait patiently for you to do as he says. Now you feel like you’re being questioned to the point your teeth or fingers are at risk.

You look at the fallen pictures and back at Norman to make sure he's faced away, and look through them, looking for the least incriminating one of Hobie. Tears of dread and humiliation pooling at your eyes as you place it on the bed in front of your father, one where it's simply one of hobie with his neck craned to show hickeys littered on his slim jawline and collarbone.

Norman hums and nods slightly, “Is this that guy you liked? His music was like rock and his name was.. Harry? Henry? something-brown?”

“Punk music, and uhm.. It’s Hobie.” you mumble, you could never go against your father as if you two were like mixing oil and water.

He hums again before speaking with a firm and cold voice, “You aren’t seeing him again, and you’re not allowed out of the house. Roxanne will make your purchases and do your errands, and I’ll hire a twenty-four hour bodyguard.” He then stood as if your heart wasn’t just shattered by how you won’t be able to help anyone anymore, you’re more trapped than you were even before Hobie was in the picture, literally and figuratively.

You stood along with him and gestured your hands frantically, “What!? No! You can’t just-” You yelled before your words suddenly stop the moment you feel a sting on the side of your face, he just slapped you..

“Osborns don’t yell, and we don’t do disgusting activities with a perverted musician who’s only success in life is his ‘lifestyle’ of acting like a worthless punk.” You’ve never heard such venom in words spat from your father, never directed towards you at least.

And with that, he walked out. You felt like you were going to explode with all the anger boiling and frustration bubbling in your chest and when he walked out of your room, you screamed into your pillow and cried your heart out.

You don’t realize how long it’s been when you wake up, sitting up from your bed and looking over your bedroom where the few things that brought you joy were gone and cleaned out. Like your stereo, record player, Vinyl records, and your phone.

You felt tears prickle at the sides of your eyes and wish that this was a dream, that you can wake up to your father still loving you and hopeful that this really wasn’t happening.

About to lay back and cry again, you hear a thump on your window and then a few knocks.

You stand up and head over to your window to find Hobie awkwardly hanging on the wall while gesturing to the wooden frame of the glassed hole in your room.

You see that there's a lock, but a whole ass padlock that requires a key as if your window were the gates to a junkyard.

You shut your eyes and clasp your hands over your face with an exaggerated gentleness, knowing Hobie would break the window if he saw you physically take your frustration out on yourself or anything around you.

But just then your bedroom door flies open with Roxy standing there, staring at you and the punk by your window. You open your mouth to speak but she stops you with a gesture of her hand.

“Your father sent me up here to tell you that you’re no longer allowed out without your bodyguards, tomorrow security cameras will be installed outside your window, and.. I think you can tell what else I was going to say.” Her eyes fell to the window you were standing next to, hardly getting a glimpse of Hobie before he put his mask on. All she could see was just his skin tone and the dim shine of his piercings, “Window is locked with a key he’s trusting me to keep.”

“Roxy, please..” You mumbled as you went to her, tone pleading and genuine, “You know this is worse than before, couldn’t you have told my dad to go easy? This is my first offense, I always was well behaved for hi-”

“You know as much as I do that these are your consequences, I should have never let you go out so many times.” She sighed in disappointment, directed to either you or herself as she continued, “I’m sorry but it's not that it’s your ‘first offense’, it’s the fact that you’ve gone out and behaved like a borderline slut with a man you know your father despises.”

“..The slut comment wasn’t necessary.” You commented as you looked away and crossed your arms over your chest. You knew she wasn’t wrong but this felt like, “This is overkill, dude.”

“Yeah well, say that to your father when he’s back to being able to look you in the eyes.” Roxxanne didn’t even seem to do it either by how she looked at you but not at you.

“Please, Please at least unlock the window so me and ho-” You pause, “me and him can just say goodbye?”

You knew this sounded dramatic but you knew your dad wouldn’t give you the chance to do anything until you were thirty, maybe longer if he keeps denying the fact that you aren’t a little girl anymore.

“You’re just so.. Dammit.” That was the first time you’ve heard Roxy come close to cussing, but you immediately forget that as you watch her take out a keychain from her pocket, you couldn’t help but grin at her singling out the key that opens the padlock of the locked window.

The padlock soon opened with a click, the window sliding open and Roxy stood aside as Spiderpunk crawled in, flopping on the ground and getting up casually with an awkward nod of his head as a greeting to the woman that let him in.

She looked him up and down before back at you, “Keep this quick, if your father finds this out you’re completely on your own.” Roxy said seriously.

“Thank you so fucking much!” You grinned before latching onto her in a hug, to which she loosely embraced you back. “You’re still on thin ice, alright?” She whispered to you before pulling back and patting your shoulders.

Roxy turned back towards the masked punk stood there, getting face to face–as much as she could with him towering over her–And spoke with a hint of threat. “You have no idea what you’re getting into, keep her safe or so help me god Mr. Osborn will know of everything done.”

“Yes ma’am.” Spiderpunk replied with a surrender gesture of his hand, “She’s in good hands.”

And with that, Roxxanne said something about how you two have an hour, keeping things PG, and so forth. Then, she was gone with a shut of the door behind her.

“..Seems like you were found out.” Hobie commented with a dry chuckle, making sure to lock the door before taking off his mask, soon being attacked with a hug by you, your face in his chest and your arms clinging to him tightly.

“It’s worse than before! There's locks on everything and theres- theres gonna be cameras everywhere, my dad managed to make this place hell even more than it already was.” You sobbed into him, making hobie tightly hug you back with his gloved hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’s alright dove, we can figure something ou’-” He gently began, using the tone he often had to whenever you got like this, but cut off by one of your choked sobs and continuing.

“He’s never yelled at me before, He always was patient and talked about things but it’s like I’m not even his daughter anymore! Treating me like some dog on a leash he thinks he can hit and make the leash tighter.”

You felt him tense, soon feeling him nuzzling into the top of your head, “Shh..shh, Wha’s this abou’ him bea’ing you like a dog?” His voice was over exaggeratedly calm, making you tense as well.

“No no no no no hang on,” You quickly back tracked, moving back to wipe your tears and look up at him, “He didn’t beat me I was just exaggerating..! He just slapped me and he didn’t do anything more than that nor would he ever.”

You were practically biting yourself in the ass at how you were defending the man that even you hated, but Hobie wasn’t the type of man to let anyone get away with hurting you, he already had enough reason to hate everything your father stood for.

“That son of a..” He trailed off and turned around, he would have beaten your dad into a pulp if you didn't grab his wrist to turn him around to look at you.

“Hobie, you know that this wouldn’t help if not make things worse.” You said to him while looking into his eyes, his face furrowed and tense in his moment of blind rage, soon, his fisted hands relaxed and he let out a breath before pulling you into another hug.

“Look, you’re my whole world and you know this place isn’ good for you.” He murmured into your soft hair, “Please.. Come wit’ me.”

You weren't able to think if its because of the need to try and go against your own father, or at how he seemed so genuine, but the idea of leaving everything you knew behind was too much. You just had to get the last word.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

Hobie let out a breathless laugh, pulling back to cradle your face and look into your eyes, “Seriously? You mean tha’?” He beamed before kissing you, you could feel the grin on his lips as you amorously reciprocated.

You giggled and nodded, your hands moving to his chest to look up at him, “Yeah! Yeah, when do we go?”

“Within the next hour, pack whatever you can and- and I’ll get whatever we can sell, yeah?”

And with that, The next moments are a blur, you filling your pillowcase with any clothing you can that wouldn’t get you mugged, and Hobie filling another with everything you’ve bought with blood money. From old too-heavy tiaras, to rings, to necklaces you’ve worn once.

Hobie webbed the pillow cases shut and together, having you hold them while he focused on holding you and web slinging to his houseboat.

__________________________

From then on, You’re known as Emily brown.

Not as the daughter of a monster,

Not as the bratty girl with her life handed to her on a silver platter,

Finally your own person.

__________

YIPPEE

☆ taglist:

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@rexlroze

@jane-3043

@coffeeandtealol

@alecmores

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@nyumeit

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@alisoncdariel

@dailyhobiebrown

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@i-want-to-be-hit-by-a-car

@citricsapph

@theoriginaluzisimp

#{☆insooks ☆}#insuke #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #insooks rambles #fanfic #spiderman #spider punk #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown x reader fic

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good-beanswrites · 21 days ago

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"Prisoner @archivalofsins ! Milgramblrgram has judged you guilty for your crimes! It is time to meet your judgement. As the wardens' fang, I take that responsibility upon myself! 👊" (Aka, a little Mikoto angst scene coming at ya!)

Even if he wasn’t strictly superstitious, Mikoto loved good luck charms. There was something about them that had always appealed to him.

He had a pen from his sister – he claimed it’s what got him into design school, much to her giggly denials. He had a lighter he’d picked up in school, which was shiny and simple and he liked to thank it for keeping him out of any trouble with his grades. There was a polaroid of the ocean that he just knew would set off his photography career someday. There was a playing card from a night out with coworkers; its energy had won him many friends that night of laughing and opening up. Most of his little trinkets were tucked into pockets here and there, and had made their way to Milgram with him. He wouldn’t have been too broken up about their absence, but he certainly enjoyed having them around.

And why shouldn’t he enjoy some silly superstition, when it worked so well? He didn’t know anyone as lucky as himself. He’d landed a prestigious job. He had the good fortune to keep it, even when the going got rough. He had his health – biking and baseball kept him fit, and his e-cigarettes put him a step above real smokers. His coworkers liked him. His sister called to check up on him. He was taking care of his family. What more could a guy want? Sure, he’d gotten a bad break in the middle of it all, but even that couldn’t hold him down for long. He hadn’t undergone half the pain the others had, and in no time at all, he’d been declared innocent. So, then…

“Why?”

Fuuta just narrowed his eyes at him. “The fuck are you talking about…?”

“Why is everyone acting like this?”

He didn’t feel the need to elaborate. Today alone, it was clear how the others avoided his side of the table at breakfast. The only reason Fuuta sat next to him was because the main area had been taken over by the younger prisoners’ activities. At least everyone else had been tactful when choosing a further seat, always with a smile and a pleasant excuse. Mikoto had no such luck with Fuuta’s more… expressive nature. He pretended he hadn’t seen those exaggerated looks of disgust and reluctance as he sat down and began to eat.

Instead, he’d finished his tarot spread in silence. They had power too, though not necessarily good or bad luck. It was more like something larger than him, guiding him along. Maybe that’s why he indulged in his charms, without necessarily believing too hard. The idea of something helpful like that is comforting to imagine, isn’t it?

It wasn’t until now, that he fanned through the cards absently, that he’d finally built up enough courage to say something.

Fuuta rolled his eyes as if he’d blurted something utterly stupid.

“Why is everyone… You mean, why does everyone stay away from you? Because you can hurt them.” He said it casually. Flippantly.

Mikoto was feeling far less flippant. “But I won’t.”

“Tell that to Kotoko.”

The prisoners often brought up this alleged altercation between them. It didn’t matter that they both came out unscathed. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember any of it, or that Kotoko hardly spoke about it. It didn’t matter that – even if it was true – Mikoto had only acted in self-defense. There were always whispers, always comments about it. The strangest ones, however, were the ones he’d overheard about having a little extra help during the fight. He struggled to understand what they meant, feeling like they weren’t talking about lucky spirits.

“But why me?” he asked, only half expecting an answer. “Anyone can hurt anyone else. Each one of us has hurt someone – has killed someone. Even Amane-chan can!”

Fuuta’s exasperation didn’t change. “Tch, and they’re scared of her, too. They just treat her differently because she’s young, and they think they have time to fix her, or whatever. You should be grateful no one’s doing the same to you.”

Mikoto supposed he had a point. All his life, he’d witnessed teachers and bosses do their best to fix his peers: reprimanding them for every little thing they did until they behaved properly. Mikoto was fortunate enough to avoid such treatment. He’d always had a knack for picking up on the right ways to do things. He always figured out exactly what to do to make others happy, no discipline necessary.

“I guess… it’s just… I’ve been feeling…”

How does one say “lonely” without sounding like a kid?

It didn’t matter, because Fuuta could see through his childishness anyway. He scoffed. “Here you are moping, it’s pathetic. I work so hard to be taken seriously like that, and for nothing. Without respect, you get the shit beat outta you.”

He picked up his empty plate and stood. “Meanwhile, you hardly do a thing and everyone just loves talking about how dangerous you are. You have all their respect – you’re damned lucky.”

He stormed away, leaving that side of the table empty once again.

That night, back in his cell, Mikoto gathered up his things. He rolled his sister’s pen in his fingers, picturing the way she’d smiled when she gave it to him. He studied the ocean photo, remembering the freshness of that day and how well he felt he’d captured it on film. He pinched the playing card at the edges, bending it gently in the middle. He wondered how those coworkers were doing now. Had they been thinking of him? He placed it with the other charms piled on the floor. He ran his thumb along the lighter. Then, he squinted at it. It looked used, though he’d never had anything to light. Maybe it was no longer the pristine charm he thought it was.

All the more reason to follow through, he thought. With a flick and a sigh, he lit the whole collection ablaze.

#milgram #mikoto kayano #fuuta kajiyama #its an idea about his denial/toxic positivity/treatment by others that our convo/your analysis made me think of #im basing the good luck charms on that question where he says he doesnt believe in god only because theres nothing to gain + his tarot card #i dont think hed be super deep into superstition or spirits or good/bad luck but its something fun and harmless he enjoys the benefits of #and i mean its clear how much denial hes in -- hes constantly saying how happy and proud he is of his job despite all the pain it causes #so there was something fun to explore with him thinking hes blessed with the greatest luck ever despite The Horrors #and of course theres the extra pain because fuuta isnt denying it -- he actually agrees because he thinks hes jealous of mikoto #i hope you enjoy-- er i mean -- better watch out >:3 #drabbles #milgramblrgram

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chiefdirector · 10 months ago

Text

Photographing | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

(Y/N) spun on her chair, waiting for the computer to make its move in the latest of a string of chess games. The Sergeant in charge of the detectives, Caradine had been drying her out when it came to cases, leaving her nothing but time. The computer moved its King to B7.

Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) debated moving her bishop only to be cut off by Grey approaching her desk, a small box neatly tucked under his arms.

“Are you really playing computer games right now?” He asked incredulously.

She quickly closed the tab. “No…?”

“Don’t you have a job to do? Or are you still left behind? Because if you are, I can speak to Sergeant Caradine, get him to ease up on you.”

“No. Thank you though,” She shook her head, turning in her chair to fully face Grey, “As much as I appreciate it, I don’t need special treatment. Especially right now. I need to earn Caradine’s trust again…. Not that I had much of it in the first place. But onto another subject, what brings you over? Super cool secret crime to fight?”

Wade laughed, placing the box down in front of (Y/N) “Not quite. This was dropped at the front desk for you. Smitty tried to open it, so I rescued it.”

“I didn’t order anything.”

(Y/N) carefully picked up the box, examining the outside for a return address. The only text was her details for the postage. No stamps, no indication of where it came from.

“Who dropped it off because clearly it didn’t go through USPS.” She stood up, taking a step back from the desk.

“Right,” Grey said, reaching for his radio. “I’m calling the bomb squad.”

“Don’t!-“ she cut him off before the order could be given. Instead, she moved for the second drawer in her desk, pulling out a pair of latex gloves. “You held it. It’s far too light to be any form of explosive. It felt almost empty.”

Grabbing the Swiss Army Knife from the pocket of her jacket, she flicked the blade open, slicing through the top layers of tape, leaving the flaps of the cardboard loose. Gently, she opened both at the same time and peered inside.

The box was empty save for a single photograph. It was a polaroid image of (Y/N) and Tim leaving their home for work yesterday morning. He held her hand, shielding her from the outside. She was almost invisible save from her hair flowing out from behind her.

Flipping it over, (Y/N) silently read the message inscribed in red ink. All my love, R.D.

“‘R.D.’ Regina Diaz. She’s trying to mess with me.” (Y/N) passed the photo over to Grey, “she also sent me the other photos using polaroid.”

“This was yesterday. Look, you’re wearing the same thing. Did you see anything when you left?” He asked, pacing the photo back into the box.

“No, Tim might have. I’ll call him now.”

Grey raised his hand, moving to take his radio out. “Don’t. You’ll only panic him.” He lifted the radio to speak into it. “Officer Bradford, it’s Sargent Grey, I need you to report back to the station A.S.A.P.”

The radio buzzed with static as Tim replied. “We’re about fifteen minutes out. What’s up?”

“Just need an opinion on something. Meet us in my office. Have Chen go to help on the front desk.”

As Grey spoke to Tim, (Y/N) gestured to her empty cup, signalling that she was going to get a coffee. She rolled her eyes once again as Grey nodded at her, knowing that he wanted one too.

----------

(Y/N) sipped on her coffee from her pink mug, closing her eyes to relish the taste. There was little she enjoyed more than coffee.

“You look like you’re about to propose to the cup there.” Grey said, looking at (Y/N) over his own mug.

“What happens between me and the contents of the mug is none of your business,” she smirked, resting the mug on Grey’s desk in front of her. “Besides, you look just as invested.”

Greg looked like he wanted to respond when he looked up at the sound of knocking on his office door and someone entering. “Bradford, come in. Take a seat.”

Tim complied, sitting down next to (Y/N), sending her an inquisitive look. He reached forward for her mug only to have his hand slapped away.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?” Tim asked, looking back and forth between his wife and the watch commander.

“Did you see anything strange yesterday morning when you left the house?” Grey asked, picking up the Polaroid picture, passing it over to Tim to look at. “This was delivered to the front desk this morning. Smitty tried to open it.”

Tim rolled his eyes, “Of course he did. But I didn’t see anything. Any idea who sent it?”

“I’m having Lopez look at security footage now. But the back says it’s from an ‘R.D’.”

“Regina Diaz.”

“That’s what I thought,” (Y/N) said, reaching for her coffee again, “but I had a look at the other Polaroids. It only matches the handwriting of one of the pictures. The other is completely different.”

Tim placed his hand on (Y/N)’s thigh, squeezing it softly in reassurance. “So you think that this could be the other person, posing as Diaz?”

“It’s a possibility. But until we figure it out, I want you two to be careful. Who knows what’s waiting out there for you. But at least we know that there is a threat now, we have something to look out for.”

“So what now?” Tim asked.

“I’m going to make a few calls, update the case file with this development. See if I can figure anything out.” (Y/N) said, finished off her coffee, placing the empty cup back down on the desk. “Then go see where this photo was taken, see if any cameras could’ve picked up who took it.”

“I can do that. I’ll take Chen when she’s done with the footage.”

“Take her now,” Grey said, standing up to guide the two Bradfords out of his office. “I’ll have Lopez check the cameras. We can all report back here when we have something.”

(Y/N) nodded, moving out of the door, Tim hot on her heels. She weaved in and out of the officers to go back to her desk. Sitting down, she gestured for her husband to perch on top of the surface.

“I don’t think this is anything.” She broke the silence, watching Tim’s expression change to confusion at her words.

“How so? This is clearly a warning, if not a threat.”

(Y/N) hummed, leaning across to take one of Tim’s hands in hers, using the moment to find the right words. “No. I think it was meant to throw us off our tracks. Have us chasing our tails. Psych us out, you know.”

“I know,” he said, getting down from the desk, before leaning over to give (Y/N) a quick kiss. “Just be careful anyway. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Okay. I promise, but only if you do.”

“You know me, Mogs, always careful.”

(Y/N) looked down before nodding, watching as her husband left to find his Rookie. Tim hadn’t called her ‘Mogs’ in years, he only did when he was worried, not that he would admit it.

Chapter 20 | Chapter 22

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @agentred27 @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4

Tags are open :)

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford imagine #the rookie #the rookie x reader #chiefdirector #bottom of the river

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ssspideysense · 6 months ago

Text

𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖍 𝖔𝖈𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖊

peter thinks his life is finally turning around after his promotion at stark intel. he's closer than ever to his dream of being a real hero.

you, on the other hand, are crashing and burning. you're closer than ever to losing your shit.

peter parker x f!hero!reader

01: 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔰

4.3k

Two years.

Peter stared down at the little laminated badge in his hands. The ceiling lights above washed out his picture on the top left corner, so he let his gaze roll over his printed name again and again instead.

Peter Parker. Peter Parker.

Peter Parker, Junior Dispatch Agent.

He brushed his thumb over the text, a small smile hanging on his face. It only took roughly 730 days of kissing ass and running himself ragged, but he finally did it.

The promotion of a lifetime.

He wasn’t an assistant anymore, getting stuck with the tedious little tasks others simply didn’t want to deal with. As of eleven o’clock that morning, Peter was an official agent at Stark Intel, one of New York’s leading security and investigation companies.

… a junior agent, but still.

The meeting let out half an hour ago, but Peter still sat at his desk, taking his time cleaning it out. It wasn’t technically his anymore. They were moving him up to the 13th floor, where bigger names with bigger responsibilities gathered to drink coffee and… do much more important things than they did down here, he was sure.

Those guys got to see the action outside. They got to save the day, five days a week. They got insurance.

“Damn, did Parker get fired?”

Peter looked up from his shiny new badge.

He had worked with a handful of other assistants (associates, as they were more tactfully and officially called) for most of his time at Stark Intel, but not many of them lasted past their probationary period. There was a sort of turn-and-burn culture among the lower levels of the building, Peter came to realize early on. It wasn’t hard for anyone to miss the big cardboard box sitting at the edge of his desk, and it wasn’t hard for people to make assumptions, either.

It’s funny how that sort of thing worked.

“Nah, the other thing,” someone else chuckled, “he’s heading up to dispatch.”

Peter slipped the lanyard over his head and started peeling the various sticky notes and pictures off of his divider’s walls. Projects he didn’t need to worry about anymore, schedules, reminders and memos. Little trinkets and knick knacks got tossed into the box on top of them. He tucked the polaroids safely into his back pocket.

It was feeling more real by the moment. With as much time as he spent in that stuffy, fluorescent office, he couldn’t wait to skip over it in the elevator the next day.

“Dispatch? Who’s he working with now?”

“Don’t know. There’s only a few openings, though.”

The chatter from around the room didn’t faze him. Maybe, if anything, the fact that they acted like he wasn’t just ten feet away would’ve irritated him on a normal day, but he couldn’t be bothered at the moment. It actually got him thinking as he cleared out two years of junk from his desk drawers.

As a junior dispatch agent, he’d be partnered alongside one of the public faces for the company, which maybe wasn’t too different from his previous position— except this time, he’d be out on the street with them, doing more than just conducting post-mission interviews and collecting data. He’d actually be helping them, helping people.

There was a limited pool of agents available, since most of them already had a partner. He didn’t have room to be picky though. He kept his opinions and speculations to himself— at least until he could get home and unload them onto his friends.

Packing away his laptop was the sweetest maraschino cherry of all, sitting on the peak of his career history, all wrapped up in one cardboard box. Peter stood from the creaky chair. It didn't groan like that two years ago, and he’d always meant to tighten it up, but it seems he didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

A blanket of quiet fell over the office once he stood tall above the cubicle dividers. Several pairs of eyes shifted onto him. He tucked the box under his arm and shot his smile around the room.

“Have a good day everyone.”

He never felt more weightless than when he stepped into the elevator and pressed the shiny little button labeled 13.

Six months.

You stared down at the printed pink paper in your hands. There was aggressive typeface all over it— at least, it felt a little aggressive to you — listing different “occurrences and events” that had taken place over the past quarter.

Failure to maintain control of a company motor vehicle.

Destruction to public property.

Inciting panic.

“Okay, inciting panic? That’s a little much, don’t you think?” You said, leaning forward in the uncomfortable chair you’d internally dubbed the punishment throne. You never got called into this office and got waved to sit down in that stiff plastic nightmare for any other reason.

Bruce glanced up at you from his desk, a somewhat miffed expression on his tired face. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Yeah, y’know, I do think that’s a little much. But that’s exactly what happens when you crash a car into a farmer’s market.”

“That makes it sound way worse than what actually happened—“

“No, actually, that’s putting it pretty lightly. You should’ve heard what Tony had to say. I’m surprised you didn’t, with how… opinionated he was.” Bruce made a bridge with his fingers and spoke in that way that made your skin feel tight. Like a disappointed parent. You almost wished he would just yell at you instead.

You flicked your gaze back down to the ticket and shrunk back slightly.

“Stark and I have different opinions on what happened that day,” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry to say it, but your opinion is starting to lose its weight around here. Tony showed me the security footage,” Bruce leaned back in his seat. He looked worn, tired. “I can’t keep defending you like this, kid. You’re running out of chances. I’m sorry. Six months is the best I could do, and I can’t do it again.”

The room suddenly felt very small for being as big as it was. You rubbed a hand over the side of your neck and read the bottom of the paper again.

Corrective action taken is as follows:

6 Months Watchful Eye Probation

Approved by Tony Stark

What a hellish day, made worse only by his name signed so flashy on the thick black line with red ink. Your stomach already dropped to your feet earlier. It was probably somewhere under the building at this point.

“I can’t do Watchful Eye, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce let out a terse breath. “I’d say it’s a lot better than being unemployed. Look— you do the six months, you don’t miss any check-ins, you fill out your reports… you’ll be back in good graces.” His tone fell a bit softer. A moment of temporary reprieve for your mounting anxiety. “Six months is nothing.”

You watched him from across the desk for a moment. He’d never led you wrong before, but your gut twisted uncomfortably at the idea.

Six months of giving up sugar was nothing— six months of having Tony Stark and all his tech goonies up your asshole was a lot. Still, you relented with a slow sigh.

“I still have my opinions,” you stood from the punishment throne, certainly feeling punished, and crumpled up the paper, tucking it into your jacket pocket, “but, uh, I’ll save ‘em for you, for another day. Maybe some cookies and coffee next lab day.” Bruce watched you scoot the chair forward with your boot, making a short but loud screech. “Thanks, Dr. Banner.”

Defeated. Your gaze stuck to him for just a moment too long as you took a few steps back, before your body finally caught up and turned.

Bruce sighed and weakly raised two fingers from his desk in farewell. “Good luck.”

Fuck luck. You needed a fucking miracle.

Any agent stuck in the Watchful Eye program was inevitably burned, either by the industry or the public itself. It didn’t matter what Stark or Dr. Banner said. You really couldn’t afford that kind of dent in your already rocky reputation, or your rapidly thinning paychecks.

There had to be something you could do. Working overtime, helping out in the lab, fuck… maybe Stark likes cookies?

Who am I kidding? I’m not baking Tony Stark fucking cookies.

The pink ticket was a boulder in your pocket as you stepped onto the elevator, your finger jabbing into the stupid button 13.

It smelled sharply like chemicals and salt water. A strange combination.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal a custodian on his knees, scrubbing away at a portion of the tile that’d been marked off with tape. Peter met his exhausted gaze almost instantly.

He couldn’t think of much to do other than offer a polite smile and short nod to the man, shifting out of the way to avoid his work area.

It was only as Peter walked past that he noticed the burning, sickly smell coming from the stain on the floor. Whatever the custodian was scrubbing into the thick dark liquid was bubbling up fiercely in reaction.

He held his breath and continued on down the hall, leaving the poor man to his job.

Strange things happen all the time in this industry. That’s simply how it is in such an unpredictable slice of life. He wondered what kind of a budget Stark Intel had for things like that— what he assumed it was, anyways. Superpowered mishaps. He never saw any of that in the lower levels. Anything of that nature was hush-hush, company confidentiality, the whole notarized nine yards.

Peter pulled himself from his thoughts once the sleek hallway spit him out into a large rectangle of a room. Several private cubicles lined the walls, looking like little suites instead of corporate-hacked work spaces. Straight ahead, a giant TV stretched from the dark tile to the ceiling, playing over a newscast on low volume.

Peter watched the woman’s blown up face for a while in awe. She recounted some fiasco at a farmer’s market that happened last weekend. What a mess that had been. Thankfully nobody had gotten hurt— they just couldn’t figure out what had happened. The car that had lost control and crashed into the scene was empty when they got to it.

“Hey, man, are you lost or somethin’?”

Peter snapped his head to the side. His stomach flipped involuntarily as a thick, salty, brine-like stench instantly clutched at his throat.

The man was sitting several feet away, kicked back with his feet up in the second cubicle along the wall.

Peter didn’t recognize him, but then again, he rarely saw the dispatch agents outside of their street uniforms.

He adjusted the box in his hands and cleared his throat. “Uh, sort of. I just got transferred up here,” he turned to face him, then paused, unsure if he should go in for a handshake or not. “I’m Peter Parker.”

The agent raised his brows. The light reflected off his wet skin almost blindingly. He leapt from the chair and joined Peter, taking his beachy odor with him. He reached forward and grabbed the badge around Peter’s neck to look at it more closely.

“No shit, eh? Junior Dispatch Agent Parker. I thought you were, like, a food delivery guy.”

He chuckled and let the badge fall back against Peter’s shirt.

“I’m Darian. Also known as Cascade—“ he paused, taking a breath and setting his hands on his hips, “—the name’s… a work in progress. Riptide was already taken.”

Peter nodded dumbly. He tried to focus on Darian’s words, but his sinuses stung, his throat clenched, his eyes watered. A cough forced its way out of his chest and he took a small step backward.

“Yeah, I, uh… no, I’m supposed to meet Dr. Banner, I believe,” Peter said. “Do you know where I could find him?”

Or is there any other way out of this conversation without being rude?

Darian nodded, but sucked his teeth and blew out a sigh. “Banner’s kind of busy right now,” he replied, vaguely tense, but quickly shifted back to the casual tone from moments ago, “c’mon, I’ll show you your desk while you wait.”

He laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder and guided him toward the far wall, where a row of much smaller cubicles sat lined together like a pack of gum. A warm, wet sensation immediately bled through the fabric and made Peter grimace.

“Whoops. Sorry, that’ll come out in the wash, probably,” Darian chuckled and took his hand back. A perfect wet print sat dark over Peter’s clean linen shirt.

Some old saying May used to feed him about windows and opportunities was just out of reach in his memory, but Peter held onto the sentiment regardless with a vice grip. He reluctantly placed his box on top of the empty desk, grateful that in that moment, some other agent bounded over to distract his self-appointed guide.

“Darian! You hear anything yet?”

“No, but—“

“She’s getting canned. No ways about it.”

Darian shot a glance between Peter and this hulking man stuffed into a button-up. “Maybe we shouldn’t ta—“

“Oh, new guy. What’s your thing?”

And then, both sets of eyes were on Peter. He felt himself shrink a bit despite the fire in his stride just moments ago, before encountering any of these agents.

“Uh, me?” Peter quipped and immediately felt stupid. “Oh, yeah. Well, y’know, I’m… strong,” he cleared his throat and stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to look much more casual than he felt. “And… I can run really fast, and… some other stuff…”

A few beats of quiet sludged by before the big guy snorted loudly. “They’re really scraping the barrel these days huh?”

Peter’s heart sank, heat rising up his neck in embarrassment. Darian must’ve felt a spark of pity because he nudged his fellow agent, leaving a little wet mark in his wake. “C’mon, Vic, don’t be like that. My boy Parker hasn’t even had his physical yet.”

The physical— would that be today? Peter wasn’t exactly in a physical performance type of mindset (or outfit). What would he have to do? Surely it wouldn’t just be a standard medical exam…

Clearly more amused than anything, Vic shrugged and took a sip from the thermos in his baseball-glove sized hand. “I guess we’ll see whenever Banner’s done chewing out the spaz.”

“Hey, that’s not cool, man,” Darian mumbled.

“What? Look, kid,” Vic looked pointedly at Peter, “I’m sorry to say it, but you picked the wrong time to follow your dreams. This place has taken a real shit, and it’s messy, and it stinks. It stinks real bad.”

Peter stiffly glanced at Darian, who matched his gaze, then looked back to Vic.

“In fact, this place is full of little shits. Little shits walking around, doing whatever they want, crashing into farmers markets—“

“Allegedly,” Darian intercepted, “but, continue.”

Vic grumbled. “I hate it when you interrupt me. What was I saying?”

There was a ringing low in Peter’s ears. He was in a vacuum in his own head, idly nodding along to whatever Vic was ranting about.

Maybe he made a mistake. Maybe he should’ve gone to trade school instead, become an electrician, something like that. That was a decent living. Something his aunt May could still humbly brag about to her friends at brunch.

No, he didn’t mean that. He couldn’t, when this had been his vision of his future for so long.

It was just the first day.

He hadn’t even had his physical yet.

It took Peter a moment to realize the conversation before him shifted. Vic and Darian both twisted around toward the elevator hall, so Peter tried to shake the cotton out of his ears and pay attention. He needed an out, somehow. He needed some time to clear his head.

Charlie threw up in the hallway again.

You skirted around the taped off tiles and eyed the suspect chemical burn staining the shiny surface. A putrid sort of burn clung to your sinuses as you passed by, making your eyes water up.

It felt like the universe was telling you off at this point.

And maybe it really was, because your stomach soured on the way to your desk, you scrambled to find your keys, and it seems like someone took your lunch from your cubicle. A scowl sat on your face as you shoved your laptop into your bag. Seconds weren’t quick enough as you gathered your things and made a beeline back to the elevator.

Passing through the heart of the 13th floor, your boots squeaked against the tile. You could smell your coworker Darian somewhere but worse than that, your blood pressure spiked once Vic’s familiar chuckle rang out.

“Looks like Banner’s free now, Parker,” his voice always boomed no matter how ‘quiet’ he was being.

You didn’t look their way, even when a set of rapid footsteps trailed behind you to the elevator.

“Excuse me,” an unfamiliar voice was behind you. Soft, but clear. And glancing up at his face, he seemed maybe just as stressed as you at that moment. Maybe. “Could you tell me how to find Dr. Banner?”

Hearing Dr. Banner’s name again pricked you in the moment, salt in a very fresh wound. You pressed the elevator button and sucked in a breath through your nose. “Floor 15, last door on the right.”

“Got it, thank you.” He paused. “I’m Peter Parker.” He blinked a few times and looked off to the side, an air of awkwardness clinging to him.

You flicked your gaze in his direction, adjusted the bag on your shoulder, and replied quietly with your name. The silver doors before you slid open after what felt like an eternity. You walked in, and a beat later, Peter followed, keeping a polite distance in the small space. A second after you pressed the buttons you both needed and the doors closed you in, Peter let out a breath. He coughed into his fist and tugged a little on his collar.

“Sorry. I’m not sick or anything, it’s just… um, allergies,” he said.

“No, it’s Darian. He smells like Sea World,” you replied.

A look of relief flashed over his face. “Okay, so I’m not the only one who…” he sighed, “I didn’t want to say anything. He seems nice.”

“He is nice. But he reeks. And he leaves little puddles everywhere.”

Mechanical whirring filled the tiny room. Peter scratched his nose and looked down, the ghost of a grin on his face. “Is there, um, anything I should know? Y’know, for onboarding stuff?” He asked like he was unsure of what he was saying the whole time.

Your bad mood hung stubbornly over you like storm clouds, but you answered anyway. “The physical is worse than you think.” The doors slid open to yet another sleek hallway, however, this one was remarkably easier to breathe in. “Also, the baby is the bomb,” you added.

Peter shot you a puzzled look, stilled in his spot. “Huh?”

Your finger hovering over the ‘close doors’ button was enough of a hint that you were ready to end this interaction. “Good luck,” you replied flatly, and watched Peter step out onto the 15th floor, looking more confused than reassured.

Finally alone with your thoughts, the elevator hummed softly as it brought you to the ground level. In this fleeting moment of privacy, you took a puff from the modified inhaler Banner had given you, and tucked it back into your bag.

Time to go home and ruminate.

Peter wondered, briefly, if Tony Stark had ever heard of OSHA.

Sweat ran down his temples, already soaked into his hair. His feet smacked against the treadmill over and over like they had for the past however many miles, and he could barely feel his legs anymore, but they kept moving. He was thankful, at the very least, that he didn’t have to do all this in slacks and a button-up. The Stark Intel athletic shorts and sneakers they’d provided him didn’t fit quite right, but he tried not to get too philosophical about it.

Dr. Banner watched Peter, eyeing the wires and machines attached to him as he ran in place. It’d been a long afternoon of gathering data, trying to cover all the superpowered bases.

The agents that came to work at Stark Intel were all unique, with their own… talents. Strength, agility, endurance, extraordinary ability. The physical was not only designed to take record of Peter’s capabilities, but to iron out specifics like required tech or accommodations for suits.

Also, he needed to settle on a name. And a suit design, or something. But he didn’t have space to think about that at the moment.

“Excellent, Peter,” Dr. Banner spoke into the microphone and scribbled something down on the form before him. “Winding down now. This concludes the endurance portion of the exam.”

Peter huffed out labored breaths as the treadmill steadily slowed to a stop. His muscles ached and his lungs burned and the sweat stung in his eyes, but at least it was over.

Turns out your warning in the elevator was blunt but honest. The exam was definitely worse than he thought it’d be. Peter was strong, and Peter was fast, and he thought proving it would be no big deal — but he completely ate his confidence once the simulations started.

The situations ranged wildly from things like helping a lost child find their caregiver, to finding and defusing a bomb (you were right, again — it was strapped to the bottom of a stroller).

The technology available to Stark Intel was beyond impressive, and undoubtedly more than expensive.

A gush of cool air washed over him as the lab door slid open and Banner strolled inside. He offered Peter a bottle of water, which he gulped down almost instantly. “Very promising results. All that’s left is the ending analysis.” Banner smiled politely and tucked Peter’s file under his arm. “You’re free to use our showers. I’ll be waiting in my office for you when you’re ready.”

Peter nodded and thanked him but he felt like jelly on his way to the locker room. The shower helped, hot water doing what it could to his screaming muscles, but Peter was still looking forward to heading home and flopping onto his bed. He changed back into his original office attire, grimacing at the dried-but-still-very-visible handprint still on his shoulder.

Banner’s office was spacious, with potted plants and large windows but a comically small chair pulled up to the front of his desk, like a child was visiting before he came by.

“Have a seat,” Banner gestured vaguely to the chair, his eyes occupied on all of Peter’s paperwork.

Peter raised his brows but sat in the plastic chair anyway. He shifted around a bit uncomfortably and waited quietly for the older man to start.

Banner pointed to some lines of his own handwriting on the page. “Peter Parker. Twenty-four, graduated from Midtown Technical Highschool. Attended one year at NYU. Computer Science.”

Peter’s leg started bouncing while he listened, despite how fatigued he was. Nerves know no limits.

“Superior strength, agility, endurance, and heightened senses. He can also scale vertical surfaces and completely support himself, even upside down.”

“What, so he’s sticky ?” Tony Stark’s voice nearly made Peter jump as it cut into the room. Banner grinned toward his computer screen before looking back to Peter, waiting for him to answer.

Peter blinked a few times. “Uh, well, not generally, sir.”

“But you stick to walls?”

“I, um, I can. If I wanted to.”

Banner held his hand to his chin, amused in the moment. “Continuing, Tony,” he mused, looking back down at the paper, “strong sense of morality and ambition. Average to above average simulation results. Viable for both offensive and defensive procedures.”

“Sounds green to me.” Tony chuckled through the speaker. “Get it, Bruce?”

Banner shook his head, amusement mostly gone now, as he scribbled some more words onto the page. “Very funny, Tony.”

“Didn’t hear the kid laugh, but we’ll work on it. Anyways, you got a name in mind? Some kinda motif you wanna work with?”

He hadn’t gotten that far yet. Not seriously, anyways. He’d spent a few years doodling out different costume designs that came to him in daydreams, but Peter felt creativity wasn’t usually his strong suit.

“Um, not really, sir,” he replied, shifting in the little chair.

“You have time to work on it,” Banner said, signing his name on the bottom of a few forms. “Your next few shifts will be mostly in the lab while we work on a suit for you. Of course, your input and participation is encouraged and valued.”

With the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted, Banner dismissed Peter for the day and sent him on his way with a laminated information booklet and a brief goodbye from Tony’s disembodied voice.

Peter wasted no time getting home. The moment he was inside his door, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed in the middle of his bed. A good few minutes passed full of nothing – just the gentle tick of his ceiling fan, the faint hum of his refrigerator down the hall, and his good-natured attempts at deep breaths.

Underneath the visceral relief of being home and motionless, he was proud of himself for everything he had made it through earlier. He couldn’t be making a mistake when he felt so accomplished at the end of the day, right? Change is usually rough and uncomfortable at first.

Somehow, his mind wandered back to his interaction with you at the elevator.

Vic mentioned you getting fired (and being Little Shit #1), though you didn’t empty out your desk on your way out. He didn’t exactly seem like a reliable source of information anyway.

Sleep took Peter before he could ruminate any further.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #mcu!peter parker x reader #mcu #spiderman

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 7 months ago

Text

Survivor Blues

Part Six: Kitchen Scraps

A/N: I feel like every single one of my author's notes begins with me screaming and apologizing for how long it took me to update the story, so pretend that's what this says. I am very excited to share this part of Survivor Blues because even though there's not a lot of action, it sets up a ton of things to come, and we get a lot more background information on Reader. From the bottom of my heart I hope you all enjoy these kitchen scraps. Thank you so much for reading!

Warnings: language, mentions of trauma, death, murder, mentions of illness, some angst but hey that comes with the territory

Word Count: 8,454

Summary: Three months into your new life in Jackson, you start to notice some changes. But how much change, and are you sure you're entirely ready for it?

June - 2037

With the start of your third month in Jackson came a considerable number of changes.

Your apartment, for example, began to look like someone actually lived there.

For the first time in nearly a decade, your pack had been unpacked, your belongings given places of permanence instead of just pockets and pouches. The pair of chipped enamel camp mugs now sat side by side in the cabinet over the kitchen sink. Gavin’s stained and threadbare concert tee was folded and put away with the rest of your clothing. A hook next to the front door held your coat by the hood, the key to your place dangling on another one right beside it. The creased and tattered old envelope you’d carried with you for years that held photos and a handful of notes had been emptied and tossed. The notes, mostly from Gavin but a few from Laura and Kyle, as well as a faded old marker drawing your nephew had done for you when he was six years old, were tucked away in your bedside table.

But the photos you chose to display.

Because they deserve to be seen. Everyday.

You’d found some old frames in a box in the hall closet a few days after you moved in, but you weren’t ready to use them then. Now one sat atop your dresser, holding the last picture of you and Gavin taken before the outbreak - incredibly youthful faces smushed cheek to grin-split cheek, Gavin’s inked fingers holding up your wrist as you showed off the diamond ring he’d slipped onto your finger only moments before. Your engagement ring had been sold ages ago, back when you were still in the Philadelphia QZ and people still cared enough about things like diamonds to trade medicine for them. But the photo was worth more to you than a rock ever could be.

And I still have our bands. Even though we never…

You were never officially married, and since the bands had been hand-me-downs from Gavin’s grandparents and didn’t fit either of your fingers, you’d only ever worn them on chains around your necks. But you knew that never mattered. Not to you, and not to him. Not since the moment that picture had been taken. Not since you’d joyfully exclaimed the word yes when he asked you to be his wife.

Another frame sat on the T.V. stand in the living room. That one held a picture of you and Laura from the summer before the outbreak, the two of you sitting on the steps outside her building, cups of brightly colored Italian ice in your hands and Kyle’s father’s arm sticking in from out of sight to add bunny ears to his girlfriend’s head. Both of you were laughing at some long since forgotten joke, but you’d always be able to hear the sound of her laughter when you looked at it.

There was another picture taken that day, one of just Laura and Dante on those same steps. You’d taken it yourself, with Gavin’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind you as he made faces at his sister to get her to laugh. That one you didn’t have anymore, though. You’d left it with Kyle. It was the only photo you had of both of his parents. It was only right that it stay with him.

The last two photos that you had in your possession were polaroids taken with a camera you’d found during your time at the farm. One of them was of you, Gavin, Laura and a two year old Kyle, the little boy perched on his uncle’s shoulders, the four of you standing in front of the old oak tree that his family had been taking pictures in front of for generations. Ty had been behind the camera that day, not wanting to be caught on film herself but more than happy to capture moments for the rest of you. The other was a candid she’d snapped of just you and Gavin from the same day, your hands linked together and hanging between your bodies and his face turned in your direction. The expression he wore was one of pure adoration as he watched you watching the sunset. Seconds later he was leaning in to press his lips to your temple, kissing a whisper onto your skin.

“Love you, Sugar.”

Memories like those didn’t belong in your backpack anymore. If you were going to build a life here, they deserved to be a part of it.

Because they’re a part of me.

Those two, because of their unconventional shape, didn’t fit in the 3x5 frames you’d found. But you had another option in the form of your stark white refrigerator door. Using the plain green circular magnet that had been stuck there when you arrived, you tacked up the photo of you and Gavin. The last thing that you pulled from your pack was what you used to hang the other - the rest stop souvenir magnet that Joel had given you the morning after you’d sewn up his arm.

It was the first “new” thing you’d brought into the apartment since you moved in. The first new item in your collection of trinkets that tied you to moments and people that mattered to you. It scared the shit out of you to admit, but one of the biggest changes you’d gone through since your arrival in Jackson was allowing things to matter again. When Kyle died you thought your ability to feel anything but emptiness had died with him. You thought life, however much more of it you’d be unlucky enough to endure, would be nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other until you physically couldn’t anymore. No more laughter, no more happiness, no more warmth and certainly no more human connection. Just the hollow feeling in your skull and the involuntary drive to carry on. Left, right, left until you marched yourself into the dirt. Or worse.

But then Joel and Tommy found you in that split-level not far from town and now here you were, with a refrigerator door decorated with things that mattered.

You wondered if it would ever be as covered up with kitschy clutter as the one in your and Gavin’s tiny apartment. Photobooth strips and postcards, recipes that you wanted to try, either clipped from magazines or scrawled hastily on scraps of paper, a birthday card you’d gotten one year from your friend Dave that was too funny to take down, the test results from Gavin’s blood work that showed improvement after his surgery which he jokingly slapped up calling it his A+ report card. Magnets from trips you’d taken, a promotional one from your favorite dumpling place, stray letters from one of those colorful alphabet sets, objects you’d simply glued a magnetic strip to to turn into a magnet, like the little plastic stingray you found on the floor in the hallway of your building or the cork from the champagne bottle you popped when you moved in.

Like a scrapbook.

That was what Gavin used to call it. A memory pushed its way forward from the back of your mind as you stood there looking at your mostly bare by comparison fridge, a moment you hadn’t thought about in what felt like ages.

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor as you scurried from the bathroom to the bedroom, fingers deftly fastening an earring before flipping the strap of your dress to lay it flat against your shoulder. The anxiety of running late and nerves about meeting extended members of Gavin’s family for the first time at his cousin’s wedding popped and jumped like corn kernels in your stomach. As a result, your thoughts tripped over themselves in your head as you stuffed your phone and a tube of lip gloss into a small purse. I still have to sign the card and - shit! The card! We need to stop at an ATM and grab cash for the card! Wait, the place is in Germantown, right?

“Gav? Where’s the invitation? I need to check -”

“Hung it on the scrapbook.” He followed you from the bedroom down the short, narrow hall to the kitchen as his slender fingers worked to form the knot in his tie. “Slow down, Shug, we’ve got plenty of time.” You plucked the invite from the collage you called a refrigerator door just as he finished his task, those same long digits now curling around your hips to pull you flush against his long, lean frame. When he spoke again, lips close to your ear and breath warm on your skin, you could hear the smile in his voice. “We’re not gonna be late, don’t you worry.” You closed your eyes as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You look gorgeous.” His murmured compliment made you melt, made the nerves that were just exploding inside you go calm. And then he spoke again and made you snort out a laugh. “Gonna upstage the bride.”

You turned in his arms to see the smile still on his face, his eyes shining softly as he looked at you. You rolled yours playfully, smacking his arm with the invitation as you did to draw a chuckle from his throat. “Oh, stop. I’m sure Maya is gonna be a stunning bride.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, leaning in to nudge the tip of your nose with his. “Just not as stunning as you.”

You wondered if you would ever again feel even a fraction of what you felt in that nearly forgotten, long buried memory. Like you were floating. Radiating love. Sure of every part of yourself. Safe in the arms and heart of a man who always put you first. Blinking at the expanse of white, powder-coated stamped steel that surrounded the two pictures and two magnets, you decided it was far more likely that you’d fill up that empty space before someone else filled the empty space in your heart.

But… it’s not entirely impossible.

Your focus strayed to the Wyoming magnet, a small, soft swell growing in your chest as you remembered the look on Joel’s face when he handed it to you. Maybe it was possible that you could find both here. You scoffed and shook the thought from your head before you took it too far. You knew you were in no shape for anything like that, emotionally speaking.

The last time you’d been in anything that resembled a relationship had been a little under ten years earlier, just outside the Chicago QZ, and you’d done everything you could to keep it as stunted and strictly physical as possible. A means to an end. A way to release tensions pent up for too long, a way to feel something other than fear or pain or white hot rage or the soul sucking sadness that clawed at your throat most nights. AJ - a tall, muscular smuggler with a deep voice, far away eyes and a teenaged sister he’d shoot you dead to save if it came to that - was happy to agree to those terms. He understood you and your bricked up walls and your need to keep your broken heart behind them. He understood those things without you ever saying them because he was doing the same thing.

It lasted three months before he ruined it by offering you more.

“You know, Gia and I are thinkin’ ‘bout leavin’ Chicago,” he told you one night in the upstairs bedroom of the stash house he let you and your family stay in while Laura rested a badly sprained ankle. In exchange, you kept his cache of smuggled goods protected from raiders. The fucking had just been a mutual bonus. “QZ’s goin’ to shit. Think it’s time we get out for good.”

You balked instantly at the casual way he dropped his future plans on you. Your clothes were still strewn on the floor, your bare skin still pressed to his. You were too exposed for that kind of intimacy. Shifting away from his hold you felt yourself shutdown, an icy flush running through your veins to kill whatever warmth AJ had managed to put there before he spoke.

“Oh?” Your voice came out flat as you sat up and reached for your shirt.

The man in the bed behind you cleared the gravel from his throat and sat up, too. “Yeah.” His large palm landed too gently on your shoulder blade, and you knew he felt it when you flinched at the sweep of his thumb, but he kept going anyway. “I was thinking maybe you’d wanna come with us.” He leaned forward and broke another rule, brushing a stubble-studded kiss to your spine. “You and Kyle and Laura, of course.”

You stood, putting more distance between you so he couldn’t feel the way your heart was banging on your ribs, telling you it was time to pull up stakes and go. Yanking the shirt over your head, you looked at him with empty eyes and a slight shake of your head. “I don’t know why you’d think that.” You arched one eyebrow and shrugged. “That’s not what this is.” You took another step, bending down to pick up the rest of your clothes so that you could seal yourself away from him.

He let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sigh and you heard the bed springs creak as he got up. “It could be,” he answered, reaching for your wrist in an attempt to slow you down, reel you back in, try to coax you into agreeing to let this thing between you go from bare bones and scraps to something more fleshed out and filling. You shook off his loose grip and finished getting dressed despite the click of his tongue and the low murmur of your name. “You could let it be. We can keep each other safe. I can keep you safe, and-“

A humorless laugh escaped your lips then. “If you think I need you to keep me safe, then you don’t know a goddamn thing about me.” You shoved your feet into your boots and laced them up tight.

“I know you don’t need it, but-”

Wheeling on him, you cut him off. “You know what, AJ? I think this has run its course. Laura’s ankle is healed, so-“ You hardened your features against the way his face fell. “We’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”

And you were.

AJ had tried one more time to get you to stay. One more time to tell you that he wanted you in his hair, that he wanted you in his life. But that would mean him becoming a part of yours. That would mean Gia becoming a part of yours. That would mean two more people to anchor yourself to. Two more people for you to protect. Two more people to weave themselves into the fabric of your heart, and two more people you could potentially lose, causing that fabric to tear in two more places. You’d already worn yourself ragged with responsibility and loss. You weren’t looking for more. AJ was a good man. He could have been good for you. The timing was just wrong.

But you were safe now. There was no reason to run from companionship or intimacy now. That didn’t mean it would be easy, though.

Like that’s ever stopped you before, you could hear Gavin tease, a smirk on his face.

It hadn’t. You had never been one to back down simply because the task at hand might be difficult. You moved out on your own for the first time with only what you could fit in your car. You took your first kitchen job without a lick of experience. You fell head over heels in love with a man with a heart defect, knowing full and well that any chance at forever with him could be cut short by his condition and diving in anyway. Easy wasn’t really in your playbook.

Again, it was Joel’s face that came to mind. You had no real idea what his story was when it came to relationships, you only knew that he wasn’t currently in one. And with the way you had heard some women in town speak about him when they thought only their closest friends could hear, you gathered that it was by choice. That it wasn’t something he was looking for.

And though you were almost afraid to admit it even to yourself, a part of you already hoped that you were wrong about that.

Another change came in the way that you interacted with people in town. For starters, you’d stopped outright avoiding eye contact and dodging conversation when walking to and from your apartment. When people came into the bakery, you smiled and found yourself chatting about things you used to talk to your customers about before the outbreak.

“Morning, Heather! How was Kaylee’s birthday? Did she like the cupcakes?”

“Hi, Marty. Didn’t see you yesterday when they were fresh, but I saved you some corn muffins. I know they’re Carl’s favorite.”

“Hey Nadia, you live next to Allie and Greg, right? How are they doing with the new baby? Can you drop their order off to them on your way home?”

On patrols and trail sweeps you picked up where you left off on topics you’d previously spoken to your partners about. It was never anything truly personal aside from when you were paired with a woman named Jo who still spoke with an unmistakable Pennsylvanian accent, and you shared that you were from Philly. In an extreme case of it’s a small world afterall, she turned out to be from Glenside, a suburb just a few SEPTA stops away. The two of you had spent that shift - an overnight gate patrol - talking about restaurants, bars and other places you missed in the city. Typically you talked about books or movies or music, trading recommendations or trying to recall lyrics to songs you hadn’t heard in decades. Sometimes, like when you were paired with Jesse or one of the other younger volunteers, you brought up a movie they hadn’t heard of and you ended up summarizing or explaining it to them. Like some kind of post-apocalyptic storytime. The Tale of The Men in Black. The Saga of The Breakfast Club. The Epic of Empire Records.

It never strayed into “opening up” territory, but you were refamiliarizing yourself with being a person again, and not just trying to stay alive for another 24 hour block of time. You were still hesitant to attend one of the Friday night gatherings at the Tipsy Bison, but you had started to eat one or two meals a week in the communal dining hall. You’d sit with people you knew and felt the most comfortable with - Evelyn from the bakery, Tommy and Maria when you saw them, Eugene or Henrik if they waved you over. You rarely saw Joel there but sometimes you caught a glimpse of Ellie surrounded by some of the other teens. You still spent most of your nights alone in your home - cooking small meals for yourself, reading, sewing patches or buttons onto things as needed - but you were trying, and that was new.

Despite all that had changed though, some things unfortunately remained the same. The nightmares, for example, had proven far more stubborn than your crumbling resolve to not form attachments. They still woke you up every few nights, your breaths coming in greedy gasps as you worked to convince yourself that you were safe in your bed in Jackson and not tearing through the dark woods with a twelve year old Kyle’s hand clamped in your own, a pack of hunters hot on your trail. Or that Gavin hadn’t met a horrific end at the snapping jaws of a horde of infected. Or that those men hadn’t caught you in that warehouse in Kentucky and kept you chained to a mattress in a back room.

But it wasn’t the close call and what if nightmares that were the worst of them. Not by a long shot. The darkest dreams you fell victim to weren’t conjured by your fears or anxieties. They came straight from your actions and experiences. They weren’t dreams at all, just memories played back in excruciatingly high definition. Memories of the worst things you’d ever done. Reminders that you might not deserve this new lease on life. Portals to places where you’d committed the unthinkable.

Places like that waterlogged and overgrown Walgreens where you crossed the line for the first time - where you became a murderer, taking the life of a human being who wasn’t infected. Who wasn’t even a threat to you. Your mind would floor with details from that fateful day. The squish of the moss covered floor tiles beneath your boots. The odor of rust and mildew that permeated the air. The rustle of things being knocked off a shelf and the terrified hiss of “oh, shit!” that followed. The tilt of your head as you took in the sight of the bottle gripped tightly in the dirty-fingered grasp of the woman, identifying it as the exact drug that you needed. That Gavin needed to stay alive. The way she pleaded with you on behalf of her sick son. “Please, he’s only twelve. He’ll die without them. I’ll split them with you!” The way you didn’t even blink as you shot her dead. The maraca rattle of the pills as you pried the bottle from her hand. The way that shot rang in your ears until you made it back to the farm.

It vibrated in your lungs, even in the dreams. And when you handed the medicine to Gavin, it was written on your face clear as day for him to read. You’d told him what you’d done, waves of nausea roiling through your belly and adrenaline coursing through your blood to make your hands shake and your breathing turn to sobs and gasps. “Oh, Sugar,” he’d said, opening his arms to wrap you in them, pulling you closer to the weakening, uneven beat of his heart. “Don’t lose yourself over me.” Your hot tears soaked into the old, stained concert tee that hung baggy and loose on his frame as you clutched fistfuls of material. “It’s not worth the toll.”

You’d tried to argue with him then, because to you, anything was worth it if it meant more time with him. Another year, another few months, fuck, even if it only bought you mere days there was nothing you weren’t willing to do for Gavin. “We both know you can’t buy me much longer,” he said, speaking calmly as he stroked his long, tattooed fingers up and down your spine. “Don’t turn yourself into something you’re not. Stay you, Sugar. Stay you and stay with me.”

In the end though, it was him that couldn’t stay, and that particular nightmare would always end with you sobbing into your pillow. Alone.

More recently your nightmares took you to that grimey hotel room where you helped Kyle end his life. Where you killed him, your subconscious would remind you. Details you didn’t even realize you’d absorbed would come leaching out once you were asleep. The feel of the dust encrusted carpet against your sweaty, blood soaked palm. The pocked and peeling paint flaking from the walls and piling up in little heaps. The icy draft that came through the broken window to freeze the tears in your eyes. The way your nephew suddenly became so heavy as you held him. And that nagging, illogical thought that burrowed itself into the center of your brain and slammed every cell like a cymbal - He could have been immune. You don’t know that he wasn’t.

There had always been rumors about the possibility of natural immunity to the Cordyceps infection. You’d heard the whispers whenever you moved through a place that had or previously had a Firefly presence. Genetic mutations are always possible, they’d posit. You’d always rolled your eyes and called it a hopeless hope, a pipe dream. Just something that desperate people told themselves so they could justify what they’d done or give themselves motivation to keep going. Everyone you’d ever known to be infected had turned within a day or two. You weren’t holding your breath for a miracle mutation.

And even though it was one of the rules you and your family had written for yourselves decades ago, and even though it was what Kyle wanted, and even though you still thought it was easier than having to see your sweet, smart, funny, thoughtful nephew become a snapping, snarling monster, that thought still reverberated in your mind whenever that dream woke you up. He could have been immune. But now you’ll never know.

There were others, too, but those were the ones that came most frequently. Those were the ones that the firewalls in your sleeping brain had no chance against, the ones there was no falling back to sleep after.

On those nights you woke shaken and shaking, pulling yourself from the bed and turning lights on as quickly as possible to banish the things that crept into your mind. On those nights you didn’t try to find sleep again, knowing that the ache in your heart and the spike in your adrenaline wouldn’t let you. Instead you’d pad into the kitchen and do what you’d always done when you couldn’t sleep - open the cabinets and preheat the oven and bake something to take your mind off of whatever had just taken over it.

In college, before you’d dropped out, it was blueberry muffins to distract yourself from the stress of exams. You’d bake dozens of them and give them to your friends as study fuel. On the nights following Gavin’s open heart surgery it was rye bread and cinnamon buns. You’d take them with you to the hospital when you visited him, giving them - along with your unending gratitude - to the nursing staff and doctors that worked on him. At the farm when you worried that you wouldn’t be able to keep your family safe it was potato rolls. And for the few months that you stayed in the Chicago QZ it was a modified oatmeal cookie recipe that tasted more like sugarless styrofoam due to the lack of certain ingredients, but bless their hearts, Laura and Kyle still told you they were delicious.

Three months into your stay in Jackson, at six in the morning on your weekly day off, it was sourdough and carrot cake muffins.

By ten o’clock you’d finished baking three loaves of bread - two of which you were planning to take to the community center to be used for meals that day - and were just getting started peeling carrots for the muffins, when there was a knock at your door.

And as you crossed the room to answer it, wiping your hands on the dish towel that hung over your shoulder, you noticed another change - you hadn’t reached for the knife in your boot. You hadn’t even put your boots on that morning, your feet still only covered by the socks you yanked on before coming out to the kitchen. Your heart didn’t start to race. Your fingers hadn’t even twitched. You’d just heard the sound and moved to respond to it like it was normal. Like you would have before the outbreak.

Like I would have back at home.

Unwilling to have that conversation with yourself while someone stood waiting outside your door, you shook your head to clear your thoughts. Not now. Peeking through the view hole, you actually smiled as you saw who was on the other side. I wonder what…

You unlocked the door and opened it. “Hey, good morning, Ellie. What are you up to? Everything alright?”

She groaned in dramatic teenage fashion. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Except for the fact that I’m dying of boredom with these lame shifts Maria put me on this week.”

Maria tried to keep the younger volunteers busy with tasks in the town or on the walls as often as possible, only sending them out when the schedule demanded it to relieve other patrol members, and it seemed that was what had brought Ellie to your apartment. Good. Boring is good and safe. I’m sure Joel loves boring for you, kid.

“Oh yeah? What’s she got you doing today that’s so terrible?”

“Compost duty.” She held up a metal pail that you hadn’t noticed at first, nose wrinkled and top lip curled. “I’m here for your rotten vegetables.”

You let out a laugh in the form of a snort, pushing the door to open it wider. “Well they’re not rotten yet, which is kind of the point, but they’re all yours. Come on in. I’ll grab the jar, it’s in the fridge.”

Closing the door behind herself, Ellie followed you through the small living room towards the kitchen. “Ugh, it smells fucking amazing in here. Are you baking? Even on your day off? Jesus, what time did you wake up?”

You shrugged and looked back over your shoulder at her. “Yeah. You caught me.” You pointed to the counter where the loaves of sourdough sat cooling, moving aside so she could see them. “That’s what you’re smelling.”

She groaned and slumped against the doorframe. “Oh my god those look so good. It’s making me hungry.”

Laughing again, you pulled a serrated knife from the block on the counter. “You want a slice?”

Her eyes lit up as she stood straight. “Are you kidding? Hell yeah I do!” You smiled and turned to saw off a hunk, the knife’s teeth scraping at the thick outer crust before sinking into the soft center. “You know, nothing against Todd or Evelyn, but the bread from the bakery is so much better now that you’re working there.”

You chuckled, letting her compliment wash warmly over you. “Thanks, Ellie, I take my bread seriously so that means a lot to me.” You handed over the slice and she immediately took a bite.

“Fuck,” she groaned through a mouthful, eyes rolling closed as she chewed. “So damn good!”

“Good.” You wiped the blade off and sheathed it in the block again. “I haven't tried it yet, so thanks for helping out with quality assurance.”

“Literally anytime,” she said around another bite.

You smiled and already it was hard to imagine that you’d started that morning shaking and in tears. “Hey, if you’re not in a rush I’ll have even more to throw in your compost bucket if you can wait until I peel these carrots?” Picking up the peeler, you used it to gesture to the pile of vegetables on the cutting board.

She shrugged. “No rush. Peel away.” You nodded and went to work as Ellie leaned against the countertop on the other side of the sink. “So, can I ask you a question?”

You took a breath and considered the kind of question she might ask. “Um… sure.”

“You were a baker, like… before, right? That’s what Joel said, and I mean -” She held up the remainder of the sourdough slice as proof.

“I was.” You answered. “Had my own shop and everything.”

“Okay, so then… How did you not… I mean, fuck, how do I ask this?”

Turning in her direction you took a wild guess to help her out of her struggle. “How did I not become infected immediately since the initial cordyceps contamination was spread through flour?”

She held up one finger, slightly gaping mouth snapping shut. “Yes, exactly.”

You chuckled and went back to the carrots. “Mine was a little different from a regular bakery. I specialized in baking things for people with common food allergies. Eggs, wheat, dairy, things like that. So the flour I used came from a completely different source than…” You trailed off because you knew she got the picture.

“Huh. Do you have allergies? Is that why you decided to bake like that?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t. I had…” You swallowed. “I knew people who couldn’t eat certain things, so I did it for them.”

“Well…” She raised one scarred eyebrow. “I guess that was a good choice.”

Snorting, you nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

She pushed away from the counter and stepped closer to the refrigerator, her head tilting slightly to one side as something there caught her eye. The pictures. She’s looking at… Your grip on the peeler tightened, a pulse of panic seizing you at the thought that you might have to talk about your family. That was something you hadn’t done in a long time, something that you were still just on the cusp of readiness for. Hanging the photos up for your own eyes to see was one thing. You hadn’t thought about the prospect of others in your home seeing them, too. She’s gonna ask about-

“Hey, Joel has this same magnet.” Reaching out with her pointer finger, she tapped the one shaped like your new home state.

He… What? You let out a breath and set the peeler on the cutting board next to the pile of long orange carrot skin curls. The flash of panic turned to flurried confusion, Ellie’s comment catching you completely off guard. He took one, too? Clearing your throat, you prepared to respond when she spoke again, this time throwing something that looked like a smirk over her shoulder at you.

“What, were they on sale or something?” She tapped it again. “Buy one, get one- Oh, shit!”

The press of her finger must have shifted the magnet, freeing it from the pull that held it in place. You watched as she whipped her head back around and scrambled to try to catch not only the dislodged magnet, but also the picture that was stuck beneath it. She was only successful in saving one from the ground, though, juggling the plastic piece between both hands before closing it in one fist while the polaroid fluttered to the floor. Crouching down she snatched the picture up and reattached it to the door.

“Fuck! I’m sorry! It- I didn’t mean to…”

It was then, as she carefully put the photo back in its place, that you noticed the recognition on her face. Like she hadn’t even really seen the picture until that moment, hadn’t noticed anything beyond the familiar magnet. She went quiet, a sadness you wished she didn’t have to know creeping into her expression as she realized that none of the people standing next to you in the photo were there in Jackson with you now.

“Is this your family?” There was a hollow tone in her typically light and bubbly voice as she stared at the smiling faces on your refrigerator. Like she didn’t want to ask but felt some compulsion to know. Like she already knew but couldn’t keep the question on her tongue. Like she should have been able to do something to change the outcomes for the people you’d lost.

You recognized it right away and it broke your heart to see it in her, too. The guilt. The deep dark blues of surviving when everyone you loved was gone. When everyone everyone loved was gone. Oh, Ellie.

Though only moments before you felt panic at the prospect of talking about the people you lost, suddenly, when asked, you were filled with an overwhelming urge to tell her about them. To show her - and maybe yourself, too - that not every memory hurt. That most of them didn’t.

“Yeah,” you answered around a bittersweet smile. “It is. From about…” You hummed. “Fifteen years ago.” Wetting your lips and blinking back the stinging threat of tears, you stepped closer to where the girl stood. “That’s my-”

You stopped yourself because you didn’t want to choke on the word you were about to use. You’d never had to explain to anyone who Gavin was to you. For years, the only people who mattered had simply always known. But that’s not the case anymore, is it? Not if you truly were serious about trying to have a life here. Left hand coming up to touch the outline of your chain through your t-shirt, you took a breath and focused on his smile in the photo. Hey, handsome.

You cleared your throat and started over. “That’s my husband, Gavin.” You pressed the rings to your chest as you spoke his name. “And his sister, Laura.” Dropping your arm back to your side, you raised the opposite one to point at the little boy under the mess of curls that sat perched on Gavin’s shoulders. “And that’s Kyle, my nephew.”

She stayed quiet for a few seconds, looking at the faces of the people you’d just introduced her to as though committing them to memory. “They look…” She sniffed. “You all look happy there.”

She’s right. Despite the thick knot forming in your throat, you smiled. “Yeah.” Nodding, you looked down at her. “We were. Those were really good years.”

The girl looked back up at you, lips pulling to the side before curving back into a small smile. “I’m glad you had those.”

You took a breath, feeling somewhat lighter than you had in a long time even if it was a bittersweet lightness. “Yeah, me too.” Wetting your lips, you reached for the fridge handle. “Um, let me get those compost scraps for you, yeah?”

Ellie nodded, lifting one hand up to wipe quickly at her eye. “Yeah. I should get going.” She moved over to the counter and scooped your pile of carrot peels into the bucket, then turned back to let you dump the contents of your scrap jar in as well. “Dina and I are supposed to hit all the apartments on this side of town before noon, so…”

“So you better get moving, then,” you finished for her. “If I remember the schedule correctly, I think you and I have gate patrol on Wednesday night.” You winked. “I’ll make sure to bring snacks.”

She grinned, almost all of the sadness that had crept into her expression gone. “You’re the best.”

That made you laugh. “I’ll see you around, Ellie. Tell Dina I said hi.”

She told you that she would, adding that she was also going to tell her that she missed out on the best damn sourdough left in the world by choosing odd numbered apartments, which only made you laugh harder. Closing your door after her, you couldn’t help but think of what a kick Gavin would have gotten out of Ellie. She would have made you laugh, too, Gav.

Over the next hour you finished up the batch of muffins and cleaned the kitchen. Wrapping the two extra loaves in clean dish towels, you stuck them both in the canvas tote bag that you usually used to pick up your groceries from the general store. Once they’d cooled enough to handle, you did the same with the muffins, bundling them up and adding them to the bag.

That done, you decided to get yourself together, changing your flour streaked shirt for a fresh three-quarter sleeved one, and the sweats you were wearing for a pair of jeans. When you looked in the mirror you were hit by yet another change - you no longer had that lost, wild, withering look that you arrived with. Your eyes had more light in them and fewer bags beneath. Your cheeks were less hollow and the windburn on them was healing well. You looked more like yourself and less like a spectral waif using your name than you had in longer than you could remember. Not that it matters but… Your lips - no longer peeling and chapped - hitched into a small grin. Not terrible. You took a second to adjust your hair, tucking stray pieces into place, and then flipped the lightswitch and left the bathroom.

Grabbing your bag of baked goods from the kitchen, you shoved your feet into your boots and slipped your knife into place. Some things were unlikely to change after two decades of always needing to have a weapon on you, and you knew that it was the same for many other residents in town. Your gun, though, was left behind with your pack. Those items were reserved only for patrols, trail sweeps and supply runs. They had no place in your daily life anymore. Another small change.

There was still a lingering late spring chill in the air as you stepped outside your building, but the sun was shining unimpeded in the clear blue sky and you hummed as it warmed your skin. It’s beautiful out today. As you turned onto the main street you were met with the sounds of the town. Windchimes and laughter, barking dogs and the clang of metal on metal from the blacksmith’s shop, birdsong and conversation. It felt like the much more rural version of strolling through your neighborhood in Philly on your way to the farmer’s market that used to pop up in the park on Thursday and Sunday mornings. It made you wonder what it was like here twenty some years ago, and how different things were now.

The call of your name from somewhere to your right interrupted your thoughts before they could wander too far. You recognized the voice as you turned, eyes widening in surprise to see Joel Miller lifting one hand in greeting from the other side of the street. Oh. Hi. You stopped walking, raising your hand in a return wave and waiting for him to cross to your side.

As he did, you took a few seconds to let your eyes rake over him. He still wore a thin white bandage around his bicep, and it was visible beneath the short sleeves of his faded green t-shirt. As were his muscled arms, the warmer weather letting you see more of them than you had previously. His jeans were worn in but fit him well, the denim broken in to accommodate his movement perfectly. A toolbelt hung at his hips, hammer, tape measure, pliers and several screwdrivers attached to the loops or sticking out of the pouches. Right. He said he was in construction. You drew in a small breath as he came close enough that you could see the sunlight catching the silver in his hair. And then he smiled. Damn.

“Thought that was you,” he said as he took the last few steps to close the distance.

Forcing yourself to focus on the conversation at hand and not on how good he looked wearing a toolbelt, you smiled back at him. “You were right, it’s me.”

That earned you a small chuckle, Joel raising the same hand he’d flagged you down with to scratch at the back of his neck. “How are you doin’ today?”

You tipped your head back, closing your eyes and letting the sun hit your face before responding. “The sun is out and I have a bag full of bread and muffins.” Bringing your chin back down, you shrugged the shoulder that your bag was on. “So I’m doing great.” He didn’t need to hear about the nightmare that preceded the baking. “How are you?”

“A bag full of bread, huh?” He dropped his eyes to the goods and then brought them back up to yours. “Well I’m doin’ alright but not a bag of bread alright.”

You laughed and pulled one strap of the tote bag down, reaching inside. “I might be able to help with that.” Pulling out one of the muffins, you offered it to him. “Carrot muffin?”

He grinned as he took it from you. “If I ever say no to that question you’ll know there’s somethin’ wrong with me.” Nodding, he held your eyes for a second and the rush of warmth you felt had nothing to do with the sun. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Joel.” You cleared your throat and tilted your head in the direction you’d been walking in. “I was on my way to drop this off at the community center. Are you heading that way, too?”

“I am. Meetin’ up with Tommy’n a few others to do some roof repairs.” You both started walking again, once your mutual destination was established. “Figure by now we won’t be gettin’ anymore snow, so it’s a good time to get up there and poke around.”

You blew out a huff and shook your head. “The idea of snow in June or even April or May where I’m from is laughable. It’s probably 85 degrees in Philadelphia right now.”

Joel made a similar sound. “Snow at all is laughable where I’m from.” You figured he was from somewhere in the south due to the slight drawl in certain words that he said, but before you got the chance to ask where exactly, he took a bite of the muffin you gave him and groaned at the taste. “Christ, that’s good.”

Hoping you didn’t look as flustered as the sound of him groaning like that made you feel, you managed a smile. “Yeah?” He nodded, eyebrows drawn together in a serious expression as he chewed. “Good. You and Ellie make good taste testers, you know.” He tilted his head in question. “She stopped by my place this morning on her compost collection rounds.”

“Uh huh, and she weaseled baked goods outta you, did she?” He took another bite, the reaction smaller this time but still visible and still making your chest puff up just a little.

You shrugged. “She said she was hungry and she complimented my bread. What was I supposed to do?”

“That girl is always hungry,” he said with a roll of his eyes that you could tell was just for show. “And if compliments are all it takes then let me tell you again, this-” He held up the last bite of muffin. “- Is delicious.”

Letting a small laugh slip through your grin as you reached the community center, you turned to face him. “Well, thank you. If you like those, just wait until I get my hands on some apples or chokeberries.”

“Lookin’ forward to it.”

Just then Tommy appeared from behind the building with a ladder hoisted on one shoulder. He lifted his free hand to flag Joel down, calling out to him. “Waitin’ on you, big brother!”

Joel clicked his tongue and turned to lob his response in Tommy’s direction. “Hold your horses, will you?” He gestured at you with his hand. “Can’t you see I’m havin’ a conversation?”

“Yeah, I see.” The younger Miller tipped his chin in a nod and said your name. “Hope you’re havin’ a nice mornin’. Can you please send my brother up to the roof when he’s done yappin’ your ear off?”

You laughed at that, Joel’s grumbles only making you laugh harder. “Will do, Tommy,” you said with a wave of your own.

He grinned. “Thank you, ma’am. Take care now.”

You called a “You too!” back at him as he disappeared behind the building again, and then you turned to face Joel once more. “Sounds like you’re needed on the roof.”

Joel blew a huff through his nose and swatted his hand towards the roof. “He can wait a minute. I, uh…” He drew his hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask you if you’d want to come over for dinner some night this week.” What? He dropped his hand to his side again and you tried your hardest not to let the shock you felt at his question show on your face. “Just as a thank you for stitchin’ me up,” he added.

You blinked and took a breath, trying to process the offer he’d just made. Dinner. He’s inviting me to dinner? What is… “I…” You shook your head as though your brain was a magic eight ball and shaking it would prompt a valid response to come out of your mouth, but immediately regretted it from the way Joel’s lips turned downward. Shit, he thinks I’m saying no. “That… That sounds nice, Joel.” Your heart hammered at your ribs as his frown faded back into a relaxed smile. “What um… What day were you thinking? I have a gate patrol Wednesday night, but-”

“How’s Thursday, then?”

Wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue, you swallowed and nodded slowly. “Thursday works.” Joel’s smile spread a little wider, sending his cheeks up into his eyes and making the skin around them crinkle. “Can I bring anything, or-”

“Well I was raised to say no ma’am, just bring yourself,” he began, a mischievous glint brightening the depths of his eyes. “But I wouldn’t stop you from bringing something that you baked if you wanted to.”

You let out a small laugh. “Got it.”

“Alright then. Thursday it is.” He tilted his head towards the back of the community center, where the sound of the ladder being set up against the wall could be heard. “I better get up there ‘fore he has himself a conniption. You have a good day now.”

As he turned to go, you reached into your tote bag and pulled out another muffin. “Joel!” He spun back to face you and you tossed the muffin in his direction, leaving him to scramble to catch it in one large hand. “For Tommy. Maybe he’ll be less annoyed at you if you bring him food.”

He chuckled. “Maybe. See you around.”

With that he headed off to join his brother and you were left momentarily standing there unsure of what had just happened. I just… He just…

But then you heard the call of your name from the open door of the community center, and turned to see Maria grinning at you. “You comin’ in, or are you just going to watch my brother-in-law walk away?”

You could feel the heat spread through your cheeks at her words, and quickly stepped toward the door as she started to chuckle. “Sorry, yeah, I-”

“Hey,” she said, resting one hand on your shoulder. “I’m teasing.” She winked. “Besides, I think it’s great.”

You let out a sigh. “Maria, it’s just-”

“Just dinner, I know.” She nodded and held the door open for you to walk through it. “I still think it’s great.” The door clicked shut behind you and you sputtered for a response only for her to spare you the need to say anything more. “Anyway, what’s in the bag? You’re just in time for lunch prep.”

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know! You can also fill out the form on my masterlist!

Tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @amb11 @mindidjarin @jk7789 @tentacruels @cannedsoupsucks @harriedandharassed @marauderskeeper @joelmillerscoffee @woodlandmouth @swtaura @grfields @valkblue @sleepylunarwolf @stealyourblorbos @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @mumma-moonchild @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff @Noisynightmarepoetry @Severin-proud @jessthebaker @ael-xander @ashleyfilm

#survivor blues #the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller tlou #pedrostories #pedro pascal character #joel miller fic #tlou fic #survivor blues part 6: kitchen scraps #trigger warnings #tw trauma #tw nightmares

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jo-harrington · 4 months ago

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Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 9 - The Hideout

Summary: The end of an era...

Word Count: 739

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Time skip (sometime in the 90s), nostalgia, very little dialogue, the Hideout is a character on its own fight me.

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you didn’t start on Day 1, you can still join!

Tagging: @the-unforgivenn at her request.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Everyone in Hawkins figured it would only be a matter of time before the Hideout closed.

An old house-turned-bar with a handful of neon signs in the windows that Bev begrudgingly put up, and an old sign out by the road listing the specials of the week.

Old Style, PBR, Busch, Schlitz. All of the midwest staples.

It served as the watering hole for the blue-collar bums that had gotten off their shifts at the nearby plant for years. Little by little it lost its shine, what little of it there was, as the little industrial town became more, but it never gave up.

Now the house looked like just that...a house. With a hole in the roof, and some broken windows--whatever charm it had gone--thanks to an unexpected summer storm. And Bev decided to cut her losses instead of trying to fix it up.

Whether it would stay there or be demolished, no one knew for sure.

That was one of those midwest staples too...letting buildings and businesses and dreams die.

Wayne called when the news hit the paper.

"I know you're all big and important in Chicago now," he teased them. Their steady stream of gigs around the city and the reliable income as close to fame as a band could ask for short of a record deal. "But you might want to come back and pay your respects."

So that's what they did.

A five hour drive back to Hawkins with one rest stop along the way and a quick lunch at Wayne's...and then they were finally standing outside their old haunt.

"Always thought we'd come back here when we were famous," was said as feet shuffled on the gravel drive.

"Play one last show."

"To thank the town or something?"

"More like a big fuck you."

That got a laugh out of them, broke through the somber atmosphere.

Bev left the door unlocked; whether it was for them or because she didn't care or there wasn't anything of real value to steal, no one could be sure.

Maybe all of the above.

It was a mess inside, but it always had been a little messy.

Lived-in. That's what Eddie had told Ronnie and Dougie once upon a time, after he'd secured their first gig there.

Shit hole. That was another word for it.

Abandoned. That's what it was now. With broken bottles behind the bar and stools overturned and that little ramshackle stage made of two by fours in ruins.

"Actually, I think it always looked like that."

"God, we were lucky nobody ever broke a leg."

Eddie took a risk and jumped up on it, testing its mettle. It creaked but didn’t collapse. The old Munson Magic come to his aid for the first time ever.

He then took a bow to the meek applause of the handful of drunks that still resided in his memory. Their first crowd, their first fans.

He announced the band as he usually did, and then began playing air guitar, mouth providing the sounds the way the strings would.

Ozzy. Crazy Train. The first song the four of them covered during their first performance together at the Hideout.

Jeff joined shortly after with his own air guitar, harmonizing.

Then Dave with the bass, deep rumbles in his chest.

And finally Gareth drumming on the old bar top, a mixture of hands and fists to create variations in sound.

“I’m going off the rails on a Crazy Train!” They all sang together at the end of the pseudo performance, before breaking down in claps and laughter.

They found an old Polaroid in the back. A group shot of them with Bev, their faces blurry but hers stock still…grumpy as ever with a fondness in her eyes nonetheless.

None of them remember taking it but it exists, and it gets tucked into Jeff’s back pocket to put with the rest of their momentos. Future pieces of history that would go into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

“You’re dreaming too big now. In over your head.”

“Look where we started. We have to dream big.”

“Shoot for the moon so you land among the stars or some shit like that.”

”Alright Shakespeare.”

Before they knew it, they'd been there for hours and it was time to say goodbye. They filed out, each rapping a fist on some door or wall, a knock on wood for luck, a final farewell.

A final thank you to the Hideout.

You’ve been great.

#corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #jeff stranger things #gareth stranger things #stranger things fic #Corroded coffin fest

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atomicladytimetravel · 1 year ago

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If It’s Wrong, I Don’t Want to be Right Part 2 - Brat (continued)

Summary: You and Joel get downright nasty. No plot really, just smut. MDNI. 18+ ONLY.

Sir!kink, squirting, use of slut/whore, dirty talk, multiple orgasms. Not sure of the word count because I wrote this on my phone.

You made the most of the four hours you had on duty with Joel, making sure he would keep good on his promise to ruin you later. You had taken your panties off after he left and upon entering the stables, you stuffed them in the pocket of his jeans. He looked at you curiously and pulled them back out.

“Oh-ho, you naughty fucking thing,” he said, smacking your ass as you walked by him. He tucked the panties back in his pocket. “If we had time I’d fuck you right here.”

“One day,” you promised with a smirk as you mounted your horse. “Never fucked in a stable before, but I’ll try anything once.”

“If you don’t stop talking, we’re never gonna make it to patrol.”

You made it to the patrol station, but it was a long four hours. You teased each other relentlessly. Joel actually smiled at you a few times and when he smiled…oh god. You took your job seriously but you were ready to throw caution to the wind and have him take you right then and there.

Finally, after what felt like four days instead of four hours, you were back in the stables putting the horses to bed. The two of you snuck back to your house like a couple of teenagers who were out past curfew. As soon as the door closed you were on each other, hands flying to take off your clothes.

By the time your back hit the mattress, you were both completely naked. He pressed hot, open mouthed kisses to your neck down to your clavicle before admiring your breasts.

“Fuck,” he said, squeezing them together. “Look at these pretty fucking tits.”

He ran his thumbs over your nipples and they hardened instantly. He put one of the buds in his mouth and sucked, making you moan.

“Joel, we’ve been teasing each other all night,” you whined. “I need something.”

“What do you need sugar?” he grinned. “Use your words.”

“Touch me Joel. Touch my pussy,” you purred.

“Atta girl,” he smirked. He put his hand between the two of you, using two fingers to rub circles on your clit.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet. Is that all for me?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” you breathed.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised. “Callin’ me sir. You know who’s in charge, don’t you?”

“Yes sir,” you repeated. He slid his two fingers inside you and rubbed your clit with his thumb. You bucked your hips into his hand, whimpering at the sensation. He sped up and hit that spot inside of you that made your eyes roll back.

“Oh god don’t fucking stop,” you moaned.

“Yeah? That feel good sugar?”

“Yes sir, feels so fucking good,” you mewled.

“I’m gonna make you cum and then I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he whispered in your ear. His whisper sent shivers down your spine and only added fuel to the fire in your belly. It wasn’t long before you were unraveling underneath him, hips coming up off the bed. A strangled moan fell from your lips as your body was wracked with your orgasm.

“That’s it doll, cum for me,” he cooed. “So fucking hot when you’re cumming all over my fingers.”

He pulled his fingers out slowly and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean.

“And you taste good, too,” he winked. “Turn over, get on those knees.”

You obeyed and flipped onto your hands and knees. He rubbed his hands over both your ass cheeks and squeezed appreciatively.

“Pretty tits, pretty ass,” he praised. “Wish I had a fucking camera.”

“Yeah? You want to keep me as spank bank?” you teased, wiggling your ass at him playfully. Little did he know you had a camera, one of those Polaroids that spit the photo out of the front. You’d found it a long time ago before you got to Jackson. That would be a surprise for later.

“I don’t know if I’d be able to keep my hands off my dick” he admitted. He teased your hole with his tip. “But I could just come over here and use your pussy instead of my hand.”

You gasped when he pushed into you without warning. He grunted at the feeling of you stretched tight around him. He pulled almost all the way out before sliding back in slowly. Your fingers twisted into the sheets and you moaned into your pillow.

“Fuck, you’re so tight darlin,” he groaned. He grabbed your hips and pulled them back, burying himself deep inside you.

“Oh god!” you cried, grinding your hips against him. “That feels so fucking good.”

He pulled out slowly and moaned as he watched his cock disappear back into your pussy. He took his time at first, fucking you slowly so he could relish in the feeling of finally being inside you. Every time he pushed back in, the tip of his cock brushed your g-spot.

“Please keep fucking me just like that,” you breathed.

“Don’t worry darlin’, I plan on making you cum just like this. Then I’m gonna ruin you, like I promised.”

You whimpered at his reply. If it felt that good at a slow pace, you could only imagine what you were in for. No man had ever had you approaching an orgasm that quickly.

“Fuck sugar, your little pussy is getting so wet around my cock,” he moaned. You like how I’m fucking you, huh?”

“Y-yes sir, your cock feels so good. Gonna make me cum soon.”

“God damn darlin’, we’ve barely started. Is that needy little pussy ready to cum for me already?” He sounded pleasantly surprised and a little cocky.

“Yes sir, need to cum so bad,” you whined. He fucked you at the same slow pace, but his thrusts became slightly harder.

“Cum all over my cock sugar. Then I’m gonna make you cum again, and again, and again.” He thrust his hips with every “again” and on the last one, you came around him without warning.

“Fuck I’m cumming,” you panted. “Oh god yes I’m fucking cumming.”

“That’s it, cum for me like a good girl.” You moaned his name over and over as he continued fucking you through your orgasm. He hooked his forearms under your arms and pulled you up so that your back was to his chest.

“You came so good, huh?” he rumbled in your ear. “Fuck, you’ll be lucky if you can walk when I’m done with this pussy.” He played with your nipples with one hand and slid the other between your legs to rub your clit. He was thrusting faster now and with more force and all you could do was babble about how good he felt. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged. He kept it pulled taught while he fucked you and he nibbled at the exposed flesh of your neck.

“I’m gonna cum again,” you panted as you felt your second orgasm approaching. You felt a familiar sensation that you’ve only ever been able to achieve by yourself and you knew what was coming.

“Pull out, I’m gonna fucking squirt.”

He pulled out quickly but kept rubbing your clit furiously. You came hard, crying out his name and gushing liquid into a puddle underneath you.

“Holy shit. Look at the mess you made.” His voice was rough and dripping with sex. You needed him back inside you.

“Put it back in me Joel. Need to feel you inside me again,” you whined. He flipped you on your back and grabbed his cock, rubbing it between your folds.

“You want my cock again?” he teased, rubbing your clit with his tip. “You wanna make another mess for me?”

“Yes sir, I need it, please fuck me,” you begged. He smirked.

“Listen to you begging for my cock, dirty little slut.” He pushed back into you and you both moaned in satisfaction. He pounded into you and the sound of your wetness filled the room.

“Rub your clit for me,” he instructed. You reached between the two of you and circled your sensitive clit with your middle finger.

“Choke me,” you panted. “Please.”

“Oh you like that huh? You like it rough, you fucking whore?” He spoke through clenched teeth.

“Yes sir.” He put a hand to your throat and squeezed.

“Oh god,” you squeaked out. It didn’t take long for your legs to start shaking with pleasure. Your orgasm came fast and it hit you like a freight train.

“Out,” was all you could manage to say. You pushed on his abdomen and he pulled out and watched in awe as you squirted all over him and the bed. Your mouth opened in a silent scream and your eyes rolled back. He didn’t wait for you to ask him to put it back in; he couldn’t. He slammed back into you and fucked you fast and hard.

“Can you give me another one? Cum for me one more time sugar. I want you to be fucking spent. I want my cock to be the only

thing you think about for days.”

“Oh fuck yes, make me cum again Joel.” You rubbed your clit in quick circles and bucked your hips up to meet his. He was fucking you so good. You were dizzy with pleasure and incoherent whimpering was all you could manage.

“Oh fuck yeah, listen to those noises. Am I fucking you so stupid you can’t even form a sentence?” he growled.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Yes what?” he hissed.

“Yes sir!” He put one of your legs over his shoulder and used his thumb to rub your clit.

“Cum for me one more time pretty girl. Give me that fucking cum.” You obeyed him, almost immediately. He pulled out and you gushed for him again while you watched him jerk his cock. He came with a loud grunt, cum splashing all over your chest.

He collapsed by your side and the two of you lay there breathing heavily for a few moments.

“Holy shit,” he panted, breaking the silence. “I haven’t fucked like that in a long time.” He looked over at you curiously. “Did you know you could squirt?”

“I’ve made myself do it a couple of times but you’re the first guy that’s ever been able to. It was a pleasant surprise for both of us.”

“I’m honored,” he grinned cockily. The two of you laid there in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“I’m gonna go home and shower and hit the sack. I’m fucking exhausted now.”

You laid there and watched him dress, too fucked out to actually move.

“Same here, I can’t move. I’ll just die here,” you chuckled. He finished getting dressed and turned to you with a smirk.

“You better rest up, brat. I’m gonna want to do this again.”

#joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction

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