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measuringbliss · 5 months ago

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Spider-Man Read-Through 071 Nothing Can Stop The Juggernaut (ASM 229-232, Ann 16, Savage Land)

MASTERPOST

In this post, villains are gay, heroes are gay, everybody's gay!

PLUS...

Captain Marvel's arrival in Marvel comics!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So in ASM 229, Madame Web dreams of her own death and subsequently calls Peter to ask him to save her.

Meanwhile, Black Tom Cassidy and the Juggernaut explain to the reader that they're after her because of her psychic powers, which could very well help them defeat the X-Men.

Oh... Hello, Tom... *blushes*

Ahem. At the Bugle...

I'm always glad to see Gloria Grant!

Robbie tells Peter that Lance Bannon takes all pics assignments! What a meanie.

HAHAHA. Was that a dig? Girl, you really shouldn't say anything.

She's been seeing a marriage counselor with Ned, but she's also looking for work and Robbie's more than eager to welcome her as his secretary. Betty takes the time to thank Peter for bringing some sense into her the last time they saw each other, then Madame Web calls Peter to give him information about his target.

I love that panel.

Spidey's attempt to stop the Juggernaut is a complete failure. Admitting his defeat, he tells Madame Web (who calls him once more) to call the Avengers or the Fantastic Four for help, but they're unavailable. In Dr. Strange's office, next to Wong, Spidey learns the X-Men aren't available either.

Even Keating's police forces can't harm the Juggernaut. He eventually reaches Madame Web's room and takes her out of her life support chair. She immediately collapses, and the Juggernaut surmises that in that state, she's of no use to him. He leaves, and Spidey does CPR on Madame Web while waiting for help.

The issue ends with Peter wanting revenge...

Iconic issue for reasons that are easy to see. It's a good one, for sure!

In #230, Spidey's pursuit of the Juggernaut continues.

Meanwhile, Betty and Gloria get along really well, then...

Oooh!

Anyway:

Oh.

Love the first panel and also, wow. Alright, sir.

Things get kinky.

Spidey successfully leads the Juggernaut into cement, and the villain falls down, swearing he'll get his revenge. This... is a bit dark, innit?

Peter gives his photo to the Bugle and runs to see Madame Web.

Oh. Uh, I'm not fond of that development. I hope her amnesia is temporary...

At the pier, Black Tom observes...

That's a nice ending. Interesting set of issues.

In #231, the Cobra steals stuff and Peter gives us an elaborate explanation for the lack of web under his arms (and their return this very issue!).

Sure.

At the Pier, the Juggernaut breaks free. As for the Bugle, Ned Leeds is back too! Jameson called him to investigate the Brand corporation (which was linked to the Killer Shrike in SSM).

Betty's worried about Ned's appointment in the underworld, though, so she calls Peter through Debra Whitman. The issue takes this opportunity to remind the reader that she suspects Peter of being Spidey! I'd forgotten about that myself, to be honest.

Peter kind of has a fuckboy vibe in the left panel...

The Peter-Hochberg experiment is successful, and Peter immediately goes out as Spidey.

In a seedy bar, Marla and Ned find Nose, a anti-smoking walking advertisement, and the Cobra panics because he thinks Nose will sell him out. "Talking to reporters about us?" asks the Cobra. Not very straight of him. Spidey arrives, there's a fight, the Cobra tries to shoot Nose but Ned jumps in front of him to protect him.

This is really gay. I ship it, but then again, I've been shipping Peter and Ned since I was a child and read the years 1973-1975.

Whaaat is this foreplay between Spidey and Ned this issue? Am I the only one seeing it?

Anyway, suddenly a house almost kills Peter.

Jesus Christ.

It's not the Juggernaut, but Mr Hyde (whose appearance was foreshadowed in a previous issue)! He's quite ugly.

ASM 232: Mr. Hyde wants to get his old partner, the Cobra, back, and Ned, Marla and Lance get tangled up in that somehow.

I like Lance, for what's worth.

Spidey doesn't have as much patience as me, obviously.

In the end, Hyde gets away with the Cobra and Peter comes back to ESU.

Will we stop seeing them? I don't think I'm ready for that. It's sad...

It's interesting that after Stern takes over, Peter stops being a TA.

GORGEOUS RIGHT PANEL WHAT THE FUCK.

Marcy really wants to talk to Peter for a sec, but he's busy as usual and disappears. This is why you can't have friends, Peter!

I'm gonna cry, but admittedly that might be because I'm drunk reviewing this issue, like, a full month after the rest of this post. I missed these guys. "Good luck, Peter"...

Hyde is an interesting villain. Both halves need each other, but the terrible part hates its less terrible half.

Anyway, Spidey fights our antagonist.

Nice panel on the right. Hyde is stopped, and...

...Is this the first time we see blood in these comics? It feels strange, out of place. What the heck.

The next issue features the Tarantula (yay!!) but we're not going to see that right now.

Let's check out ASM Annual 16. Waiting for the bus to join Harry and Liz, Peter has a funny feeling about a gorgeous Black lady... who soon appears to be one Captain Marvel.

Flashback time! A friend of Monica Rambeau's grandfather went to the trouble of finding her. He planned to harness energy from other dimensions, but a dictator wants to use his knowledge for his own designs.

The place so happens to belong to Roxxon, which is a name that appeared quite a lot of time recently!

Monica's backstory is nice, but we soon get back to the present, where Spidey has to beg a child (whose parents think Spidey is "a hoax of eastern establishment") to give him a penny to... Whatever.

Captain Marvel's at the Baxter Building and meets The Thing, then she goes to the Avengers manor. A few jokes are made about how she's not related to the previous Captain Marvel, and Iron Man, the Wasp and Spidey successfully help her not erase New York from Earth with the interdimensional energy she absorbed in her flashback.

This is really cute. And then...

🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

It feels so nice to see them again, and to see handsome Pete again (he's such a snack), and to see all of them happy! I just had to put the full page here 🥰

After that, there's a whole Savage Lands saga. I skimmed through it. Let's just... forget about it hahaha

(well, the men in skimpy clothes were a nice feature I'll say)

#peter parker/ned leeds #peter parker #spider-man #comics #comic books #monica rambeau #captain marvel #harry osborn #liz allan

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gaymormonmike · 1 year ago

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MARGINALIZED

My focus recently has been on my marginalization as a gay, divorced, single man in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I had an insight last week as I studied scriptures and pondered and prayed about marginalization in general.

What does it mean if someone is marginalized?

Today, marginalize refers to the act of treating a person or group as though they are insignificant by isolating and/or disempowering them. The term marginalized applies to the person or group that is treated insignificantly, pushed to the margins of society and rendered powerless. Marginalization is the result of discrimination. Discrimination exists in many forms, such as racism, sexism, ableism, ageism, homophobia and xenophobia. Whether or not the discrimination is overt or covert, it marginalizes others and that is unacceptable.

As I thought about that some insights came to mind.

I was a small child marginalized in many ways. I was a Highly Sensitive Person in a family that did not like a HSP boy. I had a father who wanted a boy like his ideal, the man he never was. I grew up early, knowing I was not acceptable, something was wrong in me. I lived in the ghetto of a small Midwestern town. That side of town was regarded as trash. Child abuse was common and just part of life. We did not know any different. I went into a profession, Registered Nurse, dominated by females. Once again, I was marginalized as a "male nurse." When I was 13, I understood I was attracted to my male friends. I knew that was wrong and I felt so different and so alone and so marginalized. After I joined the LDS church, I accepted that my sexual orientation was a sin that would result in eternal punishment, and I fought against it so hard. I got married, had children and grandchildren and tried to be happy. I was on the outer edge, and I was a man divided against himself.

As I think about the members of my ward and the many good people who pursue being good, I wonder how many of them are marginalized in some aspect. Maybe they all fall into some marginalized group.

LBGTQA+ and allies

People of color

People of African American descent with family history of slavery

People of religious groups who may not be in favor for various reasons, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, Mormons, Catholics, Jehovah Witnesses, Snake Baptists, Holy Rollers, Whirlimng Dervishes, etc. etc.

People raised in the wrong part of town.

Single parents, Orphans, Adoptees, Adopted parents, childless parents,

Shamed, self-loathers, want to be someone else’s,

People who project onto others, those projected on, those who use transference to defend themselves,

Married people, teen-agers, pre-teenagers,

People who went to schools that were not the best, community colleges, virtual colleges, home schooled, schools dominated by non-white races.

Latino people, pickers, illegal aliens, people with foreign accents that are not desirable,

People with everyday jobs, housekeepers, hotel cleaners, waiters and waitresses, sewer workers, garbage collectors, used car salesman, scammers, phone solicitors.

People with smelly homes, broken down porches with appliances and furniture on them, uncared for yards.

People with dirty children in bare feet and dirty clothes

Appalachians, hillbillys, southerners, racists, bigots, nazis, KKK, Haters,

women, girls,

Fat people, people with glasses, ugly people, people who spit in public,

Bullies, fighters, controllers, get their wayers

Abusers, sexual, emotional, physical abusers, their victims their survivors

Criminals, jail birds, cons, ex-cons, police, fireman, law enforcement

Lawyers, doctors, nurses,

Republicans, Democrats, Conservatives, Liberals, Communists, Fascists, Libertarians

Rich people, people with no worries or cares or need to help.

People of privilege who can have everything they want.

People who like snakes and lizards

People with odd looking hair, dyed or long or wild or standing up or part shaved, or all shaved or just different

People who are animals, dogs, cats, deer, pigs

People from Poland, Russia, Mexico, China, Asia, people with slanty eyes, with red dots on their foreheads, Muslims, people with turbans, women covered with burkas,

Blondes, especially female

Single people, unmarried, divorced, windowed,

People addicted to drugs, alcohol, pornography, sex, working out,

Lovers of fame, fortune, liars, thieves, politicians,

Heart breakers, non- committers, seducers, pedophiles, enticers, embracers, touchers, feelers,

Homeless people, beggars, street people, shopping cart people.

Atheists, Agnostics, God haters and profaners,

People who believe they are saved, condemners, better than thouers, people who know it all, prideful people.

Have I left anybody out? Or have I failed to insult you or the group you align yourself with? Or the group you want to forget you ever were a part of? Or the group you are happy to be a part of and do not appreciate being lumped into here?

I also fear that we will compare who has it worse. I say that each situation, whether of our making or by our birth or others’ choices, are legitimate. I have heard or read of thousands who had it worse than me. It did not take away my issues and what I go through. Your trials and tribulations and joys are yours and deserve the same reverence and respect of all others.

These words cannot define or describe the people they may represent. They cannot be equal in their results or effects. First there is the person who experiences these words in their lives. Each is different and unique and deals with a myriad of ways.. Some can turn these experiences into stellar personality adaptations. The environment that you grow up in and the attitudes of those who influence you can change the effect of these situations. They can become a reason to overcome or a reason to despair. Your faith can change how you view life, and its' vagaries can change the outcomes. The options you have or the perceived options you have can change how you react to all situations. The intensity of the experience and its effects on you can vary greatly. It is true that some of these are a result of things you cannot control or change. Others have the potential to be choices that you can control or change. But to some degree we all have traits or situations that others judge, feel superior to or dislike enough to not want to acknowledge your worth or value. If we examine ourselves, we will find we are both victims of and people who sometimes, marginalize others.

My question is how any of us can feel superior or look down on anyone else, when we are all in some way marginalized people?

I am a strong believer in Heavenly Father and Mother and my Savior Jesus Christ. I attest that he made all of us, everyone on the lists above. He loves us fully and completely as we are. He wants us to be better, but He loves us with our faults and offers a way back home to His side. Many of the people I listed above are people that I am either a part of or have judged in my life. I seek to be a better man, a better queer man, a better Christ-like man by realizing that the people at church and in my social sphere that marginalize me are themselves marginalized in some capacity. My goal is to help us all see that and accept that we can love one another because we are different and we have incredible stories and incredible pasts and that we can all become more loving, accepting and affirming.

#queerstake #lds #Mormon #marginalized

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letterstokittyann · 1 year ago

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My dear square head Kitty Ann,

It has been almost a year since we first met. I never expected our relationship to develop to what it is today, and I feel very fortunate to have met you. You are genuine, kind and very sweet. I do not feel this way about another girl.

With you, I feel very happy and free to be myself. I do not like this world with all its evil, ugliness and imperfections. With you, I feel like I can escape from the real world into another world where I feel happy. All my relationships have always been cut short and never worked out, and no other girl in my life has felt the way you feel about me. No one else has shown the kind of appreciation, care and love that you have shown to me. This is something very precious and rare for me. It is not every day that I meet someone like you. I am very thankful for this, and I want to cherish you. You are someone who is special to me.

When I was alone and not in a relationship, I only needed to care for myself and live life in my own way. But once you entered my life, I have a reason to learn to be more responsible and considerate, to accommodate one important person in my life. You have given me a reason to want to be better, to have something to fight for, to live with more purpose, to grow up and mature as a person. Every man wants to be a hero to somebody, to feel like he matters to somebody. And I want to be a hero to you.

Sometimes when I think of you, I feel happy and sad at the same time, and I cry a little bit. I cry, because I feel happy. I cry, because I feel sad that I miss you. I cry, because I feel sad that this relationship is unfair to you, as I am not there with you more often and not able to give you the relationship that you should have. Sometimes, I wonder if I am the right person for you, because it can feel very difficult to be far away and not seeing me most of the time. I cry, also because I am afraid that something unexpected might happen that cause the relationship to be more difficult or not work out even if I try my best to fight for it.

As I have mentioned before, the most important concern for me is whether our beliefs about the big things in life will become misaligned and cause our relationship to have strains and conflicts. And to me, the biggest thing in life is Jesus Christ.

I have not mentioned to you this before. In Christian belief, it is a sin and disobedience to God for a Christian to marry or be intimate with a non-Christian. I was not doing the right thing in God’s eyes when I asked you out on Tinder and wanted to flirt with you, because you were not a believer of Jesus Christ back then. This is not your fault, this is entirely my wrongdoing. As a Christian, I am very far from perfect and still very sinful. I am not a good Christian in some ways. In general, I still want to follow Jesus and obey Him, because I believe the gospel to be real and I know that that I need Jesus in my life. But sometimes, I am weak and still sin and fall to temptation. But even though I regret disobeying God, I do not regret meeting you and knowing you. Our first meeting happened because I chose to sin, but it can never change the fact that I found a wonderful person like you who has made me so much happier.

I am also afraid to share our real story to my church leader. I have only told him part of the story, and I was not entirely honest with him. I am afraid that if I reveal everything, he might advise me to end our relationship. I cannot bear to disappoint you and break your heart. I really want our relationship to work out, for it to be the last relationship for you and me. Also, I have observed that church leaders are also far from perfect and make many mistakes and give unwise advice that spoil people’s relationships. This also makes me unwilling to share very honestly and openly to my church leader. In my heart, I actually wish that he will not ask so many questions and be ok for me to continue our relationship. Church leader cannot force me to do anything, but I will find myself in a difficult situation if he says “I think it is better for you to end this relationship” and I go against his advice. In my heart, I know I want to continue this relationship and get married and be happy. I am fighting to make it happen.

It is no problem and perfect if you continue to believe the gospel, continue to learn and follow Jesus Christ more and more. Ideally, if I am lucky, you will become a partner who encourages me to believe and follow Jesus Christ, and able to know the Bible well enough to advise me using God’s word. But this is only my dream and preferred outcome, nobody can guarantee that it will happen. I can only hope that this will be the outcome. As you learn more and more, you might agree, you might disagree, you might choose to follow Jesus Christ more, or you might choose to live life your own way. No matter what, I want you to be true to your heart.

There is so much that I want to say to you about Jesus Christ and Christianity, to tell you about what the Bible says, and help you understand. But I cannot rush the growth and learning. Learning and growing needs to take its natural progression. It will not be right for me to apply pressure, and try to push you to very quickly believe what I believe. I did not want to tell you this from the start, because that might feel like I am giving you pressure to believe without thinking through. I also don’t want the relationship to be the motivation to believe, because that will not be genuine. There is a conflict of interest, because we are in a relationship. I know you mentioned that you are an independent thinker, and you want to make your own decisions. I agree with you, and I am happy that you think that way. I want you to be true to yourself always be genuine.

I think the most important thing is be open to changing your mind, and be teachable and available to learn about God. The truth is, some Christians might appear to be very strong in their beliefs and seem to be doing all the right things outwardly. But the Bible also says that such people might be proud and unteachable and that is sin in God’s opinion. The fact is, there is not such thing as a strong Christian or a weak Christian. Every Christian is weak. What makes a Christian one that God approves is about being teachable and available and willing to understand. This is why a new believer can be seen by God as a better Christian than a very experienced believer.

Since you believe the gospel and accepted Jesus Christ as your Saviour, you are already a Christian. Jesus Christ does not just want to be your Saviour, He also wants to be your Lord and King. He wants to be your Master, not because he needs to feel good about himself, but because this is the best thing for you. As the Creator who knows everything, God knows what is good for us. Some things might feel strange to follow, but as you know God more and more, I think that things will begin to make space. It will not always be easy, but it will be worth it. You should have your time and space to understand more about Christianity, to ask questions and find answers, to think through how God wants you to live, to grow to be convinced in your heart and mind. You will also have your struggles and challenges that you face. Every Christian has their own journey, and you need to have your own personal journey. I believe that you can do it, not because you are able, but because God is able. If God has chosen you, He will help you overcome sin and change and complete His work in you. He is God, He is absolutely powerful and will have His way.

You asked whether it will be a problem if your level of belief is different from mine, or if you are not as committed to Christianity as I am. My answer is, there is a possibility, there is a risk. But conversely, some differences in beliefs is also a common thing, No two people will be in complete agreement, every one is different. Even Christian couples also have differences in beliefs, or don’t feel the same passion about the same things. One might feel very strongly about one thing and not so strongly about another thing, while the other person could be the opposite. It can happen. It is for the couple to work things out and find solutions or compromises. I think the relationship only becomes a major problem if one or two of us decide to purposely go against God’s commands or instructions.

I don't know what the future will be like, how things will turn out. I only know that I want to make our relationship work. And I hope that in time to come, Jesus Christ can be at the center of our relationship as well, because that will be the best.

Love, Corgi

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sparklingsin · 2 years ago

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— say you want me too | robin buckley

+ robin buckley x fem!reader

summary: "are you really that oblivious?" in which robin thinks the reader is straight, when she's definitely not. [requested by @taylorsmylover]

tags: just fluff, getting together, robin pov, confident reader

a/n: first robin fic! i love her sm. yes, this fic is inspired by that popular girl applying makeup on another girl meme. hope you enjoy reading it! feedback is appreciated. <3

Robin thumps her head against the side of the giant shelf. A couple of tapes come tumbling down from the top and Steve, who had been casually leaning against the opposite wall, scowls at her in distaste.

"Ugh. I wish she would look at me like that," Robin whisper-sings, feigning ignorance about the tapes. Her gaze is hooked on you, talking to a random blond, leaning casually across the counter. Your lips are stretched into a toothy smile and Robin can't help but think you might be in the middle of flirting.

Steve groans loudly, moving to pick up the fallen tapes.

"Jesus Christ, this again. She does, Robs! You're just never looking at her when she is."

Robin watches as you laugh coyly at something the guy says.

"She likes guys, Steve," Robin says, like a mantra at this point, trying to get herself to move on. You like guys. You like guys. You like guys. Boys. Men. Not girls. Not women.

Certainly not her.

"So? She could like girls too," Steve argues. The pile of tapes in his hand is high but Robin makes no effort to help.

"Ya know, she's always wearing that shirt you complimented that one time."

So not true. But, admittedly, you are wearing it right now. It's a bright orange top, with faded hems and a slightly scandalous neckline but Robin loves how it brings out your eyes.

God, you're biting your lip now and Robin has never felt such privation before.

"Shut up," she mumbles, spellbound by your laughter. "It's just coincidence. Happenstance. Yesterday, she was wearing that pink dress that makes her look like a pr—"

"Yeah, yeah we know you're in love but then explain why she made a face when you asked if I could tag along for your night out?" Steve questions and Robin opens her mouth before shutting it in response.

Steve smiles smugly. Too soon.

"Maybe she doesn't like you. Lot of people don't like you, you ever think about that, huh, Harrington?" Robin disses and the smirk on Steve's mouth fades.

"Well. You like me," he counters.

Robin shrugs, turning back to look at you once more. You're patting the dude's shoulder and ugly, ugly envy trickles down her chest.

"Anyway," Steve hisses, "She made a face 'cause she wanted it to be just the two of you. Take a fucking hint."

Robin doesn't have time to respond, because the blond man has already left and you're now making a beeline right to her.

"Hey Robin, Steve," you say, still smiling cheerfully. Much like the radiant sun, your presence warms her skin. Robin can feel her body start to tingle like it has been doing lately, every time you are in her vicinity.

"So... I just wanted to ask if we're on for tonight still?" you ask, looking in between them both and Steve turns to Robin, waiting for her to answer.

Robin's lips seem to be sealed shut and Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah w—"

"A-about that," Robin shuts him off loudly, suddenly finding her voice, and you blink back, surprised. "Sorry— er, Steve's not going to be able to make it actually," she continues, lowering her voice and wringing her hands.

"I'm not?" Steve asks just as you say, "He's not?" and you look between the two of them again, clearly confused.

Robin and Steve exchange quick glances. He sighs, something passing over his features.

"I'm not, yeah— I've got this... thing—" Robin shoots him a look, "I've got to babysit my kid's sister— er I mean my sister's kid. So I won't be able to come, sorry."

You look between the two of them, before shaking your head slowly.

"Um, sure okay," you say pressing your lips into a thin line and then turn to Robin. "I'll see you at my place at eight then?"

Robin nods, smiling in a way that she hopes isn't creepy but the look on your face says otherwise. You nod then, excusing yourself from the two of them.

Only once you leave does Robin realise that she'd been holding her breath all this while and lets go, sagging against the shelf.

"My kid's sister, Steve?" she asks wearily.

Her best friend makes a face at her. "So I fumbled. Big deal. I was just taken aback. A little heads up would be nice next time," he replies defensively.

Robin drags her hands down her face in exasperation.

Maybe they really are fated to be alone forever.

"But— you don't even have a sister!"

***

It is entirely plausible that Robin's a little too obsessed with you for her own good. She spends half an hour solely on deciding what to wear, settling on black jeans and a tank top in the end; fifteen minutes doing her hair only to get frustrated and let it down as is and then another ten minutes outside your door, scouting for the courage to ring the doorbell.

All the dilly-dallying proves to be worth it, however, because she's finally in your room, sitting on your bed as you stand beside it, hands on hips and deep in thought. You're wearing a cute crop top that says "Filthy Animal" over teeny jeans shorts, your lipstick a shade of red that she can't help but think would look lovely on her own skin.

Now, maybe, Robin is setting herself up to get a massive heartbreak when she (inevitably) finds out that you're not into her but that doesn't mean she's going to think rationally and pass up on the opportunity to hang out with you.

It simply isn't her style.

"I think this is closer to your style," you say, handing her a black dress with long bell sleeves. Robin does think it's pretty but she's never worn anything other than jeans and overalls before.

"You really think this'll fit me?" she asks.

"My sister's the same size as you, hon'. It's gunna fit."

Robin shrugs, rising to stand up from the bed.

"Wait!" you shout, gently shoving her shoulder to stop her from getting up.

"Not that you don't look absolutely beautiful without it," you say nonchalantly, reaching for a large box on your dressing table, "I really want to do your make-up."

Robin only absently agrees to the last part because her brain stopped listening the moment you called her absolutely beautiful. Beautiful. You called Robin beautiful.

Her brain barely catches up from it's derailing before you're whipping out foundation and brushes and Robin has to shake herself to the present.

"Whoa, whoa. I've never done this before," she says and a grin tugs at your lips that makes her insides warm.

"I'd pictured you saying that in a different setting, but we'll make do," you quip and Robin's brain just about shuts down. For the first time in ever, Robin can't think of words. Whatever the hell do you even mean? Did she hear you right?

"Okay. Why don't you lean back down so I can do your eye make up better?"

Robin's brain is having a hard time coping with everything that's happening. Her hands pushes her back onto your bed on their own accord, resting half her back and head on a pillow. She watches, with bated breath, as you climb onto the bed and crawl over her. You place your knees on either side of her, brushes in hand and lean over.

You're just barely hovering over her, not quite sitting, but Robin just about dies. You pick the eye-shadow with the brush and softly ask her to close her eyes.

Robin thinks she might combust.

Your warm breath fans her face as you gently dab the powder onto her eyelids, painting out the corners and the outer wing.

"What do you think about red?" you ask, voice lower than usual and Robin struggles to figure out what you're talking about.

"Like, the color?"

You chuckle. "Yeah, the color."

"I like it. It's the color of so many of my favorite things. Steve's car, a bag I bought in high-school, this old book I have from when I was a child. My mom's purse, the color of your lipstick and—" she bites her lip.

It was better when she didn't have words to say.

You continue to dab the eye-shadow on the other eye. Robin thinks this might be where you might call everything off, you might end your friendship with her.

"You like the color of my lipstick?"

Something faint blooms in Robin's chest. A wet tip presses against her eyelid— eye-liner.

"Yeah, it's— it's uh. It's a pretty shade." Looks good on you, Robin wants to add but the words die in her throat.

You brush her cheeks with what she assumes is the blush.

"Would you like me to apply it on you?"

That something fizzles and fades away in her chest.

"Sure," she agrees, heart folding in on itself tighter than she'd expected.

"All done," you say and Robin opens her eyes. You're still looming over her, lower lip tucked in between your teeth, as your eyes skim over her face.

She feels hot everywhere all of a sudden and hyper aware that you're leaning so close, hovering right above her stomach.

"Should I get changed, then?" she asks, when two minutes later you're still looking at her and have said nothing.

Her words seem to jolt you and you hop off of her, which immediately makes Robin feel cold all over.

"Oops, yeah. You can change in the bathroom," you say, pointing to the door opposite to you.

In the bathroom, she has to take a second to calm her racing heart. Having your crush sit on top of you like it's nothing... well, it's not nothing. And all those things you said about her being pretty and the double entendre— did you do that with all your female friends?

Robin knows she's going to get hurt. That somethings are simply too good to be true and her good might downright be unachievable. And yet, she tries the dress and it slips on like a glove. It is an almost perfect fit, the sleeves flowing down her long arms nicely, the hem falling down to her mid thighs.

You've given her almost silver, glittery eye-shadow and a lipstick that isn't the red you had been talking about. She looks almost like her natural self, save for the glittery eye-lids and flowy dress. But it isn't too uncomfortable, she thinks she might even look good. Checking herself out in the mirror one last time, she takes a deep breath and steps out.

"Tada!" she says nervously, drawing your attention since you have your back to her.

Robin thinks she imagines it but your jaw almost drops.

She begins to fiddle with the hem of her sleeves.

"Thanks for not putting on too much of the make-up, I'm just not used to it haha. And the dress," she pats down her thighs, "it's almost perfect, I might have to come over and borrow more of your sister's clothes because, well, even though this is, perhaps, the opposite of my style— I do kind of like it and—" she stops when she sees a smile creep up your face.

"What?"

"You're adorable," you say, stepping closer.

Robin feels heat creep up her cheeks. She rubs her neck nervously.

"Thanks."

"And shit," you say, stepping closer, until you're inches from her face. Your gaze definitely dips to her lips and back up, something dark flickering in your eyes.

Robin forgets how to breathe.

"You look so incredibly hot in this outfit," you say casually and all blood rushes to Robin's face. You're standing so close, gaze fixated on her face, skimming over her features like you can't get enough to look.

For the millionth time that night, Robin finds herself at a loss for words. It's like her tongue ties itself in your presence.

"You always look hot." You're whispering now.

"Robin Buckley—" you begin, stepping impossibly close, breath hot on her face. Heat flashes through her, tendrils of a tigngling sensation snaking all across her body.

"— You drive me insane."

All thoughts evaporate from Robin's head, leaving a bubbling mass of one surviving question.

"You... like me? Like that?" she says, before she can stop herself but she's stunned by your words to care.

You chuckle, that pretty laugh that stings Robin's heart in all the right places. You step closer and your hand finds it's way to her waist. Her breath hitches in her throat.

"Are you really that oblivious?"

And then, you're tilting your face and kissing her, a gentle brush at first that makes the ground slip from beneath her feet. The mere contact of your cheery red lips sends her head spinning. Your hands card through her hair then, cupping her jaw and pulling her further in this time.

The kiss presses deep into her body, lips moving against hers with fervour once she overcomes the initial shock. It's nothing like she's ever experienced — a hot want travels through her being when you push your bodies closer.

When you have to inevitably come up for air, the first thing Robin notices is that your lipstick is smudged all over your face.

It's the most incredible thing she has ever seen.

You pull her in again, biting your lip devilishly and looking up at her with half-lidded eyes that make her chest do flips.

"My lipstick looks so much better on you."

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley #robin buckley x fem!reader smut #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley x you #robin buckley smut #robin buckley fluff #stranger things x you #robin buckley hc #robin buckley fic #mywriting*#mywriting

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mulletmitsuya · 3 years ago

Text

Tenjiku groupchat!

Warnings: swearing, suggestive

Rindou: gang bang

Rindou: *gang

Ran: saying 'hi' or 'hello' is an option Rindou😊

Rindou: why would i act like a normie

Izana: what's this?

Rindou: a faster way of communication, while drizzling in a little bit of shenanigans 😎

Mucho: delete this now

Mucho: it's distracting

Mochi: why don't we just call each other

Rindou: this is more convenient

Shion: i can't have my phone constantly buzzing man

Shion: it'll distract the ladies

Ran: which ladies💀

Shion: the ones sitting on my dick aha👁👅👁

Izana: 😐

Shion: sorry

Kakucho: why is there a girl here?

Kakucho: i know for a fact that none of you have a girlfriend

Mucho: that's just Sanzu

Shion: she kinda ugly

Shion: i'd fuck with her tho

Shion: hey mama's🤩

Sanzu: i've got a dick and balls

Mucho: Sanzu

Sanzu: he called me mama's

Shion: uh...wdym by that shawty?

Shion: metaphoricaly or?

Rindou: LMAO

Rindou: is he skilled at anything tho?

Rindou: he's kinda skinny

Rindou: where is his value

Rindou: and isn't he a minor🤔

Sanzu: come here so you can find out Haitani bitch

Mucho: Sanzu, stop talking

Ran: aha, watch your mouth little boy☺

Ran: i would hate to have to torture youuuu😚

Rindou: yeah tell em bro

Mochi: i'm begging you guys to take something seriously for once in your life

Mochi: please don't act weird during the fight😐

Ran: weird? we're not weird?

Izana: you are

Mucho: yeah you guys are

Kakucho: you act a little strange from time to time

Ran: even you Kakucho???

Ran: wow

Rindou: you guys r just boring

Izana: if you do any kind of acrobatics during the fight, i'm genuinly going to kill you

Rindou: genuinly cannot make that promise king

Rindou: my bad, in advance

Rindou: didn't we recruit more people

Rindou: give me a sec

*Rindou added Hanma, Kisaki and Koko*

Kisaki: no thank you

Hanma: oolala

Hanma: what may this be 😋

Koko: ...

Kakucho: i don't think they should be here Izana

Izana: why not

Shion: they're not gang😕

Shion: like who even are these people

Shion: he got some ugly ass eyebrows

Ran: Shion, you are the weakest link

Rindou: my brother in christ you get knocked out in the first 5 minutes of every fight

Rindou: they should call u one punched man

Mochi: i cannot emphasize enough how unattractive you are

Shion: what r u guys talking about, fr?😁

Shion: i am a literal god

Shion: bow down peasants

Shion: eat my dust, as i use you as a stepping stone to my victory

Shion: i'm so fucking amazing, i'm so glad to be me

Mochi: what victory????

Ran: you shouldn't be this secure in yourself

Rindou: i associate you with rats and rodents

Rindou: the kind that are ran over

Izana: shut up🙂

Hanma: love this energy

Hanma: but Tetta-sans eyebrows are what make him unique uwu😙

Rindou: *ugly

Hanma: i am going to rip you open and sell your organs

Hanma: i'll use your eye balls as substitute olives for my dirty martini

Hanma: i will make a leather couch with your skin, and use your hair as stuffing

Hanma: jk uwu😚<333

Kakucho: jesus

Rindou: down bad 🚶‍♂️

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hoe-doroki · 4 years ago

Text

steel and lace

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, anal play, sex toys, voyeuristic fantasy, scratching, creampie

pairing: bakugou x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

summary: The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

a/n: This is my addition to the Bakugou Birthday Bash collab (masterlist). Many thanks to @lady-bakuhoe for helping me flesh out the ideas with this story!! You were integral to this idea, love! And additional thanks to @whats-her-quirk and @therealvalkyrie for beta reading <333

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Bakugou never took work off on his birthday.

Never. Why would he? Villains didn’t give a shit that this was the day the old hag had unceremoniously had him evacuated into a hospital room however many years ago. They didn’t give a shit that his friends—who were also heroes who should be fucking working, by the way—wanna come over to his house and surprise him. As though his reconnaissance-trained ears weren’t as fucking fine tuned at hearing idiots on the other side of the door as theirs.

What villains should care about was that he was a year older, wiser, and fucking stronger, and he was going to kick all their asses. That was what he told all his idiot friends every year when they asked him if he was going to take off work.

Every year he regretted it.

The idiots he works with really must not care about hero work, because every year they want to send him out on a field post sugar crash from some store-bought cake with his name on it. Or buy him gifts that he’ll probably toss in the trash on the way home. He’s not being rude; he just doesn’t need junk that he never would have bought himself in the first place.

Everyone is always grinning at him, wishing him a happy birthday—as though he’s any goddamn happier to see their ugly mugs flapping their lips at him—and trying to start stupid-ass conversations. If he doesn’t like small talk normally, why would he want it on his birthday?

And the singing.

If people really wanted to wish him a happy birthday, they’d find a way to do it silently while doing some respectable fucking hero work. Make his day easier.

But no, none of that was what happened. So he should have just stayed home. Let the villains have a fucking field day on April 20th, and he could have his real gift killing them all tomorrow on the 21st.

But, unfortunately, he was a dumbass and had gone to work anyway, like he’d learned nothing from the last many years of antics. And the continued antics had got him a little pissy. And when he was pissed off, his heart rate increased, his breathing grew heavier, and, of course, he sweat.

Well. Guess what happened?

“Bakugou, I am currently paying to treat burns and fractures on three villains. Care to explain?”

Best Jeanist was sitting in his office chair, blinding sunlight streaming in behind him. Late afternoon sun—darker in color but way more resentful towards human eyes, apparently. It was reflecting off of all of the neighboring glass corporate buildings, making Bakugou squint behind his mask.

Bakugou shrugged, petulant as he stood behind his chair instead of sitting in it. “Overkill.”

Best Jeanist nodded. “Did you…lose control?”

“Tch,” Bakugou scoffed. As if he ever lost control. “Villains were weaker than I thought.”

Bakugou felt the stare of that one fucking eye and stood firm. He knew he was looking at a suspension, hopefully just for a day or two. It wasn’t like he’d done anything terrible. Villains got hurt sometimes, just like pros did, and they got their care and then they got their justice. It’s not like Bakugou was violent on purpose. Anymore. And Jeanist sure as hell knew that, so it wouldn’t take Bakugou off the field for more than a slap on the wrist. He probably wouldn’t even be technically suspended. Just chained by the fucking dick to his desk with some paperwork.

“Just…” Bakugou braced for it, narrowing his eyes but keeping his snarl to a minimum. “Just be more careful next time. Shower and go home—see you tomorrow.”

Bakugou’s jaw dropped. He closed it quickly, trying not to look like Dunce Face in front of his boss, but in all that was real and true what? He was just about to say something—he didn’t know what, probably something insubordinate—when Best Jeanist took out his own paperwork and waved him away.

“Happy birthday, Bakugou.”

Oh. So that was it.

Bakugou grit his teeth. Happy fucking birthday indeed.

It was nothing. His brain told him over and over again that it was fucking nothing. He hadn’t been punished, he hadn’t even really done anything wrong; he just hadn’t been squeaky clean up to fucking code. He could still show up for work tomorrow, business as usual. He should be tickled fucking pink.

But he wasn’t. Special treatment for being the birthday boy? What was he? Five years old and given a pass after stealing the chicken nuggets off Deku’s plate? Jesus Christ.

And if he was honest, he was mostly pissed at himself. Sure, he could blame how the weather always seemed to sprint from spring to summer around his birthday every year, strengthening his quirk. He could blame the villains for being weak enough that they had no business even stepping foot in his neighborhood. But losing control of his quirk even a little—and it had been a little—was fucking amateur and he’d have to pencil in some extra time at the gym. Maybe snatch Shitty Hair for some sparring, and, unfortunately, probably nab an extra therapy session and talk about this anger thing again.

At least walking instead of sitting on that stifling, crowded train car was doing him some good. Let him cool off a bit before he got home and you saw that something was wrong. He was nearly entirely relaxed by the time he got to his building’s lobby, even having the grace to nod at the concierge—who didn’t know it was his birthday, thank God—before heading up the elevator.

When he got off on his floor, it suddenly occurred to him that you might have done something truly repulsive, like inviting his friends over. He could imagine Shitty Hair’s shitty fucking hair sticking up from behind your sofa as he tried to hide before leaping up and yelling surprise.

Well, if that was the case, then the surprise was going to be him kicking all his dumb friends out of the apartment with one foot. Ain’t no way he was going to host a party on his birthday.

It turned out his worry was for nothing, though, because when he turned the knob—fully braced to punch out some teeth with his other hand—he was greeted with a totally bare apartment.

Like barren.

For starters, it was perfectly clean. Bakugou kept a tidy house normally, but this was certainly cleaner than he’d left it this morning. But more than that, there was nothing extra lying around. No stupid friends. No presents. No cake or even the smell of one. It was almost disconcerting.

No, it was a relief. A relief because he didn’t want any of that stuff. He’d had the slice of cake at work—and was slightly hangry now to show for it—and wasn’t interested in having another. And even though you’d choose better gifts than the extras at work would, it was nothing he couldn’t buy himself. So no, this was perfect. He was absolutely not disappointed. Maybe a bit confused. But not disappointed.

He took his shoes off and set his things on the small table by the door. Then he wandered into the kitchen, downed some water, and thought about what he might make for dinner. He might have expected that you and he would make dinner together or maybe even that you would have surprised him with something, but he didn’t mind doing it alone. It wasn’t like he’d learned to cook just to find a housewife someday to con into doing it all for him.

He decided to go to the bedroom first to plug in his phone. He was just sliding it out of his pocket when he opened the door, saw you, and stopped short.

You were on the bed—not in bed, but on it—wearing a black zip up with his signature orange x over the chest. You were on your knees with your legs spread wide, looking him dead in the eye with a deadly smirk on your face, painted in bright lipstick.

“New prototype. You like?”

The two of you had met when you were scouted from his parents’ business to design the clothing for his first merchandise line. He’d sworn off dating you from the beginning, because the last thing he wanted was to give the old hag anything to say about, firstly, her being at all responsible for finding him a girlfriend or secondly, the fact that dating a fashion designer would mean he was dating his parents. He’d said fuck that to anyone who would listen.

But you’d gotten his brain from the beginning. Your designs were all sick from the sketch to mock up to the prototypes you always wore for him. Maybe he was a simple man for falling for a girl dressed in his colors, aiming to please him, but fuck it. You were talented, too smart for your own good, and pretty as hell.

So what? Now he had a dream girlfriend and one more reason to fight with his mom. Net positive for sure.

Still, that jacket wasn’t a prototype. That was from his first official line, no doubt, and he’d seen you wear it hundreds of times. He knew from here how much it would smell like detergent and how much like you.

You caught his eyes, raised your brows once, and then pulled the zip on the sweatshirt.

Underneath was nothing but lace and ribbon, contrasting the black and orange of the sweatshirt with moss green outlining your silhouette. The moss green from his gauntlets and his belt was caged around you in the thinnest strips of fabric, scraps of floral barely covering your breasts and pussy. The lingerie was an all-in-one, with the tiny bra connected to the panties by a few ribbons crossing over your belly. Not hiding a damn thing, but showing it off for all its worth.

“Fuck,” Bakugou groaned when the sweatshirt hit the bed, your arms still in the sleeves, but the look underneath now fully revealed to him. He could feel the blood going to his dick, just seeing you on display like that getting him up to half mast in seconds.

“Not a lot of coverage on this version,” you mused, sticking your thumb under a bra strap. “Maybe an edit for the second try?”

Bakugou growled, taking a step forward, but you weren’t done just yet.

“I was also thinking maybe full panties next time,” you said, turning around, sitting on your heels. The sweatshirt hung just below your ass, framing round cheeks that were caged by thin elastic crosses, and that was it. Not so much as a triangle of fabric to speak of. “Maybe write: Property of Dynamight on them? Or is that too much text?”

That was all it took for Bakugou to pounce. One arc of his fist had his shirt thrown with a smack to the floor and then his hands were on your shoulders, spinning you face up as he pushed you flat on the bed.

“You know I don’t like unnecessary words,” he growled.

And then he was kissing you, a hand running up the falke stockings pinned on your thighs as you pulled your arms out of the sweatshirt. One leg came up automatically to wrap around his hip, and Bakugou began rutting against your center, fully hard already. On his second grinding thrust, his pants snagged on the scrap of lace you were wearing. Wetness was already glistening on his trousers and he moved his thumb down to your core, groaning at what he felt.

“Crotchless panties?” he mumbled against your mouth. “You’re making this too easy, sweetheart.”

“Shouldn’t have to work so hard on your birthday,” you mewled.

There was a rumble in Bakugou’s throat, half scoff, half chuckle. “Yeah, remind me of that next year, will you?”

You were soaked already—the swipe of his thumb told you that much. Either you’d gotten really excited when he’d texted you that he was coming home early, or you’d…gotten yourself excited at some point after. Either way, it meant that foreplay could wait for round two.

He pulled his thumb away from your core and pressed it against your lip, smudging what lipstick had survived the kisses down your chin. You were half ruined already. You stuck your tongue out and licked at essence on his thumb before sucking it into your mouth, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Fuck, he could feel himself straining against his pants, grinding circles against your half-bare cunt for a spot of relief.

After you licked him clean, he took his hand back, leaving your mouth open and wanting as he began to fuss with the front of his pants. He caught your smudged lips again, holding your jaw with one hand as he pushed his pants down with the other. He pulled his lower half away from you, kicking off the pants—hadn’t bothered with boxers for the commute home—and let them slide off the edge of the bed.

“Ready?” he asked.

Your smile was big and you bit the tip of your tongue, nodding your head twice. That was all he needed. He grabbed his cock in his fist and slid it through your wetness just once, and then he pushed himself in.

Immediately, he felt the drag of something hard and angled against your lower wall right along his cock, pressing from tip to base as he slid home inside of you.

“Woah,” he groaned. “What the fuck?”

You giggled, the action making your walls flutter against him.

“Got myself a new toy,” you said coyly, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Promise you can get yourself something pretty on my birthday too.”

Bakugou reach a hand around your thigh, feeling the elastic garter pulled taut against the stockings that were rubbing so deliciously against his back and his hips. He grabbed a handful of your ass, and the tips of his fingers felt a rounded edge of warm metal slid just between your ass cheeks.

“You fucking naughty minx.” Bakugou grinned, showing all his teeth, rearing back out of you before thrusting back in, feeling the novel pressure of the toy on the way out and back.

No wonder you had been so wet to begin with. You must have lubed yourself up before putting in that butt plug—which wasn’t small, from what he could feel of it. He could imagine you, one leg up on the sink, ass sticking out as you fingered yourself, mouth dropping open when you inserted the toy. How cold it would have been when it first touched your pert little hole and how you’d gotten it all warm for him as you waited with your little secret for him to get home.

“It’s curved to hit prostates,” you gasped as Bakugou rocked hard, steady thrusts into you. “In case you’re interested.”

The thought, much to Bakugou’s surprise, sent a thrill right through his belly down to his dick. He couldn’t help but slam rapidly into you, making your eyes roll back. Fuck, was that something he wanted? It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about, and he didn’t have the mind right now to ponder it.

“God you feel so big.”

“You feel so tight, sweetheart,” Bakugou grunted, refusing to acknowledge the fresh heat that was on his cheeks after your previous comment. “Squeezing me from all sides.”

The butt plug left it so there was barely enough room in your pussy for his cock to pump in and out. The pressure was hard on one side, making him fucking twitch every time the head of his cock caught against it, leading him to opt for long, deep thrusts in and out of you. It was so good that he didn’t even care if the only present he got for his birthday was a little hunk of stainless steel halfway up your ass. He’d gotten home five minutes ago and already he could feel his balls tightening, threatening to bust a nut.

“Just think of it, Katsuki,” you said, your voice dreamy as he fucked you raw. “All the women wearing this set, thinking of you when they show it off for their partners. All wishing that you were the one fucking them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? But they’ll never have anything but their husband’s sad cock that they pretend is yours.”

“Fuck,” Bakugou growled, putting a hand on the headboard and nearly splintering it in his grip. You were riling him up and it made him want to press his palm flat against the burnished oak and let off his quirk, send shards flying. His hand was already drenched with more sweat than it should have been, just like with those villains earlier. Goddamn this time of year. He couldn’t help it; his quirk begged for it. He was in dire need of release of some kind, and it wasn’t like he could cum yet. He had to know how your pussy felt when it convulsed around him, ass cheeks tensing and squeezing that toy hard against his cock until he was spurting into you.

Bakugou let off a few crackling pops from his palm, moaning as relief filled him, the tension lessened for a moment. A faint smell of wood smoke spread through the room, slightly embittered by the resin blackening around his hand. One more scorch mark on the bed frame. You groaned underneath him, taken by the sight of Bakugou’s ever-tight control slipping for you. You knew he’d fuck you through the bed until the rest of the frame gave way if he wanted. You’d both be flat on a busted mattress and he’d keep going until he felt you clench around him.

“How’s that sound, Katsu?” you continued, your voice growing higher as Bakugou took his hand off the headboard and pressed four fingers, still sweaty and heated from his quirk, against the lace covering your clit. It was soaked through. “A-Ah, you’d like the idea of a woman home alone, dressed up just for you, fucking herself on the dildo she hides in the back of your closet, screaming out your name and hoping to God that her neighbors don’t hear?”

Bakugou couldn’t do the long, slow thrusts anymore. Your legs had grown tighter around his waist, your calves soft and silken against his ass as he kept his thrusts deep. The butt plug was rubbing against the base of his cock as he pounded into you, his fingers swiping over your clit with little finesse, but speed and steady pressure making up for it.

“But no matter…” you continued, the words coming out in little huffs as you panted with your head thrown back. Bakugou couldn’t resist leaning down and licking a line up the length of your neck, biting your earlobe when he got to the top, “no dildo, no matter how expensive, no matter how long and fat, will be good enough. The whole time…they’ll know they’re missing out. Oh, fuck.”

All of a sudden, your thighs were squeezing tight against his hip bones, arms thrown over his back and finger scratching hot lines that would mark him even more as yours tomorrow. Then you were gasping, walls squeezing and Bakugou fought against your grip to pull out just enough so that the metal toy was rubbing just over the cleft of his head with every convulsion.

He didn’t stand a chance. There was hardly any warning before he was cumming into you, streaks of his seed dribbling out of you. He couldn’t even pump himself through it; you were gripping him so tightly and, more than that, he didn’t want to move. Everything was white hot, so he just waited it out, barely moving save for where his hand was still rubbing over your clit.

Eventually you stopped him, grabbing his wrist just as the grip of your cunt loosened around him. Then you brought his hand, glistening with moisture, up to your mouth, and broadly laved your tongue from the base of his fingers to the tips, looking him dead in the eye. You then brought his hand down to your neck, and allowed him to streak the combined fluids across and down your décolletage.

Fuck—there was no way he was going to work on his birthday next year. He’d let villains overtake the city first.

“They’ll know they’re missing out,” you breathed, and it took Bakugou a second to figure out that you were continuing your voyeuristic fantasy from before, playing it out to the end, “They might even think they understand. But the only one who will truly know, is me.”

You smiled, your eyes and grin both heavy, sleepy, sated.

“Got that fucking right,” Bakugou said, pulling out of you, his cum already dripping down your ass. He eyed it, only catching a glimpse of the glinting metal plug before your legs fell to the bed, spread and limp. He smacked your hip lightly with one hand. “Roll over.”

In no mood to argue, you flipped willingly, ass up, plug still hidden from view. The lingerie was damp in some spots from where your wetness had spilled from your pussy. He leaned his mouth towards one of the strips of elastic stretching against the swell of your ass and bit. You gasped, back arching, and Katsuki smirked as he pulled away.

“A fucking lingerie line?”

A chuckle escaped your throat. “It was supposed to be a joke, but now…”

Katsuki pinched the elastic with his fingers and snapped it, watching the slight jiggle of your cheeks as you jolted. “No.”

“But Katsuki,” you whined.

“Mm,” he amended, as close to ‘maybe’ as you were going to get. You both could always talk about the idea—truly ridiculous idea—later. Katsuki put a hand on one cheek under the strips of lingerie and spread it.

There was the plug, a stainless steel handle. It was thin and shaped like an oblong donut, not like one of those cheap bejeweled things. This one, even just what he could see of it, screamed quality, and, for a moment, Bakugou wondered again what it would be like to wear. If you’d gotten it in, he sure as fuck could. And he did hold a certain anatomical advantage in using it.

He put his thumb and forefinger to the phalange and gave the toy a twist, pressing it just slightly deeper into your hole. You groaned, your voice low and deep in the pillow like when he gave you a back massage. He smirked and kept at it. Seemed this was a birthday gift for him after all.

“Katsu, don’t tease,” you moaned. “Sensitive.”

Bakugou, however, had no mercy. He flipped you over again, pulling a little yelp from you, and then picked you up bridal style, carrying you off the bed.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice suddenly much more awake.

“Shower,” he answered simply. He squeezed the meat of your upper thigh. Not quite your ass but close enough for the point to be made. “I’m not done with my present yet.”

#bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bnha smut #mha smut #tw: voyeurism #not/sfw #bakugou birthday bash

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lihikainanea · 3 years ago

Note

LEIIII, CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT BILL AND TIGER GOING THE THE MET GALA BILL FuCkINg HeR iN ThE ReStRoOm????????????????

FIRST OF ALL, I have this like, weird interest in fashion over the past two years or so. I've never particularly been into it, but now my instagram is mainly fashion inspo and like, who is this person???? I've never considered myself fashionable, much less interested in fashion and now I swear to god I spend Sunday afternoons ~judging people~ and looking up latest fashion trends and how to wear things and I am just LOVING IT. And since nobody asked, I'm going to go ahead and list you my top fucking fashion ABSOLUTELY DO FUCKING NOT pet peeves:

1) Matching pantsuits. Hello, no. I know the designers that are trying to bring this back, and it's a hard no for me dawg. I am in my almost mid thirties and I ain't trying to look like a fucking old maid, thanks. These will never be fashionable. Just stop.

2) Derby shoes. These literally don't go with anything. I'm not sorry. If you're that committed to huge, clunky, ugly fucking shoes, get clogs. I ain't saying you have to wear heels, not at all. But find yourself some nice oxfords, a nice loafer, hell even some mules--and they will be infinitely nicer than fucking derby shoes.

3) Layering. No, kids. Baum und Pferdgarten, I love you. I do. I have a few of your dresses. But ya'll motherfuckers need to stop with this pajama-esque, mixed and clashing pattern, oversized bullshit looks that you call fashion. There is a way to wear slouchy, and babes, THAT AIN'T IT. YOU LITERALLY LOOK LIKE A FUCKING WARHOL PAINTING THREW UP ON YOU. Mixing patterns is cool, we like that, but Jesus Christ it has to have some consistency.

alright, now onto the actual ask.

All of this to say, I kept a keen eye on the Met Gala this year and I was...perplexed. At best. Horrified, at worst.

So like, tiger right? There's little else in the world that tiger hates as much as Bill's outwardly Hollywood side. The parties. The schmoozing. And I mean, she knows it's part of his life so that's fine, but in fairness--Bill also abhors this side. He loathes it. And he's been to the Met gala once, which notoriously never allows a +1 unless that +1 is famous, but low and behold--by some stroke of luck--Bill's invitation this year allows for it.

"No." tiger says immediately.

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask!" he exclaims.

"I know what that is," she points to the invitation in his hand, "And no."

It's a hard no. It takes Bill weeks--because like, tiger ain't Hollywood. She doesn't want to do the dress. She doesn't want the mingling with fucking celebrity guests. She doesn't want the paparazzi. She wants none of it. But like, eventually--after so much begging--eventually Bill gets her to agree. His stylist will get a dress for her. Hair and make up is taken care of. Bill promises her that she can just slip in the back, sit at the table, and have cocktails to her heart's galore while he walks the red carpet. She doesn't have to be photographed--and truth be told, tiger's a nobody so people aren't really interested in photographing her anyway. That's fine by her.

The dress worries her, because tiger isn't exactly celebrity material but the stylist is so kind in taking measurements. Bill handles everything--the flights, the make up reservations, the hair appointments. On the day of, he checks them into the Bowery Hotel and then tiger doesn't have to worry about a thing. He shoves a fluffy robe at her, and then there's just a flurry of activity--massages first. Breakfast after. A stint in the steam room--which they absolutely have sex in. Facials. Manicures--for both. A light lunch. And then the bell rings and in come a flurry of a team ready to glamorize them--Bill's favourite groomer, his stylist, tiger's make up artist, her hair stylist. The primping process is the longest tiger has ever been through--but there's wine, there's snacks, her Big Dude is right beside her looking handsome as all hell. And when tiger puts on a dress that is worth more than she makes in a year, when her hair is all done up and her make up is perfect--she begrudgingly admits to him that yes, Beeeeeel, she does feel pretty.

"You look stunning kid," he praises, pressing a gentle kiss on her cheek. To her slight embarrassment (but secret joy), he hands his phone off to his assistant and asks for a few pictures.

And like, here's the thing right? The Met Gala has a strict policy: no spouses or couples seated together. Seriously, it's a thing. Look it up. And while tiger is mildly freaking out about that, she calms down considerably when she does see a name tag at her table that she recognizes.

Alex. Skarsgård.

Tiger smiles, Bill grimaces.

And that's what starts it, right? Bill is at a table far away but not too far, and right where he can keep her in his line of sights. He knows she wasn't looking forward to this so he wants to keep an eye on her, but then like....why the fuck does she look like she's having so much fun? Alex is cracking the whole table up, being his usual charismatic self. Tiger is laughing, guffawing actually, beyond control--her hand on his, clutching his forearm. Bill barely even makes conversation with his own table, he's staring so intently at the two of them and tiger looking like she's having the best night of her life.

Bill's blood is boiling. It boils even more when he sees tiger make a face at her main plate--her nose wrinkling, her lip curled in disgust--and without missing a beat Alex's fork swoops over, plucks all the green onions from her food, and tiger smiles gratefully at him. Bill slams his napkin down on the table.

"Excuse me," he mutters in response to the curious glances. And then he stalks over, heads right to her table, and he's so silent that she jumps a mile when she hears his voice in her ear from behind her.

"A word, kid?" he says.

"But the food just--"

"Now." he says insistently. He holds a hand out to her, helps her push her chair back and stand. But then he's basically dragging her to a restroom, and poor tiger isn't quite used to heels this high.

"Hang on bud," she pleads, "I'm not that coordinated."

But he doesn't hang on. Instead he reaches back, loops a strong arm around her waist and basically carries her on his side to the bathroom. Tiger's feet don't hit the floor for a good 200 feet. And once inside the bathroom, he locks the door and glares at her.

"If that dress wasn't couture, I'd have you on your fucking knees kid," he threatens. Tiger's eyes get wide.

"What did I do?" she asks innocently. Bill just glares.

"Having a good time, are you? Having the best night ever?" he accuses.

Tiger is starting to get a feeling what this is about, and oh man--she's about to rile her Big Dude up. Dressed to the nines, in a public place, surrounded by riches, and Bill is about to get a bit possessive over her? Tiger is a sucker for it every time.

"Yes," she plays into it, "Alex is being amazing. He's so--"

She doesn't get to finish the sentence, because Bill growls and lunges for her, pinning her back against the cool tile.

"You are mine," he snarls. Tiger just tilts her chin up, bites onto his bottom lip.

"Prove it." she challenges.

The roar Bill lets out is fucking feral. Tiger doesn't even have time to react before her dress is pulled up, he yanks his belt undone, and he's slamming into her. She moans, and he grabs her face in his hand.

"Don't come," he snarls, "Don't you dare come."

And like the good girl she is for him--she doesn't. She grits her teeth, tries to stave it off even as he slams deep into her, growls as his release fills her up, bites her neck hard enough to leave a mark. She whimpers, her knees wobbly, and tries to reach for a tissue.

"No," he grabs her hand.

"But it's messy," she pleads. But another glare is enough to silence her, and he swiftly pulls her panties up, smoothes her dress back down.

"You're going to sit there, full of my come for the rest of the night," he tells her, "And I want you to think of that, I want you to feel it, every time you look at him."

"Bill--" she whimpers. He silences her with a rough kiss.

"Go on," he said, "Back to your seat."

On shaky legs, she turns and tries to walk out as nonchalant as possible. He waits a few minutes before exiting, going to find his seat and sitting back down. He keeps an eye on her for the rest of the evening, but he doesn't even have to--every time he looks over at her, she's already staring at him--her eyes wide, needy, her knees pressed tightly together.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill #sub tiger #bill skarsgard fanfic #bill skarsgard fiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction

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ncssian · 4 years ago

Text

A Favor: Part Fifteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: NSFW!!😈😈 please disregard colorado window tinting laws for this chapter

***

Cassian has yet to regret getting Nesta that personalized record, despite the fact that she plays it everyday on repeat with a near obsession. Is this what true love is? Letting your girlfriend blast the same songs through your home again and again, and never tiring of it? Never tiring of her?

He doesn’t get to ponder on it, because while Nesta spends the week lazing pantsless around the house (“I’m getting ready for the party,” she states while he rubs her feet. “Spiritually and all that.”), Cassian has to figure out how to turn the cabin into an inviting space for forty wealthy guests.

All of Nesta’s shit gets shoved in the back of his bedroom closet. Personal items and framed pictures of the two of them are swiped off any surfaces. Lights go up around the house. Catering is secured.

By the time it’s all finished, the cabin has been stripped of all warmth and familiarity and turned into something chic and upscale, suitable for a small gala. Nesta stares around at the space when it’s done, her face revealing nothing.

Cassian points to the small sitting area on the second floor, directly above the open living room, that leads outside to the wraparound balcony. “We’ll be able to see fireworks from there,” he says. He turns to see Nesta’s face is still carefully blank, the way it is when she’s thinking too many things at once. “You sure you want to do this?” he asks. “It’s not too late to cancel the whole thing.”

She looks at him in horror. “It most certainly is. The party’s tomorrow.”

“Still not too late.” Cassian might not have that much power in the overall Night Court hierarchy, but for Nesta he could figure it out.

She smiles wanly but shakes her head. “We’re doing this, and we’re not letting it go to hell like last time.”

***

Nesta knows her sisters are aware that she’s on the guest list for the party (though she can’t imagine what Cassian’s explanation for that one was), but she still stiffens when she enters the cabin through the open door. Her eyes fall on various men and women that she’s never seen in her life, all glammed up and dripping self-importance, until recognizing Feyre and her boyfriend laughing with an older couple in a corner. The only thing that brings Nesta a little peace is that the snide woman, Amren, isn’t here tonight, having chosen to spend New Year’s with her boyfriend in California instead.

Nesta eases up when nobody takes notice of her, though a few nearby guests throw appreciative glances in her direction. She looks like a disco ball in her sequined wrap dress, and a freezing one at that. She shuts the door behind her, sealing the winter air out, but quickly pulls her hand away from the knob. It feels like the door isn’t hers to touch. She realizes that even though the cabin is her home, no one here except Cassian knows that.

Speaking of Cassian, she needs to find him. Nesta is not such an advanced creature that she knows how to survive in a room full of strangers on her own, and she no longer cares if anyone finds her clinging to Cassian weird.

She makes it three feet before she’s accosted by Morrigan, carrying her usual champagne glass like it’s an extension of her.

“Nesta!” she exclaims, loud and bright as ever. She smiles broadly, with too many teeth. “You’re here.”

Nesta blinks in response. She doesn’t understand how Morrigan benefits from this exaggerated excitement. Is it supposed to be insulting or polite?

“By the way,” Morrigan adds when Nesta doesn’t reply, “what exactly are you doing here?”

A heavy arm slides around Nesta’s shoulders, pulling her close. “I invited her,” says Cassian with a smile. “Because she’s my friend, and this place is practically hers.”

“Oh, I think that’s an exaggeration,” Nesta says sharply, trying to step away from Cassian.

He holds her closer. “No it’s not. We were roomies for over two months, remember?”

Morrigan winces, looking between the two of them. “Right,” she says slowly. “I keep forgetting that. Cassian is like this with everybody,” she says apologetically to Nesta. “Don’t take him too seriously.”

Nesta nods solemnly, wanting this conversation to be over. “I won’t.”

Her exit is made clear when the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” she says quickly, escaping from under Cassian’s arm.

Hurrying to the door, she swings it open.

Eris Vanserra stands looking irritated on the other side. He freezes when he sees Nesta, and then his face lifts into a smug grin. “Oh, this is too good.”

“So Cassian Madani was your sugar daddy all along?” Eris asks her later.

“Say sugar daddy one more time. I dare you.” Nesta stands near the stairs with her arms crossed, trying to pretend she isn’t associated with Eris. Which is more than a bit difficult when he keeps badgering her with questions, and Cassian is giving the two of them odd looks from across the room.

“I mean, what are the odds?” he laughs.

“My sister is dating his CEO brother.”

Eris throws her a look of surprise, but Nesta says, “How do you even know him?”

Eris sticks an hors d'oeuvre from a nearby platter in his mouth. “He manages security and logistics at every event Night Court is involved in. Can be a real pain in the ass to work with when I’m trying to get shit done for my dad’s company.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she retorts.

They’re interrupted by Feyre and Rhys appearing before them, Feyre with her hostess smile and Rhysand with an inquisitive look on his face. Nesta can’t tell which one of them is more attached to the hip of the other.

“Eris,” Rhysand greets smoothly.

“I see you’re already acquainted with my sister,” Feyre says. Her tone is tense, either because she’s still pissed at Nesta or—even worse—she feels protective of her.

“We’re classmates,” Nesta says tightly. “Does it matter?”

Feyre tries not to look hurt. “No—I just didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Ladies,” a new voice says warningly. Cassian’s left whatever droll conversation he was stuck in and made his way over to them.

“Is the entire party congregating here?” Eris looks around himself.

“No, we are not,” Cassian says, all his usual friendliness gone around Eris. “I just came to ask Feyre to talk to the representatives from Spellbreaker before they pull all their money out of our latest operation.”

Feyre’s eyes go wide and her tattooed hand goes to her chest. “That’s not really my job—”

“Oh, come on, darling.” Rhysand slides a hand around her waist. “I’ll go with you; the art of negotiating is easier than it looks.”

Nesta nearly pukes in her mouth, but she maintains a careful blank face until Feyre and Rhysand are successfully out of sight. Cassian turns to Eris with a stony look. “You’re still here?”

Nesta sighs internally; this man has never hidden his feelings in his life.

Eris shares an amused glance with Nesta as if he’s thinking the same thing. “Is there anywhere else I should be right now?” he replies.

“Maybe in hell.”

Nesta claps a hand on Cassian’s shoulder and fakes a smile at Eris. “Tell your brother hi for me,” she says while pulling Cassian away. “I miss talking to a sensible redhead.”

“That’s because you have awful taste,” Eris calls after her. Nesta drags Cassian deep into the hallway, where no one lingers.

She releases him without flourish. “Are you doing okay? Because it seems like you’re having a harder time with this than I am.”

“I’m fine,” Cassian defends. “I was just hit with a terrible memory back there.”

“Like what?”

“That you’re friends with Eris.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Friends is a very liberal term, but she won’t correct Cassian while he’s acting like this. “Thank you for helping with Feyre and Mor,” she says instead. “I didn’t need it, but I still appreciate it.” It’s a hard thing to admit, but she wants him to hear it.

“I was just trying to get you alone,” he says, leaning against the bathroom door. “I’ve been trying to get you alone all night.”

Nesta looks him up and down, from his white dress shirt and tied back hair to his uncharacteristically polished shoes. “For what?” she says warily. “If this is about a sex thing, don’t bother. There’s nowhere in this house for us to go without raising suspicion.”

Cassian pushes off the door with a dark look. “I wasn’t going to suggest staying in the house.” He holds a bronzed hand out toward her. “Wanna get out of here?”

***

Cassian doesn’t remember how he ever managed to fit all six-four of himself into the cramped backseat of his truck when he was fucking girls in college, but for Nesta he figures it out somehow.

Her pretty little dress is shoved down to her midriff, baring her arms and flushed breasts, and her skirt is bunched up high enough that Cassian can watch as he moves his fingers inside her. The glow of lights from the cabin lands on her perfect face as she throws her head back in pleasure, and he can only watch her in awe.

He laughs lowly when she whimpers and eases a third finger into her wet heat, in no rush to return to the party anytime soon. Let them all wonder where he and Nesta wandered off to.

But Nesta has far less patience than him; she pulls him in for a frenzied kiss and uses the distraction to slide her hand into his boxer briefs, palming his cock. He groans into her mouth as she pulls out the length of him from his unzipped pants, and it’s at that very moment that two voices interrupt their panting.

“Thanks,” a muffled female voice says from outside the truck. Cassian looks up through the dark tinted windows to find—Jesus Christ—Mor accepting a cigarette from Rhys. The two of them stand some feet away from the truck, unaware that anyone is occupying it.

“Some way to end the year,” Rhys is saying, watching the clear night sky. Nesta’s gone completely still beneath Cassian, not needing to get up and look to know who stands in the driveway. “Would have been even better without Nesta terrorizing Feyre at every turn.”

Sickness turns Cassian’s stomach at hearing such ugly words about Nesta come from his brother, but that sickness is quickly replaced by rage as Mor huffs a laugh. “She’s not that bad,” Mor says, taking a pull from her cigarette. “Though I could do without the attitude at every damn gathering.”

Rhys clicks his tongue. “She’s always been like that, even when the sisters were kids. It kills Feyre.”

Cassian glances down at Nesta, terrified of what he’s going to find on her face. But Nesta doesn’t look hurt or enraged like he expects. Instead, she’s listening closely with her brows furrowed, studiously intrigued.

Noticing Cassian’s attention on her, she meets his eyes and her breath hitches. A blush takes over her cheeks, and she clenches involuntarily around the fingers still deep inside her. Cassian realizes that his fury is written all over his face. And she likes it.

His anger at his friends flickers—or rather, transforms. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of Nesta. He sits up a bit straighter and kneels properly on the backseat, earning a curious look from her. Hunching so his head doesn’t hit the truck ceiling, he wraps his hands around her thighs and maneuvers her legs up, up until they’re hooked over his shoulders. She nearly chokes at the new position.

He adjusts them so his cock is pressed right up against her sex, and looks out the window again, where Rhys and Mor are still talking. It’s all idle gossip, he knows, but... “What do you think, baby?” He slides his length over her slick folds. “Should I go out there and defend your honor?”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta gasps, shaking her head.

“And it’s like when she’s not quiet as a brick, she’s being rude,” Mor rants outside, flicking her cigarette. “I know Cass is friendly with everybody, but I have no idea what he was thinking inviting her here.”

“Oh, she’s not so quiet when I have my head between her legs,” Cassian murmurs at Mor. He glances down at Nesta with a knowing smirk. “She’s not so rude when I give her the right incentive, either.” He pats her bottom lip with his thumb, the bright red lipstick smearing. “Isn’t that right, Nes?”

“Bastard.” Nesta squirms, trying to line up her entrance with the head of Cassian’s cock. She’s not even listening to the conversation outside anymore.

“I think he likes her,” Rhys says, his breath clouding in the freezing night air. If only he knew. “We don’t always use reason when it comes to people we like.”

“Maybe,” Mor ponders. “But I can’t imagine it going anywhere. They’re too different.”

“I disagree,” Cassian mutters. He finally gives in to Nesta’s efforts and pushes inside her, sliding to the hilt in one thrust. She claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her moan.

“There are plenty of things we have in common, don’t you think, Nesta?” He sets a steady rhythm with his hips, pumping in and out of her. “Like how well we fit together.” Her head bumps the car door with every thrust.

“You—you’re gonna rock the truck,” Nesta tries to whisper. Cassian hides his smile in the crook of her knee at the rare use of informal contraction. She’s adorable.

“We wouldn’t want that to happen,” he teases, leaning forward to take a pert nipple into his mouth. A whimper slips past her lips; she’s nearly bent in half beneath him. With this new, deeper angle, Cassian moves slow enough that Nesta feels every solid inch of him.

His loose hair falls around his face as he drops his head to the center of Nesta’s chest. It takes every bit of restraint he knows not to suckle at the space between her breasts, not to leave reddened marks there that everyone will be able to see when they go back inside. But damn if this position isn’t driving him crazy.

Mor, Rhys, everything beyond the haven of the truck falls away. He doesn’t know if anybody is still outside, or if people have noticed his and Nesta’s absence from the party. He doesn’t care, not as he swears and thrusts particularly deep into her tight warmth.

Even her hand can’t contain the sound she makes at that.

Cassian moves one of his own hands to the crown of Nesta’s head, creating a barrier between her and the car door. With his other arm, he locks her thighs into place against his chest, and begins slamming relentlessly into her.

“CassianCassianCassian—”

He silences her with a searing kiss, and flicks her clit with a calloused thumb. Nesta scrabbles at his arms, at the seat upholstery, as her orgasm crashes into her. Her walls milk his cock almost painfully, and with a few more thrusts he’s coming, too.

As he rides out his climax, he intertwines their fingers together and presses them to the freezing window. Outside, there is no one to see the handprint they leave on the fogged up glass.

***

Nesta needs a moment to catch her breath while Cassian zips himself up. Leaning against the hard truck door, she achingly fits one arm back into the sleeve of her dress, then the other. “I think I have a bruise from where that seatbelt buckle stabbed me in the ribs,” she mutters.

“Where?” Cassian looks her over, but she waves him away and reaches over to dig in the back pocket of the driver’s seat, finding a packet of makeup wipes she left there some weeks ago. She plucks out a wipe for herself and tosses the rest of the packet at Cassian’s chest, which is covered in her lipstick marks.

He accepts the wipes with a “thanks” and begins rubbing at his reddened mouth and neck. Nesta watches him instead of wiping at her own lipstick, taking in whatever the light of the moon highlights: his unbuttoned shirt, his loose hair that fell forward into her face while they fucked, his skin peppered with her marks.

He notices her stare. “What?” he says, smiling.

“Have you ever done that before?” She nods outside to where Mor and Rhys were standing ten minutes ago. It wasn’t exhibitionism since nobody had seen them, but it still felt... dirty.

Cassian snorts, starting to button up his shirt. “I’ve done far worse.” He meets her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten off to the sound of other people shit-talking my girl, though, so that’s new.”

Nesta blushes, and pretends to look around for her shoes to hide the reaction. She’s always known her bedroom experience was pathetically limited, but she’s just now starting to realize how much of that was Tomas’s fault. Not only was he boring when it came to sex, but he left her too hurt and untrusting to try anything with other men until Cassian came along.

Cassian nudges Nesta’s knee, and she finds him already holding her heels. Instead of letting her take them, he takes her feet and starts putting them on for her. “Clean yourself up,” he directs as he buckles a silver strap into place. “It’s almost an hour to midnight.”

Right. Cassian tosses her her panties, and she uses them to clean up the mess between her thighs before discarding them on the floor. “Don’t—” he tries to protest, but sighs and gives up. “You’re filthy.”

“You love it.” She picks up her forgotten makeup wipe to scrub at her smeared makeup. “Do I look okay?” She turns her face to him after a moment so he can check.

“You missed a spot.” He takes the wipe and rubs at her chin. “There,” he says softly, gazing more intimately at her than usual. “Beautiful.”

She most certainly doesn’t look beautiful right now, with the mess that’s been made of her face and hair. But he seems to believe it all the same.

I love you. The thought comes to her suddenly, unexpectedly.

“What?” Shock turns Cassian’s face.

Nesta blinks, realizing the words weren’t only in her head. “What?”

“You said—”

“I said ‘Let’s get out of here’,” she says quickly, swinging her legs down from the seat and reaching for the door handle. “Let’s go!”

She shoves out of the truck without waiting for Cassian and foots it for the cabin, breathing harshly like she just fell from a great height.

***

Nesta goes straight to the master bedroom to redo her makeup and pick up a new pair of underwear. She knows it’s cowardly to leave Cassian downstairs, stuck chatting with wealthy donors and unable to follow her, but she won’t let him confront her about the confession that spilled back in the truck. Not yet.

When she finally finds the courage to stick her head out of the room, she nearly jumps at the sight of Azriel leaning against the hallway wall.

“What are you doing in my brother’s room?” he says, as if he was waiting for her to come out.

The best lies are half-truths. “Avoiding people,” she answers vaguely, exiting the room fully and shutting the door behind her. She clears her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Snooping.” He pushes off the wall and slides his hands into his pockets. “It’s interesting; I don’t think I’ve seen you all night, and now I find you in Cassian’s bedroom of all places.”

What is this, an interrogation? “I’m good at blending in,” Nesta says. “Few people ever notice me.”

“And I’m good at observing,” Azriel retorts, dark amusement gleaming in his gaze. “Where did you run off to earlier?”

Nesta looks him up and down, too bored to bother answering him. “I’m going to go now.” She shoves past his shoulder and walks away, leaving him too stunned to follow.

She comes across Elain near the top of the stairs.

“Nesta,” her sister says in surprise. Her brown eyes flicker past Nesta’s shoulder, to where Azriel still lurks in the hallway. She looks back to Nesta. “I wasn’t sure if you actually came tonight. I haven’t seen you at all.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hanging around.” Nesta waves a dismissive hand. It’s like Christmas Eve never happened between them. That’s the wonderful and terrible thing about sisters, Nesta supposes: there are no apologies, only moving on and moving past.

“Well, you look like you’re doing good.” Elain seems distracted. “I wish we could talk more, but I don’t have time for a fight tonight.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Azriel says, who’s snuck up behind Nesta. “If it’s me you’re worried about, I was just about to leave.” He’s addressing Elain, but won’t quite look her in the eyes. He turns to Nesta instead. “Happy New Year.” And then he’s gone down the stairs.

Elain stands there looking torn, wondering if she should go after him or not, but then Nesta says, “Why do you assume I would start a fight?”

“I—”

“Because if I remember correctly, our last fight was started by you.” She crosses her arms.

Elain sighs. “I just said I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m asking a question in response to a comment you made unprovoked.” When Nesta is calm, she can talk circles around Elain all night.

Elain throws her hands up. “It was just a stupid comment! I said it because we argue all the time. I can’t remember the last time we talked without arguing.”

“September twenty-eighth,” Nesta snaps.

Elain’s mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. You got the loan for your flower shop approved and you called me to celebrate. I was happy for you.”

Elain shakes her head, but Nesta can’t read what she’s feeling. “You remember the most inconsequential things.”

It doesn’t sound like an insult, so Nesta shrugs. “Don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.” She turns to go on her way. Of course, Elain doesn’t stop her. She’s never been one to get in the last word.

***

It’s ten minutes to midnight and Cassian still hasn’t been able to get a hold of Nesta since she ran from the truck. He doesn’t know why she’s running from such a simple truth, but he doesn’t plan on giving her much more time to hide. He has so much he needs to say to her—

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he’s about to slip away upstairs to find Nesta. Cassian turns to find Rhysand there, wearing the serious face he only uses for work-related business. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Cassian is not in the mood. He already had to repress the urge to find Mor and Rhys and tear into them when he returned to the party, and now he’s not sure if he can manage a conversation with his brother without snapping. Without spilling everything he’s worked so hard to hide.

“Not now,” Cassian says, trying to act chill. “It’s almost midnight and I’m trying to catch the...” He trails off as his eyes catch on Nesta, who’s appeared at the second floor sitting area with Eris.

“...fireworks,” he finishes. He turns to Rhys. “Let’s go upstairs to watch.” Half the guests, including the rest of his friends, are probably already outside for the countdown.

He keeps his eyes on Nesta as he climbs the stairs. Watching as she takes notice of him and quickly turns away, smiling at Eris instead. She lets the dickhead place his hand on her back to guide her out to the balcony.

Rage and disbelief take Cassian by the throat. Hiding in another man’s arms to avoid him? Coward fucking move, Archeron.

She steps outside with Eris, and before Cassian can follow he’s stopped once again by Rhys grabbing his arm. “Cass, will you slow down and listen to me for a minute?”

“What is it?” he snaps impatiently. They’re stopped at the top of the stairs, and other guests flow past them as they head for the balcony doors.

Rhys inhales, getting visibly irritated. He says, “I got a call from one of our overseas partners the other day—”

“Rhys!” Feyre calls from the balcony doors, waving her arms at him. “Get your ass over here, it’s almost midnight!”

Rhys turns to his girlfriend, his face lightening. “Be right there, darling.” He gives Cassian a sharp look. “We’ll finish this later.”

Cassian only nods and whirls on his heel, nearly shoving people out of his way to get outside. To get to Nesta.

Up on the wraparound balcony and down below on the frosty ground, guests are lined up with their partners, wrapped up in coats and eagerly awaiting midnight. He barely feels the cold, but he knows Nesta must. He should have grabbed a coat for her.

“Thirty seconds to midnight!” someone announces, answered by loud cheers.

Spotting shining red hair, Cassian grabs Eris by the suit jacket and whirls him around. “Where’s Nesta?” he demands over the loud chatter.

Eris makes a face like he’s been manhandled by a filthy dog. “Clearly not with me,” he retorts, shoving Cassian’s hand off him. “She got all pissy and went that way.” He gestures at a faraway section of balcony where most of the guests are crowding, hoping for an optimal view of the fireworks.

“TEN!” Someone starts the countdown. Others quickly catch on.

“NINE!” Cassian heads in the direction Eris pointed, searching through the sea of glitter and gold for a glimpse of Nesta.

“EIGHT!” He hears his friends calling after him distantly, asking where he’s going.

“SEVEN!” He catches sight of Nesta.

“SIX!” He doesn’t know what he’s thinking as he navigates through the crowd, reaching for her. But he knows she’s shining brighter than the moon right now. He knows he’s been fooling himself since the moment she stepped into his cabin this past September.

“FIVE!”

He closes in on her, her back turned to him.

“FOUR!”

Let’s not go out of our way to hide this anymore, they agreed after Christmas Eve. Let’s just be ourselves around our friends and family, and they’ll find out when they find out.

“THREE!”

In Cassian’s defense, he’s simply being himself in this moment.

“TWO!”

He takes Nesta by the elbow and spins her around. She meets his eyes in surprise. “Cassian. I was looking for you—”

“ONE!”

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her.

***

a/n: punk 57 was a shit book but i gotta give it credit for the truck scene

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein

#nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au #for some reason i’m not showing up in the tags??#i’m gonna kill everybody

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uglierdaikon · 3 years ago

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Books!

Friends, Romans, countrymen, please, beg no more! For all two of you who have asked, here is my list of my favorite books from my Goodreads of the past year or so (rated, because I have some free time and love having opinions)

· The Passion of Dolssa by Julia Berry

Rated: 8.5/10

This books has everything!

Peasants

Unreliable narrators

Prostitutes

Ugly people as main characters and romantic leads

A girl who bangs our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ in her dreams

o Actual summary: This book is split between multiple perspectives (mainly the titular Dolssa and a young woman named Botille), as well as (fictional) written accounts or interrogations conducted by clergymen into the issue of Dolssa, a young mystic being pursued for heresy during the time of the Inquisition. The story follows Dolssa’s journey of faith and attempts to avoid capture, a clergyman’s attempts to find her and execute her, and the experiences of a young woman who finds and protects Dolssa from her pursuers. It’s cool as hell, and it talks about one of my favorite aspects of religious history, female mystics (women who had dreams of speaking to Jesus, or even being in relationships with him. Some people saw them as prophets and holy women, others saw them as blasphemers. It’s a really interesting and complicated topic and this book covers it in such a cool way!)

YA, so she doesn’t bang Jesus on screen. Sorry to disappoint

· The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring by J R R Tolkien (Jirt)

Rated: 9/10

One of the most bangin’ books of all time. You know it. You love it. If you haven’t seen the movies, go watch them. Or read the books (which I myself am only just beginning). Although personally I’d recommend seeing the movies first because the writing is a little complicated at times and it helps to have a point of reference to fully understand what’s going on, if I’m being completely honest. Once you get used to the writing style though, it's so immersive and the world it creates is simultaneously beautiful, homey/familiar, otherworldly, and frightening. God tier shit

· The Lost Apothecary by Sarah Penner

Rated: 7.5/10

Not my FAVORITE thing I’ve read all year, but overall a super interesting mix of historical fiction and contemporary fiction. This book has two timelines: one of an apothecary in the late 1700s who dispenses poisons to women who wish to kill the men in their lives, and one of an amateur historian trying to solve the mystery of these snippets of information she keeps finding about a possibly murderous apothecary who lived centuries before. It’s very cool, and the only reason I put it lower on the list is because I thought the ending dragged on too long. Big fan!

· The Song of the Jade Lily by Kirsty Manning

Rated: 10/10

Okay so I’m realizing as I write this list that this was just the year of me reading historical fiction like a maniac. Anyways, this is also a split timeline, historical fiction and contemporary fiction novel. The first timeline covers the experiences of a young Jewish refugee whose family fled to Shanghai following Kristellnacht, but are unable to avoid the war entirely as tension and violence builds in China. The other timeline covers the granddaughter of this refugee, who returns to China to try to learn more about her deceased mother’s birth family (as the mother was adopted by her grandparents, the Jewish refugees). It’s less complicated than it sounds, I swear. I’ve been telling everyone I know to read this one, and now I’m telling you guys to read it. It made me cry, which is a big recommendation imo.

· Circe by Madeline Miller

Rated: 500/10

THIS IS IT. THIS IS THE BEST BOOK I HAVE READ IN THE PAST YEAR

I don’t know if I’ve expressed this enough on here but I am a MASSIVE mythology nerd, and Madeline Miller my beloved is a classical historian and writer. This book delves into the life of the witch Circe (of Odyssey, and turning men into pigs, fame), reimagining her from a black and white villain into someone more sympathetic, someone you actually root for. I will say this book has themes of violence against women and sexual assault, so skip it if that’s not something you want to read about. I absolutely adored this book though.

· The Song of Achilles, also by Madeline Miller

Rated: 8/10

This is less good than Circe but it’s still good! It’s also YA rather than adult fiction so it’s tamer

This is a love story about the Greek hero Achilles and his friend Patroclus, taking place from the time that they’re children to when they go off to fight in the Trojan War. If you’re familiar with the Iliad, you know these guys. If you’re not… well, I won’t spoil it. But I read this book in one sitting. The writing is amazing, I loved the characters, it’s well-paced. You’ll love it. Give it a shot.

· Dolores Claiborne by Stephen King

Rated: 9.5/10

This whole book is written as a monologue, which is so damn cool. The whole thing is told as a woman in her 60s confessing to two murders: one that she was actually arrested for, and the other from about thirty years earlier. C’mon, guys, it’s Stephen King. I don’t need to tell you that it’s damn good. You KNOW it’s damn good. I listened to this as an audiobook in my car and I used to think of places to go just for an excuse to drive somewhere and listen to it.

· Honorable mentions

(aka, I can’t tell you if these books are ACTUALLY good, or if I’m just obsessed with them. I love them though, and that’s enough for them to make the list) (These are both by the same author, and friends who have listened to me clown about these books are probably already laughing at me)

o Mo Dao Zu Shi, or “The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation” by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

Rated: you would ask me to rate my blorbos?? On this, a blorbo blog?

Oh god. How the fuck do I explain this book. Okay so it’s about magical ghost/demon-fighting warriors in Ancient China. That’s important to know right off the bat. The main character, Wei Wuxian, was one of the most powerful members of his generation, but he was killed for his crimes after essentially becoming a necromancer to get revenge on his enemies and win a war. However, years after his death, he wakes up in the body of somebody who sold his soul in exchange for Wei Wuxian to come back and take revenge on his behalf. So now Wei Wuxian is back, and getting dragged into mysteries and intrigue and the like, all while trying to hide who he actually is. Also he falls in love and it’s great, so happy for him.

This book is rated 17+ and has smut in the back half, so skip this if that’s not your thing

If that’s NOT your thing, I still recommend the animated series or the live action adaptation (The Untamed), both of which have no smut. However, they also leave out the romance in general because of Chinese censorship laws, so you win some you lose some in that regard. They’re both great adaptations otherwise

o The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, also by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

Rated: the main character is not a blorbo, but truly just feels like a personal friend of mine who happens to be a messy bitch. Still morally obligated not to rate it. Shen Yuan, you stupid whore, I love you

Okay, so there’s this guy named Shen Yuan who is a hater, an anti, an internet troll. He just goes online and leave mean reviews on this popular web novel called Proud Immortal Demon Way. He hates this book so much that it’s like, all he has energy for. All he does is read this book and get mad about it. Terrible. Anyways he hates it so much that he chokes and dies while reading the last chapter, and he wakes up as the “scum villain” of the novel. There is a System that communicates with him (kind of like the instructions of a video game, but sentient). This System basically tells him that he can either make the story better himself since he hates it so much, or he can sit down and shut up. So he has to change the novel from the inside as a character, and if he fails to he’ll die in the same brutal, torturous way that the original character does.

Somebody please read this it’s taken over my life

This is actually my favorite book that I’ve read in the last year, and the hardest one to actually recommend to people because like… read at your own risk.

Warnings for violence, toxic relationship dynamics, internalized homophobia, and uh. Dubious consent in the back half. You’ll know when it’s coming, just skip it if you need to

#tumblr deleted the whole post and I had to redo it #which was not very cool of tumblr #book recs #book recommendations #not jshk #this was so fun though #cmon guys I wouldn't recommend you anything but the best!#if you end up reading any of these please let me know so we can chat about it!#mini book club!#also thank you to Cat and Mac for showing interest in hearing my book recs love you guys

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randomshenaniganery · 3 years ago

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If I got placed in Obey Me! Shall We Date

Me: I always knew I was going to hell

M: To all the fuckers that said I’m going to hell I’m already here and I’m coming back bitches * puts on mammon’s shades *

M: That’s hella nuts

M: I’d say thank God but I don’t think this can apply to this situation

M: I was going to say I’m going to hell for this but what do you know

M: Do my sins count if I’m already in hell?

M: Not today Satan! * throws down a bottle of holy water and runs *

M: What are you going to do kill me? I already died once try me bitch

M: Hey man don’t piss off lucifer we don’t want another Satan

M: I mean if humans knew that you guys are demons and you exist there’s going to be an overpopulation problem in here just saying

M: I’m not saying Diavolo is a DILF BUT-

M: Barbatos tell me the truth is your torture chamber for u or not because the fandom can’t decide if you are a sadist or a masochist but also WHY DO YOU LIKE BEING IGNORED?????

M: Polygamy is dating lucifer who’s dating Diavolo

M: * every time I receive a gift from Diavolo * Daddy who?

M: I’m already in hell I have nothing to lose come at me bitch

M: ohhh teaaaa-no Barbatos I did not mean actual tea-

M: HOW DARE YOU LEVI MONIKA IS BEST GIRL-

M: I want Lotan

M: Beel is my emotional support huggable bear

M: Beel no matter what anyone tells you, you are an angel

M: Look me in the eyes and tell me Asmo and Solomon haven’t fucked. LOOK ME IN THE EYES-

M: I’m going to kill god and chop him up to little pieces and feed him to my starving child *gestures to Beel * (this is a line from starkid)

M: Simeon how do I make a formal complaint to God about human existence?

M: Belphie you literally chose a dumbass reason to hate humanity, there are so many good ones to choose from

M: I’m not saying humanity is worse than demons but like ya know * gestures vaguely that humanity is definitely worse than demons *

M: Lucifer please cosplay for me and Levi

M: Mammon I choose you!

M: If a demon tries to attack me I have the right to shove bleach down their throat right? It won’t KILL them but it would definitely be painful. But also can I keep their skull-

M: Dear Daddy Lord Diavolo the next time you get an exchange student please send a letter because I would have come here willingly anyway

M: Solomon you have to reenact this Greatest Showman scene with me or I will feel utterly betrayed

M: Jesus FUckinG Christ-stop making that face Luke

M: I like how you guys summoned me it’s like I’m the demon and yes I am I’m here to make six months of your eternal lives miserable

M: Top, bottom, bottom, top, switch, switch, switch

M: The only reason why I’m mad at you Belphie is because you killed me for a stupid reason like come on man kill me because you ACTUALLY hate me ya know??

M: I totally would dissect demons if given the opportunity ya know for science

M: Levi you’re not ugly or misshapen it’s just that your brothers have given you impossibly high standards

M: Mammon u fucking sub

M: technically that’s not your brother that’s your nephew

M: Asmo are you sure you’re not the avatar of pride because that’s a hella lot of vanity you have there

M: who the fuck named Devildom

M: so... theoretically how would one go about to wake up the demon king-what?? I said theoretically!

M: Purgatory was created by Dante because of his fanfiction

M: God’s existence is the validation of millions of people’s pain and suffering just sayin’

M: Well fuck man I’m atheist I don’t know how to react to being summoned by demons

M: Solomon if you don’t have a spell that helps me get rid of mosquitoes that goes near then what’s the fucking point

M: Hell is dark like my soul

M: You guys just went with the fucking aesthetic with these buildings huh

M: So wanna bet who’s the top with Diavolo and Lucifer-oh fuck pleasenohavemercy

M: Hi Beel I’m going to jump down please catch me

M: Beel is the only one that I give permission to eat me but eating me out is an entirely different conversation just sayin’

M: Belphie I challenge you to a lazy contest

M: Levi please buy a Rimuru plushie for me onegaishimasu

M: I’m trying to out weeb Levi but he’s such a gatekeeper

M: I hope to God that none of you will ever discover my reddit and youtube history

M: Simeon did you write the future or were you writing fanfiction about the brothers-

M: Luke hating demons is racist

M: God saw the demon race and decided to be creative in the weirdest ways Levi just what even are you wearing

M: Asmo I hate to say this but Mammon out sluts you in his demon form

M: The only thing I’d marry is a dragon-Dia no

M: Beel I love you like a mother because none of you have ever had a motherly figure and I doubt your emotional maturity sometimes.

M: I’m not in the anti-lucifer group I’m in the anti-everybody

M: Sebastian michaelis nooooooooo

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curseofaphrodite · 3 years ago

Note

hi hi hi hi

fuck exams tbh i hate it with my everything *sobs* anywhore wishing you do well in your exams

aNYWAYS GUESS WHAT HAPPENED TODAY I LIVED MY WATTPAD MOMENT 😩 so yk my bf he came to my house and i was writing bio test at that time so he was talking and annoying my mother mary 😍👌 anyways once i finished the test he was like "aw i'm so proud of you yayay" *kisses my forehead* oh my god i died and came back bc that was so cute??? and the fact that he knew i probably need some sweet words bc yk i was sick and all so i missed a lot of time. NOW ONTO THE ✨WATTPAD✨ moment the next thing he says is "aren't you a good girl? why yes you are. my good girl." oh my god the fucking butterflies 🦋🦋😩🙏 (i'm pretty sure a whole ass earthquake occurred inside my stomach-) and and and he whispered it in my ear good great god it was so hot i think he knew that did things to me bc then that mf proceeded to smirk (he looked hot asf okay? he didn't look like some old creepy man while smirking. he a seggsy mf sORRY)

no thoughts mind empty just-

moving on

tHE PERSON WHO DRESSED UP AS MY GIRL OLIVE SMITH I HOPE YOU FIND SOMEONE LIKE ADAM CARLSEN<33 (lmao i stalk your profile when i'm bored sorry not sorry astoria)

and why have you not read the love hypothesis tori 🤨🤨🤨🤨 i force you to read it the second you're free ;) [pls do read it so we can simp over adam carlsen together ffs none of my friends like reading and i'm this close to find new friends- nvm i'm changing school so i kinda have to find new friends anyways] [have you read spanish love deception six of crows duology folk of air series dear aaron from lukov with love luna and the lie shatter me series ACOTAR series it ends with us reminders of him ugly love basically any coho books//mariana zapata books?? say yes pls i'm losing my mind i need someone to discuss these with &&& simp over the characters hahah lol i'm rambling nonsense omg bye i'll just go ig] [oh and punk 57 && marriage for one too for plot obviously never for the great smut and hot female oc] i swear i'm not high

since i'm such a generous person (🤣🤌) i'm gonna share another poem of mine with you (only you get to read it vip friend wife things💕)

me 🤝 using emojis unnecessarily

TAKE CARE I LOVE YOU AND I HOPE YOU DO WONDERS IN YOUR EXAMS MWAH MWAH<3

🔮

me 🤝 people who use emojis a lot

first up PLS YOUR BOYFRIENDS SO COOL IM YOUR MAID OF HONOR OK ITS LEGAL NOW IM LEGALLY YOUR MAID OF HONOR. tease him back next time and see how he likes it 😩

@iceaesthiexs FIND YOUR ADAM WHOEVER THAT IS.

also yes I'm yet to read love hypothesis hshjhdkj I generally don't read a lot of books which have romance as their main plotline. BUT I DID READ SIX OF CROWS BE PROUD! omg I read Spanish love deception too but it was a hit and a miss for me. I give it 3/5, deducting two simply because the author KEPT SAYING BLUE EYES LIKE JESUS CHRIST REFER TO THIS, you'll see what I mean. ill put a screenshot here anyway

AJDKA the writing was good tho bestie but the story was inconsistent, this is why i stick to murder mysteries.

I SAW YOUR POEM AND QUEUED IT I THINK!! i have a talented poet friend now 😩😩💌

im not gonna do any wonders but we'll seeeeee. how are your exams going on?

#🔮 anon #tea with anons

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hermankopusortizorsumshite · 4 years ago

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Big, Ugly SOB

Warning: typical Walking Dead themes, smut, probably other stuff, be advised.

SHANE BABIES! THIS ONE”S FOR YOU! Slow burn, angsty, love, smut, it’s all here gals! Please like, reblog, and comment! I’d love to hear from all of you!

Part One!

She grabs her pistol and heads out the door of the small shed and does a perimeter sweep before shutting the door. With a deep breath, she starts towards the high ridge. Heaving a sigh, she turns around and writes a note for anyone who may find her.

‘Headed to the ridge. Higher vantage point. Curious about Atlanta but not sure I’ll go.

If you need supplies there’s a day’s worth of jerky and some supplies in here.

Best of Luck’

She truly hoped that she’d find someone she knew. As a patrol officer of King County, she hadn’t run into a single other officer that she knew. Though, she didn’t take the main roads, as she knew the cost.

Hiking up the ridge through the woods, she hears soft talking and the voice strikes her deep in her soul. She knows that voice. The deep southern voice talking low just out of eyesight.

“Excuse me? I don’t mean to alarm you but I’m just looking to join a group--You are one big, ugly, dumb son-of-a-bitch.” There was the owner of the voice. Snorting, she quickly covers her mouth as she sinks to the ground cackling under her hands. Shane’s eyes glance to the old man next to him and back to her as she sits on the ground staring at him with a look of wonder as tears roll down her face.

“Officer Duke?” He hushes as a grin sweeps across his face. Pushing passed the old man, he grabs her hands and pulls her to her feet.

“It’s Lottie. C’mon Walsh.” She chuckles, reaching out and pulling him into a warm embrace.

“It’s Shane, silly gal. I can’t believe it. Look at you. Ugly and big, yes baby girl that’s me.” He croons, holding her arms out wide to look her over. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he turns to the old man and waves him over. “This is Lottie. She was one of the Sheriff’s Deputies like me. Lottie, this is Dale. Dale, Charlotte. C’mon Duke, this way.” He crows, hooking arms with her and dragging her along. As they break into a small clearing, she finds aa small group of people, including Lori and Carl.

“Hey, where’s Rick?” She asks, looking to Shane. His face sombers and he waves her to him.

“He’s gone.” He whispers, looking at Lori with a longing she could only describe as a silent plea of a lover. With a single blink the look is vanished from his face and he pats Lottie on the head. “Come say hi.”

“Lori, Carl, you two look so tired.” She coos as Lori’s face lights up. A blonde across the way eyes her with a disapproving look, but a younger blonde bounds up to Lottie with a grin and a hand shoved out to greet her.

“Hi, I’m Amy. The crabby one is my sister Andrea. That’s Carol and Sophia, Ed’s away in the tent. He’s not much fun. That one is Daryl, he’s a loner. And that’s T-Dog.” In order, Lottie’s eyes meet every face she’s introduced to, and most stick out a hand. Except for the crossbow weilding man, Daryl, she nods confidently to herself.

“I’m Lottie.” She waves, ducking over to Shane and hides behind him.

“Darlin’ I’m gonna head over here and get some water. Find yerself somethin’ to eat and get comfy. You can share my tent. Go get situated. Lori’ll get you acquainted around.” He waves Lori over and Lottie watches the exchange with wide eyes as Shane’s drink in Rick’s wife.

“Thanks Walsh.” She smiles awkwardly before disappearing into Shane’s tent. Spending her first day in the tent with Walsh, she puts her bags in the corner and rolls out her makeshift blanket, made of a couple sweatshirts and tee shirts she had found. Shane steps into the tent and sees her sitting in the corner and his eyes drift to the less than adequate bedding and he frowns.

“Hey, tell you what. I’ll take first shift on watch tonight and you can sleep in my sleeping bag, on the foam pad. It’s better than the rocky ground, Duke.” He holds up a hand to silence her and she feels her face heat up.

“Jesus Christ, I can’t do that--”

“I wasn’t asking. I’m telling you. I’m on watch first tonight, so you have to keep my sleeping bag warm. If not, I’ll--”

“Have Lori do it?” She whispers, and sees it strike a nerve on Shane’s face.

“You shut your mouth about that. Okay? Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on.” He barks, jamming a sturdy finger into her chest plate.

“Sure. I’d be that mad if there was nothing going on too. Rick’s dead, Walsh. Ain’t no shame in keepin’ his wife and son safe. You done good so far.” She assures, laying on her blanket and curling up against her bag.

“Hey baby girl. I said-” he leans down and hoists her up, putting her on his sleeping bag. “-to use this damn thing.” He croons, giving her head a soft pat before taking his gun and stepping out of the tent.

Morning comes and she slips from Shane’s tent and out into the daylight. For only a second, it almost felt like the summer you went camping with the boys on the lake three years ago. Carl was too little so Lori had stayed home and it had just been Lottie, Rick, Shane, and Leon Basset, another man she hadn’t seen since the world ended.

“Mornin’ babygirl.” He croons, patting her shoulder as she walks up to the group of people sitting in chairs in a circle, finding a seat next to her and Lori.

“Mornin’ ugly.” She groans, pushing his hand up her shoulder to her neck where the kink is. Softly, he rubs the knot from her neck without a word.

“Darlin’ get you somethin’ to eat. Lori, can you grab her a plate?” He croons, patting Lori’s knee. She gives Lottie a half-assed mad look before rising and grabbing a plate with eggs and toast. Placing it into Lottie’s lap, cshe huffs under her breath, mumbling something.

“I’m sorry, what?” Lottie asks, looking at Lori.

“Not a damn thing.” She barks, giving Shane a dark look before heading into her own tent a little ways away.

“Yo, Duke. Over here. You take watch up top, I’ll be out and about. You see walkers, more than two, you give me or Daryl a heads up. Okay? And if you see more than that, give us more than a heads up. Okay?” He briefs her like they’re back on the force before leading her up to the look out atop the RV.

“Okay, I’ll holler if I see a bunch. Is someone supposed to take over for me later?” She asks as Shane hands over the binoculars.

“Yeah, couple hours Daryl will be up. Glenn and a few others went on a raid this morning, so when they get back they’ll do a round of watch. When your watch is over come find me.” He disappears down the ladder and she watches through Shane’s binoculars as Shane himself and Lori slip away into the woods out of the line of sight.

Once they reappear, Lori’s clothes are disheveled and Shane’s licking his lips with a prideful smirk on his full lips. Sucking in a breath, Lottie watches a moment longer as Shane takes a moment to tuck his shirt back in and lick his lips once more. Reaching up, his fingers sift through his jet black, fluffy curls and gives Lori--what he thought was-- a sneaky wink. Lottie watches the horizon and sees a white refrigerator truck barreling towards their camp and a red Charger wailing through the quarry, echoing off the walls. First the car comes to a stop and Shane charges them, yanking the relay out that belongs to the horn. Glenn steps out, jittery with excitement.

“You guys, this new guy absolutely saved our asses.”

“Glenn this group is big enough. Quit taking in strays.” Shane hushes.

“But your girlfriend isn’t one? Sorry, listen man. This guy was awesome, some kind of police uniform, not sure. One second,” the small Asian man sprints to the truck and when the binoculars land on the driver, she nearly falls off the RV.

“Holy shit.” She whispers, losing her footing a second time and tumbling over the edge. As she lands on the ground next to Dale, Shane’s eyes drop to her and he lands in the dirt next to her.

“Damn darlin’. New guy that hot?” He chuckles, helping her to her feet and dusting her off. With a quick once over, he finds nothing broken or busted, so he proceeds out to greet the new guy but stops dead in his tracks. Rick. Holy shit.

“Lori? Carl!” He shouts, falling to his knees as he hugs his family. Her eyes land on Shane in utter shock and he just releases the breath he’d been holding. “Duke. Shane.” He drags the two officers into a warm hug and she and Shane reciprocate.

As night falls, she steps into the tent with Shane’s sleeping form and carefully steps over him. Laying down on her blanket, she hears some rustling around behind them, but she goes to sleep. Rolling over, she finds an empty space where Shane was. More rustling. A groan. In her groggy sleep, she ignores the sounds outside and grabs Shane’s pillow.

“Shane?” She asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Standing and stepping out the tent, she stretches backwards and is grabbed from behind. “Walsh, knock it off-oh shit.” She gives a whine and tries to run away. The walker tries to bite at her ankles, grabbing her pant legs. “Shane! Shane!” She screams , grabbing for anything on the ground to stab the ugly monster, but she grabs for the only thing near her. A stick. Kicking with her foot and knocking the diseased thing off her, she stabs a stick through his leg. Skittering to her feet she backs into something behind her. Another walker grabs her and she shrieks, this time Shane twists around and fires a rifle into her shoulder, killing the walker. He grabs her up and hoists her over a shoulder.

“Did it bite you? Baby girl?” His shouts become foggy and distant as she floats into unconsciousness. “No! C’mon darlin’. Rick! Rick come over here! Someone please!” His desperate cries echo through the camp as Carol grabs Lottie and carries her to the RV.

“Check for bites first.” Dale barks, jabbing at Lottie with the barrel of his gun.

Early morning rises and she whispers to Shane, who’s sitting next to her, his hand on her arm and head on his arms.

“Shane, Walsh.” He jerks awake and stands erect.

“Mornin’.” He whispers, starting for the door.

“Where you going?” She asks, giving him a soft smile.

“I was just checking on you. I gotta tell the others you’re awake.” He gruffs, heading back to the door.

“Shane.” He stops again, searching her face for something. He walks back to her and leans down, taking her hand into his. “I saw you sleeping.” She whispers, gripping his hand.

“Ya, so I fell asleep there. What of it?” He barks, shifting from foot to foot.

“You were worried, weren’t you?” She coos, smirking at him.

“No. I knew you’d be fine.” He assures, patting her hand.

“Really? That doesn’t really seem accurate, Walsh.”

“Leave it alone.” He grumbles, thumping lightly down the stairs and out the door.

A few hours later, she hears a couple soft female voices talking about her. “…..she’s just lucky Shane’s got a raging hard on for her…”

“.….she hasn’t lifted a finger here yet…”

“.…got attacked and Walsh left the group to save her. Such bullshit…”

“Amy probably wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for that girl..-”

She steps out of the RV, groaning in pain with every step. Shane rushes her, reaching out to take her elbow, only to be shoved away weakly.

“Babygirl--”

“No Walsh. No more. I can’t deal with this. These bitches over here, whom I can hear claerly in there by the way! Won’t quit bitching about what I haven’t done. So I’ll just be over here.” She barks, pushing Shane away again. He huffs, watching from afar as she staggers over to the bench and grabs the legs of a walker. Grunting, tears running down her face, she sees Glenn grab the shoulders, but when his eyes meet hers he drops it immediately.

“Hey, maybe you should just sit down--”

“No. I’m gonna help. Grab the other goddamn end and lift. With your knees. Jesus christ.” She hoists the body up and carries it across the field. As they sit the body on the ground, her arms quaking, she drops the feet and crumbles to the dirt beneath her.

“Goddamn it.” Shane skids to her side, dust clouding around them as his hands grab her arms. “I just want you to relax. C’mon babygirl. Let me help you--”

“Get away! I can do it on my own!” She screams, shoving him away. “Just please, leave me here, Shane.” She shoves him once more and rises to his feet, heading over to Carol, Andrea, and the hispanic woman.

“You guys better keep your traps shut. She was shot and she was injured, and here you are, not doin’ a goddamn thing, bitchin’ about an injured officer who can’t lift anything. Kettle callin’ the pot black shit now, isn’t it? Leave her out of this shit.”

The next morning the group gets up and ready to leave, Shane leading her to his Jeep.

“Darlin’ get in.” He buckles her seat belt without a second thought.

“Quit treating me like your girlfriend, Walsh.” She mutters, pushing on his shoulder.

“I’m not.” He nips, grabbing her arm and throwing it away from him.

“Oh really? Were you gonna go around and buckle in every woman out there?” She barks back, raising a brow at him.

“Well no--I’m just--”

“You just suddenlt have this urge to keep me safe from harm? Like my goddamn boyfriend? You’re not Walsh, okay? So just quit. I can do for myself.” She drives, letting him head out behind everyone else.

“Okay, babygirl. I’m sorry. It’s just--when I thought Rick was dead, it hurt. Right? A-a-a-and when I saw you come through that brush like an angel, I just-hell, you almost had my ugly ass crying. I was just happy to see you.” He makes conversation while he’s driving. They get to the highway and slow to a crawl. The motorhome stops up ahead and all the others in the group get out to inspect.

As they ravage the hundreds of cars, like time stopped, they find lots of useful things.

“Bet ya’ll ain’t never wanted water so bad.” Shane chuckles, popping the cap on a waterjug and soaking himself. She watches on, laughing to herself as Shane bathes in it. His eyes land on her, grabbing her arms and pulling her to the truck, popping another cap and gently pulling the rag she’d tied up her hair with and shook her curls under the water. “Ooh! Babygirl, you look so good with those wet curly locks!” He cheers, giving her a sopping wet hug.

“Walkers!” The screech is enough to freeze her in her tracks.

“Everybody under the cars.” Rick’s gentle voice carries and Shane grabs her hand, pulling her under a box truck.

“Walsh, look. I can lead them away--”

“Ssh. Shut up. Do you remember that shoot out with me, Rick, and you? And you said that we wouldn’t make it out, and what did ol’ Shane do?” He asks, patting her arm. They lay on the hot concrete under a box truck, the various sharp stones digging into her knees and arm.

“You got us out.”

“And you didn’t think I could did ya? But I did, babygirl. So trust me again. C’mon, darlin’. You just roll your front against my back as tight as you can, okay? We’ll make it again. Trust me. Now ssh. I see a bunch a’ feet movin’. Don’t make a goddamn sound, babygirl.” He whispers, breathing out as he feels her huddle as tight as she can against his back. “I got ya baby. I got ya.” He coos almost as a breath, trying to be silent. “Lemme have your hand.” He whispers, her hand snaking over his ribs and grabs his open hand, squeezing. “Take a deep breath, let it out slow. Show time.” Her mouth bites into his shoulder, he shivers and squeezes her hand tighter. One of her legs slips over his and she’s almost melded into him as one person.

When the horde finally works through, Shane looks over his shoulder to find her asleep against him. Gently shaking her, as she awakes, and looks confused. For a moment, she looks like a glorious sunny day sitting by the lake under a shade tree after a long nap under the summer sun.

“You look like you had a good nap.” He chuckles, rolling to face her, still on the ground and their noses almost touch. “Wow, last time we were this close you remember what we were doing?”

“Yeah,” she laughs, pushing awkwardly at his shoulders. “I think it was some stupid party and we were playing seven minutes in heaven.”

“Yeah, and I got to second base with Haley Duvall that day. You were a prude though. You shut down so fast, even when I tried to score.” He chuckles, leaning dangerously close to press his dry lips gently to her cheek.

“I did, Walsh. Then we went from cops to surviving this ugly ass world now.” She crows, hearing a blood curdling scream. It draws them both from this happy cocoon they were in, and she scrambles from under the truck.

“Hey, also?” He leans so close his voice is but a whisper of hot air over her neck. “Don’t ever bite my shoulder like that again unless you plan to finish what you start.”

“Shane I--” He gives her a dark smirk and a wink, making her body tingle.

“What was that?” He asks as he gaits over to the group.

“It was Sophia. She ran off, Shane. Rick went after her.” He grumbles, grabbing Lottie’s hand and heads for the woods.

“We gotta find that kid.” He states as they slip into the woods.

#Shane Walsh #shanewalsh #Shane Walsh x reader #the walking dead #walking dead #jon bernthal #jon bernthal is too goddamn good at acting.#jesus christ shane #shane walsh angst #shane walsh slowburn

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yikesharringrove · 4 years ago

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@kumathecatalyst made my brain go bbbbbrbrrrrrrrrr

Billy let his head fall back, resting against the side of the house.

He had lost track of time in his drunken haze, and was an hour past curfew.

No way his dad would let him in.

He thought about finding some girl, convince her into letting him drive her home, into letting him stay the night.

In whatever capacity that means. Rumors will only help him here, help him blend in.

He gave himself until the end of his cigarette. Then he would head inside are start sniffing at chicks.

He knew that Vicki girl was watching him earlier, and he’s pretty sure Tina is the one throwing the party. Maybe he can sweet talk his way into her bedroom. It’s beat having to go anywhere.

He stared at the dwindling cigarette.

It was cold out, but Billy was still drunk enough that it felt nice. It was too hot inside, everyone tugging at him, pushing him around, trying to cling onto him.

He took a deep breath, was about to stub out the dying cig against the side of the house when he heard humming.

A tune that nearly made his heart stop.

Harrington came around the corner, stumbling, and very drunk, holding a red cup with one hand, his stupid sunglasses with the other.

He stopped for a second, looking down at his feet, taking a shaking breath.

“It’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor, would you be mine?” He laughed bitterly, pouring out his drink. He watched the spiked punch splatter in the grass at his feet. His eyes tracked up, landing on Billy as he clumsily sang, “could you be mine?”

“Mr. Rogers, huh?” Harrington just stared. “I like that show.”

“It’s good.” Steve was slurring, just a touch. “Mr. Rogers wants to be my friend. He says so. Every episode.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the idea of the neighborhood.”

“Wish I had a neighborhood.” Harrington threw his empty cup into the bushes.

“You do.”

“No, like, a Mr. Rogers kinda neighborhood. Where everyone was nice, and, and people liked me, and I had friends. Mr. Rogers is my only friend and he’s not even real.”

“He’s real.” Harrington huffed dramatically at Billy.

“But he lives in the t.v. He’s not here. He’s not real in my life. Or I’m not real in his.” He furrowed his brows, looked like he was getting confused.

It was cute.

And Billy suddenly realized he didn’t know Harrington’s first name.

That Tom kid just kept referring to him as Harrington.

“I’m Billy.”

“I know.” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but I don’t know your name, Dumbass.” Harrington’s eyes went hollow. It was fucking creepy.

“It’s Steve. But Dumbass works too I guess.” Billy made a mental note never to call him dumbass again.

“Well, you know. Now that we know each other, we can be neighbors.” Steve’s face lit up slowly, like the words were sinking in one by one.

And then he threw himself at Billy, hugging him tightly around the middle.

And Billy realized, horrified, that Steve was sobbing into his neck.

Billy reached up, patting his back.

“Why don’t I take you home, Steve?” That was somehow the wrong thing to say, as Steve just started crying harder.

“No one takes care of me.”

“Whoa, who said anything about take care of? I was just gonna drop you off. Let your mom do all the heavy lifting.”

And then Steve’s legs seemed to give out under him.

“Mom’s not home. Never home.” A chill spread through Billy’s whole body.

“Is she, did she pass?”

“No. She just chooses not to be around me,” Steve wailed. Billy was very much in over his head.

But he may have found a place to sleep tonight.

And if Steve likes Mr. Rogers, he’s gotta have the channel at home.

Because that was the thing about moving to Hawkins. It meant leaving everything behind. Including, Mrs. Beverly down the street that let Billy come in and watch The Neighborhood with her.

She was old and kind, gave him cookies and turned a blind eye if he got choked up during an episode.

“Hey, Steve, just let me drive you home, okay?” Steve nodded into his neck.

Billy led him to his car parked far down the road. He didn’t want any assholes hitting it.

He had pounded some water before heading outside, and felt alright. Still a little hazy, but he’ll get them there in one piece.

Steve had calmed down some, just kinda had tears sliding down his face now, Which was better than his body wracking with harsh sobs.

He silently pointed at streets Billy was meant to turn down, and Billy, for once, drove slowly enough that it worked out.

Steve was still humming the theme song, his voice cracking every so often.

He pointed to a big house at the end of the street, and Billy pulled into the long drive way.

He glared at the huge fucking house. Steve made no move to get out of the car.

He was holding onto his seat belt, the car silent without his humming.

“Do you wanna come in?” His voice was tiny, like he already new the answer.

“Sure.” His head snapped up to look at Billy. Billy just killed the ignition and pulled himself out of the car.

He watched Steve, smile on his face, as he stumbled awkwardly out of the passenger seat, nearly falling over in the process.

Billy got one hand on his elbow as they walked to the front double doors.

“You wanna-I got Mr. Rogers on tape.” Steve was just holding his keys out for Billy.

There were only a few, one clearly a car key, so it was a matter of three different keys.

Steve seemed like he just didn’t wanna bother.

“I got a buncha episodes. We could watch one.”

“Sure, if you want.” Steve beamed at him. Billy just focused on getting the door open.

The second key worked and the heavy lock slid open.

Steve’s house was cold.

It was immaculately clean, like some kinda model home.

It looked like nobody lived in it.

Steve brought Billy through the entry hall to a door just off the kitchen leading into a basement.

This was better. The couch was worn and there was a blanket strewn on it like Steve had been curled up underneath it.

Billy realized this is probably where Steve spends most of his time in this empty house, the almost cozy television room downstairs.

There were shelves lined with tapes, all sorts of movies and neatly labeled television show recordings.

Steve had probably every episode of The Neighborhood in a section all on it’s own. Billy picked a random episode and hoped it wasn’t one guaranteed to make him cry.

He figured Steve’s breakdown was enough for one night.

Steve sang along to the theme song under his breath.

It was so damn cute.

He was slurring still, drunk and lazy, sitting low on the couch with the blanket pulled up to his chin.

It looked hand knit.

He had put some over Billy’s lap when he sat down.

The episode turned out to be fine.

For Billy that is.

It was an old one, one from about two years ago.

One about friendship.

And Steve seemed to be okay.

And then the story moved to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe.

The puppet people were on their way to a picnic at King Friday’s palace.

But Lady Aberlin was in a rush and forgot to get Daniel Tiger and bring him to the picnic.

And Daniel Tiger explained how hurt he felt, forgotten and left out by his friends. How they had fun without him and that made him feel bad.

And Steve was crying again.

“They, they just forgot Daniel-” Billy could barely make out what he was saying.

This was no pretty crying. This wasn’t a few dainty tears.

This was water covering Steve’s cheeks. This was snot and borderline hyperventilating.

And Billy has never felt more out of his depths.

“They don’t care about Daniel! They don’t love him!” Yeah, this was not about Daniel Tiger and the fucking picnic.

“Steve, of course they love Daniel. Lady Aberlin came back, and, and she apologized! Sometimes, you know, friends can just be shitty,” Billy offered. Steve wailed. There were tears dripping off his chin now.

“I wouldn’t know!”

“C’mon, man. Didn’t I say I was your friend?”

“You don’t even know me!”

“I’ve seen you fucking ugly cry three times tonight. I feel like I know you pretty well.” The episode was still playing, Mr. Rogers now explaining in that soft voice of his, that telling friends our feelings can help make us feel better. Billy pointed at the television. “Tell me your feelings! Mr. Rogers said it’ll help.”

“I, I, no one loves me. Nancy doesn’t love me, my old friends want fuckin’ nothing to do with me, and, and my parents don’t even like me, and I’m always left behind.”

“Wait, Nancy’s that girl, right? That Tom guy said you ditched him for her.”

“No. I ditched him because he was being a fucking asshole.”

“Them Steve, you kinda can’t complain that he wants nothing to do with you after you ditched him.”

“I tried to talk to him. Like, a month later. We were best friends since we were five, and it was one stupid fight, and I tried to talk it out, and he told me to go fuck myself.” Damn.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Steve had stopped crying by now, but his face was still wet. He was fucking covered in snot. Jesus Christ. “I tried. He just realized he was better off without me.”

“Or he was hurt and trying to protect his pride or some shit.” Steve deflated a bit.

“The Nancy thing is, that one’s real. She said she was just pretending. We’ve been together for a year. And I, I love her. And she’s just pretending.” Steve suddenly sat up, flipping the blanket down to let out his top half, scooting to sit against the armrest facing Billy.

The credits were rolling on the tape.

“Y’know, I offered to like, not go to college for her. I missed the early application deadline because my whole plan up until like two hours ago was to rot in this shitty fucking town for her. To settle down with her. To marry her. And she’s fucking pretending.” He finally wiped off his face. “I don’t even know what to do anymore. I fucking don’t.”

Billy didn’t either.

Well, he had a few suggestions, but you could always suck my cock, right here and now felt a little crass for the situation.

“You said early application. You’ve still got the regular deadlines.”

“I wanted to do early because Nancy had been helping me with my grades all fucking year. She helped me bring them up a lot last year and without her, man they’re gonna tank.”

“Nah. You got me now. I can give you a hand.”

Steve gave him a look, one eyebrow raised.

“What? I’m smarter than I look.”

“That’s not reassuring.” Billy reached out and slapped Steve’s arm. Steve pouted at him, rubbing the sore spot. “Owie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ say owie.”

“That hurt, Billy. What would Mr. Rogers say?”

“He’d agree you were being a pain in my ass.”

“Rude.”

Steve looked better. His eyes were a little bit brighter.

“So, Daniel Tiger. Did talking about your feelings help?”

Steve rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, just a teeny bit.

“Yeah, it did. Thanks, King Friday.”

“Oh, you better take that back! I am not King Friday.”

Here’s a clip from the episode they watch. It’s lowkey fucking brutal. (The clip is “Daniel Feels Forgotten” under the Daniel Striped Tiger section)

#yikes writes #billy hargrove #harringrove #steve harrington

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thetaoofzoe · 4 years ago

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Fic: You, The Boy, and The Golden Shoes 1/1

Title: You, The Boy, and The Golden Shoes

Pairing: Henry Cavill X YOU (AU)

Word Count: 1890

Summary: Girl you are a fucking mess. How you managed to keep a top tier lad such as Henry, your sanity and a flagging perfume company is beyond me.

Rating: Nothing you wouldn’t share with mum. Slice of life, fluff, reality, tiny bit of angst, but it has a happy ending. :)

Note: This is a bit different than my usual fare, and of course AU, so I hope you like it.

You knew that if you stood there one moment longer, sodden in the cold drizzle, bare knees scraped and bleeding, face illuminated by the sickly pink neon Girls Girls Girls sign, and staring drunkenly at the plump old ladies eating ice cream inside the sweets shop, you’d likely start screaming.

What else was there to do on a wet Friday night, but scream into the void?

‘Show us yer tits!’

A man’s ugly voice jerked you out of your despair.

It took a moment to force focus from the ice cream ladies to the window’s watery reflection in time to see the raggedy white car crawling along the edge of the kerb, slow enough so that the equally as raggedy man in a splotchy tie dyed shirt could give you a right old shouting at. The driver behind him leaned on the car horn and with tires hydroplaning on the wet road the white car moved on.

I deserve it, you thought, and tried to push your wig upright on your head again.

The synthetic strands were waterlogged and the entire thing had begun to make its migration down one side of your head as if searching for dry refuge.

You are a fucking mess, girl, your mouthed to your reflection.

Making a sour face, you tried to use the edges of your dirty fingers to clean up the oozing mascara. But you only succeeded in smearing the sticky water proof khol down your cheeks and ended up looking as if you were preparing for some concrete jungle camouflage.

Maybe becoming one with the macadam was a good idea. It was the perfect time to just disappear and never come back, especially considering how you’d just ruined your life. The strap of your shiny gold dress slithered off of your shoulder and with a growl of frustration you hooked it with your thumb and dragged it up again.

You then glanced down at your dirty gold lamé pumps. The sudden shift of your booze heavy head caused your stomach to roil unpleasantly and wanting to prevent seeing those 5 whiskey sours and cherries make an encore appearance, you looked up at the ice cream ladies.

They seem to be enjoying themselves, you thought, miserably. I hope they rot.

In the reflection you could see yet another car slowing and coming to a stop directly behind you.

‘Oh fuck me,’ you muttered, when you saw a tall dark haired man get out and pop open a clear plastic umbrella to shield himself from the drizzle.

A vague thought drifted like a fluffy cloud across your drink addled brain.

Looks like the same umbrella that I have. Really, similar… hmm I wonder where I left it. I really liked that umbrella.

The man walked close and a painful tension clenched between your shoulder blades. You hoped he was either heading for the candy shop or the porno house and not about to harass you.

‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’ he shouted.

The anger was clear and sharp in his voice and mingled with an overlay of concern. In the window’s reflection you watched him drag a hand through his curls.

Henry.

‘Why did you run off like that?’ he asked, quieter this time and moved close to hold the umbrella over you.

You watched the old ladies abruptly burst into laughter over something. Then the one with her back to the window suddenly turned round to look you directly in the face. They had obviously been talking about the nutcase who was watching them through the window and embarrassed, you turned to face the man behind you.

‘How did you find me?’ you asked him and messily palmed the rain from your face.

Henry sighed and looked heavenward as if asking for deliverance from your special brand of crazy.

‘You’re not hard to miss,’ he said gesturing to your ruined and mud splattered evening gown.

You looked down at yourself and self consciously dragged the slipping strap back up onto your shoulder again.

‘Well, that’s what happens when you go crawling through the hedge.’

Henry gaped at you a moment then one-handed, shrugged out of his evening jacket and draped it about your shoulders. His hand drifted to your lower back and it was such a familiar gesture that it couldn’t be more of a Henry-move if he tried.

Mmm, he smells good though, you mused, catching his scent from the jacket and clutching the lapels of the jacket tighter.

Although you were grateful for his chivalry, you didn’t allow him to exert that soft, manly pressure against your back to hurry you along to the car. You wanted to wallow for a moment longer.

Henry stopped trying to guide you to safety and just stood there, observing you sympathetically and fortunately, silently. He had a tendency to talk every problem to death until he felt better about the situation, no matter how you felt about it. But, he was getting better about that and you put a hash mark on his side of your mental scoreboard.

Wanting to explain yourself and your outlandish behaviour, you spread your hands and tried to speak. But you couldn’t find a coherent explanation for why you did what you did.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said finally.

‘Why did you run away?’ he asked, jumping at the chance to get the conversation rolling.

Looking up at him, you scoffed with disbelief.

‘Why did I run away?’ you sneered in response.

The fundraiser had been a disaster. You had been a fucking disaster.

All you needed was for the earth to open you up and swallow you up to your neck, leaving your head free for birds to perch on. But no, you had to deal with the ramifications of the worst moments of your life.

It all started at the beginning of the year when a recluse aunt dropped a strange and failing fragrance company into your lap. Did she give you actual ownership where you could reap the benefits of being a company woman?

No.

She’d made you the figurehead who did all of the work to keep the business afloat whilst she did whatever recluses did in the south of France.

So, who could blame you for taking a little credit here and there as your hard work began to increase market shares. Who could blame you for slipping into her vacated persona and eventually into her name? It helped the business, for Christ sakes!

It definitely helped to have a face with the name so that people could deal directly with you, rather than by carrier pigeon, of whatever archaic method of communication your aunt liked to use. You never understood what she wanted anyway, so you ran things the way you saw fit.

From that point everything had proceeded swimmingly. You had a flourishing career, a bright future and a handsome lad. Henry was amazing and the sex…oh Jesus.

That was, until your reclusive aunt decided that the reclusive lifestyle just wasn’t for her any more. She’d turned up at a fundraiser you’d organised, in order to steal your spotlight once again. Word had spread like a raging grease fire that you were a fraud and you had tried to swindle a poor little old lady out of her fortunes. When in truth, it was you who saved the drowning business with its foul scent combinations and turned it a healthy, popular and thriving company.

So what did you do? When all accusing eyes were pinned on you?

You ran. As usual.

It really didn’t help that the house where the fundraiser was being held, was on a steep hill surrounded by thick hedges. It also didn’t help that you’d tried to leave through a balcony door that dumped you right out at the apex of that hill. It was a long way down and your rump became acquainted with every rock and bump and mudslide this side of the Mississippi.

You ripped your dress, muddied your 5000 quid shoes and dislodged your fabulous wig. And it was only later that you found refuge and solace on a high street off shoot road that boasted curries, candy and naked girls.

And that’s also where Henry found you.

‘If this is about what your aunt said,’ he began and you stiffened, waiting for the blow of his disapproval and eventual breakup. ‘It… doesn’t make sense.’

You looked up to meet his unbearably fond gaze.

‘You did all of the work. If it weren’t for you, there would be no business. You are the rightful head of it. Not her.’

‘Henry,’ you sighed, relief choking off your words.

You cleared your throat.

See? Amazing lad, isn’t he.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t more honest. I–‘

‘You didn’t lie to me,’ he said, smiling a little to reassure you, his hand sliding about your waist to pull you close. ‘If you had to stretch the truth a little to succeed well…’

He shrugged lazily as if it all didn’t matter one whit to him.

Holding your wig so that it wouldn’t slide forward, you leaned in to kiss him, grateful that you still hadn’t ruined everything. At least in his eyes, for Henry always saw the best in you.

‘Thank you. But… I still trashed my reputation.’

And in business, reputation was Queen.

Henry was about to say something, but the soft ring tone of the beginning of the 80s song ‘Take on me’ interrupted him.

It was your publicist.

‘Hello?’ you asked, defeated and hesitant, bracing for the fury.

Henry righted your wig and mashed it down on your head to prevent it from shifting like an awkward cake.

‘Why did you run off?’ she laughed. ‘I saw you! You took a swan dive out of the window! Are you coming back?’

‘Coming back?’ you asked, looking at Henry.

He pointed to himself with brows raised as if asking, /me/?

You shook your head.

‘Well, yes. This is your company and your fundraiser, right? We can’t make the final toast with you.’

You were flabbergasted. Surely you weren’t welcomed back after what had happened.

‘But, my aunt,’ you began. ‘She… I… I shouldn’t have said that I was–‘

The publicist cut you off.

‘Look, honey. It’s true, her name is on the deed, but we all know who’s the star. You can write it off as a publicity stunt and come out with a new perfume called… Escape or something. With notes of tobacco , mud and whiskey. They’ll love it.’

You stood in stunned silence and the knot in your chest slowly unravelled as the realisation that you hadn’t ruined your life began to dawn.

‘I can’t come back now. I’m a mess. I’ll leave you to do the toast for me. Just tell them something. You’re good at that.’

‘Ok, honey. I’m going with the Escape thing, ok? So you’d better come up with something amazing.’

You disconnected the call and stood there, leaning against Henry and contemplating this peculiar turn of events.

‘All right?’ he asked and you nodded.

‘Can I at least get you into the car?’ he continued gently. ‘You’re shivering. Let me take you home.’

‘I’d rather have some ice cream, if you don’t mind.’

You saw him look through the window behind you and smile.

‘I could go for some as well,’ he replied and together you walked into the shop.

Suddenly life wasn’t quite so bad.

-end

#henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x you #reader insert #august walker #clark kent #man of steel #geralt #the witcher

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