#All of these photos are done with a shitty little camera it makes the colors pop soooo much more so they’re really fun to paint/draw

[peteytheparrot]

Tried painting over a photo of my stupid stuffed animal, I think I’m gonna try a more painterly style if I try one of these again, but this was just a test drawing so I wasn’t really trying to do any ‘style’ with it lol

[sourszt]

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 | somnophilia + captive

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — homelander x fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — nsfw, somnophilia, captive, non-con SLIGHTLY turned dub-con, stalking, reader is part of the boys, fuck or die basically, breaking & entering, fingering, slight pregnancy kink, oral (f!receiving), slight dacryphilia, lmk if i missed anything !

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — this is very dark please read with caution!! if you don’t think you will like or be able to handle this, PLEASE do not read i will not be upset !! but homelander is an asshole so unfortunately this isn’t really ooc. not proofread!

he should hate you. he knew he should.

staring at your face on the meeting room screen, captured on a shitty blue-tinted doorbell camera. after weeks of searching, he finally found out who you were. working with the very people who had not only killed his indestructible colleague and coworker and trying to damage his image, he had to admit you were a slippery thing.

not anymore.

now he knew what you looked like, it was time to show you hell on earth. he was the fucking homelander and you of all people should know that. you’d seen the side of him that millions couldn’t. he could kill you in a heartbeat for what you’d done. for what you knew.

in a handful of different ways, too. he could let his lasers seep into your eyes and melt your brain into liquid, he could rip you limb from limb with his bare hands, he could tear your heart clean from your chest and have your disembodied head watch it slow to a stop before he drove a hammer into your skull.

but as he stared at your photo, something in his heart told him that he’d be doing none of that to you. at least, not yet.

his bright blue eyes narrowed at the screen he so desperately wanted to shatter with his fist. he tucked his hands underneath his cape behind his back to keep him from doing so — madelyn would have his fucking head.

he instead examined every single one of your visible features, embedding them in his mind so that he would never forget them. and very soon, you would do the same.

—

sleep didn’t come easy for you that night.

your day had been unreasonably long and stressful, and you found you were still processing the events when you clambered into bed hours after you reached home. which was another thing in itself.

the boys were getting too trusting with their secrets and recently they had roped in another supe: mesmer. some washed up d-lister who was still milking his childhood fame at failing conventions full of millennials and up.

that encounter had gone to shit thanks to kimiko, as you learned that girl’s name was. butcher nearly had everybody’s asses when he realized you’d gone behind his back but settled the matter with a few colorful words.

but you were still scared getting into bed. somebody else had information on you that could likely kill you. you didn’t entirely trust that mesmer wasn’t willing to sell all of you guys out for a few extra minutes of stardom. your house felt much bigger lately ever since starting this mission with butcher. every shadowy corner felt like there was a demon lurking within it.

like something was waiting for you to fall asleep.

even after you managed to shake that uneasiness off and drift off into a deep slumber, you failed to notice the two eyes watching you through the window just a few feet away.

honestly, homelander had been watching you since you first got home. he’d remained undetected as you ventured through your house: rest, dinner, shower, — he had to admit that he watched you a little too intently during this step — and finally sleep.

you had to be an idiot. how could you not realize that the homelander was so close to you? that he knew who you were already?

and god, how easy it was to get into your house. all he had to do was melt the fucking lock to your back door and make his way through each room — he already knew the layout quite well — before landing at the foot of your bed.

he must have stood there for half an hour just watching you toss and turn, hum and whimper like you were having an rocky dream. part of him was deciding what to do to you. the other part already knew.

he slipped one of his gloves off, and then the other, gently placing them on your nightstand beside your phone. he pinched the edge of your comforter and threw it off of you and onto the floor. your body reacted to the sudden change in temperature, writhing around a little.

he waited another few minutes before touching you. he wanted to decide where to start. first, he brushed your slightly tangled hair out of your face with precision, wanting to see your face up close. the last time he saw it was earlier that day on the monitor in the meeting room.

this was much better than that.

then he straightened out all of the wrinkles in your oversized pajama top, taking a quick peek at your panties underneath. he watched you slide them on earlier. a delicate pair of lacy wine red ones. his cock twitched in his pants at the thought of taking them off of your unconscious body. not even knowing until you woke up.

he tested you out by grabbing one of your tits through your shirt. you didn’t react. not until he started kneading it, pinching at and circling your nipple until it poked out from under the fabric. then your head rolled to the other side with furrowed brows and a soft, pouty whine left you.

homelander actually fought back a curse when he realized how hard he was. it was getting more and more difficult for him to take his time with you. so he didn’t.

you were still sound asleep when the bed dipped to accommodate his weight, and creaked as he positioned himself right over you. he could smell your shampoo. it smelled like the one that maeve used. probably a cheaper alternative, but still.

his hands came up to the hem of your shirt, this time slowly inching it up until he could see your tits. they looked unbelievably good like this. he toyed with them for a while, restraining himself from latching onto one of your nipples. not yet.

for a fleeting second he thought about getting you pregnant — if he was even able to. what you’d look like with a big belly that carried his child and swollen tits that were full just for him.

homelander had to squeeze his eyes shut or else he would’ve come untouched.

he dragged the tips of his fingers down the curves of your waist, then your hips, noting the way your steady breathing was suddenly distorted. your torso twisted like you were ticklish, but he held you firmly in place. he risked waking you up with the force of his grasp alone, but by some miracle you remained asleep.

you picked such a dangerous profession for a deep sleeper.

he shifted down to the foot of your bed, sliding off of the edge to get a good look at your pussy. the lace hugged you perfectly, and it left nothing to the imagination. he couldn’t resist using them for a little while. his thumb found your clit through the thin layer, humming when your thighs instinctively parted wider for more.

“slut.” he whispered.

a broken whimper pulled from your throat in your slumber, prompting him to pick up his pace. his other hand forced your leg up before he dragged the flat of his tongue up your clothed cunt. you were getting wetter. he could smell it.

his eyes rolled back at your almost sweet scent, the hand that held your leg quickly moving to palm his cock through the pants of his suit. he continued to eat your cunt through your soaked panties until he was nearly about to come in his trousers. then he decided he’d had more than enough fun.

you were a mess in your sleep. constantly moaning and whining, hips gently bucking up into his hand. it was only a matter of time until you woke up.

so he pulled your panties off of you and went to unbutton his pants, wrapping the soiled fabric around his stiff cock. he fought back a particularly loud groan as he returned between your legs. he draped one of your legs over his shoulders and ducked down to taste you.

really taste you.

his tongue dipped past your wet folds and into your cunt, pulling a choked cry from you. even in your sleep your hips rolled up into his face, like you were begging for more.

somehow it was better than he anticipated. how impossibly sweet you were, how your sleeping body reacted to him. and the noises you made for him. because of him. he groaned softly against your pussy, the vibrations making you whine.

it wasn’t long until the stimulation became too much to bare, your eyelids beginning to lift as you woke up. the only thing you could register was the warm, thick tongue violating your cunt at a blinding pace. your senses were instantly forced into overdrive and you weakly tried to shift yourself upright.

but a hand much larger and stronger than yours stopped you. fingers dug into your skin in a bruising grip, and a low voice shattered the silence. “move and i’ll fucking kill you.”

you instantly recognized who it belonged to and your blood ran cold. you heeded his stern warning and lowered your gaze to see homelander’s face tucked between your thighs. the sight alone made tears well in your eyes and frantic pleas begin to tumble from your trembling lips.

“please, don’t.” your body was frozen with shock, only tensing when his deep void-like pupils started to glow red.

he released the side of your waist only to swipe at his chin that you saw was shining with your slick. the sight was horrifyingly obscene and you couldn’t hold back the low, shaky whimper it drew from you. you watched his face subtly twitch with realization and his smile grew, his sharp canines poking out.

he held your gaze as he dragged two of his fingers up your slit, humming when he felt how much more wet you’d gotten. your eyes screwed shut when he slid those fingers inside of you to the knuckles without warning. you struggled to keep your body still, fearing that any sudden movement would set him off.

“if you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be so fucking wet.” he curled his fingers and your head fell back into your pillow. “look at me.” he snapped through clenched teeth. he removed his fingers, leaving you empty and wanting more.

you hardly had a choice. his cold blue eyes brought goosebumps to your skin when you found them again. you felt beyond exposed — beyond violated — but something deep inside of you ached for release. in your sleep, his rather skillful ministrations translated into a sensual dream and you were building to your climax when you woke up. you knew he wasn’t going to kill you.

at least, not until he was finished with you. you had very little to lose at that point. so you slowly parted your legs and draped one more comfortably over his shoulder. the gold plated eagles on his suit dug into the undersides of your thigh but you didn’t mind. you kept your movements slow, well aware that he wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of you if he thought you were stepping out of line.

he understood your silent plea, one that your voice wouldn’t allow. “atta girl.” he murmured before pressing a kiss to the spot just below your belly button. you watched him go lower, his warm breath teasing your cunt.

you weren’t sure if you were allowed to speak yet so you endured his cruel treatment until he finally granted you relief. your back instinctively arched when his mouth finally closed around your core. his tongue lapped at you, observing your responses. now that you were awake, he could see your body really writhe.

your head rolled back with a pitchy, dragged out moan and you grasped at your sheets for some kind of leverage when his warm tongue penetrated you. your hips bucked up into his slow strokes and he groaned against you.

“oh, fuck,” the curse came out strained. you could feel the tip of his nose poking at your sensitive clit.

your body reacted like it typically would and before you could even consider it, your hand flew to his hair. his eyes narrowed at you and his pace faltered for only a split second. the contact was unexpected, but he knew you weren’t making a move to even attempt to hurt him.

your fingers raked through his blond hair and traced down the side of his face. “g—good, feels so good.” you were hardly coherent, but something about your wild urgency made something in homelander’s stomach tighten. “so fuckin’ good, my good boy,” he’d been working his cock with your panties wrapped around it and suddenly he lost his rhythm.

you were visibly mindless by that point, nearly at your breaking point. but he couldn’t deny how much your slurred rambles were working him up. he continued to eat your cunt with a newfound vigor, moaning every time your fingers gently tugged at his hair.

he knew you were nearly there when you clenched around his tongue. you finally came with a strained cry when his lips wrapped around your clit. it was like a brick wall had hit you at full force. he came quickly after, releasing into the lacy fabric of your underwear.

it took you a moment to ride it out, your hand falling from his hair while you tried to steady your spinning head. panic seeped in the moment your heartbeat returned to normal and you looked down at the man still perched between your legs.

he was already staring at you with a blank expression like he was considering his options for you. what felt like forever passed when he started to wipe at his grinning mouth. a grin that gave you chills.

“the fuck am i gonna do with you, huh?” he asked rhetorically, laughing bitterly. he rose to his feet, suddenly towering over your limp form. “i could take you right now. fuck you dry and kill you. i could take you all for myself so i could be the only one who fucks that sweet pussy. nobody would know where to start looking. or i could let you go and let the paranoia do the rest.”

he rounded your bed to stand beside you. you were too overcome with fear to move, let alone really process his words. “i’m the fucking homelander, you stupid slut. don’t forget that.” he reclaimed his gloves that rested on the bedside table and left.

you were left in an eerie silence. you knew he would be back for you. you just didn’t know when.

i dont even have any afterwords ngl 😭

[magalidragon]

lady of the night | a smutty Jonerys Hollywood Drabble 💫 📸

For @youwerenevermine and her eternal love of manwhore Jon, who I love too but always with a twist 😂 And it is over the drabble word count (3100) so I’ll post on AO3 soon.

"Jon! Jon! Over here!"

"Jon, we love you!"

"Lord Commander! Look this way!"

The sounds of people screaming his name as he left the awards show afterparty were annoying buzzes in his ear, especially after several whiskeys-- and maybe a hit of something else, he wasn't sure what he'd taken-- although it didn't make it less loud. If anything the buzzes seemed magnified tonight. Jon blinked against the camera flashes, a horde of paparazzi on the street, just beside the roped off crowd of fangirls and professional autograph chasers.

Normally he'd just wave, maybe even smile-- most likely not now because he was so buzzed-- carrying on with his plan to get from the club to the waiting black SUV which would whisk him back to his suite at The Sunspear, which was the toniest and fanciest of the hotels in Sunspear, Dorne. He only showed up in Dorne when he was meeting with executives, filming if necessary, or forced to attend these events, whether they be networking or awards shows.

He was in town for the Golden Kingdom awards, putting in his contractual appearance as one of the "ensemble" of The Steel Throne cable fantasy series. He was nominated this time around, for the final season, and he had no idea why. His role had been reduced to nothing more than window dressing and he had only a handful of lines he mostly delivered in a flat wooden voice because he really couldn't be bothered to put in anything else. It really was his last bit of "fuck you" to the writers and producers who had destroyed a character he'd come to consider a part of himself.

And somehow he got a nomination for an award. He was crossing his fingers that he'd lose and thank the gods he did. He wasn't even at hsi table when they called his category, he needed a smoke break.

As always happened when he left clubs and his publicist-- shitty little cretin Tyrion Lannister-- called ahead for photographers and tipped off Instagram celebrity spotting pages, he was swarmed. He paused as the SUV pulled up to take him away, lighting a cigarette. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and took pity on several of the people calling his name, because they looked young and naive enough to think he deserved to be famous.

Plus they didn't have the look of girls who wanted to come home with him, which was nice. He ignored Tyrion, who was tugging on his arm to drag him back, and waved at his "date" to the awards and the parties, his beastly friend Tormund who was leering at some of the poor girls, and approached the line.

He stuck his lit cigarette in his mouth when he got to the line, randomly scribbling his name on shirtless pictures of him from his modeling days or promo shots of him as Lord Commander Cregan Snow. He would have preferred it if someone had brought up the cartoon character of the same name. He was gunning to voice that dude in the animated movie he'd heard was in production, but seemed his agent Davos wasn't keen on him attaching his name to a children's fantasy series.

“You don't have the greatest of reputations, son."

It was all a matter of perception, he thought, and somehow he'd fooled even Davos.

As he scribbled his name on one last photo of his shirtless, oiled up body from a blockbuster he’d done in his early acting days, turning his face briefly to blow smoke away from the crowd, he caught sight of a woman with curly dark pink hair.

Pink. That was a new color, one he hadn’t seen before. He ignored the screams of the girls; at least two shoved their numbers into his hand, which was still outstretched for another photo to sign. He scribbled something akin to his name on this one and waved, stepping backwards from the throng of fans. He sucked on the cigarette a moment, his gray eyes sweeping the crowd again, until he spotted her again.

The pink haired woman blinked at him, cocking her head and coyly pointed her finger at herself. She smiled, long and slow, and he noted that her eyes were a curious coloring. She had one green eye and one blue. He had never seen that before either. He blew out more smoke, licking his lips and flicked ash off his cigarette, his gaze never wavering from her.

She had on a deep pink halter top with a pair of barely there black shorts she’d put on over black tights, a pair of heavy platform black boots, and a black leather jacket. The shirt was cut, jagged, giving a glimpse of her taut midriff. The dark hair with pink streaks was wavy around her face and scattered with tiny braids.

He didn’t blink and pointed at her, before gesturing towards the car. She giggled and pointed to herself, mouthing “Me?”

“You,” he mouthed back. He turned, not waiting, and went to the waiting car. Davos was standing there, already on his phone. “She’s with me,” he said, before Davos could stop security from keeping the woman from going to the SUV.

Davos sighed and said nothing. He shoved his phone in his jacket pocket and turned without a word, going off to his car.

Jon climbed into the SUV after the woman, ignoring the sobs of his name from the dejected crowd. He slammed the door shut and turned to her, taking her in again, this time face-to-face. She had pale skin, her cheeks flushed pink, and there was a tattoo creeping out from the top of her shorts. “Wow,” she giggled. “This is really insane! Jon Snow!”

“That’s me.”

“Sooooo dreamy,” she giggled, leaning against him. She licked her lips and her tongue wagged, a pink stone in the center of it. He twitched in place, already growing hard at the prospects of what that little tongue and stone could do when placed in certain areas. She dragged a pink fingernail on his collarbone, dragging it over his exposed chest. “You’re shorter in real life.”

He smirked. “Not the best way to start off a convo, babe.”

“Babe?” She wrinkled her pert nose. “Not a fan of that.”

“Sweetie?”

“Ew.”

He reached behind her head and tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her against his chest and rubbing his lips over hers. “How about your name?”

“It’s…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Whatever you want it to be.”

He laughed. That was new too. “You’re usually better prepared. Pink, huh?”

“THought I’d try something new.” She straddled his hips, pushing his shoulders into the buttery leather seat behind him. Her hips swiveled against his and he groaned, unable to stop his hands from finding her hips,pulling her closer. She pressed a kiss to his mouth, hot and open, before jerking back and gagging. “Disgusting.” She swatted his chest. “No fucking smoking!”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s a stress reliever!”

“I thought I was your stress reliever.”

“You tend to give me more stress.”

She pulled a mint out of her pocket, popping it into his mouth. He crunched hard on it and swallowed quickly, eager to get back to her, but they were already at the hotel. Fuck, he thought, glancing between them at the heavy bulge in the front of his pants. She smirked again, tapping his nose. “Ill walk in front of you.”

“Much obliged.”

They exited the SUV, thankfully only a couple of photogs across the street who snapped some what he knew would be blurry unidentifiable photos— he’d gotten good at this in the last decade— of the two of them hurrying into the hotel.

He selected this hotel because it was discreet, which was very needed given his ah… <I>proclivities.</i> Or what the world thought were his proclivities. He jabbed the elevator button, his nose in line with the top of her pink hair. He inhaled deeply, sighing out the exhale. “You smell like peaches.”

“It’s the shampoo.”

“I like it.”

The doors dinged open and they stumbled in, barely waiting for them to close before he had her pressed up against the back, her surprised gasp caught in his mouth as he kissed her. He noted that she even tasted like peaches. Or he could have been making that up between the booze making it’s way through his system.

She hiked her leg around his hip and he dove his fingers down to unzip her shorts, finding that her tights were actually stockings, the garter hidden. “Oh seven hells,” he groaned, feeling her desire already seeping against his fingers, hot and slippery. She was starkers too, which caused his cock to twitch in his pants. “You’re all ready.”

She choked out a throaty laugh. “You know what I like.”

“Gods, I can’t wait…” He turned to hit the stop button but it was too late, the doors already opened onto the penthouse floor. He fumbled in his pocket for his key card, tripping out and down the hall to his room.

She was behind him, sucking on his earlobe while he tried to swipe the key. Her hands were in his pants, fast and warm, the first touch of her fingers around his cock almost causing him to explode right there. He growled. “Fuck!”

The door burst open and they fell into the room. He tripped on his pants, already at his knees courtesy of her stealthy moves. He ripped off her jacket and yanked at the halter, the fabric falling forward and exposing her perfect breasts to his hungry eyes. And mouth.

He eagerly kissed her, hands grasping the soft globes, squeezing and flicking at her nipples, furling them into tight pink buds against his fingertips. “You’re gorgeous,” he mumbled, pressing her to the wall near the suite’s bedroom. They were definitely not going to make it there.

“Full of compliments, aren’t you?” She gasped, his lips folding over one nipple, his fingers tweaking the other. One of her hands tangled in his hair and the other was between them, pumping his cock. “Seven hells Jon. Fuck me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

With one fast drop to his knees to swipe his tongue on her slit, teasing at her little clit and dipping his fingers in to test her readiness, he was satisfied. Her nails dug into his shoulders, tearing at his jacket and dress shirt. He struggled to get them off, buttons flying in all directions when they finally gave up and just tore the damn thing.

The designer would have to understand. It was a life or death situation at this point. She scattered kisses along his collarbone while he shoved his briefs down and kicked them off, her legs up over his elbows, her abs flexing as he pressed her harder against the wall, searching for her lips.

He had no idea at what point she’d taken off her shorts, but they were gone, only her stockings and garters on. He slid against her, the head of his cock bumping her clit. “Oh fuck,” she groaned, hitting her head against the wall. “So good…who knew?”

Jon tangled his tongue with hers, tilting her hips so he could line up and a second later, punch his hips up, cock sliding into her plush, molton heat. His eyes rolled back in his head, her body squeezing around him, pulsing and tight. “Shit,” he mumbled, forehead touching hers. He let go of one leg, his hand cupping hee face, rough fingertips scratching against her soft cheek. “I think we can give up the act.”

She laughed, her tongue barbell tapping his lower lip. “Not yet. Show me your talents Jon Snow. I’ve always wanted to know.” She gasped, eyes slamming shut when he thrust back, almost pulling out before he bottomed out into her in a hard, powerful thrust.

They said no more, just curses and shouts of Valyrian from her and gasping grunts from him as he fucked her hard against the wall. Her nails ripped at his hair with one hand and held her leg up with the other as he pressed his thumb between them against her clit, just when he knew she was about the topple over the cliff.

She screamed, coming so hard around him she triggered his release, his heart stopping as he shuddered around her, clutching her limp body to keep from dropping her. He came and came, seeing stars as he emptied himself into her. “Fuck,” she sighed, after he finally finished, his breath ragged gasps into her throat.

They slid down the wall onto the cool floor, a heap of clothes, sweaty limbs, and sex. He kept his eyes shut a moment, trying to return to his body. She kissed him and patted his cheek. “I’ll show myself out.”

He weakly reached for her, but she was gone in a flash, clothing on and door shut after her. “Fuck,” he mumbled, scrubbing his face. He stood slowly, his mind foggy. He blinked a few times to right himself and went to the bathroom to clean up.

A piss and hot shower later, he was walking out of the bathroom to collapse into bed, when he heard the TV going in the bedroom. He chuckled, scrubbing a towel through his hair, another tied around his waist. Jon padded into the bedroom, in time to see his ex-wife shrieking at something.

It was on the television but still made his balls shrivel up inside of him. “What the fuck is this?” he demanded, tossing the towel aside.

His girlfriend of almost a year, Weateros’s Sweetheart and all around good girl Daenerys Targaryen, who no one would ever have pinned as his one and only, the love of his life, and the only woman he had been with in at least two years since he divorced said ex-wife, was curled on the massive bed in a t-shirt with his character’s face on it, slurping an ice cream sundae.

She smiled innocently around her spoon. “I can’t help it, I like watching shitty television.”

“Can we not watch her show? It’s horrible.”

“I like it! It’s good bad tv.” She tucked a faded pink strand of hair behind her ear, patting the space beside her. “Come on, let’s have a game. Whenever she makes a constipated face or that guy shows up naked, we’ll drink.”

“We will be drunk in ten seconds.” He climbed into the bed anyway, dragging her over to him and allowed her to feed him bites of ice cream before he could stand no more of his ex’s face. “This is too much I’m changing the channel!”

Dany whined, trying to grab the remote. “Oh come on!”

Jon flicked the channel in time to see her face take up the screen. He grinned. “Ah, now it’s your stuff.”

She stuck her tongue out and then shook her head. “No, it’s not my movie, it’s a post awards show gossip fest.”

They watched for a few minutes— she had been declared one of the best dressed for her red plunging neckline dress which they all declared was Daenerys “stepping out of her good girl shell.”

“If only they knew you dressed up as different women and pretend to be a fan girl,” he mused. It was a kink they’d discovered on accident, but one they loved to indulge in, especially Dany. It worked for them both. She could exercise her inner bad girl and he got to look like the whorish bad boy that had made him famous.

Too bad no one knew he’d rather spend his nights in bed eating ice cream with her watching bad TV. He was the opposite of a whore, but hey, it made him famous. He was just sick of it. “What are you thinking about,” she mused, tapping the frown between his brows. “What’s this here?”

He shrugged. “Guess I’m tired of being Man Whore Jon.”

“Jack.”

“Huh?”

“Online they call you Jack. It’s your whore alter ego.” She nipped his bottom lip and reached for her phone, bringing up a blog. “See?”

“Get off the internet Dany it will ruin your brain.”

“Oh shit.”

“Huh?” He was looking at his phone now, Davos sending a few messages they had to talk about revamping his image.

She shoved her phone under his nose. It was a gossip Instagram, Lantaissa. People dropped celebrity sightings there and send in blinds. He peered at it, squinting since he’d taken out his contacts in the shower. “What’s it say?”

“Anon please! I have MAJOR NEWS. I JUST saw Lord Commander Jon Snow and goodie two shoes Daenerys Targaryen at the Sunspear Tower. She had pink hair but it was DEF her and they were getting in the elevator together and were super handsy!”

Dany groaned. “Ugh this is NOT how I wanted us to get out!” It could work though, he thought. They’d have to figure it out with the PR teams but it could work. He took the phone from her and tapped on the submit button. “What are you doing?” she demanded. She leaned over his shoulder, chuckling after a moment. “Oh Jon Snow, you crafty little wolf.”

Using a fake email he’d had set up for exactly these PR purposes, because Davos made him, he submitted the “anon please” and then using his phone, texted Davos his image control would be handled.

After a few minutes, he frowned again and looked up at her. She was staring at the TV, her blue and green contacts out. He flicked one of the pink curls. “You sure you want to tie yourself to me?” he wondered. “I don’t have the best rep.”

“Jon I love you, I don’t care.” She kissed him softly, smiling and arched a brow. “I just open us being a public thing soon enough won’t upset our little rendezvous.”

He laughed. They’d snuck around like this for this long. “You might have to upgrade to some elaborate wigs instead of hair coloring.”

“I have a whole closet full.”

“Also you didn’t have a name picked out tonight, threw me off guard.”

“I was in a hurry to get out of that loaned awards dress and into my costume.”

He smiled, pulling her down for a quick kiss. He sighed. “I love you Dany.”

“Your lady of the night,” she teased. “Is that what they call the girls lucky enough to fuck Jon Snow?“

“You tell me, you’re the only one lucky enough for that.”

She giggled and pulled him up over her, sighing happily as he kissed down her neck. “Hmm, yes, lucky me.”

THE END

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

This Game of Yours

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

Jason was beautiful.

And somehow that scar that went from the right corner of his mouth up to his temple only made him that much more beautiful to Y/N.

Those blue eyes were the same color of water on a stormy day in the Irish sea. And somehow Y/N knew they held the same tempestuousness.

The white streak weaved with his jet black hair so naturally that Y/N would’ve believed he was born with it.

His shoulders were so broad, making his 6’3 height feel even more imposing. He had a presence. People noticed every time he walked into a room. It made Y/N wonder how he was ever able to sneak up on people as Red Hood.

He was wearing a black hoodie underneath his black moto jacket.

Y/N knew Jason didn’t give a shit about fashion. Yet he was well-dressed without any effort – more so than most of the models Y/N had shot throughout her career.

Not being able to control herself any longer, Y/N raised her camera and took a photo.

Jason stopped surveying their surroundings and his gaze snapped to her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

But his growl didn’t scare her in the slightest.

“Anyone who’s by me when I have a camera is at risk of getting their picture taken. No one is safe. Not even you,” she answered his question unapologetically.

Y/N was working on a personal passion project for her next show. Her collection would be about the poverty and crime of Gotham. Half of the photos would show the heaviest crime areas of the city. And the other half would expose the lifestyles of the wealthiest people in Gotham.

Why did so many suffer from the same system that helped the rich get even richer?

When Bruce found out Y/N was going to Crime Alley and the Bowery by herself, he was visibly upset.

But he realized that Y/N would do as she pleased, so his plan b was to give her protective detail.

However, Y/N didn’t know that Jason had volunteered, almost immediately.

Instead, all she heard was Jason grimly telling her, “You’re lucky you haven’t been fucking murdered yet.”

She had only responded with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m not your escort so you can take my picture. I’m here so you don’t get raped or murdered.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?”

His only response was a glare.

Jason loved playing this game. The game of pretending to be irritated with her when actually he was absolutely infatuated with Y/F/N Y/L/N.

“The easiest way to stop getting your picture taken is to always be the one holding the camera,” Y/N added with a smirk and wink.

Jason didn’t answer, only thinking what a shame it was that no one got to photograph her.

Suddenly, the sunlight hit the top of his head perfectly, creating a halo around that thick and messy hair of his.

Y/N snapped another photo.

“Will you stop?” He warned.

It only succeeded in making her laugh.

And that just excited his heart even more.

“Jason, you were born to get your photo taken.” 

There was no joke underneath her words, only sincerity.

“Whatever,” he mumbled.

Jason had a hard time believing that. His skin was riddled with scars. And he was convinced that she’d be singing a different song if she saw his chest, with its thick autopsy scar amongst the so many others. The absolute last word he’d use to describe himself was beautiful. Strong and imposing? Yes. But never beautiful – or any other positive adjective, for that matter.

“I’m not kidding. If you ever want to stop the whole vigilante thing, you can easily become a model.”

Y/N had noticed it as soon as Jason took of his helmet that night. His domino mask had done nothing to prevent her from noting the obvious.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to realize Jason wasn’t like his “brothers.”

“Brothers.” What a strange word.

Should she consider all of them as hers?

Only Damian was actually related to her – and technically he was only her half-brother.

Y/N had watched Jason get on his motorcycle and leave the cave that night she’d almost died.

She’d agreed to stay for dinner and get to know everyone. And a part of her brain was excited to get a better read on the masked man that sat by her bedside as she’d recovered.

“He’s not staying?” Y/N had asked Bruce as he guided her to the stairs that led back up to the manor.

He only shook his head, but she noticed the disappointed expression.

Soon she found out that Jason was the black sheep of this strange family that had taken her in.

Dick was the one who told her about Jason’s dark past. All of it seemed unbelievable: murdered by Joker and brought back to life from a mysterious pit. Only to return to the family who appeared to have replaced him and never sought vengeance on Jason’s behalf. 

But it was true; Y/N had seen no lie in Dick’s eyes when he filled her in.

Suddenly there was yelling coming from around the corner.

Without hesitation, Jason shoved Y/N behind him.

He reached for one of his guns and then realized that he didn’t have any.

Y/N was rather vocal about hating them, claiming they made her extremely uncomfortable.

Her expression alone as she said it was enough for Jason to swallow his stubbornness and leave the things at home.

Bruce was rather taken aback by the gesture. Nothing he’d ever said was enough to get Jason to do that.

A gang of young men came marching around the corner like they owned the place…because they did. This was their territory.

Jason immediately recognized them as some of the Russian mob.

Despite pulling Y/N behind him, they still caught sight of her and looked her up and down without an ounce of shame.

“Hey, beautiful. How you doing?”

“Продолжай идти, придурки,” Jason growled at them.

He was outnumbered. But there must’ve been something about his body language that made the gang realize they shouldn’t pick a fight with him. Maybe it was the muscles or his height or that he looked like he wouldn’t even blink before murdering them.

So they just…walked away. Some of them mumbled threats or insults at him. But they realized they shouldn’t even so much as look at Y/N.

A split second before they were gone, Y/N took a picture of Jason.

“Really?” He asked.

She shrugged. “You look like a different person when you’re protective.”

Y/N was beautiful.

Jason watched as she passionately explained her work to a potential buyer.

He recognized the man as a local politician – luckily, one of the few that hadn’t been corrupted from this shitty city.

Y/N had the intimidating energy of her father, but the kind eyes of her mother. At least, that was what Bruce had told everyone, and they all took his word for it.

She wore a stylish white jumpsuit that made her look like a 1980s villain and black stiletto heels. 

Jason watched as men cowered in her presence, hating the fact that she proudly stood taller than them. She was just one less woman they could intimidate or manipulate – and they couldn’t stand it.

But Jason loved watching the emasculation in real time.

The bastards didn’t deserve her anyway.

Dick was one of the very few men Jason knew who didn’t blink at a woman towering over him. In fact, his older brother had a track record of preferring it.

“Surprised to see you here,” Bruce said beside him, catching Jason watching Y/N.

“Well, I was her personal bodyguard through all this. Figured I should see if it was worth me wasting my time or not.” Then he tossed back his champagne and slammed it on the tray of a waiter passing by. “Plus, free alcohol.”

Bruce just quirked an eyebrow, silently telling Jason that he knew he was lying.

“Are you buying something?” Jason asked, trying to change the subject.

“I have been strictly forbidden,” Bruce sighed.

Jason chuckled.

He knew if Bruce had his way, he’d buy every single on of Y/N’s pieces.

“I have to know,” Bruce began. “What exactly is holding you back?”

Jason finally ripped his gaze away from Y/N to give Bruce a questioning look.

“What are you talking about?”

“Y/N. You care about her.”

“All of us do,” Jason brushed off. “Even the demon spawn.”

Bruce knew there wasn’t a chance Jason would admit his feelings – especially to him.

“Not that I think you care…but you have my approval.”

Little did Bruce know, Jason did care.

Jason had convinced himself that their rocky relationship and past fights meant that Bruce would die before he let Jason be anywhere near his daughter.

And Jason could hardly blame him.

He didn’t deserve to be loved. He lost that right after he died and came back a monster. And that was the story Jason told himself over and over again.

So he would love Y/N from afar. And hope she would pick someone who was worthy of her love.

“She’s basically my sister,” Jason groaned in fake disgust.

It was quite the performance.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “We both know that isn’t what’s stopping you. And you’ve made it clear you don’t consider us your family.”

“Whatever, Bruce.”

Jason walked away, having enough of the subject.

“What was that about?” Clark asked as he joined Bruce’s side.

“Jason refusing to let himself be happy,” Bruce sighed.

Clark already knew what Bruce was talking about. He’d seen Y/N and Jason dancing around each other for months now. He’d never really seen Y/N take an interest in anyone before, so it was all new for Clark.

“Don’t worry. Y/N won’t let him get away with it for much longer,” Clark said through a smirk. “She gets what she wants.”

And Bruce believed him.

“It doesn’t bother you – the two of them together?” Clark asked with genuine curiosity.

“Jason reminds me every day that I’m not his father. And I’m hardly Y/N’s.” A soft smile formed on Bruce’s lips. “He’ll look after her. And she…I think she’d be good for him. I just want them to be happy. Both of them.”

——

Jason headed home rather early.

He’d never actually went to say congratulations or even hello to Y/N.

Every time he was about to go over, someone else stole her attention. He didn’t want to get in the way of her talking to potential buyers or even just friends.

Jason was just about to make himself something to eat when there was a knock at his door.

He froze.

Very few people knew where his apartment was.

Jason grabbed a gun and tiptoed to his front door.

With a peak through the peephole, he let out a irritated sigh.

Jason whipped the door open, “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot your head off.”

“Maybe don’t own guns and you wouldn’t have to worry about shit like that,” Y/N snapped back.

“What are you doing here?”

“You come to my gallery opening and don’t even say hi?” Y/N accused as she stepped around him and into the apartment, not waiting for an invitation.

Jason eyed the paper bag that was in one of her hands.

“By all means, come on in,” he called sarcastically as he slammed the door behind her.

Y/N started searching through his cabinets. “Where are your glasses?”

“The one to your right. What are you doing here?”

Y/N had the brightest and almost mischievous smile as she pulled a bottle of champagne from the paper bag.

“I brought this as my thanks for you making sure I don’t – and I quote – ‘get raped and murdered.’”

Jason glared at her.

Here was the game again.

Y/N being charming and hilariously provoking..and Jason pretending like he hadn’t fallen for her.

She poured them both a glass. They weren’t flutes or coupes, but she couldn’t care less.

“We’re chugging these, by the way,” Y/N informed Jason as she handed him a glass.

He sighed, but obediently clinked his glass with hers and tossed it back.

Barely giving them a second, Y/N immediately refilled them.

“So, why didn’t you come over and say hi?” She repeated.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” Jason mumbled with a shrug.

She narrowed her eyes at his answer. “You’ve never bothered me before, Jason.”

Now he felt guilty.

Jason bowed his head. “I should’ve come and talked to you,” he agreed. “Your work…it looked – it’s amazing, Y/N. Congratulations.”

Apparently Y/N hadn’t expected such a sincere compliment from him, and she was stunned to silence.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper once she’d recovered.

She cleared her throat, trying to maintain her edge. “And really…thank you for being my own little security detail.”

If Jason was healthy about expressing is thoughts and feelings, he would’ve told her that it was the highlight of his weeks. That he looked forward to her calls or texts, telling him that she was going to photograph another shady area. “Be there or don’t. I’m going no matter what,” she’d text him with her usual snark.

But Jason didn’t express his thoughts and feelings.

He kept them bottled up – with the same energy he used to keep Y/N at a distance.

So instead, Jason said, “If it wasn’t me, one of the others would’ve done it.”

Y/N winced slightly at that.

‘You’re such a fucking asshole,’ Jason told himself.

“You know…we can see each other even you’re not my bodyguard.”

Jason was impressed by her boldness. But she didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t understand that he wasn’t good. He couldn’t play the loving boyfriend role. She belonged with someone like Dick or Clark – or literally anyone but him. And Jason was willing to be an asshole to make sure she understood that.

Y/N took a step closer to him, invading his personal space.

Without breaking eye contact, she threw back her second glass of champagne and then placed it on the nearest counter space.

She stepped even closer.

This was simultaneously Jason’s worst nightmare and most desired dream.

Her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips.

But before she could make her final push, Jason took a step back and cleared his throat.

He looked down at the ground as he said, “You should go.”

When he looked up, he expected to find Y/N heartbroken or embarrassed.

But she was neither.

No. She looked irritated.

Not because she wasn’t getting what she wanted, but because she was sick of his games.

Y/N sighed and stepped back. “Fine.”

Jason rubbed his face in frustration as she grabbed her purse and started for the door she had walked through only minutes ago.

She opened it and paused.

“You know what? No. Fuck that,” Y/N snapped before slamming the door closed.

She whipped around and strutted back to him with purpose.

Jason was suspended with both fervor and awe.

Y/N grabbed his face and pulled him down to her lips.

All self control went out the window. Jason couldn’t continue his game. It was all over for him.

He kissed her back almost immediately. How could he not?

Y/N bit his lip slightly, making him hiss in surprise. It was his punishment for making her wait all this time.

Eventually they needed a moment to breathe.

But Y/N didn’t let go of his face when their lips finally parted.

“Choose your next words very carefully,” she breathed.

He swallowed nervously. “You’re kind of fucking terrifying. You know that?”

Her smile was pure evil.

Apparently this was the right response.

“Are you done being an idiot?” She asked.

He nodded quickly.

Her hands moved down and then lingered on his neck, tracing the bottom lines of his jaw.

She smiled again and then looked him up and down.

“What?” He questioned.

“Nothing,” she laughed. “I’m just…I’m not used to being shorter than men.”

“Is that the only reason you like me? Huh? My height?” Jason goaded.

“Of course not,” Y/N scoffed. “It was the whole ‘I look like I could murder everyone and I can, but deep down I’m a big softie’ that did it for me.”

Jason’s grip tightened on her waist. “Oh, yeah? You’re one to talk…”

“Me?!” She yelped. “I couldn’t kill anyone, even if my life depended on it.”

“Maybe. But your terrifying in basically every other way.”

Y/N laughed at that.

Jason couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the sound

“So…still want me to leave?” She asked.

And this time, she would if that’s really what he wanted.

“Fuck no,” Jason answered, almost threateningly.

Then, for good measure, he picked her up by the back of her thighs and carried her to the couch, before he started to kiss her once again.

Y/N knew things weren’t always going to be this simple.

Jason had his demons. 

And honestly, so did she. They were nothing like his. And maybe they were silly in comparison. But she wouldn’t be the perfect partner. Just like he wouldn’t be. 

They’d drive each other crazy. But it would be the good kind of crazy.

------------------------------

+ Childhood

[damnedparker]

long-lasting

pairing: alex law x reader (gender neutral; no y/n)

warnings: none; more than implied that reader regularly wears makeup. this is just fluff.

summary: alex loves makeup, maybe more than you. so the two of you have some fun.

it’s been a while. i woke up with an idea this morning and had to get it out.

“Look at these!” Flew excitedly out of your boyfriend’s mouth for about the thousandth time in the twenty minutes you’d been in this store. You sighed, more amused than anything, and turned to see what he had been so excited about.

You can’t tell if bringing Alex to a store full of makeup and other beauty products for the first time was a bad idea or not; judging by his excitement, you were leaning towards good. He hadn’t been out of the house to do something in weeks, and you hadn’t seen him this actively excited about anything in a while since the events in his flat months ago. It was good to see a glimpse of happy Alex again, albeit it was much like handling a child. But you loved him for it.

“Look at all the colors…” His breathy statement was full of wonder as if he was seeing vivid colors for the first time in the form of an eyeshadow palette. His hand left where it had been attached to yours like glue since you had arrived, so he could swatch the colors on his hand, which was already covered in swipes of various other makeup products. You wonder if you should have told him he could do that at all.

Upon letting Alex know you had to leave the comfort of your flat, where he had been staying more and more recently, he was visibly distraught. The two of you hadn’t separated from each other for more than work each day, which you didn’t mind, but you got the feeling Alex was finding a lot of comfort being next to you and was a little afraid of being alone. It’s not something you could blame him for after everything he went through, and you surely couldn’t deny him when he asked to come along. He was your boyfriend, and you loved being around him. At first, you weren’t too sure he would enjoy waiting around while you spent forever looking at makeup, but now it seems you made the right decision in letting him tag along.

“Can we get it?” He looked at you with puppy eyes, and you had to steel yourself, shaking your head no. A pout instantly made itself at home on his expression.

“No, Alex, I have a palette just like that one already.” You slipped your hand in his again and pulled him along to get what you actually came for, some refills on daily makeup you needed.

“Why haven’t I ever seen you wear colors like that then?”

“I dunno, just never have the chance to play with them. And an electric blue isn’t exactly business casual.” You shrugged, grabbing your favorite eyeliner off the shelf.

“Well, you should try it, I think it’d look nice on you,” Alex said, almost absent-mindedly, as he was drawn over to the area of lipstick you were about to pass. “You don’t hardly wear lipstick either! Look at all these options!”

“Just not my thing, and it always gets everywhere. By the end of the day it’s gone, so what’s the point?”

“The point is, it’s fun and it looks pretty.” He cocked an eyebrow at you, a grin slowly forming on his face. He then turned back to the display, his eyes brightening. “Look here! It says this kind is supposed to last twenty-four hours! A solution to your complaints!”

“I highly doubt that’s true, maybe it lasts a few hours at least.” You picked up a tube of bright fuchsia to look at the bottle, squinting at the ingredients. At least it was cruelty-free, you supposed.

“Can we get one?” The puppy eyes were on again. You weren’t sure you could last another round of these.

“Alex… I probably won’t ever wear it.”

“Well, not in that color,” he snatched the bright pink from your grasp, turning back and humming at the array of colors. He traced his hand over a few tubes before finally settling on a classic red color, giving a triumphant smile. “This one’s nice.”

“You’re just saying that because that color looks good on you.” Alex frowned grumpily, tucking his hair behind his ear, a telltale sign of the fact that you were right, and he knew it. But you did also like red lipstick on other people, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad on you. You checked the high price tag and mentally went through the costs in your head. While you were doing so, you suddenly felt a tug at your hand, and Alex was on his way to the checkout.

“If you won’t try it, I will!” He said determinedly. Luckily you had gotten everything you needed already, so you let him pull you along to the cashiers. You shook your head and uselessly tried to protest when Alex added your things to his own transaction, insisting to pay for it. Your boyfriend was many, many things, and being insistently generous with his money was one of them.

Once you got back in his car, Alex started ripping open the plastic on the lipstick tube. You watched him ever so carefully apply the red to his lips. He was so tedious you were in the parking lot for ten minutes just watching him put it on in the sun visor mirror. Always the perfectionist; with his outfits, his hair, and now his makeup.

“What do you think?” He turned to you when he was done, flashing a large smile.

“That color does suit you.”

“Thank you, darling,” he messed with his hair in the mirror one last time before shutting it and turning to you again, leaning across the console of the car to press a kiss to your cheek. He reached up to touch your cheek after, running across where his lips had just been. “Whoa, it didn’t get all over you!”

“I guess it is long-lasting, after all.” You shrugged, rubbing your own cheek to find that, yeah, it really didn’t transfer onto you. “Maybe—” You were cut off by a sudden kiss on the mouth from Alex, then another, and another. You let out a chuckle against his lips during the last long one, putting a hand on his chest.

“Still nothing,” he seemed both amazed and slightly disappointed. “Half the fun of lipstick is getting it all over someone else.” You couldn’t say you disagreed, playing with the ends of his hair for a moment while you had a passing thought about covering Alex’s face in lipstick. Cute.

“Well, I have plenty of shitty lipsticks that will do exactly that at home,” You shrugged, then another idea popped into your mind. “How about we pick up some dinner, and I’ll do the rest of your make-up after?”

“I love you.” Alex grinned, attacking you with another kiss before finally starting the car.

--

Dinner flew by in the next hour, along with a few drinks, and you were back in your bedroom. Alex sat squished next to you on your tiny vanity stool, which was certainly not meant for two, but it’s not like you weren’t comfortable with him nearly pressed against you, currently watching you do your own makeup while he rifled through your small collection, trying to decide on colors he wanted for himself. That didn’t stop him from backseat driving your own decisions, making strong and, honestly, useful suggestions for colors for you.

You were carefully applying your own lipstick, a softer mauve color than Alex’s still present vivid red, when he spoke up again, his chin having found a resting place on your shoulder.

“Can you do, like, a… smoking eye on me? Like super dark and classy.” You had to pause doing your lipstick, unable to prevent the smile from creeping across your lips.

“You mean a smokey eye?”

“Whatever it’s called. I want to look hot,” he mused. “Kinda like when we went to that one party with Juliet? You had all that dark eyeshadow on. You looked really pretty.” Alex hummed, affectionately wrapping his arms around your waist. A bit of heat crept up on your cheeks from his compliment and the sudden warmth of his hug. And the memories of that night. You had work the next day, not intending to be out very late, but Alex sure had kept you up for most of the night, much more compliments flooding out his mouth during your late night.

“You already look hot enough without makeup,” you turned and patted his cheek. He leaned into your touch as you put up the lipstick tube with your other hand, turning back to him with a cheeky grin. “I prefer my men all-natural.”

“Shut up,” he let out a laugh with you, and it flooded your bones with golden happiness. Hearing Alex laugh was encouraging and relieving. They’d been few and far between for the past few months, and it was something you missed. “My turn.”

Putting makeup on Alex was always time-consuming, as he fidgeted a lot, and often had to stop you to say whatever crossed his mind at the moment. You didn’t mind either, used to the way his mind worked. The only times he was ever silent around you was when he was asleep, or when he had been racking his brain about a question for a while, and finally blurted it out to you. You thought it was cute.

Admittedly, you spent a lot longer on Alex’s makeup than yours. One, because smokey eyes were hard as fuck, but also because you wanted him to be happy with it. Regardless, he would be over the moon about whatever you did, but you wanted it to be perfect.

As soon as you were done, you let Alex have the hand-held mirror to look at himself. You watched the happiness creep up his face until he was unable to hold it back. It was contagious, and you wrapped your arms around his middle, leaning your head on his shoulder. His arm fell naturally over your shoulders, squeezing you to him with a kiss to your head. After a moment of quiet, he seemed to get an idea, removing himself regretfully from the embrace to grab your Polaroid camera from your bookshelf. You moved over to your bed as he flopped onto it, snuggling up next to him as he turned the camera around to take a picture of both of you together. One with the two of you smiling, one with him kissing your cheek, and one with his tongue sticking out and you laughing next to him. Afterward, he jumped up from the bed and kneeled over you, encouraging you to pose and let him take photos of you. You tilted your head in amusement.

“Alex, I don’t have much film left.”

“I’ll buy you more, a thank-you gift for my makeup.”

“Alex…” You shook your head, and he put down the camera, leaning over you to give you a kiss. It was round three of puppy eyes, and you were sure you were a goner.

“Please?” He pouted sweetly as he could, his hair hanging down and tickling your cheek. “Baby?”

“Okay, just a few.” You pushed yourself up on your elbows, a wry smile overtaking your lips. Alex always got his way. You were wrapped around his finger, and he was wrapped around yours, although he was more likely to beg you for silly things you normally wouldn’t let yourself do. It was good for you though, he pushed you out of your comfort zone. It was always something you loved about dating him.

A few turned into a few photos of you, and a handful of him as well. Soon, you were both seemingly attached to each other, rolling around on the bed like teenagers with the Polaroids left on the nightstand. Alex pulled away with a grin, adjusting himself to sit up against the headboard with you on his lap. You were a bit dazed, taking a few seconds to come back down from Earth before Alex started giggling.

“I guess this lipstick is only so long-lasting,” he swiped his thumb across your chin, a smear of red confirming what he was saying. You only grinned in return at the mauve streaks all across his mouth, cheeks, and neck. “What?”

“Nothing, you’ve just got a bit of something… everywhere.” You couldn’t hold back more laughter, leaning into him as he started to giggle, too. At a passing thought, you snatched the camera from where it had been half-heartedly discarded next to your pillow. Before he could contain himself and stop laughing, you snapped a photo and tugged the newly printed photo out. Alex’s laughter died down as you re-adjusted yourself to settle between his legs with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, watching the photo slowly develop into view.

“Oh my god, what have you done?” Your boyfriend groaned, with only mirth in his tone. The picture was a near-perfect snapshot of him grinning in laughter, perfectly showcasing the kiss marks scattered all over his face and neck. “My poor, beautiful makeup. It’s all ruined.”

“Actually, I think you look much better like this.”

[yungbud]

Hi my love! When you have time could you write an fluffy & smutty imagine where the reader gets insecure & worries or compares themselves to Ashley? (Halsey) & Dom finds out & shows the reader how much they mean to him & how much he loves them daddy kink in there with the smut please & a lot of praise & saying "I'll take care of you pretty girl" 🥺

Word count:4.1k

TW?: mostly angst and fluff, but mentions of daddy kink and adult themes obviously its smut.

A/n: anything for you my lil nugget 🥺 Smut is at the bottom you horny cunts. I hope it was everything you wanted and more <33

*rewrite

You knew better. Unfortunately, you were self destructive and couldn't help yourself. It was 3AM and Dom was fast asleep beside you, and had been for hours. You, however, had chosen to watch a video before bed. It was titled “Yungblud being cute for 6 minutes straight.”, but of course one video turned to five or six more, until eventually you came along another video. This one was called “Halsey and yungblud cute moments.” and the cover photo was of them in onesies, one of Dom's arms wrapped around her and the other holding the camera. You could feel the pit begin to grow in your stomach. Glancing over at Dom to check he was still asleep, you pressed play on the video, flipping over so you were facing him, so that if he did wake up he wouldn’t see what was on the screen.

It was ridiculous, honestly. How could you be jealous of her when you were the one laying right next to him. It broke your heart the way he looked at her, you couldn’t help but wonder... is that how he looks at you? Why would he? She’s so beautiful, look at jawline, look at those eyes and her voice. Oh god... her voice, she's a musician. You loved music, but you had never been musically inclined and at best you could go hard on the triangle. But her, she understood it all, down to the tour life. When he was overwhelmed with work or couldn’t find a melody, she could help, when he didn’t know how to deal with all the attention, she could help. She was like the perfect mentor/ girlfriend combo. She connected with him in ways you would never be able to. She got it.

Your finger hovered over part 2 of the video, a moment of hesitation before pressing it. You tapped twice more to skip past the person's intro, wasting no time in getting to the painful stuff. 

One of the first clips was Halsey talking about the night they met. You knew it was unhealthy, but you couldn’t look away. She described it so beautifully, taking a moment to mention that of course she would because she's a writer and that's how she saw the world, her world was so beautiful. Dom deserved to live in her world. 

She went on to say that they had met up in a bar to chat, to which you remembered why. It wasn’t a coincidence, Dom liked her music. He looked up to her. Just another way you could never be who he needed. 

You couldn’t help it. He’d made the trade down of the century and everyone knew it. You paused the video momentarily, subduing the verbal attack on your ears and laying your phone down on your chest. Heavy breaths slid past your lips as you tried to calm yourself from a full blown breakdown.

 You glanced once more over at Dom, ensuring he was asleep before letting a single tear slip down your face. You used the blanket to wipe it away, basking in the shitty feeling you had created for yourself. You decided that was enough of that, shutting off your phone and plugging it up for the night. After laying there silently for a moment you scooted a bit away from Dom. 

You didn’t really feel like being held by him tonight.

----

The first thought in your head the next morning was of the events of last night, the same shitty feeling digging itself into the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck.” You sighed

“Sorry, I was borrowing one of Dom’s shirts. I didn’t mean to wake you.”  You turned your head to acknowledge the presence in the room. It was Tom, bent over and digging through a pile of Dom’s clothes.

“All good.” You murmured, flipping onto your stomach and burying your face in the pillow. It smelled like Dom.

Soon after you heard the door shut behind Tom as he left, your head lifting from the pillow. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t really feel like being around Dom today. You couldn’t get past the feeling that he was ultimately worse off with you, that he had settled for less.

You hated the way you felt, your face drooping back into the pillow in an attempt to hide and ended up dozing off, the late night pity marathon catching up with you.

About an hour later you were awoken to Dom’s lips on your forehead. Your eyes met momentarily as you blinked the sleep out of them, reaching upwards in a stretch.

“ ‘ello sleepy head.” Dom says, planting another kiss, this time to your nose. You roll over, replanting your face in the pillow once again, “Are you going back to sleep?” He asks

“Tired.” You mumble back, voice muffled by the pillow.

“It’s 1pm.” no response “How late did you stay up last night?” He asks, laying his head on the pillow next to yours. You shrugged.

“Are you feeling alright, love?” You shifted your head so that you were looking at him, cheek still pressed softly against your pillow “Are you feeling a bit sick? Is it cramps? I can make you a cup of tea and get you some pain killers.” He continued, offering to help you in any way he could. He just wanted to know what was wrong with you, so he could help you. He hated the idea of you up in bed all alone feeling ill. He considered skipping the studio today, he was already cutting it close on time.

“No, I feel fine. Just need a nap. I must’ve stayed up later than I realized, s’all.” You knew you needed to tell him. Every silent moment was filled with you trying to convince yourself to just say something to him. Just talk about it. Just let him in.

“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll be out of the house at the studio, but Tom and Adam are here if you need them. I’ll tell them to be quiet so you can get some rest.” You smiled in response, your eyes closing as he rubbed his thumb lovingly against your cheek “Hey, I love you.” he says, your eyes opening as you mumbled back an I love you of your own, your lips meeting in a chaste kiss before he stood back up and slipped out the door.

As much as you would’ve loved to, you didn’t sleep at all after he left. Tom and Adam had made good on their promise to stay quiet, but it didn’t make much of a difference when that little voice in your head wouldn’t shut up. You opted for distracting yourself with your phone, scrolling through instagram and hoping the memes would brighten your mood. For the most part they did, acting as a simple distraction. 

Once you felt a bit better, you decided part of the reason you felt so bad today and last night was partially due to the fact that you hadn’t had anything to eat. You went to the kitchen to prepare yourself lunch, hearing Tom and Adam talking quietly in the other room.

While you were preparing your food you accidentally bumped into a stack of dirty dishes that had built up in the kitchen. You didn’t see what happened and when you turned to check nothing looked broken, but it was loud.

“Y/n?” Tom asks, tilting his head to get a better look into the kitchen.

“Hm?” You respond after a few moments of quiet deliberation. You weren’t exactly ready to be observed as awake, but you didn’t have any other choice, besides blaming it on an intruder who broke in with the intent of stealing the beloved orange tree outside, but when they arrived in the kitchen and were met with such a disgraceful mess decided they had no choice but to clean up after us. Of course, that might have stirred up a bit of a panic. They loved that orange tree, after all.

“Oh you’re finally up. Are you feeling alright? Dom said he thought you maybe came down with something.” Adam says

“I’m alright, thanks for asking. I’m just making myself lunch.”

“Come sit with us while you eat. We’re playing uno.” Tom invites. When you’re done making yourself food, you decide maybe it would be best to join them. It’s not good for your mental health to be stuffed up in your room pitying yourself all day.

You sat with your food in front of you, watching silently as they played.

“You wanna be dealt in the next round? It’s more fun with three players.” Tom offers, you give him a nod in response as your mouth is full of food. As you nod, Adam plays a red six, which ultimately leads to his demise as Tom then plays three red draw 2’s, stopping Adams hand as he goes to pick up and continuing to lay a red skip, then a yellow one, changes the color back to red and ends on his own red 3. You all laughed as Adam was absolutely massacred, almost choking on your lunch.

“There ain’t no coming back from that. Just tap out man.” You say through your laughter, reaching over to place a comforting hand on Adam. You all had small conversation as you finished your lunch, but soon you were done and the cards were passed out.

After a game or two, the round was paused as Adam stood up to get himself a glass of water, Tom and you shouting out your own drink orders from your place in the living room. By the time Adam was back at the table the running conversation had died down a bit. You began to think about why you’d been in bed all day, and the fact that Dom still attributed it to a small sickness. You felt the insecurity growing inside you once again, and you finally decided to talk about it.

“Did you guys like Ashley?” You ask, as inconspicuously as you could manage.  You watch as they glance at each other, taking a sip of your drink to occupy your mouth.

“Yeah, she was cool,” Tom says, Adam nodding in confirmation “Why?”

“Just curious, I guess. Did you guys ever hang out?” You tried to play it off as casual conversation, but you got the feeling they were picking up on the fact that there was something more under the surface.

“Not really. Not without Dom, even then it was rare. Who’s turn was it?” Tom continued, feeding into your curiosity while trying to maintain the card game.

“Yours, I think.” You paused for a moment, thinking of your next question “Do you think she was better for him than I am?” Your eyes met with Tom’s as the words left your mouth. He stayed silent for a moment and you couldn’t tell what the emotion on his face was. It felt weird, confiding in your boyfriend’s friends. Usually you could tell what your friends were thinking, or have an idea about what they might say, but you didn’t know these two like that.

“Like how?” He asked, nodding towards you to silently mention it was your turn.

“I dunno, they have the same career.” they let out a small laugh at that.

“She knows how to play a guitar so she loves him more?” Adam says

“Well, no, but…” you tried to remember what you were anxious about “she gets it. She knows what it's like to be on the road all the time and not see your family, she knows about the mental toll being in the public eye has and how to deal with it, she knows how to help if he’s nervous about performing.”

“What makes you assume that?” Tom asks

“She’s been doing it so long.”

“Well, yeah, but knowing how to do that isn’t a part of the job description. It’s less about knowing how to be famous and more about knowing the person you’re with. If it was about that, most people in Dom’s life don't get it. But we get Dom, and that’s what he cares about. You get him, so you have nothing to worry about.” Tom says softly. He made a surprisingly good therapist. 

You nodded, picking up 4 cards and sorting through them in your hand.

“But that doesn't mean you get to hide in your room cause you’re insecure. Just cause we’re talking about it doesn’t mean you don’t still need to tell him.” Tom continues, his chin resting in his hand as he looks at you.

“Yeah, of course.” You agree

~~~

You could hear Dom the second he walked in the house, engaging in a small conversation with the boys before making his way up the stairs. You heard his footsteps trail down the hallway and eventually meet your bedroom door, your eyes closing as you listened to it creak open.

“Love? Are you up?” Dom whispered, shutting the door softly behind him. You remained silent, trying to regulate your breathing like that of someone who’s asleep. He sighed, which made your heart crumple a bit. You wondered if you should respond, he might’ve had a hard day, but the nerves took over and you remained silent. 

“You’re still sleeping?” He asked, partially to himself, before exiting the room once more. You could hear him talking with Tom from outside the door.

“Has Y/N been asleep all day?”

“Uh, no. She came out and ate lunch and played uno with us around 2. Is she asleep now?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

You planned on talking it out with him, and up until he walked into the house you were, but you were suddenly overcome with intense nerves and all you wanted to do was hide.  You figured you would get a good night's rest and talk it out with him in the morning, that way if it went badly he would be out for most of the day at the studio and you wouldn’t have to sit in awkward silence as you tried to sleep.

He entered the room once again, stripping himself of his clothes as he preferred to sleep half naked, before joining you in bed. You felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you into him and wrapping you both in the blankets. Flipping over to face him, you nuzzled closer into his arms.

“Y/N?” He asks again, shifting to see if you’re awake. You hum in response this time, curious as to what he might have to say.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks, his hand returning to your cheek as it was this morning. You nod, letting out a small, genuine yawn as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

“How was your day?” You ask, shifting the conversation. 

“It was good. We finally got that song done, I think i’m gonna play with it a bit more tomorrow though. It’s good but I think it could be better.”

“You always think it can be better.”

“It always can.” He states simply, making you smile. You loved that about him, his pure determination and dedication to his craft. It can always be better.

“How was your day? Tom said you guys played a bit of uno, who won?”

“It was alright. Yeah, him and Adam were playing when I came down so I decided to join them. I think overall it was probably Tom though, I think he was cheating.” Dom laughed a little at the claim, brushing his fingers through your mess of a hair.

“So...” You began, needing to get a word out so you wouldn’t bail on talking about this. God, you hated confrontation. Especially when it was about something you were feeling. 

Dom hummed in response, the gentle reminder to continue breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I wasn’t sick today.”

“No?” He encouraged

“No. I was a bit tired though. But, that wasn’t the problem. I was watching youtube last night and I came across a video someone made. It was, like, a compilation of cute moments or whatever so I watched it cause it was cute. Then I watched another, and a few more, and eventually I came across a video that was called ‘Halsey and YUNGBLUD being soulmates for 3 minutes’... and I watched it.” He lets out a small, quiet snort, not entirely catching onto  the vibe of the conversation.

“Jeez, how do they come up with this shit.” He remarked lovingly

“Heh, yeah. It’s just… I watched it and I saw the way you talked about and looked at her… It just got me thinking, yenno?”

“I don’t. What’d it get you thinkin’ about, beautiful?”

“I just felt like maybe you regretted being with me. Maybe you’re still bummed that you guys broke up and you ended up with me. Like maybe you still miss her.” You admit. It’s silent for a moment as he takes it all in, you almost expect him to confirm your suspicions.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I made you feel like that.” He took a moment to think carefully about his next words “I know it must be hard to hear me talk about someone else like that, you can’t really escape my past relationships because of who I am. I honestly never thought of that. I love you, okay? Not anybody else. Obviously she and I had something, but it’s completely in the past and I don’t regret a thing because it led me to you, and I love you so much. You’re my fookin soulmate, I mean it. I’m not gonna let that slip out of your head ever again.” He said, punctuating it with a passionate kiss.

You expected the kiss to end rather quickly, but it didn’t. It kept going, building in intensity as you scooted closer to one another. 

“I love you.” You whisper, breaking the kiss momentarily

“I love you so much, pretty girl” He responds, his hand coming up to hold your jaw.

“Hmm, show me.” You whisper, pulling him closer. His hand slides down your side and onto your thigh as your lips meet again, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and pulling away lightly before indulging in the kiss once again.

Dom’s hands didn’t stay in one place for long, moving about your body as you made out, pausing his actions for a moment to take your shirt off, placing a kiss to each of your breasts before moving his lips up to your neck, leaving little marks for you to find in the morning. A chill ran down your back as he bit down on your ear, his hands massaging your breasts before reaching behind you and unbuckling your bra, throwing it off to the side and shifting his attention to your nipple. Taking it into his mouth, he presses his tongue flat against it as you lie down to give him a better angle.

His tongue flicking against your nipple while his hand plays with your other nipple. He swapped between which he used his mouth on and which he used his hand, making sure to give them both equal attention,  your hands tangling themself into his hair while he did so. When he was satisfied he pulled away, causing you to let out a small whimper as you felt his lips leave you, making their way down your stomach in a series of wet, open mouthed kisses.

When he made it to your underwear he licked a single stripe, taking his his sweet, sweet time. First, kissing his way up one thigh, then back down and ghosting his lips over the area you needed him both, taking a moment to inhale your scent before kissing his way back up the other leg, and right back down. 

“Please.” You whine

“Shh, I’m gonna take care of you, pretty girl.” He hushed, pulling your panties down your legs and glancing up at you as he did so, mimicking your pout before placing a chaste kiss on your clit. You leant your head back, closing your eyes as you waited patiently for him to begin. 

He started off slowly, licking up your slit as he took his time with you. Dom loved to use his tongue anytime he could, you loved it too. When he ate you out, it wasn’t just tongue, he made sure to pay attention to your clit and use his fingers when needed but on nights like tonight, where he really wanted to drive you crazy, he made sure to use a lot of tongue.

“You taste so good, pretty girl.” He whispers, his breath fanning against you, his hands wrapped around your thighs as he lost himself in you, holding you like if he didn’t you would take his meal away. You tried your best to suppress the moans he was pulling out of you, knowing Adam and Tom were just rooms away. The way he was working you left you wishing you had come to him with this sooner. Your hips came up to meet his actions, your hand placed firmly on the back of his head, pushing him as far into you as he could go, eager to meet your release. 

“That’s it, pretty girl, ride daddy’s face. Let daddy show you how much you mean to him.” He hums, taking a moment to catch his breath. You do as you’re told, the request putting you in anything but a bratty mood. You let out a small moan as he continues his actions, your hips setting the pace.

Once again, it started off slow, until you began to work yourself up. Your hand reached down, tangling itself in his hair once again, tugging as you tried to push yourself further down, your hips speeding up while you bite your tongue to keep down the moans that clawed their way up your throat.

You could feel the pressure building up in your stomach, squeaking out to Dom that you were gonna cum before releasing on his tongue. He let you remain there for a minute, riding out your high while he massaged and kissed your thighs. When you had fully come down you move yourself off his face, making your way down to his bulge where you began to unbutton his pants. His hand quickly came down to stop you.

“Tonight’s supposed to be about you.”

“I wanna make you feel good too.” You say, giving him a small pout. He stops to think for a moment before taking off his pants pulling you over him, giving himself a few painfully slow strokes before slipping himself inside of you. Your hips rocked carefully against him, still sensitive from your last orgasm. His hands continued to massage your hips as you found your pace, finding it harder and harder to remain silent.

“You’re so beautiful, pretty girl. Daddy loves to watch you bounce on his cock.” Dom growls, his hips coming up to meet yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, you give up on holding back your moans at this point as it’s already very obvious to anyone in the house what's happening upstairs. 

The bed was creaking, your skin  slapping together as he thrust into you, unable to cease the  loud moans falling past your lips. Your legs began to shake as you approached your second release. Dom pulls you close, holding you, the gentle gesture in sharp contrast with the way he’s pounding away at you.

“Please can I cum.” You whimper

“One moment,” he interrupted himself with a groan “I wanna cum with ya, love.”

You held on as best you could, melting into his grasp as he worked towards finishing himself off. Soon after he growled a barely audible “Cum.” signifying his release. You moaned against each other, Dom pulling you closer as close wasn’t close enough. He maintained his actions, riding through your orgasm with one hand in your hair and the other lovingly stroking your thigh.

“Daddy’s got you babygirl.” He whispers into your ear, hushing you as you come down from your high.

When you finally felt well enough to sit up, your muscles hurt from the strain so you and Dom decided to have a bath.

He got up to run the bath water just the way you liked it and insisted on carrying you there, because ‘You’re hurtin’ so you can’t walk.’

You didn’t mind, though, laying your head on his shoulder as he carried you princess style into the bathroom. Luckily, the boys were in their rooms with the doors closed, presumably to suppress some of the noise.

The warm watered soothed your aching as you sat with Dom behind you, his wet hands stroking your arms with his head buried in your neck while he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

After that night, you didn’t think you’d ever question your relationship with Dom again.

[hufflepuffhollander]

a smutty sunday request ! reader feels really shitty about herself, just one of those days where nothing seems to make her feel god abt herself, and tom catches on and makes sure she know every thing he loves abt her (you catch my drift???)

it’s smutty sunday, my dudes

this goes from mopey to fluffy to hot real quick get ready babies

requests are open!

smut below the cut! 18+ only please :)

Tom paced around the living room, anxious that he was going to be late.

“Hey, love, what’s taking so long in there?”

You had been in your bedroom for over an hour with the door closed.

“Sorry, just need another minute.”

Truthfully, you were still sitting in a bra and underwear on the bed, not a stitch of makeup done or a strand of hair put in place.

“We just need to leave soon, y’know?”

Nothing you put on seemed to fit right, and any color you tried just washed you out.

“Yeah, babe, I know.”

You didn’t convince him.

Tom came in without knocking and saw you sitting curled into your bed while hugging his pillow, both fresh and dried tear streaks evident on your face. “Oh,” his tone softened. “What’s wrong?”

“Tom, I’m sorry, but I can’t go to the party.”

“Why not?”

“I look horrible in everything and I’d just embarrass you,” you sniffled.

“Oh, darling,” Tom walked over to you, taking his shoes off and crawling into bed next to you, arms winding around your waist. “You know that could never be true.”

“I can’t go,” you whispered again.

He lifted his head up and spoke like he was onto something. “Yes, you can. And you know why I think so?”

You looked up at him in confusion. “Why?”

“Because everyone you meet falls in love with all of the same things that I did.”

Your expression remained unchanging, still miles away from his point.

“Like...the freckles on the bridge of your nose that you can only see if you get real close,” he said, kissing the light spots on your face.

“And your long and luscious eyelashes,” he moved to place his lips firmly on the eye closest to him. You started to show signs of a small smile as his breath tickled your face, his words keeping the next wave of sadness at bay.

“Your nibble-worthy ears,” he went to bite your earlobe, making you curl your head into his and giggle. He was happy to see his efforts paying off, and kept going.

“Those yummy, pretty pink lips,” he placed a light kiss on your lips, but not lingering so as to keep running through his list.

“And your slender neck, and beautiful collarbone,” he gave each one its rightfully deserved smooch, feeling you finally warm up in his embrace, cheeks even starting to get rosy at his compliments.

“Mm, and these boobies, these soft pillows of heaven,” he grumbled, moving his face to rest between them in your thin, barely there bra, humming happily that you were smiling much more now.

“Tom...” you fidgeted a little under the spell of his breath cascading up your body.

“Let’s not forget your tummy, and your cute belly button,” he placed a trail of increasingly sloppy kisses from your chest down to your stomach, wriggling the high waisted strings of your undies down so he could grab hold of your hips. “These hips…mmm,” he grabbed generous handfuls of your skin, wriggling it back and forth. “The perfect place to grip when I’m busy appreciating your perfect…”

You took a sharp inhale as he swiped his nose up along your heat over your underwear, proceeding then to pull them down with his teeth. Gathering his messy curls in between your fingers, you tugged at his hair and let your mind wander away from your insecurities as he slowly trailed his tongue through your folds, humming as he did it.

“Tommy…” you aimlessly clutched at him as he moved his hands under your thighs to support you as he lifted your body upward, getting a better angle to do some incredibly dirty things with his mouth. “Baby, get up here,” you whined.

He came up for air, deviously licking his now glossy lips, and brought his face back up to yours, but left a hand in between your thighs to rub slow circles over you, making you quiver underneath his gaze. You were able to tell him with your expression that he had gotten his point across with plenty of room to spare, but he was nowhere near done.

“And you know what else I love?” He kneeled on your bed and haphazardly unbuckled his belt, pulling off his own clothes with vigor.

Your breath hitched in your throat at seeing him there in front of you, your whole body now anticipating something much more than a pep talk.

“Hmm?” you cooed at him, batting your eyelashes.

“How absolutely beautiful you look when I’m fucking you.”

You bashfully rolled your eyes as he fell back down on top of you, knocking the wind out of your chest and making you laugh. You were expecting him to pop up, lift your legs up over his shoulders like he loved to do and screw you senseless, but instead, he reached over your head to where his phone was sitting.

“Tom, what are you doing?”

He rolled onto his back and flipped you on top of him. “I want you to see what I see, pretty girl.”

You couldn’t help but lower your hips onto his, almost by instinct, and lined him up so that you sank down onto his cock in one smooth motion. His eyes all but rolled back in his head at the overwhelming sensation, his eyelids flittering, but after a long second that ridiculous smirk returned to his face as he lifted up his phone to photograph you. You were too caught up in the moment, body alight with pins and needles at feeling him inside you, and started to methodically move up and down on him, biting your lip without thinking and lifting your arms up to hold your hair out of your face.

“God, so fucking sexy,” he purred, holding onto his phone with one hand and to your hip with the other, using his strength to push even deeper into you as you rode him. Only once you’d fully opened your eyes did you realize he had his camera pointed at you, and you swatted it out of his hand, prompting him to grab your waist and roll you onto your back, clambering on top of you and continuing where you had left off.

“Were you taking pic-ohhh my god,” he thrusted into you mid-sentence and took the words out of your mouth. He left traces of sloppy, wet, noisy kisses all down your neck, holding your body so tightly that you were sure his fingerprints would be engrained in your skin forever.

“Just…want you to see…how…beautiful you are- my god, baby, you feel fucking amazing,“ he was ruthlessly pounding into you, and you couldn’t comprehend his words because you were seeing stars at this point, lost in the mixup of sounds of his body grinding onto yours and moans and gasps and grunts coming from either one of you.

With one final snap of his hips you came hard, Tom following not long after. Sweaty, panting, and in some kind of nirvana, he shifted himself to lie next to you, taking only a few moments to find his breath again before he picked up his discarded phone. You turned to face him and saw the changing light of his phone screen reflected on his face;  it was clear that he was looking at the pictures he had just taken. The foolish grin plastered on his face was a dead giveaway.

“Tom, delete those!” you laughed, trying to take his phone out of his hand.

“Baby, wait, just look.” He showed you a photo of yourself, absolutely naked but almost— glowing? You were taken aback at your lack of hatred for the person you saw on the screen. Tom could read you like an open book and knew he had finally driven his point home. “Do you get it now?”

You leaned over to press a loving kiss to his lips, smiling as you responded. “Okay, maybe a little.”

[cosmiclatte28]

Tenalice #smut (Ten(alice) x you) 🔞

When your boyfriend decides to try on his Halloween costume again, he never expects you to come in from that door and mutters a curse before seeing your eyes changed. He saw the fire in your eyes and Ten knows, tonight will be a long ass ride for him, or maybe you ?

Warning : basically a pw(ith(out))plot. Naughty!Tenalice, you taking control, him teasing you too, steamy photographic session, more teasing and flirting... and a lot of sweet naughty talks. A plot twist too! Smut do not proceed if you're not old enough.... this is my messy brain doing its job to disturb me

Here's a naughty!Tenalice because my wild imagination cannot stop thinking about Tenalice. (Istg i am in my final weeks and this plot is stuck in my head)

You never expect this day to come, a day where you are super tired from work. Your boss has been shitty about your work, she has you redone all the proposals for a photoshoot, and you can't hold yourself back when you saw the notification from YouTube about your boyfriend's group costume party. To be precise princess costume party. You caught a glimpse of Ten dressing up as Alice and fuck he's hot. For the sake of your wellbeing, you do not watch the video in the office and choose to watch it later at home. But things are way better. You got home at night super drained and annoyed that all you want to do is jump into the hot shower and sleep. You can already feel the fluffy feeling of the big bed when you take the elevator to your house.

Once the door opens, you're greeted with a pair of shoes. You smile when you know Ten is already homed. Slowly you step into the kitchen to wash your hands, but he is not there. You check the living room and still there's no sign of him. You hear a soft giggle from your room and your ears perk. Without noise, you turn the knob to your room and what a beautiful scene lays before your eyes.

“Fuck-“

Ten gasps and turns his body around from facing the big body mirror you installed in your room to see you. His hands cover his face when he caught your jaw hanging upon seeing him fully dressed in his Alice costume. The tiredness in your body disappeared (as if it's never there) when you see just how perfect Ten looks like in that tiny costume. His long legs are covered in a thigh high black and white striped stocking, the typical blue and white dress hugs his waist perfectly and his golden wig completes his pretty character. You gulp feeling heat rushing over your body and a smirk come to your face when Ten acts all shy being busted.

"Oh sorry didn't know you're here," you pretended to look around. Ten pulls his hands away from his face and cross his hands over his chest.

"No problem, I didn't hear you coming in." He shyly stares into the ground.

You step into the room and close the door, taking your body to stand in front of him. "You look pretty! Super pretty," you bite your lips as you force his body to spin so you can eye him from all angle. Ten blushes for he secretly likes it, but pretends he is annoyed. "Aish what are you saying," he pouts, and you shoot him a look "look at you," you force him to face the mirror. "Just look... can Alice look this pretty and tempting?" You whisper next to his ears.

Ten shudders at your words. "I was just trying it back because the fans are wilding over the video... and i just want to see if I really look like the video." He tries to make an alibi. Your eyes scan the room and you caught your lights for taking pictures on, you also see a tiny bit of mess there he has on your make up table and you try your best to hide your laugh.

"I think you're doing more than that honey, you're planning to... take a photo I guess?" You walk to your cabinet and take out your camera. It's been a while, you enjoy photography (duhh it's your job) and Ten has been a great model for your clothing blog, but maybe just this one time you can try to take cute pictures of him in this tempting little Alice dress.

Ten was about to peel off the costume if not for your scream of "Wait!" He pauses and shoots you a questioning look. "Since you're in that already, why don't you be good for me and be my muse for tonight?" You already set up your camera and lights. He stutters, wow Ten lee stutters before you is something rare, "If that's what you want, then I guess I cannot object." You kiss him quick appreciating how cooperative he is.

"May I?" You ask before polishing his face with some powder and a blush. He nods and just closes his eyes, allowing you to paint faint colors on his glass skin. And with the last stroke of lip gloss, and him smacking his lips... you really need to hold yourself back before wrecking him.

"How do you want me to pose?" He asks but rather in a shy way like this is his first photo session with you. You smirk, "Oh Ten you do know how to tease me don't you?" He just ignores you and once you bring up your camera to your eye, he's no longer Ten. He's the shy but playful yet daring Tenalice.

You really have to hold yourself back when he poses professionally on his knees and his acting is not kidding. "Oh gosh Ten you look so..." you bite your lips unable to continue speaking when he changes his pose again and even to a more daring position. He smirks over his golden hair and bites his lips when your camera happens to focus on his upper body only and damn you will print these pictures and make an album out of it.

This photo session starts with an innocent pose and as your clicks go on, Ten becomes more bolder. He's almost making you scream stop because you can feel the pool in your panties. You lost your cool when he suggests you to be bolder in taking the pics.

"Honey what about we make this a catalogue for your side blog," he suddenly sounds naughty and challenging.

"What side blog?"

"Oh you know the one for adults," he shrugs his shoulder.

You shake your head "I don't have any side blogs. What do you mean?" He stands up from the floor, walks to the bed and with one spin that causes a sliver of his thigh comes into light, he plops himself down on the fluffy mattress. He sits down on the bed, on his knees and suddenly opens them just enough for you to see his lace underwear covering his hardness.

Your grip tightens on your camera and you shake your head "Am I hearing things?" He takes your arm and pulls you to sit on the edge of the bed, carefully he runs a hand over your back, "No you hear me right. You can just not include my face in my pics right? A back picture or just from the torso downward?"

You close your eyes and cup his face "Are you trying to tell me you're into semi-exhibitionism now?" He shyly runs his finger on your arm, "Whatever you call it, I just don't want my effort in wearing this costume ends in vain." You put your camera on the side and think for a while, well you can always take the pictures and never post them, right? You don't really like sharing the view of your boyfriend to random horny internet users, moreover what will his career be if the world finds out he has a catalogue of that naughty Alice pictures posted by his girlfriend?!

"Honey" his voice lures you in, "we don't have to post them... take a picture for me?" He asks in that sweet pleading voice you can never say no to. With that, your smirk reappears on your face and your hand runs along his stocking up to his thigh and with one whack on his ass you peck him "You asked for it, don't be shy when I ask you to do more, I am taking control of you tonight." Ten hides a smirk, deep inside his heart he knows you won’t ever win a game in taking control and he’ll proof it again tonight.

He almost squeal like a happy teenage girl, but his excitement doesn't allow him. You tie your hair up and change first into a comfortable shorts and tees, your working outfit was drenched in sweat too gosh you cannot handle the heat he radiates. "Have you ever worked with a project like this?" Ten asks after you get your cameras ready again. You shake your head, "I did an underwear photoshoot once for Lay and gosh I cannot take any job like that again..." you blush when you remember how it affects your concentration for weeks since you also have to do the editing.

Ten bounces on his knees "Ehem your boyfriend is here can we just finish this faster," he whines and you nod "Okay okay.. impatient, aren't we? Now pose and act like I’m not here."

With each naughty pose he strikes you can see him also struggling to keep his face straight and you're starting to squirm too. "Um Ten," you take out your camera from your neck and turn it off then keep it away on the table. You can no longer take his game, no he's toying on you and shouldn't you be the one toying him?!

"Oh you're done?" He suddenly turns his head to look at you from his shoulder. Well for the last one he was showing his back and posing for you, that's when you decided you cannot do more. You dip into the mattress and straddle Tenalice under you. He brushes his bangs away from his eyes and holds your waist in place. Gently your finger traces his arms down to his stone abs and to his thigh, carefully you pull up his skirt aside and without breaking eye contact, your fingers found the texture of the lace panties and Ten gasps a low moan.

You snigger, “Oops,” and slip your palm to grab his member. He whimpers when you tease him.

“Oh don’t tease me,” he exhales when you’re just touching his tip.

You shrug your shoulder, did not minister him at all just loosely grab them, feel yourself on his thigh and Tenalice brings himself to kiss you. He grasps your hand and takes it away from his aching member, “Baby if you’re only going to tease me, you better stop. You wake up the beast.”

In a second, Ten flips you on your back and latches his lips into yours. This time, he’s the one who takes control, “You’ve teased me now It’s my time to teach you a lesson honey.” His voice is still his honey Tenalice voice, but you know better not to talk back at him, not when the fire in his eyes is the same glint you got on the other hard nights.

“For your information Tenalice, you are the one teasing me. Don’t you have a great time posing for me for the cam and oh you’re going wild when you saw me squirm,” you talked back, though you know you shouldn’t.

Ten laughs, “That is the whole point honey, to make you think you’re teasing me but actually I am the one playing you. Look at you,” his palm ghost over your cheek, down to your chest over the valley to the aching wet pleasure bundle in you. You stifle your moan and bite your lips, your eyes close automatically when he gently flicks over the swollen bud. Ten giggles and kisses your neck, he bites and sucks on you. “You’re so pliant for me, so wet, so ready.”

You shake your head; this isn’t supposed to happen. You were thinking of taking control but look at you already devastated by seeing him in his Alice character and you’re once again under him. You toss your mind aside, winning can come next time, now the only thing you need is pleasure.

“You’re losing little bunny,” he smirks when he slips one of his long fingers into you and you’re already stuffing your hand over your lips. “Look at my white rabbit losing to Alice, just let go honey. I want to hear your voice.” He adds one more and thrusts into you quickly.

You pull his head for a deep kiss and with that, Ten knows he successfully tease you, makes you lose your mind and he knows you will find a way to win over him, but that is the whole point of doing this. He planned to tease you and make you lose.

“Ten,” you plead when he takes out his fingers when you’re super close to your ecstasy. Your pretty boyfriend gently rubs your back, “Why?” he pulls you up into his lap and you’re already whimpering when his hardness touches you. He wants you to say the word, to admit you lose but you’re finding it hard to say the word, not when he’s teasing you and staring you with his innocent eyes.

“Say it honey, I cannot read minds. Alice needs you to use your words.” He brushes your hair away from your face and your eyes are already teary. Your gaze was hazy and your head cannot think of anything else.

You take a deep breathe and gaps when Ten’s cold hand reaches your nape, you close your eyes and finally admit it.

“I lost, please just finish what you started,” you open your eyes to meet his dark eyes and a very small smirk comes from his mouth, “As you wish honey, just enjoy your ride. Tenalice is here to satisfy your fantasy.”

You blush, did he actually find out you like seeing him cross dressing, you swear if this is what you get and how he looks every time he wears a costume, you’ll buy him more dresses and number one list will be a maid dress. No question.

“Tell me do you love Ten or Tenalice more?” he asks once the two of you have finished a long ride. In the dark room, filled with sweat and reeks of love shots, you cuddle into your boyfriend’s chest. His costume is already gone on the floor along with yours and his wigs. He kept it on for a while, but ends up getting out of it in the end.

You hum for a while and while tracing random circles over his body you whisper, “I might need to see the other personalities too, but Tenalice is on my favorite list after Ten Lee,”

He chuckles ang hugs you closer, “Did I make too much bites?”

You shake your head, “I don’t mind, isn’t that a good thing people knows I belong to you? I’m quite surprised Alice likes to bite. Is she a vampire now?”

Ten laughs and just pulls you into another deeper kiss, “I love you, thank you for making this possible.”

You smile, “So, do we print out your pictures and sell them online?”

He smacks your ass and you whine “Were you trying to make use of the property that only you can see?”

You hit him back, “You were the one asking for it first.”

He ruffles your hair, “It was the air.”

You snicker, “Don’t be surprised if one day they are on the web.”

“I won’t be surprised. Besides I have a lot of your pics too, might even expose you honey. Eye for an eye” he winks and pulls the sheet to cover your two entangled bare bodies.

“I’m sleepy but I want to shower,” you yawn. Ten kisses you nose, “Sleep first, I’ll wake you up for shower later.”

“Love you Ten and Tenalice,” you mumble.

Good night, I am sorry if this sucks, but I cannot keep this in my head. I have to write it down and might as well share it ;)

Thank you for reaching this part, please tell me if you like this or if I am just being weird for having this in my head. 

  credits to the owner of the collage and the text those are not mine 

story does belong to me :p 

head up to masterlist and check out more Ten steamy smut scenarios, all of my Ten imagine are somehow steamy :) 

  thank you and enjoy your time with tenalice!

[shoutogepi]

not a thirsty question sorry babe but how do u think best boi shouto would be in love?

fjsjxhsaahaaaaa no worries bb i don’t just take nsfw only thirsts~ sometimes more like all the time i think abt how sweet bf lovebug shouto would be and of course i can elaborate ;)

— - — - — - — - —

shouto in love ❤️ (mini hc’s)

love ?? let’s get this straight... shouto got no damn cLUE what that is. of course he feels love for his mother and his siblings and friends, but since he never rly got to experience a romantic love between his parents, poor baby boy is helpless when it comes to romancing.

honestly he probably has 0 interest in love, being in love, rly anything to do with the dreaded 4 letter word— he just does not want any part of it. so when he finallyyyy finds that special someone (~≖‿≖)~ he’ll go through a few emotions.

right off the bat is CONFUSION. how come his heartbeat quickens when he sees you? why does that nice thing catch his eye in the store window he passes on patrol, and why does he wonder if you would smile if he gave it to you? how come he finds himself thinking about you when he’s falling asleep at night, and why is it that when he wakes up the next morning with a spare pillow in his arms, he wishes it was you?

after consulting his friends cough cough midoriya, he comes to learn the horrifying news. he has feelings ?? romantic, non-platonic feelings ????? next emotion to the stage, please— DENIAL, THATS YOUR CUE.

baby boy tries to fight it. ohhhh he tries soooo hard. first of all, he’s freaking out internally bc he’s never felt this way before (i know can u say cheeeeeeese). and he doesn’t wanna chance freaking you out either, so for awhile, he’s content to keep those lovey dovey thoughts to himself and just enjoy your friendship. he tells himself he’s fine with just being friends, and he really almost convinces himself!!

but at some point, inevitably, he reaches his limit. ACCEPTANCE, and then realization. he’s gotta make his move, he has to know if you feel the same because goddamn it you’ve got him wrapped around your finger and he wouldn’t have it any other way. & yeah he might face heinous villains every day for his job but shit if this isn’t the scariest thing he’s ever done...

obviously you feel the same way. so you start dating!!! shouto is so over the moon. it’s a little strange to see this usually calm and collected man so outrightly chipper, but you’re not gonna complain. this baby boy is sO saccharine sweet to you. pls don’t take him for granted.

just a few months in and he knows he’s in love. love love, okay? not some kindergarten fantasy kinda love. and boy does he prove it to you. in general, he’s not naturally the best with words, so he tends to show his love through lots of little actions...

even tho he has a demanding career he makes time for you. you make time for the ones you care about, after all! you two have at least one date night a week, no matter what, when no work talk is allowed. you guys don’t even have to go somewhere super nice, or even somewhere at all. all he wants is to spend a few uninterrupted hours with his favorite person. take that how you wanna hkdkdhsbsaAAA

if he has to go to work before you, he leaves a fresh pot of coffee/tea brewed for you to start the day on the right note. then he’ll leave little sticky notes for you on the bathroom mirror or on your keys. even if it’s a reminder about a doctor appointment or replenishing your dish soap or something else mundane, he always signs it with “i love you” at the bottom. sometimes he’ll leave a little heart or a really shitty, tiny drawing of your fav animal or somethin too. he hopes it makes you smile.

baby is so observant. he will take mental notes like there’s a tiny little deku in his head, furiously scribbling down everything that he can about you so he can make you happy, or make your life just a tiny bit easier. example: if you say you have bad cramps the few mornings before your period he will make sure to adjust his schedule every month, opting to stay in bed tangled up with you, easing your pain away with the gentle caress from his palm on his hot side.

he’s also very in tune to your mood. you don’t even have to speak for him to know that something is wrong, and he won’t pressure you to talk if you don’t want to. sweetheart will offer to draw you a bath or give you a massage, and if you accept, you best bet he sets up the room with candles and quiet, soothing music. anything to help his baby relax. he’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want, but when you’re ready to talk about it, he’ll wrap his strong arms around you and hold you close. very great listener right here. rating 12/10. he wants you to know that you can tell him anything, and be fearless of judgement bc you’re not gonna get any from him.

lastly if you have a hobby that he can partake in, he’ll dive in head first (with your blessing of course). like if you love to paint, surprise!!! baby bought you a new set of paints and brushes and canvases, and two easels, and he wants to convert the spare room into a studio for you! oh what’s that— you like video games?? he does his research and finds a two player game right up your alley, so you can sit in his lap and play all night together! this man does not concern himself with price tags, he’ll buy you the whole console and extra controllers in you fav custom colors too. oh wait wait wait you like photography?? surprise baby here’s the latest camera and five new lenses! did you want these other ten as well, he wasn’t sure which you’d like best? he got himself a matching camera too, and wants to plan a little photo shoot with you for this weekend. he can buy a laptop and editing software if you need that, too. anything for you, he’s game.

bf shouto just wants to make his love happy, and feel supported and secure with him more than anything. because if he’s really in love with you, then you treat him right too... and he’s just trying his best to treat you with the affections you deserve as best he can with his demanding hero work. sho will move the fuckin moon and all the stars for you. please cherish this soft boi :’)

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

gently rings a little bell in your ear My fic updated with two new chapters when you weren't paying attention! but now i am tilting your chin up with the point of my sword, forcing you to look. its very villainous and cool. this is part three of an increasingly convoluted story, part one can be found all the way over here but if you just want the high school romance stuff and don't care about found family, that's fine, i guess, but like, what's your deal

The weekend is a welcome relief from everything at school. He’s tired of feeling like shit, so Saturday, annoyingly bright and early, he startles Lydia awake by flopping on her bed. It causes her to bounce, and she groans, pulling the dark purple blanket further over her head. “Beetlejuice…” “I was thinkin’, today we should spend th’ whole day outdoors, in th’ park or somethin’,” he grins, and she lifts the blanket just barely, to glare at him. “You only want to play outside because all your stuff was taken away,” comes her accusation, and she’s not exactly wrong, but he just wiggles a hand under her blanket and gives her nose a poke. “Let’s go get lost, somewhere. Come on, Lyds, please?” She tries to hit him with a pillow but her grip is tired from sleep, and all she manages to do is shove the thing at him.

Twenty minutes later, she’s dressed and ready, bouncing on the balls of her feet, as he mulls over which button up to wear, the highlighter yellow with purple bugs, or the dark green with orange bones. They’re two equally ugly shirts that kind of give him a headache to look at, and both are favorites. “I can’t believe you woke me up at eight so I could stand around watching you go through your wardrobe.” “This is important.” He settles on the bugs, finally, and pulls it on before turning to Lydia, but she’s gone. He blinks, and sticks his head out his door, in time to headbutt her as she comes back in. Both siblings reel back and hold their heads. “Beetlejuice…” she groans. “Lyd-eee-uhhh,” he mimics her. She huffs and throws what she’d gone to her room to retrieve at him. He catches it, then stares. It’s his hoodie, his ruined one from that disastrous Halloween. He can still see that faded dark copper stain in some places, but it's better than it was. Also, the holes slashed in the arms have been very sloppily stitched with a thick, black embroidery thread. He looks back at his sister. “You seemed like you were having a hard week,” Lydia says, shuffling her feet. “I never sewed anything before, I’m sorry it looks kind of messy, and I tried really hard to get the bloodstains out...” He slips his familiar stripes back on and feels much more at ease. “It’s cool,” he tells her. “I like messy.” He holds open his arms and she falls into them, pressing her face against his stomach. It's a nice moment, and for once, he doesn’t feel inclined to ruin it, just pats his little sister’s head. “Love you.” “Love you too.”

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````` Charles, ever an early riser, is surprised to see his children in the kitchen this bright eyed and bushy tailed on a Saturday. He’s pouring two coffees, one for himself and one for Emily, who is sitting at the table, head propped up on her hand, and still functionally asleep, when Betelgeuse and Lydia come bounding in to raid the fridge. “And what are you two getting up to today?” he asks, and the siblings pause to look at him. “Goin’ to th’ park.” “You think so?” Betelgeuse’s shoulder slump. “Seriously? You take all my stuff away an’ now I can’t even go out?” “You’re still in trouble. Why should you be allowed to go out and have fun?” “Cause that wasn’t specified!” Betelgeuse tries, and then turns to Emily. “Ma, tell him!” Emily mutters in her sleep, and Charles wordlessly sets the coffee down in front of her. The smell hits her nose, and robotically, she lifts the drink to her lips, eyes never opening. “Let BJ go do stuff,” she manages, maybe not as eloquent as she normally speaks, her voice gruff from sleep. Betelgeuse grins up at Charles. His father sips his own coffee, and then pats his son’s head. “Home before dark. No fire, no demon nonsense, no taking drugs from strangers.” “Home at midnight, commit arson, summon Satan, enjoy stranger candy. I gotcha.” Both his children receive a kiss on the head before stuffing Lydia’s little black coffin bag with snacks, and heading out.

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````

It’s a big city, and there’s not a loss of things to do, especially with his powers, and there’s no adult supervision today. They find a café and enjoy a big breakfast, then he turns them invisible and they sneak away before the check comes, only reappearing a block later, Lydia grinning wildly. “Food tastes better stolen!” she says, and he pats her head. “There’s my little criminal.” They sneak into a movie, next, some horror thing Lydia had wanted to see that even Emily, the fun parent, had said she was too little for. It’s absolutely a gore fest, but not especially good, and they throw popcorn at the screen and cheer whenever the killer scores another victim.

“I think you’d die early in a slasher,” she says after, scattering their uneaten popcorn on the pavement in front of the theatre. She gets the attention of a whole flock of pigeons, which land and begin pecking at the kernels. “What’s your logic, there?” “You die on screen early and then the twist is you faked your death and were the killer.” “Ohh, classic. I love it.” “I’m a total final girl,” Lydia turns the half empty bucket upside down, much to the joy of the starving sky rats. “And then at the end, it’s like, I knew you were the killer the whole time, and I was just acting. Cause we’re in it together. You know, partners in crime.” He picks her up, slings her over his shoulder. “Always.”

He takes them to Central Park, next, holding her hand behind the theatre and apparating, accidentally, up a tree. She gasps and clings to him, and he digs his claws into the bark of the tree to steady them. “No worries, no worries. I just gotta..” They appear on the ground below, and Lydia looks dizzy. “Feels weird when you do that,” she tells him. “Like riding a rollercoaster, except your limbs are all asleep. But.. Kinda not that, at the same time.” It feels normal to him, but he regularly eats tin cans, so what does he know about normal to begin with?

Lydia takes her camera from her coffin bag, and readies it. It’s a little instamatic she got for her birthday, a few months ago, and she’s going through film like crazy, taking some pretty shitty pictures. He’s not that blunt to her face, though. It’s not like he was a rockstar on the ukulele when he first started, and she’s got a lot of enthusiasm for taking photos. He’s not going to be the one to squash that for her.

Also, he’ll bite off the hand of whoever tries.

“You think this can take pictures underwater?” she asks, aiming her camera at a random woman jogging by. The jogger makes a face, which seems to be what Lydia expects, because she snaps the picture as the woman continues on her way, and the little photo pops out the bottom. Lydia gives it an aggressive shake.

“I’m gonna guess no. Besides, it’s too cold for you to take a swim.” “So let’s go somewhere warmer. I’m thinking Hawaii.” “Good idea, genius, an’ how do you think we’re getting there?” “You can teleport us.”

He actually has to stop and think about that. “I don’t think I could do it in one straight shot,” he says at last. Lydia has moved to a different kind of voyeurism, because she’s on her stomach on the grass, following the movement of a trail of ants with her lens. “I’d probably have to do little distances, an’ get tired and need a nap in th’ middle.”

“Maybe through a mirror? Like Sam?” She adjusts the optic, an entirely useless motion, because this camera doesn’t have any kind of zoom feature. But she’s seen people do it in nature documentaries. “Never done mirror travel before.” He mulls that over. “I’ll practice when I get home, an’ see if I can even pull you through.” “You’re not allowed to go to Hawaii without me,” she gets what she considers her perfect shot, and then stands, brushing off her dark red dress. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They go bone hunting next, Lydia’s camera still at the ready, his keen nose leading the way. It’s easy to find owl pellets, and she breaks one open with her bare hands, as he teases her.

“Ew ew ew, Lydia gross, you’re touching it!” he pitches up his gruff voice to sound like a tweenage girl, and she rolls her eyes. “No skull in this one,” she frowns, wiping her hands on his hoodie.

“Maybe there’s a bodiless mouse head around here, livin’ it’s best life.” She looks doubtful.

Another, different smell hits his sensitive nose, just then. It’s death, new and fresh. His pupils dilate, and he follows it, her trailing after him, assuming he’s on the scent of more animal bones. What they find instead is an old man propped against a tree. He’s still warm, but the color is draining from his face, and rapidly. He doesn’t look hurt, he’s not bleeding. It’s like he sat down for a rest and died.

Lydia doesn’t get it, not right away. Death is a funny punchline in an overly gorey movie. She’s never seen the real thing, before. “Should we wake him up? It’s cold to be sleeping here.” He lifts the man’s arm, and it flops bonelessly back down. Her eyes go wide. “I doubt he’s gettin’ back up, kiddo.” She lifts her camera and takes a picture.

“Hello?” He hears a voice, and turns. The old man is standing next to himself. He looks back at Lydia, but she’s staring in fascination at the corpse, so he leaves her to it. “Hey,” he nods to the man, who looks relieved. “Can you call my grandson? My phone battery died,” he says, not seeming to understand the position he’s in. Betelgeuse tilts his head to the side. “You’re dead,” he says, a bit unkindly, and Lydia, who has been kneeling by the body, poking it, looks up at him. “I am?” “Wh- No, not you, Lyds, th’ stiff.” He gestures to the ghost, who has seemed to notice “himself” laying there. Lydia looks at her brother, confused. “There’s no one there.” “Sure there is. You just can’t see ghosts.”

“That’s me,” the old man says, not that anyone’s listening to him. “Should we tell someone about this?” Lydia asks him, and Betelgeuse shrugs. “Why? Someone will find th’ body eventually. You know. When it starts smellin’ like shit.” “I don’t want to leave him out here.” “Please, don’t leave me out here!” “I wouldn’t want to be left out here.” “Lucky for you, you’re never gonna die. You even try it an’ I’ll shove your soul back down your throat, if I have to.”

He smells the netherworld, and grabs Lydia, pulling her back, in time for another ghost to appear. A guide. The guide doesn’t even take a moment to look around, just instantly busies herself with getting the newly dead situated, and Betelgeuse picks Lydia up and carries her away. “That’s so sad,” she says, taking one last picture of the body from atop his shoulder. “I guess.”

They find the next official looking person they see, someone cleaning up trash, who doesn’t believe them, clearly, until he sees one of the photos Lydia took. The deathly pallor of the old man convinces him to go looking. Thirty minutes later, that part of the park is crawling with breathers, and the two of them are stuck on a bench, being talked to by cops. It’s a whole, boring process, and it’s drawing a big crowd. “Told ya, we shoulda minded our business,” Betelgeuse nudges his sister. Lydia is looking overwhelmed. Neither sibling ever gets this much attention. There’s even a news crew, though he can’t imagine what for. It’s just one old dead guy, and it’s not even a murder. Someone with a microphone tries to approach them, and he turns their mic into a black and white striped snake, forcing them to fling it away from themselves in a panic, and then he grabs Lydia.

They blink from existence and appear a ways away, and Lydia’s clutching his hand harder than she needs to. “Hey, come on.” His grating voice is soft, for her, as he kneels to her level, and she throws her arms around his neck. “How are you so calm? Doesn’t it make you sad?” she asks, softly, and he gives her an extra squeeze. “Happens to all breathers, Lyds. But it’s not somethin’ I gotta worry about, ever. So… no, not really.”

“Will you be sad when I die?”

He scoops her up, holding his little sister in his arms, and stands, her still clinging around his neck. “When you die at a hundred and twenty,” he tells her, carrying her along the path. “Wherever in the netherworld you end up, I’ll go too. Won’t even have time to be sad, me an’ you’ll be too busy causin’ trouble, even then.” She seems satisfied with that answer, and he doesn’t mind carrying her, so they enjoy the autumn leaves like that, her in his arms, as he follows the winding pathways of the park.

They don’t tell Charles and Emily, when they finally do get home, the sun just barely still peaking over the horizon. It doesn’t seem like a good idea, and Lydia doesn’t especially want to talk about it anymore. She pins her new photos up on the twine strung between the tall bedposts in her room. There’s a couple nice ones, and she lets him eat the ones she decides she hates. “Does it count as part of being grounded if you watch my tv?” she asks, and he grins. “Let’s find out.” She pops in Coraline, which he has to assume she’s got fucking memorized at this point, but they also talk through most of it. By the time the tasty looking bug furniture is on screen, her eyelids are drooping. “I dunno why they make her eatin’ bugs so evil. I wanna try beetles from Zanzibar,” he complains, and she just snorts in response “I’ll get you some fancy beetles, for your birthday.” “Kay. Sounds good.” She falls asleep on him a minute later, and he waives a hand, snuffing the lights, but lets the movie finish playing as he settles next to her, and sleeps.

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````` That next week is boring, but normal. Adam’s in the library every day, despite his earlier insistence that he had better things to do. Betelgeuse honestly just wheels the cart along and lets Adam shelf the books, now, which the nerd seems to unironically enjoy. He’s all smiles as he gets to put things away neatly. It’s embarrassing how endearing and cute Betelgeuse finds that. It’s Tuesday, Barbara isn’t there that day, at least, not right at that moment, so Adam is babbling about her. “Barbara and I aren’t really performers,” he’s telling Betelgeuse, returning a stack of history books to their proper places on the shelves. “But we thought it would be fun to try theatre together, and then we really enjoyed it, so we’ve been in the last two productions. She can really sing, she does this high note, and it’s-” “Angelic, I bet.” Both boys give a stupid, love sick sigh. Adam pauses, and nods, and then studies the other teen. “So.. You.. You like her?” “Yeah,” he says easily. “But that doesn’t mean anythin’.” “What do you mean?” “I mean,” he clarifies, flopping across the cart, stomach first, and laying on it, staring down at Adam, who is crouching to reshelf some more books. “That despite me being a hot piece of ass, I’m probably not her type. I imagine she goes more for…” he studies Adam, trying to think of a nice word for boring, plain and vanilla. “More stable guys,” he lands on. “Like you. I bet she even likes how cute your butt looks in your khakis. I know I do.” Adam flushes. “You think so?” “It’s a good butt.” He nods, and Adam goes redder. “I meant, you think Barbara.. Might like me?” “Well, don’t push your luck, or nothin’, but you probably got a better chance with her.”

“You’re not entirely unlikable,” Adam offers. Betelgeuse lets out a guffaw that’s too loud, because someone in the next aisle over shushes him. “You already forget what I told you Friday?” he rests his head on his hand, tone condescending. “I know no one wants me around.”

“You’re setting yourself up for failure, with that attitude.”

“You think so, huh? Think I just need to hold hands round th’ campfire and sing kumbaya with all you breathers? I don’t think anyone would even take my hand. Probably couldn't get away from me fast enough.” There’s a pause. He doesn’t realize what he’s said until Adam is repeating it. “Breathers?”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply, because he feels a push on the cart, and turns to see Barbara, hands on the handle. “You’ve completely given up even trying, haven’t you?” she says, and he thinks she means about the books, and smiles. “No point. Adam’ll just do it for me.” “I mean with talking to people. With making friends.” His smile falls quickly into a scowl, and he runs a hand through his wild mess of green hair. “Lay off me, Babs. I’m bein’ friendly right now, aren’t I?”

“Sure, it’s plenty friendly, letting Adam do your work. But you don’t try, and then you get your feelings hurt when no one does it for you.” That’s not laying off, and it’s irritating him. “You can’t imagine anyone being nice to you, so you’re rude and push everyone away the first chance you get, in case what? In case you make a friend? Kevin probably needs you, right now,” she presses, physically too, making the cart he’s still lying across lurch forward. “I told you what happened to his dad, and you just said he wasn’t even your friend, when everyone knows you spent the last few months holding hands and making googoo eyes at him, and only talking to each other.”

“S’none of your business,” he tugs at his hair, pulling a tuft down to watch the color. Still green. He’s okay, but he keeps it there, in front of his eyes, focusing on it and not having to look at Barbara. “I’m making it my business. What are you so afraid of? What’s with the barrier? I saw you with your sister, you’re normal and nice, to her. So it’s other people you’re afraid of?” “M’not,” he growls out, standing up off the cart. “Afraid of anythin’.”

“You are,” she says, letting go of the cart and stomping to stand in front of him. She’s got him cornered, his back pressed to the bookshelf behind him. He keeps his eyes on that green tuft, biting his bottom lip. “You’re afraid of rejection, so you don’t talk, or you’re a jerk to people. You’re so afraid of other people, you make yourself sit alone every day, even when there’s an empty seat next to someone else.”

“No one wants me around!”

God, that hurts. He can see purple forming in the tip of his hair.

“You think I haven’t tried?” he rasps at her, letting his hair go, and finally looking directly at her. “You think I like sittin’ alone, bein’ the weird kid in every class, not havin’ anyone to talk to? It sucks!” he hears himself being shushed again, and he expends a burst of power in that direction, knocking books off the shelves to hit the person who can’t mind their own business. The sudden noise makes both Adam and Barbara jump. “You ever noticed that anytime I’ve tried, people can’t get th’ hell away from me fast enough? I’m tired of bein’ alone, but every time I try, somethin’ goes to shit, or I'm ignored! So maybe it is easier to just be a jerk an’ not worry about gettin’ hurt, than to keep tryin’ and ache all th’ time.”

It’s the most honest he’s ever been, out loud. Barbara clenches her fists, but doesn’t say anything. He sees Adam push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Lunch isn’t even close to over, and he’s just made more work for himself by knocking those books off the shelf, but he doesn’t care. He grabs his backpack from the cart and pushes past the two of them, and he storms out, forcing the library door to slam, even though it’s a soft close door. It feels more final, that way.

He spends the rest of lunch invisible, to avoid any more trouble with adults, and slumps into his customary seat in the back of every class, for the rest of the day. No one talks to him. He doesn’t try to talk to anyone. It’s a system, it works. Stupid Barbara. What does she even know? Like she can somehow understand anything he’s going through. She’s pretty, and cool, and has a ton of friends, he thinks, absolutely bitter. She doesn’t get it.

He trudges to the drama room after school, and pushes open the door with his shoulder. The seats are in a circle, again, and he chooses a random one, pointedly, away from Adam and Barbara, between two other people. He sits there, silent, and after a moment, the two kids both move seats. How miserably predictable. Come on, he wills himself. No purple, no red. Just stay green. You can go home and freak the fuck out, but just stay green, he begs his hair.

He wipes his nose hard with his hoodie sleeve, and focuses on that, on the texture of the fabric and the way he rubs hard enough for it to hurt. Pain is as close to relief as he can get. Then the chairs next to him are scooted closer, and he blinks, and realizes that Adam and Barbara have settled on either side of him. He doesn’t.. Get it. He can’t understand, but then both of them reach a hand out, and take one of his, and give it a squeeze. It’s grounding. He takes a breath he doesn’t need, and then a couple more, shaky and painful, and he gives their hands a squeeze back, like he’s making sure they’re real. They are.

When the club starts, he tries, very sincerely, to focus on what’s being said, and not the bright hot feeling blooming like a flower in his chest. Read the rest here!!

[yet-another-fan-girl9]

Inhuman (1)

Summary: All beings in the universe have a soulmate except for Midgardians. People can hear their soulmate in their heads. For almost five hundred and fifty years, Loki believed that he had no soulmate until 1513 when a Midgardian princess was born. Will fate be kind to them or will the universe tear them apart?

Warnings: violence, language, hella historical inaccuracies (I tried to do research but then got lazy), maybe some AOS season 2 spoilers(?)

Word Count: ~3400

A/N: Yay! The re-write is here! I changed it so now there are flashbacks and stuff and the chapters are longer! I’m also posting this chapter a day early because of reasons. Anyways, enjoy!

[New York, New York, March 2024]

‘Soulmates?’ You had never heard of the concept.

‘We are destined to be together. The universe made it so.’

You shot up in bed, a light sheen of sweat covered your body. Loki’s words replayed over and over in your head. You hadn’t heard his actual voice in so long but it was still as clear as if he was speaking to you now. It had been twelve years since you had seen him in Germany and he had tried to take over.

‘We are destined to be together.’

The words echoed in your mind. ‘Destined’ huh? Well, if you’d learned anything from the past four hundred and eighty-six years that you were not with Loki, it’s that the universe does a shit job at keeping you together. You ran your fingers through your hair, easily smoothing out the tangled mess. It was too early to think about Loki.

You slipped out of the silk sheets that covered your king-sized bed in your two-level, top floor Upper East Side penthouse. You were very proud of how far you had come. The view was amazing. You could see some of Central Park from one side and the stereotypical New York skyline from another.

As you walked out of your room, you caught your reflection in one of your full-sized mirrors. And that was definitely a nice view. When you came out of Terrigenesis almost five hundred years ago, you quickly discovered that you were now the blueprint for a perfect person. Straight, white teeth, surprisingly tameable hair, and clear, unblemished skin were some of the visually obvious changes. In addition to your perfected looks, you had increased senses, healing, strength, endurance, and your favorite, pain tolerance. Oh, and don’t forget you basically look twenty-five forever.

You checked your phone while you made breakfast in the kitchen downstairs. There were a couple of emails from your employees on their latest jobs. You opened one from Max, your right-hand man. You were reading over some job offers he had handpicked for you when you got a text from the man himself.

Bringing up some donuts!

Max was the only person from work to have access to your penthouse. He was your best friend. The two of you had met when you were at Afterlife nearly fifteen years ago. He was an Inhuman as well. All of your employees were Inhumans, using their specialties to carry out their jobs. Max had the power to change surfaces. It was a strange power, but he had learned to make it very useful. He could cause his pursuers to slip on the suddenly ice-like ground or climb up a glass skyscraper.

“Hello, bitch! I brought donuts!” Max called from the elevator.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Max walked in holding the goods. He always wore eccentric color-coordinated outfits. Even the times you saw him in stealth mode, he had to have some lace or frill somewhere. Today he wore a mixture of neon green and pink with matching eyeliner.

“Are Cosmo and Wanda disguising themselves as your clothes?” you asked.

“Haha,” he deadpanned. “I knew you were going to say something like that. You’re so fucking funny. Soo…” He plopped the three large donut boxes onto your kitchen counter. “Have you heard of the Avenger’s new quote-unquote recruit?”

“Um, I think it’s your job to keep tabs on heroes.” You opened the nearest box and happily pulled out your favorite donut.

“Okay. Number one: I’m not speaking to you as your right-hand, right now, but as your friend.” He held up his finger. “Number two: it’s not really a job if I do it in my free time anyways. You’re paying me to do something that I do on an hourly basis.”

“You stalk the Avengers on an hourly basis?”

“No? Anyways, number three: it’s Thor’s brother. It’s your Loki.”

“What the fuck?” you choke on your donut. Max was the only person who knew you that you and Loki had a history. And that’s all he knew. Nothing about soulmates or all that shit. “What the fuck, Max? Did you try to use donuts to soften the blow? Stop laughing.”

“I-I wish I had caught that reaction on camera,” he said in between fits of giggles.

“Haha,” it was your turn to deadpan. “Fuck, man. I guess we just have to double our efforts to keep ourselves off of their radar.”

“Do you think they’ve forgiven him for New York?” Max composed himself.

“I mean, they must have if they’re letting him join the team.” You chanced another bite of your donut.

“But lots of people haven’t.”

“Lots of people still haven’t forgiven Barnes,” you pointed out. You didn’t know when or why Loki had attacked New York. That Loki was nothing like the man who you had grown to love back in the 1500s. But you were nothing like that girl either.

 “Have you chosen a new job from the list I sent you?” he changed the subject.

“No, not yet, and you have a little…” you motioned to the corner of your mouth.

Max got the hint and wiped some powder off of his mouth. You noticed the sprinkling of grey that was mixed into his curly black hair. He displayed the last fifteen years proudly while you remained unchanged. Max was the closest you’ve been to someone in a long time, and just like everyone before him, you would outlive him. But you would remember him. You remembered everyone. You remembered everything.

Right now, you thought of Agnes, your first real friend. She was your handmaiden and you had met right before everything went to shit. She had helped you cope after you underwent Terrigenesis, although you hadn’t known what it was back then. She had helped you run away and even died for you. You had only known her for nine years, but you compared everyone to her. Max held second place, right after Agnes.

“I think we should take the Senator’s offer,” Max said, jolting you out of your memories. He pulled up the offer on his iPad. “One million to off his upcoming competition.”

“Damn,” you whistled. “He’s desperate, isn’t he? Is there a deadline?”

“No, but I assume we should get it done quickly.”

“Send over the info.”

🌹

You shoved the flower into Jake Morano’s mouth. Blood from the bullet wound in his forehead trickled down until it turned the perfect, white rose red. You snapped a quick photo on your burner phone to send to the Senator as confirmation. With a huff, you looked around the apartment. Mr. Anderson had put up a fight, although it didn’t do anything to deter you and Max. A few glass awards were in pieces on the hardwood floor, family pictures were shattered, and the wall behind you held a couple of bullets from Anderson’s gun.

“All good?” Max asked from his location by the computer. He was deleting all footage of you being there. And everything else, just to be safe.

“Yep.” You walked over to him, your boots making a satisfying clicking on the ground, and proudly displayed the picture of the dead body. “Got the confirmation picture for the Senator. How’s it coming?”

“Almost… there. We’re good to go.”

The two of you left in your favorite black Lamborghini. Unfortunately, you actually had to drive places now that Gordon was dead. You followed his advice, though, and bought a plane along with four other sports cars, a helicopter, and a couple of motorcycles. You knew how to operate every single one of them. What else were you supposed to do except for establishing your contract killing empire?

🌹

Loki stood in the middle of his assigned room with his hands on his hips. It certainly was much nicer than the last prison the Avengers had kept him in. They may say it wasn’t a prison but the twenty-four-hour surveillance from Stark’s new AI said otherwise. Even though it was nicer than the shitty glass cylinder from twelve years ago, it was empty. Thor had shown Loki the few things in his room: books, photographs, and his own goddamned merchandise. 

Would Loki have his own merchandise one day? Everyone was redeemable as shown by Romanoff and Barnes. Maybe there would be plastic replicas of his helmet? No, Loki thought that was stupid. Only heroes got merchandise and heroes had to show up to events and sponsor health drinks or whatever the fuck they do. Heroes had to be nice.

Nothing good ever came from being on Midgard. Most recently, there was his father dying, although what followed was worse. Before that was the attack he had been forced to make on the city. And the first time he had ever come to Midgard had ended with disappointment and heartbreak.

Loki sighed and waved his hand to conjure green and gold accents, sheets, and blankets. At least there was color in the room now. No doubt the AI had reported that he had used his magic. He hoped it had also told them that all he did was improve the room, he didn’t need anyone talking to him at the moment.

“Good afternoon, Reindeer Games,” the AI echoed through the room. Loki glowered at the sound of Stark’s nickname. “There is a meeting in Conference Room Five that the entire team is required to attend.”

Loki hadn’t the faintest fucking idea where the conference rooms were. He left his room and caught sight of his brother and the Valkyrie. The God of Mischief followed the pair down to where the meeting was taking place. Did he really want to go? If he wanted to be part of the team he would have to. He preferred the Revengers, though. While it had lasted. It was smaller.

Everyone was sitting around the long table. Of course, Loki would be the last to arrive. Stark and Barton both glared at him when he entered. Understandable. Romanoff remained impassive, but Loki knew she would bash his head in the first chance she got. Rogers had to remain positive that Loki could be redeemed because if the Norse God could redeem himself, then so could Barnes. Bruce had warmed up to Loki on the journey to Midgard. None of the newer members of the team outright hated him, but they were still cautious around him.

Loki found himself sitting in between his brother and Bruce. Stark went up to the screen at the front and everyone fell silent.

“This is Jake Morano.” The screen turned on to show a dead man with a rose stuffed in his mouth. “He was going to run for Senator against this guy.” The screen changed. “This guy is William Anderson, a very corrupt Senator. In the last month, Morano began to gain a lot of support including a sponsor from us. Well, a sponsor from me in the name of the Avengers.”

“Are you implying that Anderson killed Morano?” Rogers asked.

“I’m saying that Anderson hired someone to kill Morano.” The screen changed again to display multiple bodies left with a rose in their mouths. “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. do a quick search of bodies with roses found in their mouths and we found a shocking amount of similar deaths. The first ones dating back to the nineteen twenties. More recently, some of the deaths have happened at the same time on opposite sides of the globe. Deaths include, but are not limited to, shooting, stabbing, poisoning, drowning, burning, missing organs, being found stuck in a wall, and looking like a suicide. They all have a white rose soaked in blood in their mouths.”

“Are you sure it isn’t a serial killer?” Wilson questioned.

“Yeah, it’s probably not the same guy,” Romanoff pointed out. “Especially if it goes back to before Steve looked like that.”

“It’s gotta be an organization,” Barnes guessed. “Been around for a while, a couple of deaths happening at the same time, and one constant MO.”

“Loki?” Everyone looked at the God of Mischief when Stark said his name. “You’re technically a part of this team now. What’s your opinion?”

“Barnes is probably right,” Loki said after a moment’s hesitation. “The locations are all over the place and there are many different ways the victims met their demise.”

They nodded and Loki returned to silence.

“Alright, game plan.” Stark clapped his hands. “We have to get Anderson into an interrogation room. Round one is the good cops: Steve and Sam. When he doesn’t crack, and he won’t, we up the intensity. Nat and the Manchurian Candidate will do some intimidation. If he still doesn’t crack we can send in Wanda, or even Reindeer Games if she’s not comfortable, to search his mind.”

“Are all Midgardian politics like that?” Loki heard the Valkyrie ask Thor after the meeting. Thor only shrugged so she turned to Bruce.

“I mean, I haven't been here in a while but it’s always kinda been fucked up.”

Only an hour after the meeting, Anderson took out one million dollars in cash. Stark tracked him to a small cafe where he was going to, no doubt, pay the assassin. The team rallied, but of course, Loki wasn’t going. Apparently, he wasn’t ‘cleared’ yet. The only other people staying behind were the Valkyrie, Thor, and Barton due to a recent injury. 

Loki went to his room to sulk, although he told everyone he was thinking. He didn’t want to be here. Maybe he wanted to go somewhere that reminded him of home with tall buildings that reached the sky… 

🌹

"Hello, (Y/N)." Loki’s voice was as smooth as it was in your head, but it was different. The only way you could describe it was that it was solid. It felt less intimate. Like he could bless others with his words, but it was more special because he was here. 

"Loki," you breathed.

"You look more beautiful than I ever could imagine." He stepped closer.

You touched your hair self-consciously. There were multiple knots, and it probably looked like one of those bird nests the dogs always knocked out of trees. You had woken up in a hurry and your hair being trapped in the hood of your cloak probably didn't help.

Then it occurred to you that you were wearing only your nightgown, and you tightly wrapped your cloak around yourself. Loki wouldn’t hurt you, but no man has seen you in an outfit so revealing. Still, you took another step closer.

"I do not know what to say." Fortunately, your voice didn’t shake or waver as you had feared, but Loki could probably feel your nervousness.

You both took a final step closer. You reached up and cupped Loki's face in your hand which tingled slightly when you made contact. You admired his sharp features and bright blue-green eyes. Then you shivered in the cold winter air. Loki noticed and pulled you into a hug. You leaned into him and felt a shiver, a different, better shiver, shoot through your body.

“You’re real.” Your soft voice was almost lost in the biting wind. “I was so scared that I was dreaming.”

Another goddamned dream about Loki? You groaned into your pillow and pushed a few damp strands of hair away from your face. Why now, all of a sudden? Was it because he was so close? Just a few hours upstate in the Avenger’s compound.

Pushing the dream aside, you stretched and got ready for the day. You had sent the photo to the Senator, who you had learned was very fucking corrupted, and he replied with a location. That changed your plans a bit, you hadn't physically met a client in decades, but it was for the better for multiple reasons.

The first reason was that the cafe he had chosen was next to a flower shop where you got your supply of roses. The second reason was that it meant his apartment would be empty. While you went to get the money, and eventually kill Senator Anderson, Max was going to rob his house. It wasn’t something you’d usually do, but honestly, the shitty asshole deserved it.

Your lips were painted red and you wore your usual boots and a leather jacket. Your regular hair was hidden behind a pink and green wig, courtesy of Max. A baseball cap and large sunglasses further hid your appearance. Though if somebody knew your face, the hat and glasses did nothing. There were multiple knives hidden on your body as well as a handgun tucked into your waistband and a pocket pistol in your, well, pocket.

As you walked into the cafe, Izzy, the auburn-haired florist, nodded to you. She had Botanokinesis, plant manipulation, so your supply of white roses was never low. Every once in a while, Izzy would take a job but she had told you she was very happy in her shop.

You noticed the Senator immediately. He still wore a suit and the sunglasses did nothing to hide his identity. There were two young women behind the counter and you suspected that the four other ‘customers’ were too buff not to be the Senator’s security. Anderson had his back to the door which meant you would have to get past his security to get out. You zeroed in on the black briefcase on the ground by his feet.

“Senator,” you greeted and sat down across from him.

“You can’t possibly be the one I talked to,” the asshole replied. “You’re just a girl.”

“Well of course I couldn’t be,” you rolled your eyes behind your heavily tinted glasses. “My boss is too busy and smart to meet you in public.” He didn’t notice your sarcasm. You pulled out the burner phone and showed him the messages as proof. “Now, I’m also busy so if we can get this over with?”

“Sure, darling.” He put the briefcase flat on the table and pushed it towards you.

“Open it.” Even though small boobie traps wouldn’t hurt you much, it wasn’t a piece of information you wanted to give him.

Anderson sighed and complied. Then you turned it around to quickly inspect the contents. One thousand one hundred dollar bills. Hello Mr. Franklin. You nodded in satisfaction and comically rubbed your hands together to inconspicuously grab a knife that was hidden up your sleeve.

“Thank you, Senator. That will be all.”

You closed the case, stood up, and plunged your knife deep into his left carotid artery. As his security descended upon you, you pulled the knife out and his neck satisfyingly squirted blood. The Senator collapsed with his hands clutching his wound desperately. The pool of blood rapidly grew underneath him.

The two baristas screamed behind the counter and the Senator’s security drew their guns. You flipped the small table for cover as bullets pierced the cafe’s window behind you. Perfect. Just a bit more.

You pulled out the handgun from your waistband and with practiced ease, shot three of the four goons. The last one got the bloodied knife to the face. You elbowed the already damaged window and it finally broke, raining glass down on you. Ignoring the small cuts, you jumped out of the cafe through the window as a familiar red and gold suit landed in front of you. Why the fuck were the Avengers here? What about Loki?

You darted into Izzy’s shop and she played her part well, screaming that you had run out the back when you had actually gone into the side room. You listened as the Avengers followed her directions. One person, maybe it was the Black Widow, stayed behind to help calm down the seemingly hysterical Izzy. If she wasn’t so happy at her shop and she didn’t want to work directly for you, she could be a great actress.

You rolled back the rug on the ground to reveal a metal trapdoor. You entered the code to unlock it and climbed down into the darkness. Behind you, you heard the trapdoor’s magnetic lock click back into place. Two centuries ago, you had tunnels dug underneath Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens for easy getaways. If you went… that way, you would end up in Sandra’s souvenir shop which was a couple of blocks away from your penthouse.

With a million dollars in one hand and a handgun in the other, you walked down the concrete tunnel.

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Taglist:

@kaithehero @liliannyah​ @andreasworlsboring101 @oatballsoffury​ @aberrant-annie

[chalantness]

fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (3/6)

Rating: M Word Count: ~9,300 (part three) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: mafia au. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is. 

Read On: [ ao3 ]

A/N: Okay, here's a confession: I kept changing the end of this chapter and then just ended up taking that scene out entirely because it got super long and I felt like it was... too much? This may or may not bump the chapter count up to 7 but for now there are still only 6 parts, so let's celebrate for being (technically) halfway through this 'verse! I'll try my hardest to keep it down to only 3 more chapters, though, so the last three parts might just be super long. I hope you darlings won't hate that!

Natasha seems distracted, but considering everything that happened yesterday, he figures she’s got a few good reasons to be. He asked if she wanted to talk about it when she first got to his place, but she’d given him this coy little smile and asked, “Talk about what?” and he’d simply chuckled and taken it as his cue to leave it, at least for now. She must’ve spent the entire day sorting things out at the club with Howard; if she wants to take her mind off of it, if only for a few hours, then he can give that to her. He wants to give that to her, and honestly, the little smile she’s giving him right now, with her eyes twinkling and her cheeks slightly flushed from the wine, is entirely worth it.

“I ran into your sister this morning,” she tells him, passing over her empty glass when he holds a hand out for it. “She had interesting company.”

Steve breathes out a laugh, pouring her more wine (they’re both on their fourth glass) before handing it back. “Her interesting company invited us to breakfast tomorrow, by the way,” he says, and Natasha raises her eyebrows, her eyes sparkling in pleasant surprise. “Yeah, I know,” he says with a shake of his head, filling his own glass and then setting the bottle back down on the coffee table. “Technically, he said he and Sam wanted you there, and Wanda followed up by saying that she convinced Pietro to join us.”

Natasha laughs, her voice slightly raspy from all the wine. Steve feels his lips curve in response to the sound and he glances at her lips, but only for a second.

“Now that is a conversation I would’ve loved to see.”

Steve exhales a chuckle. “I think they’re all just doing it to make some sort of statement. I overheard Clint advising Pietro to play nice, establish a united front for my sake.”

Even as he says the words, though, he knows they’re not quite right, and the little grin Natasha gets is all the reassurance he needs. “They’re doing it for you, Steve,” she corrects, her voice lilting in amusement. “If this was just about making a statement, there are a dozen other ways they could’ve done that without throwing more fuel on the fire by taking two detectives to lunch. Although,” she adds with a tilt of her head, “I have no doubt that Pietro will insist otherwise until he warms up to Bucky and Sam.”

Steve feels himself smirk. Yeah, he doesn’t doubt that, either. His brother is stubborn as hell and not the type to like anyone at first.

That doesn’t mean that he immediately dislikes anyone, though. He’s simply wary, and maybe that’s because, when he does decide to trust you, he’s almost loyal to a fault.

He’d told Steve last night that he’d been following the Asgards around ever since the drive-by, and Steve knew that wasn’t just another impulse of his. Pietro could be a little reactive sometimes, that’s for damn sure, but something like this – accusing another member of the Family – is something he wouldn’t have taken lightly. Wanda thinking that she saw the car would’ve only been enough to raise suspicion, but it’d been Bucky vouching for his fellow officer identifying the car, too, that convinced Pietro it was a lead worth looking into. Maybe he doesn’t trust Bucky, but he trusts Steve, and that was enough for him to consider Bucky’s hunch about the drive-by being intended for Wanda.

(And Steve knew he didn’t need to remind Pietro to be careful, but he’d said it, anyway, and his brother hadn’t even rolled his eyes or quipped about him being overprotective.

They both know how dangerous things will get quickly if anyone finds out what Pietro is doing, let alone what they might be accusing the Asgards of.)

“Speaking of the twins,” Natasha adds after a moment, her voice softer now, some of the amusement fading from her expression when Steve looks at her. “They didn’t want to be here for this?”

Steve doesn’t need to ask what she means. This, as in finally opening the damn box on the table that they’d found in his mother’s old apartment.

It hadn’t been his only reason for inviting her over tonight; in fact, he never even mentioned in when they made the plans. He’d genuinely wanted to see her, to check on her after everything that happened yesterday, but he also knows she would want to be there to open it with him and honestly? He didn’t even consider doing so without her.

“I told them it was their choice, but that I also didn’t want to put them through it in case it was something shitty,” Steve tells her.

“Willing to carry that burden all on your own, huh?”

He shrugs, staring down into his wine glass. “Something like that, I guess. The two of them have been through a hell of a lot more than I ever have.”

“And you want to, what? Pay your dues?” She gives him a look. “That’s not how family works, Steve.”

He chuckles faintly. “No, I know. It’s not that. I guess—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, turning to her with a wry sort of smile. “I know I’m the helpless one out of the three of us, but I guess I just want to protect them if I can. They were the ones that were raised by Dad. If something shitty about him is in that box…”

He trails off, stopping his own thoughts again, but he knows by the look in her eyes that Natasha doesn’t need him finish his sentence.

He knows that there could be nothing important in this box, or if there is, it could be something Pietro and Wanda have already known. It’s not as if he plans on keeping it a secret from them, either. He doesn’t even know why it feels important for him to see it first, but it does, and his siblings trust his judgment.

Natasha gives him this little smile. “You’re a good brother,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper before she takes a small sip of her wine. This time, she’s watching as his eyes shift down to her lips again, and he lets his gaze linger for a moment before turning away, smiling into his own glass. “So, shall we get this show on the road?”

“Might as well,” he murmurs, taking a gulp of wine before setting it aside.

Considering how old the metal box must be, it doesn’t surprise Steve that it only takes a few tries to get it open. That should’ve been his first clue that there might not be anything incriminating in here. There may not have been as many ways to keep things locked up back then, and it’s not as if this box was somewhere easy to find, but still. Going through the offices and coming up empty had shown Steve just how careful a man his dad was, so he wouldn’t have left anything important just sitting in this thing.

And Steve thinks he’s right, for the most part. The box is slim and rather small, so there’s nothing more than a few photos and folded pieces of paper inside.

Sketches, he realizes, when he unfolds the one sitting on top. The penciled scene looks vaguely of a grand building in an open field with a mountain range along the horizon, and there’s something about the architecture that seems like it should make it seem distinct, but the lines are too rough to really tell.

The rest of the sketches are more of the same – a few snowy landscapes, more mountain ranges and more buildings with unique silhouettes – so Steve sets them aside and picks up the small stack of photographs instead, flipping them over to find his mother’s face smiling back at him. She’s younger here, her hair brighter and longer and half-covering her face as it’s angled away from the camera, and the color from the photo is faded from years of sitting, but Steve knows without a doubt that this is his mother.

“She’s beautiful,” Natasha says quietly, her leg pressing against his as she leans in. “You have her smile.”

Steve feels his chest squeeze as he exhales a laugh. He’s heard that before, but even now, he doesn’t quite understand it. He knows he looks almost exactly like his father and that he always has, but he’s also always been told that he has his mother’s smile, too.

“Dad says that all the time,” he tells her, handing over the photo for her to take a closer look, and he watches as she gently traces it with her fingertip. “I don’t really see it.”

“I do,” she replies simply, her eyes flickering to his. “Trust me, you look just like her.”

“Okay.” His chest squeezes again, and he holds her stare for a moment longer before exhaling a breath, turning back to the small stack of photographs in his hand.

There are a few more of just his mother, a few of his parents together and then a few of them with Steve, but that’s it, so he sets them aside with his father’s sketches and picks up the worn leather journal, flipping it open. At first glance, it actually looks more like his mother’s swirling handwriting than his father’s, but before Steve can actually read anything, something slips out from between the pages. He picks it up from his lap, flipping it over, and then his heart slams against his ribcage at the face he sees.

Melina.

Steve has only ever seen her face in photos a few times and only once in person, and she’s much younger in this photo, but he knows it’s her—and he can tell by the way Natasha inhales sharply beside him, her entire body going completely still, that she knows it, too.

He recognizes his father standing next to Melina, his face much younger, just like hers, but it’s without a doubt Joseph Rogers. There’s another man and another woman with them, too, the four of them all right around the same age, not even into their teens yet. The other woman has light, long hair and a sweet, smiling face that seems vaguely familiar, at least at first glance. She has both of her arms curled around Melina, her body half-angled toward hers with the embrace, and the photograph seemed to have caught the two of them in the midst of a laugh. On the woman’s other side is a man that’s tall and broad, his figure imposing and his expression gruff, even in his young age. Unlike the other woman, though, there’s nothing about this man that stands out to Steve, nothing about him that feels as if he’s seen his face before, maybe even in passing.

Then again, maybe he didn’t really recognize the woman at all. Maybe it’s simply the fact that he does recognize his father and Natasha’s mother that’s throwing him off.

Never, not once, had his father mentioned having any kind of relationship with Melina Stark. Not one that came from childhood, at least.

His father is close to the Starks as a family, of course, but he’d always been closest with Howard. And not even Howard has mentioned anything in particular to Steve. If his father had known Melina for so long, Howard Stark would’ve brought it up. Even if he already assumed Steve knew it already, the man would’ve worked it into at least one conversation, especially since Howard knew Steve would be spending even more time with Melina’s daughter—except, fuck, could that have been the reason for it all along?

Steve could never quite put a finger on why Howard offered his niece up as another advisor for Steve, and even Natasha admitted it didn’t quite make sense, either.

But maybe the idea hadn’t actually come from him. Maybe it’d come from Melina.

“What the fuck is this?” Natasha breathes, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she reaches for the photo, which Steve passes over to her before smoothing one of his hands over her back, gently circling. He watches her as she stares at the photo, the shock so crystal clear in her expression that it makes his heartbeat falter in his chest. Her eyes are a little bit wild as they snap onto his. “Why is my mother in this photo with Joseph?” she asks, though he knows she isn’t asking him, specifically. “What am I looking at?”

To anyone else, her surprise almost seems tamed, but Steve knows better.

She may not be overreacting, but the fact that he can feel her trembling and that he can see the genuine surprise on her face means she isn’t trying to filter her reaction, or maybe she simply can’t in this moment. But whether that’s because of all of the wine or because she trusts him, or both, is a matter for Steve to address another night.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly. He doesn’t quite kiss her temple, but his lips brush against it when she leans into him.

She exhales, her gaze fixing back on the photo for another moment before picking up the journal it had fallen from. Steve knows this is his mother’s handwriting, and as he skims over her words while Natasha flips through the pages, it’s clear that this is more of a diary than anything else. Half of the pages are empty, and there’d been nothing other than this one photograph tucked inside of it. He’s not sure why a picture of Natasha’s mother and his father would be in his mother’s journal of all places, especially since it’s from before his parents had even met—but, as Natasha flips to the last page that’s been written on, it’s clear they’re not going to get any kind of explanation for it, either.

She lets the journal fall closed as she places it back down in his lap, and then she’s standing, the photo in her hand as she starts to step around the coffee table.

Steve is up in the next second, gently but firmly grasping her by her arm, just above her elbow, and turning her back around to face him. He can practically see the thoughts flitting in her eyes as she murmurs, “I have to go.”

“Nat, no,” he argues. “We’ve both been drinking. A lot, might I add. You’re in no condition to drive home, and you’re not getting into a cab, either.”

“I’ll be fine,” she insists, about to turn around again, but he grasps her other arm, too, pulling her against him. He feels her struggle against his grip, but he also knows it’s only half-hearted. If Natasha wanted him off of her, he would’ve been flat on his ass right now.

“Someone purposefully put a car through the club you manage.” He feels his eyebrows furrow as he gives her a hard look. “You’re not getting in a fucking cab. And I know you’re not going to storm over to your mother right now and demand answers. Even half-drunk on wine, I know you’re a hell of a lot more strategic than that.”

She pulls back a little at his words, a reluctant flash of indignation – and also amusement – in her eyes. “I’m not half-drunk.”

He cracks a smile. “We went through an entire bottle of wine in an hour. You’re not half-sober, either.”

“I’ll be fine,” she repeats, though there’s less force behind her words this time. It’s not in defeat, he can tell, but she’s also stopped squirming against his hold. She shakes her head, not so much as flinching when he brings a hand up to cup her cheek, as if he’s touched her like this a dozen times. “I just need to think.”

“Then think here,” he tells her, almost pleading. She tilts her head up to look at him. “This was a big revelation for me, too, you know. Maybe I need you here to comfort me.”

Despite herself, Natasha breathes out a chuckle, rolling her eyes playfully. “Is that really the move you’re going with?”

“Is it working?” he asks, and she chuckles again, more of the tension ebbing from her body as she leans into him. “You can borrow something to sleep in, take Wanda’s room if you want. Hell, take my room and I’ll sleep in Pietro’s.” Natasha’s lips quirk and Steve feels his own smile widen a little in return. “I’ll get in a cab with you and make sure you get home if you really want to. But if all you’re going to do is worry about this alone in your apartment then you might as well worry about it here, with me in the other room.”

“In case you need comforting?” Her tone is mostly teasing, but there’s something about it that tells Steve that she knows what he really means, too.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down her arm to gently grasp onto the photograph, and she lets him take it from her hand, twist around to set it on top of the coffee table behind him.

Her expression softens when he turns back to look at her. “Okay,” she says, barely above a whisper. He strokes her jaw again with the hand still cupping her cheek, his thumb only an inch away from the corner of her lips, and then he pulls away.

... ...

Natasha can’t remember the last time she slept in. She’s always gotten up early to take a run, even when she was younger; a habit she picked up from running with her father almost every morning, and one she continued even when she no longer in school and didn’t need to keep up some kind of schedule. But she likes having the routine, and she’s gotten so used to it that somehow, she knows before she’s even opened her eyes that she’s slept in, though a quick glance at her phone tells her it’d barely been by an hour.

There’s also a text from Maria that she’d sent last night. Honestly, Natasha had almost forgotten that she texted her at all, and after the revelation from that damn photograph, seeing Sarah Rogers’s signature on a receipt at the café seemed like something that happened days ago rather than just that morning.

And yes, she’d still contemplated telling Steve about it, even though she and Maria agreed it would be best just to leave it, at least for now. Sarah Rogers isn’t exactly an uncommon name, and considering the woman had gotten sick and passed away after Steve graduated high school—something Joseph told the Family himself when he and the twins attended her funeral—it seemed unnecessary bring up something that could be a coincidence. But that didn’t get rid of the feeling that she should’ve told him anyway.

It feels a little less important to bring up after last night, though.

She walks out into the hallway just as the door opposite of her room (well, Wanda’s room) opens, and Steve steps out in nothing but a pair of jeans, a towel draped around his neck as he uses it to rub at his damp hair. He pauses when he sees her, his mouth hitching up at one corner in a crooked, almost boyish sort of grin.

“Good morning,” he greets, and, to his credit, his eyes stay on her face rather than skim down to the tank top and tiny pajama shorts she’d borrowed from Wanda’s closet.

“Good morning,” she echoes, her lips tugging in a smile as her eyes flit over his bared chest. “If that’s how you plan on going to breakfast, it’ll probably end up being free.”

He breathes out a laugh. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure when you’d be awake,” he replies, glancing down at his own torso for a moment before his gaze is back on hers, his thumb pointed over his shoulder. “The shower in my bathroom still needs to be looked at, so I just keep using this one.”

“No need to apologize.” Her smile widens, just a little. “This is your place, after all.”

He presses his lips together, eyes glinting like he knows that she’s teasing—like he knows what she really means—and, since he doesn’t seem the least bit self-conscious, she lets her gaze fall back onto his chest. Now that she’s really looking, though, she can see them: thin, jagged lines scattered across his chest, all of them almost entirely faded into his complexion. But they’re there, and there are a few dozen of them, and Natasha is willing to bet that she’d find a few dozen more on his back if she asked him to turn.

Scars. He’s covered in scars.

“Steve,” she exhales, glancing up into his eyes, the amusement and teasing faded entirely from his face as he simply peers down at her. She reaches up, touching her fingertips to a particularly harsh line curling under his ribcage, and she feels rather than hears the way he takes a deep breath.

“I told you I was a scrawny kid,” he reminds gently, pulling the towel out from around his neck, revealing a few more slivers there, too. “Scrawny is easy to kick around.”

“This isn’t kicking around,” she argues, her voice barely above a whisper. “Did either of your parents know?”

She already has an idea of what the answer will be, so no, she’s not surprised when Steve shakes his head. “Mom always had a lot on her plate and I didn’t want to add another thing for her to worry about. By the time I met Dad, I only had a few months left until graduation.” He gives a small shrug. “It didn’t seem worth mentioning by then.”

Natasha’s chest tightens. “It could be decades from now and it would still be worth it to Joseph.”

“It wasn’t worth it to me, Nat.” He reaches up, covering her hand with his where it’s still pressed against his chest. “Dad would’ve done worse to them in return.”

She feels a little bit like she can’t breathe, and her voice comes out quiet and tight as she asks, “You don’t think they deserve it?”

Steve’s mouth hitches in a smirk, something dark flickering in his eyes—and, in that fleeting moment, he looks so much like his father that Natasha nearly shivers.

“I think they deserved worse than what my dad would’ve done with them,” he admits quietly, curling his fingers around hers in a gentle, almost comforting sort of squeeze. “But I’d made a promise to myself to fight my own battles, always. It just so happened that by the time I was capable of truly fighting back, I hadn’t seen them for a while. I wasn’t going to waste energy on seeking them out, but if we crossed paths again, I’d make sure that they couldn’t kick anyone else around. That time just hasn’t come yet.”

Yet.

His tone is casual, almost nonchalant, but she can hear the gravity of his threat in that one word.

And, not for the first time, Natasha thinks that maybe Steve Rogers is a lot more adept at this life than he realizes.

... ...

Steve honestly didn’t know what he anticipated when he and Natasha first got to the restaurant. There were a few dozen reasons for this to be a tense breakfast, or at least an awkward one, but he also didn’t think it would come to that. If any of them genuinely felt uncomfortable, they just wouldn’t have come.

But at this point, none of them are exactly on opposite sides, even if that’s still the case on paper. Bucky and Sam have been working their asses off to figure out who’d been behind the drive-by, and whether that’s because it’s their job as detectives or that’s because of their loyalty to Steve doesn’t really matter. They’re doing what they can to look out for Wanda, and Bucky has been trading off with Pietro and Clint to watch over her, which is more than enough of a reason for Pietro to give them the benefit of the doubt.

So, no, maybe Steve hadn’t expected all of them to argue the entire time.

But he hadn’t expected everyone to get along so damn well, either.

“Hardly even recognized him,” Bucky says through a laugh as he gestures a hand at where Steve is sitting across the table from him. Steve chuckles as he shakes his head. “He leaves for college and comes back, what? Almost a whole foot taller? With over a hundred extra pounds of pure muscle?”

“You know, I still thought maybe Dad had those photos of you when you were younger mixed up with some other poor sap.” Pietro grins, reaching behind Wanda to smack a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I didn’t realize student research projects allowed volunteers to be genetically modified,” he jokes, and Steve barks out a laugh, giving Pietro a half-hearted shove. Between them, Wanda shoots them both a warning look, though the way she giggles into her mimosa a moment later tells them she’s not actually pissed.

“I thought for damn sure I’d hear about him getting into more fights now that he could do some real damage,” Bucky adds. “Of course, only Steve would decide to stay out of trouble after he was able to throw a decent punch.”

Wanda’s eyes widen as she whirls her gaze onto her brother. “You got into fights?”

“Couldn’t keep the little punk out of them,” Bucky answers for Steve. “Granted, he never started any, and he never threw the first hit. But Steve wasn’t about to let the fact that he was less than a hundred pounds and sent himself into an asthma attack half the time stop him from fighting back.”

His tone is proud more than anything else, even though Steve can hear the hint of exasperation. Steve can’t exactly blame the guy. It seemed like Bucky was always jumping in to save his ass, though the guy hardly minded. If anything, he probably enjoyed putting those kids in their place. He just preferred Steve not to take the brunt of it first.

“I don’t like bullies,” Steve says simply with a shrug, glancing at Natasha beside him. She gives him an almost carefree sort of smile, but her eyes flash in the same way they did just an hour ago, as she traced over his scars with her fingertip—somehow burning bright and ice cold at the same time. He can almost see the calculation in her gaze, as if she plans on hunting down each and every asshole to lay a hand on Steve (he doesn’t doubt she has the means to, either) but he can also see something else. Pride, maybe. Back at his place, it’d almost look like there was awe in her eyes when he’d explained why he hadn’t sought out any sort of revenge against anyone that ever gave him a scar.

Seeing that praise in her eyes had felt damn good, but feeling her gentle, feather-light touch on his skin had felt even better.

Now’s not exactly the time to relive the memory, though. Not with his siblings and his best friends at the table.

She takes a sip of her mimosa as she holds his stare, that dangerous flash in her eyes shifting into amusement as she hides her smirk behind the rim of her glass.

He nudges her knee with his under the table, returning her smirk, but a groan from Pietro interrupts them, drawing their gaze onto his scowling face. “Speaking of bullies,” he mutters, and Steve follows his brother’s gaze across the street, feeling his body tense as he realizes who’s caught his brother’s attention.

Ivan.

Steve clenches his jaw. He’d heard of Ivan before they’d met, of course. Clint never had a single decent thing to say about him and Anton, and considering how mellow the guy usually is, that’d been one hell of an insight that just talking about those two seemed to piss Clint off. Evidently, that still hadn’t been a clear enough picture of them.

He couldn’t have cared less that Anton and Ivan clearly had it out for him and blatantly tried to provoke him into a fight the entire time he’d been with the Starks at Howard’s. What he did care about, though, is the way they eyed Natasha while also completely dismissing the danger she would’ve been in had she been at the club when it’d been hit. Clint had told Steve that Howard put up with them out of some sort of loyalty; Anton had been a key player in getting Stark Industries off of the ground, after all. But none of the Starks had ever liked him (apparently, half of the Family still doesn’t) and Steve had only been in their presence for five minutes before deciding he shared that sentiment.

“He seems like the kind of guy you’d want to hit for no real reason,” Sam comments.

“He is,” Wanda chimes in, turning away from Ivan and wrinkling her nose at her mimosa. “He may not even breathe in your direction, but if you threw the punch first, you’d still have plenty of reasons to justify it.”

“That bad?” Bucky’s voice is gruff. “Kind of sounds like you might be speaking from experience.” His eyes flit back to Ivan across the street, jaw ticking, and Steve is willing to bet his best friend is genuinely contemplating if it could be justified to punch the guy without being provoked.

But when Wanda huffs out a breath, his gaze shifts back to her, softening. “No, thankfully not,” she reassures. “But it’s hard not to know his business with the way he acts.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Bucky mutters into his coffee with a shake of his head. “Ivan’s got more hard evidence against him than anyone else in New York.”

“He’s sloppy and reckless,” Natasha agrees. “He doesn’t give a damn about casualties, and he sure as hell doesn’t give a damn about leaving his mark, either.” She rolls her eyes. “He likes notoriety for his ego, and he loves that every cop in the city knows his face.”

“Isn’t that a thing, though?” Sam wonders. “A way of sending a message?”

“Our messages are far more discreet,” Natasha tells him. “If you don’t know how to cover your own ass, you sure as hell shouldn’t be threatening someone else’s.”

Sam’s lips twitch in a grin. “Sounds fair.”

“You also shouldn’t be putting anyone else’s ass on the line just for the hell of it,” Pietro adds, almost scowling. “He used to just be dick and a mild headache, but now he’s getting stupid and has the rest of us putting out all of his damn fires. I don’t know why the hell he’s still in the picture at all,” he adds to Natasha, arching an eyebrow.

“Trust me, neither do I,” she replies, and then tips her head back, draining the last of her mimosa. “He’s got a reputation.”

“Don’t you all?” Sam’s tone is more joking than condescending, if a little curious.

“Yes,” Wanda replies with a bit of a giggle. “It’s different, though.”

Bucky’s smile widens as Sam chuckles in amusement, neither of them arguing with her claim, and it makes something warm tug at Steve’s chest.

Just a few weeks ago, Steve had almost used those very words as he struggled to explain to his best friends why he couldn’t just use his new role in the Family to turn them in. They’re still criminals, after all, and Steve had been convinced that he would’ve done exactly that if it wouldn’t have meant putting his brother and sister on the line as well. Now? He knows he couldn’t do it so easily. Honestly, he couldn’t do it at all, because he’s not just Family in name and not just in their eyes. He’s Family in his own eyes, too.

He doesn’t want to walk away from them.

He doesn’t want to walk away from Bucky and Sam, either, but he isn’t going to pretend it’s that simple for them. For right now, though, he can appreciate that his siblings and his best friends finally seem to be getting along—and not just for his sake anymore, but because they want to.

... ...

“You’d be surprised how many ‘Sarah Rogers’ are in New York,” Maria says, pulling out a stapled stack of papers from her bag and tossing it onto the counter. Natasha glances at the photo of the woman on the top page (a brunette, though, not a blonde) before passing over one of the martinis she’d poured, and Maria takes it from her by the stem of the glass. “But only five of them showed any activity in Manhattan around the time you would’ve seen her at the coffeehouse. Of those five,” she goes on, sipping her cocktail as she flips to the page she wants, pointing her finger at the picture, “this one is the only one to match the barista’s description.” Maria arches an eyebrow. “Look familiar?”

Natasha hums, taking a moment to study the young woman, with her long, golden hair and hazel eyes.

“Vaguely,” she admits, which doesn’t really mean much. Maria already knows Natasha hadn’t gotten a good look at the woman’s face that morning in the coffeehouse with Wanda, and considering how many faces the employees there must see every hour, asking the barista for a description two days after can only be so reliable.

“She flew into town a few weeks ago but never checked in anywhere,” Maria informs, but something in her tone catches Natasha’s attention.

“And?” she prompts.

Maria smirks, her eyes glinting. “And that purchase at the coffeehouse is the only purchase ever made on her card, other than her one-way plane ticket from London.”

Natasha can’t quite help the way her eyebrows lift in surprise. Well. That’s definitely unusual.

She knows Maria has been digging deeper into this woman, and Maria doesn’t wait for her to ask before she continues with, “So far I’ve only caught a few security camera sightings of her around Manhattan and Brooklyn. She’s been alone every time and she’s damn easy to lose track of.”

“Staying somewhere residential, or at least somewhere that doesn’t keep a digital record,” Natasha adds. “And only paying in cash, except for the coffeehouse.”

“Except the coffeehouse,” Maria echoes, arching an eyebrow. “I find it hard to believe she can get away with almost an entire month of never using her credit card and yet, she charges eight dollars for a latte and a croissant? She didn’t even pull it out to pay for her rental car.”

“She’s using a rental car?”

Maria nods. “I saw her getting into a car from a security camera and the license plate is registered with a car service, but her paperwork didn’t disclose any payment.”

Natasha feels something odd tug at her chest as she stares back at Maria. “A black compact car?” Natasha asks after a moment.

Maria pulls back a little, blinking. “How did you know that?”

Natasha exhales a sigh, taking a gulp of her martini before answering with, “Because there’s been a black compact parking across the street for the last three weeks that keeps catching my attention. Any chance you happened to see one on your way in?”

“Most likely, but I’ll have a look at the security feeds later to compare plates.” Maria tilts her head. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“It seemed a little paranoid, even for me,” Natasha admits with a shake of her head. “Plus, my family has been on edge even before what happened at the club that I didn’t want to give them another reason to act weird.” She furrows her eyebrows, thinking back to when she’d had dinner with Peter, and when she’d had dinner with Tony. She thinks about how her parents seemed to be bothered by something more often than not recently, and somehow, all of it feels less and less like some kind of a coincidence.

Maria nods, and Natasha can practically see it in her eyes as her best friend tries to find any kind of immediate connection.

Before either of them can say anything more, however, Natasha’s phone chimes with a text and she flips it over on the counter, her body pausing as she sees that the message is from an unknown number. Maria leans forward to look at the screen, too, and Natasha sets her martini down as she swipes to open the text.

... ...

Steve can hear her laughter above all of the excitement and chatter already filling the restaurant where Clint and Laura are hosting Baby Nathaniel’s first birthday—and, not for the first time since arriving, his gaze drifts across the room to seek her out. They’ve only had a chance to talk a few minutes here and there, but considering it’s usually one of the kids that ends up pulling her away from him, he can’t complain. It’s easy to see that she’s the favorite, although Peter and Pietro seem to be fairly close in second place.

“Auntie Nat has always been the one the kids adore the most,” Wanda chimes as she floats up to his side, offering him a limoncello and rum cocktail. “Although I admit, it’s still a little strange to see each time,” she adds, laughing as Morgan Stark suddenly pops up from under one of the tables in an attempt to surprise Natasha.

Steve laughs, too. He gets what she means. It’s a little odd to see Natasha being playful, almost silly, when she’s almost always elegant and composed, or coy and tempting.

But he also knows that she likes to tease and she certainly loves her jokes—the cheesier and nerdier, the better—so maybe this side of her isn’t actually odd at all.

“While we’re on the subject of strange sights,” Wanda adds, her voice lilting in amusement, and Steve finds her eyes twinkling brightly when he turns to look at her with one eyebrow arched. “I noticed Nat was wearing the same clothes at breakfast as she wore the day before, when we bumped into each other.”

He chuckles. He’s been wondering when this would come up.

His sister has probably wanted to ask him right after they dropped Natasha off at her apartment after breakfast, but then he’d taken Wanda and Pietro back to his place to take a look through the box themselves, so they ended up having other things to discuss. As he’d guessed, neither of them knew the man and the woman in that photograph with their father and Melina, and they also hadn’t had any idea that their father knew Melina from before he met Howard, let alone before Edward and Melina were married.

The silver lining had been that neither of his siblings seemed pissed off by this new revelation. They may have been a little upset, but he’d anticipated that.

It might have made sense that their father wouldn’t have had the chance to tell Steve about this, but Wanda and Pietro lived with Joseph their whole lives. Hell, they’d practically grown up with the Starks. Melina could’ve told them herself, or any of the Starks, for that matter.

Which makes it more likely than not that the Starks don’t know of it, either. Or, if they do, there’s a reason why everyone’s keeping quiet.

“I didn’t want her driving home after we’d been drinking,” Steve tells his sister, trying in vain to keep a straight face with Wanda practically beaming at him, “and I didn’t want her getting a cab, either. She borrowed your pajamas, by the way,” he adds. Wanda arches an eyebrow, giving him an expectant look. “She also slept in your bed.”

She pouts playfully, nudging his shoulder. “That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

“Wanda,” he laughs.

“You two are really good together,” she insists. “You’ve been spending so much time together, too. I thought you might’ve already…”

Steve rubs his lips together, glancing away with a shake of his head. Yeah, he doesn’t really need his sister finishing that sentence. He gets that she’s not a little girl, but he still doesn’t really want to hear that his sister assumed he and Natasha have hooked up already.

“We both work long days, almost every day,” he points out. “We only really meet for dinner, and honestly, we’re both tired as hell most of the time.”

It’s the truth, but only really half of it. Yes, he and Natasha see each other almost every day, and it hadn’t taken long for them dining out to transition into them ordering in (mostly at her place, because he’d rather be the one to drive home afterward than her). They tend to meet up late, and Steve is typically tired by the time they get around to eating, but that wouldn’t have been enough for him to say no if she asked him to stay the night. In fact, he tends to feel wide awake after they’ve spent the night talking.

He would be lying if he said he’s never thought of them being more. Honestly, he thinks he’s entertained the thought from the moment they met.

But he knew the reason she’d gone out of her way to see him at first had been because Howard asked her to, and after they’d developed a genuine friendship, he still hesitated because he knew she still felt apprehensive toward his friendship with Sam and Bucky.

But now, he can’t explain exactly why, but things feel different. Now it feels like they’re ready for more.

“But you do like her, don’t you?” Wanda asks, and he can tell that it isn’t really a question. She just wants him to admit it.

Steve feels his lips tugging into a smile as he takes a sip of his cocktail. Across the room, Natasha has managed to steal Baby Nathaniel away once more, holding him with their faces close together as her gaze drifts across the room. Her eyes catch Steve’s, her smile widening as it’s half-hidden behind Nathaniel, and she waves.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, feeling his own smile widen. “Yeah, I do.”

Wanda lets out a giggle, wrapping an arm around his waist to squeeze him into a hug, and Steve chuckles as he leans down to brush a kiss atop her head. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks about how, just a few months ago, he wouldn’t have had a conversation like this with his sister. Not because she wouldn’t have cared, but because, as often as they tried to visit each other, their lives wouldn’t have been intertwined enough to for them to talk like this. Not specifically, anyway, and certainly not enough for her to have a preference on who he might be interested in. Hell, she probably wouldn’t have known who else was in his life, other than Sam and Bucky, and he wouldn’t have known the same for her or Pietro, either. He’d always felt he was close with Pietro and Wanda before, as much as the three of the could be, considering their circumstances.

But he hadn’t realized just how much closer they could be if he could see them every day like he does now. If their lives were more involved on every facet.

And honestly, other than Sam and Bucky, Steve hadn’t had any particularly meaningful connections in his old life. He’d had friends, but none he allowed himself to get genuinely attached to. Who his father was had always lingered, and if push came to shove, Steve didn’t want to risk anyone getting tangled up in something they had no idea about if someone found out who he was and who his father was—and someone would’ve found out, even if his hand hadn’t been forced the day that his father went missing.

He’d gotten lucky that his two best friends had both ended up cops and put the dots together on their own, because Steve really wouldn’t have known how to tell them. He hates that he put them in a tough spot by choosing to stay friends, but, at the very least, he knows that they’re more equipped to handle themselves.

And now, he has the luxury of becoming attached. After a lifetime of only having his parents and Wanda and Pietro, and Bucky and Sam, now he has the whole Family.

And he has Natasha.

... ...

With the club only barely starting repairs, Natasha brought everything she needed from the office back to her apartment, though truthfully, there’s not much for her to work on. Her father is the one directly speaking to the contractors to get the front of the club fixed, and since they won’t be open until that’s done, she only really needs to check in with management. She supposes this means she could drop in on either of her parents to give them a hand, maybe spend a few hours at Stark Industries with her uncle or help May at the diner. Natasha plans to soon, because she doesn’t really get to see May all that much, and because Peter always helps out, too, so they can hang out more.

But between looking into “Sarah Rogers” and trying to figure out why the hell her mother and Joseph Rogers were in that photograph together, she’s still got quite enough to keep busy. She’ll likely need to start making the rounds soon, though, before her family starts asking what she’s up to.

Unless you happen to be Tony, who decides to invite himself over unannounced to find out.

She gets a text from her cousin as she’s stepping out of the shower, asking what she wants for breakfast, which she knows is really just him giving her a head’s up that he’s on his way over. The last few days of digging haven’t turned up anything, so she figures she can take a break to tag along with whatever Tony has planned.

But when she sees Peter walk in through her door after Tony, she realizes that this is more than just her cousin being nosy and wanting to poke into her business.

Peter has a terrible poker face, and right away, she knows something’s wrong. “What happened?” she asks, reaching over to push aside some of the longer chunks of his hair flopping into his eyes. “Why aren’t you in school?”

He hesitates, eyes flitting over Natasha as if worrying if something happened to her, before reaching into his pocket as he says, “I got something this morning.” He pulls out his phone, swiping at the screen a few times, and then flips it around to show her the screen to show her a photo of herself leaving her apartment. It’s obvious it’s taken at a distance, just across the street, though considering that cameras on phones can get a decent zoom quality, she can’t say for sure how far away the person had truly been.

Peter swipes for her before she can respond, pulling up another photo of her, taken through the front window of the club before someone had put a car through it.

Natasha blinks down at the photo for a moment before glancing up, eyes flitting from Peter and Tony, and she watches the realization flash across both of their faces almost in the exact same second as they stare back at her.

“You’ve gotten one, too, haven’t you?” Tony asks, holding up another photo of her on his own phone.

Peter’s expression pinches even tighter with worry, if possible. “Nat.”

“I did, just the other day,” she admits, turning to walk into the kitchen, knowing that they’ll follow. “Maria was here when I got it, so she knows, too.”

“The other day? What the hell, Nat?” Tony asks, setting the bakery box and tray with their coffees down on the island counter as Natasha drops onto one of the barstools. Peter immediately hops onto the one beside hers, spinning to face her. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Tony half-demands. Natasha doesn’t quite flinch at his tone, but she feels her surprise flit across her face before she can catch herself, and at this, Tony’s frustration seems to ebb almost entirely as he drops onto the other stool beside her. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she replies, and he nods once because he knows she’s being sincere. She knows he’s just worried and it makes him come off impatient.

On her other side, Peter judges his knee against hers. “When did you get your text?”

Natasha exhales, tugging the bakery box closer and popping the lid open as she replies, “The same day as Nathaniel’s party.”

“Is that why you haven’t told anyone yet?” Peter asks, although his voice sounds a little off, like he knows that isn’t quite right.

Natasha shakes her head, glancing from him to Tony. It’s not that she doesn’t trust them to keep quiet if she asks, but also, she doesn’t want them to have to keep a secret from everyone else. Still, now that they’re obviously involved to some extent, she doesn’t really have a choice. She also thinks that they’re likely the only two out of the family to get these photos so far, because everyone else would’ve come to her the moment they a text themselves, just as Tony and Peter did; clearly, since Peter is skipping school.

“You can’t tell the family,” she insists. “You can’t tell anyone, other than Steve and Maria. At this point, I suspect Wanda and Pietro might know, too.”

Confusion tugs at Tony’s expression. “They all got photos?”

“No. Or, if they did, they haven’t had the chance to tell me. But I’ve got more than just this going on,” Natasha admits, waving a hand at where Peter’s phone is on the counter, his screen still pulled up to the photo of her, “and I’ll admit that, at this point, I don’t know what the hell to feel about all of it.”

“Wow,” Peter says quietly, studying her face. “This is really bothering you, isn’t it?” His forehead creases. “And you’re sure you want to keep it from everyone else?”

“For now, it’s probably for the best,” she admits, her lips twitching in a wry smile. “Our family is pretty good at keeping secrets, anyway.”

... ...

Steve isn’t sure whether it’s reckless or just stupid for him to have Sam and Bucky here, but they were already near the brewery when they called to say they had news to share, and Steve figured that they’d at least have some semblance of privacy here in his office. People would talk—and have been talking—every time Steve meets up with either of them no matter what, and honestly, it doesn’t feel so much like a threat anymore. He’s knows that both Howard and Nick would back him up with little hesitation, and even if Odin hasn’t entirely warmed up to Steve yet, he also wouldn’t jeopardize his standings with the other two Families simply because his daughter wants to cause chaos.

Clint didn’t even bat an eye when Steve told him that Sam and Bucky were coming, and if Steve had been looking for approval, that would’ve been all he needed.

“Anonymous tips?”

Steve glances at where Clint is sitting on the corner of the desk, arching an eyebrow, before turning back to Bucky and Sam sitting in the chairs placed across his desk. “There’s no way they were all called in,” Clint argues, though his tone gives away the fact that at least part of him is genuinely considering this.

“I didn’t think so, either, but we’ve got all the call records to back it up,” Sam insists with a shake of his head. “Every damn one of those busts were tipped off, and most calls came in an hour beforehand, sometimes half an hour, but it still would’ve given the precincts a pretty generous chance to prep and then haul ass to each of the sites.”

“Well, shit,” Clint says on an exhale, swiping a hand over his face. “Now we know why they felt too damn consistent to be a coincidence.”

“Someone clearly had it out for you,” Bucky tells Steve.

Steve feels his lips twitch into a wry smile, but only for a moment, because then he’s glancing at Clint again. “It hasn’t just been our shipments, though,” he points out as he taps his pen to the desk for the sake of something to do. “Everyone’s been taking hits. Sabotaging me would make sense, maybe even cutting a few losses themselves to hide their own tracks. But all those shipments lost, all across the board?” Steve shakes his head. “It’d be a pretty damn risky plan, because now everyone in the Family is pissed.”

Clint nods, even as he adds, “Doesn’t mean it’s unfathomable. Someone just might be that reckless.”

“Or hold that big of a grudge,” Bucky chimes in.

Clint nods again, turning to Steve. “Could be Ivan. He sure as shit doesn’t think things through before acting. But then again, it’d be too damn obvious of an answer.”

“Yeah, but it’s still something worth looking into,” Steve points out. “And if anyone would be willing to piss off the whole Family for their own agenda, it’d be him. He’s barely loyal to his own father, let alone to Howard or anyone else. I doubt he’s pulling this off alone, though,” he adds, and all three men nod at this. Steve exhales sharply, shaking his head again. “What about the drive-by?” he asks, catching the way something dark flickers in Bucky’s eyes as he sits up a little straighter. “Anything new come up there?”

He knows they would’ve mentioned it themselves if anything substantial had turned up, but they don’t seem surprised that he’s asked.

“They got a match on the plate, which pretty much confirms what we knew about it being an Asgard car,” Sam answers. “No one we’ve interviewed from the scene so far has had any leads worth following, or any reason someone would be after them, specifically.”

“Other than Wanda,” Clint guesses.

Bucky nods, glancing from him to Steve. “Did Wanda have a reason for being there at that time, something that could’ve been planned? I know we asked already—”

“No, I know.” Steve offers a wry smile. “She won’t mind if you need to question her again, though.”

But Bucky shakes his head with an exhale. “She and I have already combed over the details of everything she could remember. She was there getting dinner, but it was something she’d done on an impulse because she’d been shopping nearby.” Something flickers in his eyes before he adds, “I asked if she could’ve been followed. If she had even a damn second of paranoia at all that day, or any day before, that maybe someone had been watching her. She said she didn’t, but as soon as I thought about it—”

Steve feels his chest tighten. Shit. As soon as Bucky had said the words, they felt pretty fucking real, and it felt like a damn good hunch.

“Fuck,” Clint mutters. “Why the hell hadn’t we thought of that?”

Sam winces, looking annoyed with himself. It’s true that they’d assumed Wanda had been the target, but they’d also just assumed someone knew she’d be there. She goes shopping in that area often enough that it would’ve made sense, but it was never anything she planned ahead of time, so how the hell could someone had anticipated it?

If someone had been following her, though, they wouldn’t have needed to know her schedule.

They would’ve just needed an opportunity.

[noonaduck]

SeXd (Sex ed) 2nd Bonus

Pairing: BTS OT7 x reader genre: Fluff,smut,slight angst, non idol Au Warnings: angst Words: 1347 A/N:  Jimin’s pov from the part 7 events. Summaray: Y/N is a woman who is inexperienced in anything when it comes to relationships and sex. Luckily her friend Jimin along with his six other friends decide to show her what she has been missing.

Msg me or send ask if you want to be tagged. I won’t tag you if you ask in comments. SeXd m.list 7. < 2nd bonus > 8. coming soon.

[gifs belongs to their rightful owners] 

“I never thought that you would be such a slut Y/N.”   Slut,slut, slut.....The hurtful words were still spinning on Jimin's head. He knew that he hasn't been fair and quilt was eating him alive. Jimin had felt so helpless watching how one by one his friends showed attraction towards Y/N and only logical thing to do was to call her slut, not really. Jimin had wanted to push Y/N away from his friends but instead he has done the opposite. She had run away from him and straight to his friends. he couldn't blame her after all Jimin has screwed up.  Jimin had started to avoid Y/N first after when he saw her with Jin and Namjoon on the night of his performance. They looked so good together, both men were handsome on their outfits and Y/N looked so happy with her rosy cheeks standing right in front of him. Jimin wanted that he was the only one who could make her face glow like that. He wasn't blind for Y/N's attraction towards him and he had decided to ignore her feelings in sake of both of them. Jimin did not want to lose a good friend or hurt her feelings with straight rejection. Instead he had made clear how big his sex game was. Every time he talked about his flings he could see hurt under the curiosity which the girl was presenting to his stories.   When Jimin made Y/N ran away from the storage something sifted inside of him. Guilt, unbelief, pain and love? Could he really love her? Jimin slides along the wall ,which he was leaning against, and hits the ground. When first sobs leaves his lips he can't believe himself. How he can be so stupid, so naive? he had always taken Y/N as granted, like a little puppy who runs after it's master. He was wrong, Y/N was so much more. He felt that their roles has turned reversed at some point and he was now the lost puppy licking his wounds. When his eyes kept watering and tears running along his face Jimin bites hist fist to keep quiet. When his sobs finally dies he takes his phone out with shaky hands and picks Taehyung's number.  After few short beeps he answers. 

'Tae I fucked up.“ Jimin blurs without even saying hello.

’'So I have heard.” His friend's answer is short and said with displeased voice.

“What I can do to fix this?” Jimin asks with raspy voice from crying.

“What you think you should do?” Taehyung's voice softens after hearing Jimin's voice, he has clearly been crying.

“Fuck, I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t lose her.” Jimin is feeling hopeless.

“Then Jimin you should tell that to her.’'  Taehyung tells like its the most oblivious thing in the world and well, maybe it is. ''I'm afraid that she won't listen to me.'' Taehyung chuckles now amused. ''To be honest if I was her I wouldn't either. You acted really shitty after all.'' ''Did Y/N speak to you?'' ''No. Jin's friend picked her up crying from the street and called Jin, who told the situation for the rest of us. We all have been involved with Y/N in a way or another and hearing what you did, well let's just say that you aren't in good books right now. And Jimin it might be too late already.'' Taehyung ends the call without goodbyes. Jimin can't say that he deserved one anyway. Jimin is snappy towards his coworkers for rest of the day and when someone makes the mistake of speaking to him he is ready to bite their head of. He sees Jungkook briefly who has came to pick Y/N's belongings and it seems that he isn't in the loop of the events yet. Jimin is sure that he will be soon enough. When Jungkook greets him, Jimin just glares his angrily and keeps walking leaving confused Jungkook behind. When he is finally able to get home he feels grateful that Jungkook isn't there. Jimin heads straight towards his room,more specially to his bed, planning to sleep the rest of the night away when he almost trips over something. A old worn shoe box is peeking under his bed and Jimin kneels in front of it. It must be a sign. With nervousness Jimin pulls the box completely out under his bed and opens it with insecure hands.  Picture of him and Hannah is like a slap against his face. They are so young and smiling happily towards the camera. Jimin takes the picture to his hand and sees another one where he is with Hannah sitting next to her hospital bed. In this picture Hannah looks almost the same still in the beginning of her treatments. There is third photo where Hannah is alone, her skin is lost all of its color and the skin is tight on her bones. Hannah's hair has fallen of and small smile is covering her lips despite of her state. When a drop of water falls on the picture Jimin blinks surprised he had started to cry again. Jimin lets shaky inhale out and wipes his face.  He puts the pictures on the floor and reaches finally towards the envelope which has turned yellow because effects of time. To my dearest Jimin, never stop smiling.  Even the words on top of the envelope are almost too much.  Jimin's hands are still shaking when he turns the envelope around and finally rips it open. Dear Jimin, If you are reading this the cancer has beaten me. Even tough I know that you will be crying I still beg that you don't. I told my mother to give this letter to you when I'm gone so I can comfort you at least in someway even when I'm at present. I know that some lame words aren't same as those spoken against one's face but I'm still going to try. I remember how we met, you almost hit me with your bike. You were in such a hurry to play some new video game at your friend's home. Everything was so easy back then, I wasn't aware of my illness and the most cute guy almost ran over me by his bike. Odd thing to be happy about, I know, but because of that I was able to meet you. Because of you I fell in love for the first time and I spend my happiest times alongside of you. Sometimes I think that the heaven was jealous of me and how happy I was and that's why it gave me the cancer. Still I would take thousand times of these pains to be able to meet you and spend time together. My love, even tough we were never meant to last we were meant to be. I hope that one day you meet someone who can be your new world, like you were once to me. When that person comes don't run or hide and instead never let them go. I love you, forever yours, Hannah

Hannah's letter was full two papers long and Jimin could see the parts where Hannah's hand was shaking when she was writing or where she had added too much pressure and her pen had broken. Hannah was always been way too wise and mature for a girl of her age and it was clearly visible in her letter. When Jimin was mourning his loss and pushing everyone away Hannah had seen hope and happiness in the times the had spend. She was happy for what she had and Jimin was broken for what he had lost. He could not lose you too. He wished that someone would have punched him earlier straight to his face to wake him up. Even his first love was giving him advice to not to be afraid of loving someone and it was all he had ever been. Jimin squeezes the letter in his hands and gets up from the floor determination in his mind. He knew that he had to make things right or at least try before it was too late.  

Tags:  @lylanie12 @hopeivx @vannilacake @mina-messed-up  @lonely-hufflepuff @soularbangtan @all289854 @hobitoons @vanessalovesonedirection @bbjel @doki-do-ki @yoongleskitten @chaitaewithkookies @hellosweety94 @exochanyeoltao @brokencrownqueen @hitit-thesecond-audition @kookiemonstersugatea @treetops68 @mylittlestrangeandsweetworld @lanu-la @d-noona @serendipity-secrets @recs-by-raamish @jojolovesbangtan @fanficreblogaaaa @creepysweet  @elpanvibe @kassandravictoria @kpoppower @golddaengguk @barbikatherine @hisunshiine  @nosnakeuthankyou

[timelock97]

Game Changer

Chapter One: Lost and Found

Word Count: 4524

Warnings: Language, mentioning of adult things

_________________________________________

I shift the bag over my shoulder as I slam the back door to my beat-up car and lock the door. My eyes fall on the not-so-far-off building as I begin walking across the crowded parking lot. First day of college, not that it should have been too much of a problem since I knew the small community college building well. I grab my phone out of my back pocket and bring it out so I can triple check the room number I was headed to.

My whole left side slams into something, er someone, causing me to gasp and my phone to tumble from my hand. Our hands bump into each other in an attempt to soften the fall or attempt to catch the device, but to no anvil. It lands on the ground with a small crack, causing me to wince, and I let out a small sigh, “Fuck.”

“I am so sorry,” the guy whispers as I lean down to grab my phone, “I was trying to make sure I was going to be heading to the right lecture and-”

“It’s fine,” I smile standing up and flipping my phone in my hand to check for cracks, and thankfully there are none. I flip it over to show him that no harm had been done, making him sigh in relief. That’s when I get the chance to really look at him; tall, tanned skin, golden honey eyes, and long purple hair that was thrown up in a pony-tail. God was he pretty. I let out a gentle laugh before continuing, “First day jitters got me too.”

He looks down, a small blush coloring his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck, “Believe me when I say they have been plaguing me all day. Especially since I am not from around here.”

“I can see that,” I giggle.

I watch as he rubs the back of his neck, “Um, is there any way you could show me where I am supposed to go?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” I say, motioning him to follow me as I walk the rest of the way toward the building, “Where you headed?”

“Business 101,” he states as he follows me inside. We walk over to the schedule sheet, his face turning a darker shade of red now that he sees it. “I could have done that, I’m sorry-”

“No, you’re fine, this school is a maze. Here,” I motion for him to follow me again and move down the hallway. “So, where are you from?”

“Galar,” He states, chuckling when I give him a confused look. “It’s an island off of England. Not very well known, but it’s home.”

“Is it beautiful?” My curiosity is piqued, as we get to his classroom, the teacher is already speaking with a few students that are inside.

“It is.” He smiles, nodding his head and shifting his backpack. “Um, thank you again…” His voice trails, and the way he is looking at me says he wants to know more.

“(Y/N).” I smile, moving my hand out to shake his hand, my other hooking itself underneath my backpack strap.

“(Y/N),” he smiles when he says it, reaching and taking my hand in his, giving it a firm squeeze. “Leon.” He looks down again and shuffles his feet, “I would love to continue talking but I don’t want you to miss your class. Is there any way that I could maybe get your number?”

I nod and laugh, making a new contact and passing it to him. “As long as you promise to not try and break my phone again.”

“I can promise I will not try to break your phone.” He states as he types in his number. When he is done, I notice he makes a face as he passes his phone back. “Boyfriend?”

I blink at him in confusion before I glance down at the screen, the background is a picture from prom earlier that spring, my boyfriend’s arm is wrapped around my waist as we smile at the camera. “Oh, yeah, he’s at a university so we have been trying to keep in touch.”

He nods, and gives me another smile. “Thank you again, (Y/N), I’ll text you later?”

“Sounds good.” I smile, walking backward a wase before spinning around and heading to my class, heart feeling a little lighter than when I left that morning.

Leon quickly becomes one of my closest friends, and someone I rely on everyday. He is one of maybe three people that I text on the daily, hell I hear from him more than the guy I had been dating for two years. Leon slowly is picking up my habits, double texting when I forget to text back, and offers to hang out when I need to get away from school. So when my first practical comes up, and all at once I go quiet with no reason for it, Leon knows that something is wrong.

The tapping on my shoulder pulls me from my mindless scrolling, eyes lifting up to see Leon smiling at me, or at least until he sees the bags under my eyes. “Shitty weekend?”

“Yeah,” I whisper smiling a little more as Leon hands me a cup of hot chocolate, my phone finding its home back inside my hoodie pocket.

“Want to talk about it?”

I open my mouth, but the thought of admitting my broken heart only causes me to look down and hide the tears in my eyes and shake my head.

“Hey,” he says, taking my hand that isn’t holding the cup. “If you want, I can wait until you finish up with your practical and we can hang-”

“I have an exam after too, you shouldn’t have to wait for me.” I whisper as to not let the quiver in my voice show.

“I’d rather know you’re okay. I’ll wait in the lobby after my class and we can go out and get food. Then we can talk, or I can talk and you can laugh at me making myself look like an idiot, okay?” I nod, a small laugh leaving my lips, but don’t look at him. He places a hand on my cheek to gently force me to lift my head, and that’s when I know that he knows. He gives me a sad smile before tugging me into his chest for a hug. “You’re going to do fine on both your exam and your practical. You got this, (Y/N).”

I wrap my arms around his back and give him a firm squeeze, “Thanks, Lee.” I take a small step back before smiling at him. “I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”

“See you in a few.”

~

“He’s a dick-” Leon states as he shoves four fries in his mouth, making me laugh. “I’m serious, he is.”

“He was a good first boyfriend though, never had to worry about well, that.” Leon looks up, an eyebrow raised with a fry hanging from his mouth. “Sex, Lee.”

His eyes bug out and he coughs as I slide him his water which he gulps down. “Holy hell, (Y/N)-”

“You wanted me to be honest!” I giggle, stealing a fry from his plate.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be blunt.” He coughs, shaking his head and making his hair fluff around his head.

I gaze back down at my now empty plate, looking at the swirls of ketchup left on the plate. Once he had calmed down, I decide to speak up. “Hey, Lee?” He hums in response. “Thanks for checking in on me today, and doing this.”

I glance at him to see him already looking at me. He places his hands on the table, palm side up. He playfully pats the table making me laugh as I place my hands in his. “There is no place I would rather be. I was worried about you. I knew you were studying, but you’re usually better at replying, so I could only assume something had happened. Especially since you had mentioned what that idiot was doing.”

“Lee…”

“The way he treated you wasn’t right. If he wasn’t going to keep the relationship going then he should have talked to you about it before it went this far.” He shakes his head and gives my hands another firm squeeze, “You deserve better.”

I give his hands a gentle squeeze back. Smiling, I let out a small teasing laugh, “Are you better?”

He shrugs, giving me a bashful smile. “Well, I don’t know about that. Right now, all I want is to be here if you need me. That okay?”

“Sounds like the kind of friend I need right now.”

~

2 years later

“Another date?” Lee’s voice echoes through the phone as I lay in bed in pajamas, hand placed over my eyes as to avoid the brightness in the room.

“Don’t you another date me. Tracey has been on Tinder, she said it’s a good start-”

“This is the third start,” Lee groans, I can almost hear him counting them on his fingers. “You let one friend set you up on a date with one of their friends that ended up with no call back. Then you met that guy at that oddball coffee shop and talked to him for what, three weeks until he couldn’t get the hint you weren’t ready for a relationship, especially that early. And now, it’s a date from a guy you don’t even know!”

I let out a soft laugh, “You’re worried-”

“Damn right I am!” He basically yells into the phone. He groans for a second before his voice softens. “I just want you to be happy, and I don’t think this will do that.”

“I have to get back out there somehow, Lee. I start my program in the fall, and I just want to try something.” I roll over and look at my side table, seeing the two photos that sit on it. One is of Ginny, my best friend, and me. The two of us are in our prom dresses from high school. The other was of Leon and I from a night of just hanging out. He had happened to lift his phone to snap a photo to send to his little brother while we were laughing at something. “And I’m being safe, staying in town, and driving separately.”

“Good, I want you safe, and I don’t care what time you get home, text me so I know you’re safe. Okay?”

“Sure thing, Lee.” I smile, nodding softly. “I’ll let you go, I know it’s late there.”

He lets out a soft sigh,“You’re worth losing sleep over.”

I slam my car door shut and let my feet drag as I trudge back up the steps of my house. One word, awkward. He couldn’t hold a conversation. More than that, I just wasn’t comfortable. Looks like text conversations didn’t transfer to real conversation.

“That bad?” My mom asks, almost laughing at the way I kick my shoes off and toss my purse over the chair.

“Never again.” I groan, pulling my hair out of its hair tie and letting it fall. I throw my hands up into the air and walk past her, hearing her laugh as I stalk to my room to change into comfy clothes.

As I change, I notice my screen light up. I flop across my bed and see Leon’s response to my ‘made it home’ message.

_______________________________________________________________

Lee Lee

You’re home early

How bad was it?

(Y/N/N)

Let’s NOT talk about it

You were right

I was wrong

Let’s leave it at that

_______________________________________________________________

Once the messages send, I finish changing and toss my clothes in the hamper. The screen lights up with Leon’s face. I laugh as I grab and place it to my ear, “Gonna tell me you were right and I was wrong?”

“No, you already stated that,” he laughs as I roll my eyes at him, “Just want to know what went wrong.”

So I tell him in full detail, and when I get to the end I let out a small sigh. “I think I’m just doing this all wrong.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Cause they’re all the same! Awkward awkward awkward. This is the reason I have always stated that I need to be friends with the person first. Then it’s a different sort of awkward, ya know?”

“It’s just first date jitters, not 'I’m meeting this person for the first time’ jitters on top of it.”

“Yeah,” I sigh, rolling over so I can grab the picture of Leon and I off the side table. That, that’s what I wanted. Easy, comfortable, simple change; and that had always been Leon.

“You should let me take you on a date. These guys don’t seem to know how to treat a woman.” Leon teased after the first guy never texted back after our date.

I had always shrugged it off, but what if?

I nervously bite my lip, contemplating even saying what had been on my mind the past few months. “Do you remember when Adam and I broke up, you told me that I deserved better?”

There is a small pause on the other side of the line, “And you asked me if I was better?” The curiosity was evident in his voice, I can hear him sitting up, in what I can only assume is his bed.

“Did- would you- when you come back, I mean. Would you want to go on a date?” My eyes are staring at the comforter underneath me, and when he doesn’t say anything, panic sets in. “I mean, you don’t have to, I just thought, you know what nevermind-”

“(Y/N), hey,” I hear him laugh, “You have to let me answer before you back track.” He is giggling, and I feel the blush to crawl across my cheeks. “I wasn’t planning on coming back until the fall, but,” he sang the last word, making me laugh. “I miss you, so I’m going to go, uh, talk to my boss about coming out for two weeks. Then we can see about that date.”

“Really?” The joy and excitement was evident in my voice, making him chuckle into the phone. “That sounds perfect, Lee.” I smile, biting my lip before glancing at the clock, it’s late where he is. “Am I still worth losing sleep for?”

“Always, darling.”

Thinking back, Leon had been the obvious choice for a boyfriend. A long-term boyfriend. He was kind, cute, knew what made me tick, and just fit the weirdness criteria that I needed to function correctly. But, the night of our first date ended up happening three weeks after it had been planned.

Lee had to plan with his boss about taking some time to come back, and since they were mid-season, he couldn’t just leave willy-nilly. But, he got the two weeks off with some badgering.

He offered to pick me up, and we decided dinner and a movie would be perfect. Of course, not everything ever goes as planned; especially when Lee doesn’t have an internal compass. He missed our exit, twice. Then we missed the movie, so we looked for a later time which was much later than either of us wanted.

I opted for us to just go get dinner instead, which led us to a bit of a fancier restaurant that needed a reservation to even get into. When I could tell that Lee was getting frustrated, I smiled at the server he was trying to persuade into letting us in and just wrapped my arms around his arm to draw his attention toward me.

“Why don’t we just drive down the road to that little diner we saw on the way in? We could get burgers and milkshakes?” I bat my eyes at him, which caused him to chuckle.

“Whatever you want, darling.” He hums, moving his arm that I was holding onto to wrap it around me before apologizing to the server and walked out with me.

Once inside the car, I whip out my phone and type in the directions making Lee sigh. “What’s wrong, Lee?”

“I just wanted to make this date perfect, and I just keep messing it up-”

“Leon,” I place a hand on his arm, making him look at me. “This is so typical of what we do, and that is what makes this date so perfect, because it’s just us. I don’t need fancy, I just need you.” Now that I had said it out loud, I could feel the blush fall across my cheeks.

Leon opens and closes his mouth, trying to find the correct words before he just smiles at me and nods. “Arceus, I’m so lucky I bumped into you that first day.”

I giggle, taking his hand that he places on the middle console as he gets ready to pull out of the parking lot and back into the main drag. As we drive, something crosses my mind. “Did you just say Arceus? Like the Pokemon?”

He glances at me, a small smile falling across his lips, “Yeah, sorry it slipped-”

“No, you’re okay, I just wanted to make sure that was what you said. I’m behind on the franchise so it took a minute to register.”

“Franchise?”

I give him a lopsided smile, “Yeah, Pokemon. It’s a franchise, by Game Freak. They have card games, movies, t.v. shows, and lots of other stuff. Did- did you not know?”

He blinks, mouth gaping as if he was trying to find the right words. “No, I know. I just never thought about it like that?” It comes out more as a question, before he changes the subject, “Where do I turn, love?”

When the date ended, Lee stated that he was going to take me on two more dates. “Now, why two you may ask-”

“You already know I am going to ask why specifically two-”

“It’s just to see if what we are feeling is more towards the relationship side, or still just the friendship side. Fair?”

“Fair,” I giggle as I unbuckle. When I reach for the door I hear him open his. He walks me to the door, and that little bit of awkwardness settles in. But, it’s a good kind of awkward, new kind of awkward. “So, what are we gonna do?”

“Like tomorrow?”

“Well I have work til seven…”

“I’ll grab movies and can be over after you get out?”

The two of us shift slightly on the front porch, and I was surprised my family hadn’t come to see what we were doing. But it seemed we had the same thing in mind.

“Lee-”

“Can I-?” We spoke at once, making us laugh slightly at the awkwardness of it.

“Go ahead,” I giggle, taking a small step toward him, only now noticing the blush coloring his cheeks.

“Right, uh, can, could I possibly kiss you?” He shuffles his foot against the ground, “I mean you, we don’t have to, but-”

“Weren’t you the one who told me not to back track before letting the other person answer?” I giggle, now letting him see that I had closed most of the space between us.

He lets out a small laugh, “Yeah, I guess I did.” His eyes flicker from my eyes to my lips before his hand cups my cheek and leans in, my hands falling to rest against his chest. The kiss is soft, and it may have taken a bit for everything to get comfortable, but the blush on our faces was enough to make us both giggle.

Let’s just say, those two weeks were filled with more than just those two dates. Leon ended up meeting my closest friends, and spending a lot of time with me when I wasn’t at work. We even spent some time with his aunt and uncle’s house on days we wanted to get away from everyone else, but those were limited.

“I know you told me about him,” Ginny whispers as the two of us walk up from her boyfriend’s family boat to grab our towels so we could go swimming. “But I didn’t realize how close you two were.” She’s teasing, of course, but it makes you smile back.

“I think I was just too blind to realize that he was right in front of me, but it is still early.”

“I think you look happier than ever before, but I think you have also matured. I really hope this works out for you. He really clicks with you, (Y/N).”

“I hope so too.”

~

Leon is an amazing boyfriend, but there are some things that are just off. Some of the things are easily debunked since he lives in a different country, but some of the things are just weird. Like on our lazy-day study dates, Leon would describe things that weren’t something I had ever heard of.

“Lee, what should I draw?” I ask as he slides in behind me on the floor, replaying the movie he put on after he finished his homework.

“Hmm,” he takes a sip of his drink before offering it to me. “A wooloo? Wooloos are cute.”

I twist in my seat to raise an eyebrow at him, “What’s a wooloo?”

“Its, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “like you have sheep here, and we have wooloos-”

“So it’s a sheep?”

“But better.”

“How is it better?” I laugh, taking a sip of his tea which causes me to wrinkle my nose in disgust.

“It just is, it’s so fluffy.” He laughs, taking back his tea and trying to reposition me so that I am pressed against his chest. “I’ll describe it, and then you try and draw it and we will see if it looks the same.”

This was one of the easier things to explain, the drawing challenges he gave me on lazy days. However, when it came to other things, that raised some concerns. Like when his boss continued to call when Leon obviously had given him his schedule.

Leon let out an annoyed groan as his phone lit up next to him while we were cuddled up on the couch at my house. The name that came up was 'Rose.’ “Sorry, love, let me get this.” He hums as he untangles himself from me to walk out of the room. “Chairman, how are you?”

When Lee came back, he looks fatigued and annoyed. “You alright, Lee?”

“Yeah, just my boss. You know how he is.” Lee mutters, sitting to get settled when his phone buzzes again. He groans again before he sighs softly at who texted him. He uses one hand to swipe out a text before settling back next to me, tugging me into his side. “Raihan just texted because he knows Rose called me, when he knows to call on the weekends if he needs something.”

“Rose?”

“My boss, he can be a bit annoying. But I have been gone most of the year when usually I’m there. He is just going to be more on my case until I graduate.” Lee glances at me, and notices the concern crossing my features, making him smile and cup my cheek. “Nothing to worry about, love. I’ll call him before my class tomorrow and settle the stuff he wants me to do.”

However, Lee got pulled away earlier that evening by his boss’s assistant. He apologized a dozen times, but after not ever seeing this before I could only assume this was what I had been missing the past two years. One of the final things that was weird was how his extended family thought of his home country.

“How come Galar isn’t on the map?” I ask, standing in his aunt and uncle’s house, looking up at their world map mural while Leon grabs us a drink.

Before Lee can explain, his uncle interrupts. “Because the damn place isn’t seen as a real place. It’s a myth to the rest of the damn world.”

“Jefferson!” His aunt calls, annoyance evident in her voice.

“What! It shouldn’t exist!” He growls as he walks into the kitchen, the argument already starting.

I turn my head and look over at Lee, his eyes downcasted to the floor. I move, taking the glasses from his hands before slowly wrapping my arms about his waist. “Will you tell me about your hometown? You always tell me you’ll tell me about the place you grew up, but we never get the chance to.”

I hear him sigh, eyes lifting to look at my face. He gives me a soft smile squeezing me in a hug before turning me in his arms so that my back is pressed to his front, directly in front of the mural.

“Galar is right about here,” his finger brushes against the paint. “And Postwick, which is a small village outside of Wedgehurst. It’s filled with fields and small houses that are covered in vines and flowers…”

Despite all the weird things that have occurred, Leon is one hell of a great guy. My family adores him, makes comments all the time that they hope he sticks around, and after dating him for two years, he has still done just that. But, now Leon is graduating in a few weeks, and we don’t know exactly where our relationship will go. What we do know is that we would like it to be for the long-run, but only time will tell.

“I have a question for you,” Lee’s voice carries across my family’s office where the two of us were settled to do homework.

“Shoot,” I mutter, typing in another sentence to the paper that was due at the end of the week.

“You always ask about Galar, and my family-”

“Only because you know basically everything about me, and the stuff I know about you is your hometown, your mom, and your little brother Hop.” I hum, twirling in my chair to face him.

Leon is smiling at me, sitting on the couch diagonal from me. He shakes his head and chuckles. “Why don’t you come for the summer.”

I blink at him before standing and sitting next to him. “Come to Galar? Lee, I have one more summer I can work until my last two semesters. You know that-”

“You have clinicals all next summer, I know.” He cups my cheek, smiling softly. “That’s why you would work while you were there. All I have to do is talk to my boss and he could figure something out for you.”

“I don’t have a passport.”

“Then I guess you will have to get a passport! C'mon, (Y/N), come home with me. Let me show you where I grew up.”

I make a face in fake thought before giggling. “Guess I better get a passport.”

Lee let out a whoop before pulling me to stand and spinning us in a circle.

Maybe all the weirdness would end with that one trip, a trip that never happened.

————————————————- 

A/N: Hey hey everyone! I am really excited for you all to see where this story goes! Let me know if you wanna be tagged so you know when the next chapter comes out! ~CG

Masterlist

[eye-raq]

Lethal Lust.

A snippet.

Rage flowed through him like molten lava.

His fury sprang to life.

His edge of irritation had definitely returned.

Today, at approximately 3:15 am, on Saturday, he was wearing a suit. A Harrogate Black Indochino suit made with 95% Merino Wool, and only 5% luxurious Cashmere; which was a shame because it added warmth, softness, and lightness. His feet were covered in D-ring detail Monogram Patent Leather formal dress shoes by Burberry. Fixing his silver cufflinks with obvious aggressiveness, he began to walk the length of the hallway.

It wasn’t a typical hallway located in a fancy banquet or ballroom. No. It was narrow and smelly. Windowless, and ancient. Gloomy with a sadistic secret. Hideously colored. Cold and annoyingly stuffy. And to top it all off, accompanied with flickering fluorescent light bulbs and walls with chipped off-white paint. When he walked,  you could hear the sound of his dress shoes bouncing off of the hollow walls. His hands were clasped behind his back casually, whistling to himself a random catchy tune he came up with. Godspeed to the person he was looking for, the one that earned him a bloody lip that leaked onto his once perfectly crisp and white dress shirt.

This was child’s play. Hide and seek was for five-year-olds named Sally, Susie, Billy, and Mikey. So much for trying to be a different kind of horror. No matter how much he veered away from that narrative, people still found him to be like Micheal Myers. How he couldn’t tell you. Micheal was clearly otherworldly and not human. As for him, he was all human. One gunshot to the head and he would drop to his knees with eyes as wide as saucers, falling forehead first in a pool of blood. One quick step and a precise strike with a Karambit knife would slice open his gut leading to a slow, yet painful death.

Speaking of knives, he was currently holding a kukri: a middle Asia knife that is weighed in the front. It gives the user more downward force and power. Commonly used to chop down tree limbs, or in his case...human limbs.

With sharp ears like a wolf, he could hear breathing. Struggling, pained breathing. It was coming from his right. Oh, how nice...a dark room with a tiny rusted window that reminded you of a dank basement that belonged to a serial killer. Funny...he was a serial killer. Not like a Ted Bundy, or a Jeffrey Dahmer. Nah, those were the kinds he went after. Those were the ones who ended up here in his secret layer holding on to their last breaths before the final image they see is the morgue lights.

He could taste blood. His anger felt so good but it would feel even better if he just had that son of a bitch. His nostrils flared. With twitching eyes, he made his way into that pitch black room like he had night vision goggles on. With his hunting and tracking skills, he makes his way slyly into the room, twirling that Kukri knife in hand skillfully like a switchblade. Taking in a deep breath, then exhaling, he finally speaks.

“Funny...I actually thought to tie your legs with a chain but the urge to kill you was eating away at me. Excuse my fault...you won’t have long to worry about that shit anyway.”

Moving his eyes from left to right, he walks along the cold concrete wall, dragging that knife across it with every step.

“You won’t believe what I have in my hand. It’s your Kukri. You’re familiar with those, right? You use them a lot when you murder all those girls, correct? I can understand why it gets the job done.”

He takes the knife and places it firmly in his grip, walking with a rigid form. He could smell the alcohol and infection on him and it was only a matter of time before he unleashed again on his prey. His disgusting prey. The prey who preyed on little girls...one, in particular, Samara Jenkins.

—————-

15 hours ago:

“This is NBC 6, South Florida News. Today, Miami Police found the body of the missing six-year-old girl: Samara Ella Jenkins. Daughter to pastors of Heavenly Home Baptist Church, Ertha Jenkins, and Sydney Jenkins. Their daughter had been missing for over two weeks now. Miami police have been searching day in, and day out for this missing pure soul, and today...they finally made a discovery.”

Erik watched while the news reporter drowns on. The camera scanned the Everglades. It looked particularly dry and withering; a fucking Gator central. With narrow hawk eyes, a single vein appearing in the middle of his forehead, he took in the news he really wanted to hear, no matter how hard it was to listen. He needed to listen. It was his God-given duty to listen.

“Young Samara was found here in the wetlands wrapped in a trash bag, surrounded by Alligators. It took great difficulty at first, but the Police have confirmed that it is indeed Samara. The family has asked for privacy at this time, and the immediate finding of her murderer.”

Pausing his TV, Erik got up from his seated position, walking through his living room and towards the kitchen. His steel toe Doc Martens dragged across the freshly placed tile of his Miami apartment, walking past the black marble kitchen island and directly towards his office. It was time. If his memory serves him, it had been almost a month since his last kill. The urge was building up so much within him he was ready to combust. The sound of his Father's old grandfather clock that was given to him as a gift before he died ticked in the background eerily. Finally, standing in front of his fireproof wall safe, Erik cracked his combination. Pulling open the door slowly, he came face to face with his treat.

He’d like to call it… a souvenir. He took pride in it like a child did a sand castle on the beach. They served as trophy cases to him. There, lies a box with blood slides. In it housed 46 slides of his victims. Taking the box, Erik places it on top of his glass desk. Opening the box, he ran a single finger gently across the top of the slides as the glass slightly clattered. At times, he would refer to the slides as “my secret” or other times, “my pride kills...my friends.”

It’s funny that he called them friends. A few he caught the attention of by raising a glass with an easy-going smile. For others, he would pick up a random conversation from maybe bumping shoulders about the Miami weather and how shitty their jobs were. Or even, dropping a hint of sexual interest that always seemed to work since his looks were beyond dismal. Ordinary. Regular. No. Erik was handsome. The kind of handsome you would find in a Calvin Klein add or sitting in VIP at some high-end club surrounded by models. Not a woman could walk by and not stop and stare.

“I guess I gotta make it 47,” he lets out controlled breaths, eyes watering with anger. The person's blood who would reside on the empty forensic slide goes by the name of Dean Orrin. 38 years old and an ex-military man. A man who should be registered as a Pedophile but instead walks the streets of South Beach proud and cocky. This man, what a son of a bitch. This redneck.  Such a waste of fresh air and space. The raging alcoholic and child abuser worked as a Respiratory Therapist at a children’s hospital. Can you believe it? A fucking children’s hospital. His shifts were Monday through Thursday, 9 am to 5 pm. He drove a 1992 Ford Mustang in red, seats covered in fresh leather.

Too bad the vintage car didn’t match this man’s physical appearance.

He was short, balding, square-shaped with a beer belly and a faux-friendly face that belonged to a white man you wouldn’t dare assume was a murderer of young black and Latina girls ranging from the ages of 4 to 10.

Erik would sit outside of Dean’s Miami Shores home on Ne 92nd Street. He lived alone, kept the doors unlocked to give off a friendly vibe,  picked up the newspaper every day around 8:00 am, and ate the same old Salisbury steak TV dinner around 7:45 pm in front of his flat screen; his prized possession. One evening while Dean was away, Erik took the time to investigate Dean’s home. Of course, he would find child pornography on his computer, and even worse an entirely dark room with cardboard boxes filled with photographs of his victims bound and naked.

Erik picked up a picture of little Samara, afraid and weak with ropes around her little body. His eyes watered with rage, biting down on his tongue and ignoring the pain. He felt worse pain anyway. This was sickening. How could you hurt such an innocent child? Such pure light? It made no sense to him. Clearly, Dean had something deep and traumatic going on with him to resort to this type of lifestyle. Erik had demons too, and he sometimes wondered if they were all one and the same; a family of murderers United. He’d keep Samaras photo, it would only serve to kill Dean even more. Slide number 47 would be clean no longer.

Erik has built a file on this man for over a month now. After finding out about the murder of his Neighbors young Latina daughter, Cassie, age 8, he began to piece together the parts that Miami Day Police failed to do.

Dean’s way of going about doing things was getting to know the children that came through Giving Hands Children’s Hospital in South Beach. He would give them treats, learn things about them, and extract whatever information he needed from their files. No personal contact involving the parents, no meetups or anything, just getting the information and kidnapping the children.

He didn’t do it so often. Dean’s stretch would be at least a month or two in between. Samara was his fourth murder. Erik broke it down one rainy night in his office how Dean successfully snatched Samara and killed her. Heavenly Home Baptist Church held fundraisers for their neighborhood. The last night Samara was seen, only two weeks ago on a Thursday, was the night of Youth Day. It was an open house for anyone to come in and be a part of because Heavenly Hope housed generous, God-fearing people. Little Samara took her badminton racket to the back lawn, never telling her mother she was going out for some fresh air. She’d been gone for over an hour and Miss Ertha made a plate filled with Samaras favorites.

Well, you could probably guess what happened next, right? Everyone at that church searched high and low for her. Her parents and siblings had sleepless nights, signs and billboards were made, all in a span of two weeks. It hurts deep like an open wound. Erik never had kids, probably never will...but still...he could feel their pain. No matter, Erik was a man of his word. He wasn’t great in combat with a keen skill in blood spatter analysis, tracking, and weapons training for nothing. He’d put all of that to good use.

———

Saturday, April 1st: the day of fools. 1:30 am.

Sitting in an expensive suit that he intended to wear on a date, Erik finally finds the perfect opportunity to catch Dean. Erik could only hope that his date wouldn’t be angry with him, after all, she practically begged.

This motherfucker couldn’t be serious, could he?

He was already drunk off of Jack Daniels and now he was gearing towards entering an 18 and over club on Ocean Drive. The rage in Erik boiled his blood. Was Dean trying to age up his victims now? Is cockiness getting to him since he hadn’t been caught yet?

All of these things added to Erik’s fury, but the fury was what he needed to stay amped up. Anger for Erik made him more proud. He was correct to lay down an extra layer of plastic this time.

“Sick motherfucker,” Erik shakes his head, a single finger tapping at the steering wheel of his burner car that he used for kills; some beat up old Chevy with a stolen license plate.

This vigilante never sleeps when it comes to a kill.

Just stay in the shadows, Erik…

Night time is your time.

You have to be cunning to outwit your foes. The flashing club lights ignited his face purple, red, and blue. Bodies moved about in packs, sweat dripping and fingers intertwined. Erik could almost feel the heart beats racing among him. Young and naive they all were, especially the young girl Dean was eyeing.

She looked to be about 19, a drink in her hand and braids so long they swept the backs of her legs. She twirled, shouted to the music, and twerked in her own little world. Dean was compelled. Erik could see the killing fetish in his eyes so deep his pupils dilated an almost pitch black. Erik wanted badly to choke him up right here and finish the job but then that wouldn’t help him, would it? Keeping to the shadows, Erik watched until it was time for him to make his move.

———-

“Feel like making a deal with the devil?”

The young girl with honeyed skin and full lips turns to Dean, a little jumpy from being caught off guard. She regarded him, eyes squinted.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, do you feel like making a deal with the devil?”

Dean pulls out a baggy filled with LSD, swinging it in front of her face. The girl was tempted for a second, that was until she looked back at Dean and saw the sweat covering his face, a faded tattoo of a pentagram on the inside of his wrist, and the maniacal way he licked his lips.

“Uhm, no thanks. I’m okay.”

The young girl gave him a generous smile before sauntering away towards the back of the club. Clearly, Dean didn’t like being told no. He stood still for what felt like minutes, staring at her retreating form until she disappeared around a corner and out of sight. Like clockwork, Dean follows, a hand deep in his pocket and shoulders hunched. It was time, Erik had to make a move now before the young girl became Dean’s new victim.

Ignoring lingering stares of passion that he didn’t like nor accepted, Erik maneuvered through the crowd as they parted like the Red Sea for him, finally around that corner and hot on Dean’s trail. Apparently, the young girl wasn’t going to the ladies. There was an exit straight ahead, the LED of the sign almost blinding and cryptic. With much more speed now, Erik dashes to the back door, black leather gloved hand pushing open the swinging doors.

His dress shoes met a puddle, and his hands clenched into fists. There was no sign of either of them.

Fuck.

Deciding to make a left, Erik followed his path down the narrow garbage filled alley, head moving from left to right to find him. To his luck, he could hear struggling, choking breaths. Keeping close to the wall, Erik looked around that corner at the edge of the alley, coming face to face with the devil himself.

Dean had the young girl smashed against the brick wall, his hand lazily rubbing under her skirt. Every time she tried to scream, Dean would smash her face further into the brick.

“Shut up...shut up...shut up...SHUT UP!!!” Dean yelled, spit flying and a snarl on his face. He looked red from anger.

“Keep still you black bitch!!!! Keep still or I will slit your fucking throat with my knife!”

Erik has seen enough now.

Pulling out his 9mm pistol with a silencer, Erik’s 20/20 sniper vision aided him as he aimed a bullet at Dean’s side, watching as the stout man fell to his knees in agonizing pain, releasing the young girl from his deadly grip. She kicked away and down the alley in the opposite direction, screaming in tears and limping. A life saved, and one before him ready to be taken away.

Erik watched with joy and triumph as Dean stared into the darkness with confusion and pain, rolling around in the mud, shit, piss, and garbage juice.

“WHOS THERE!!!!!!!!!!” He yelled between cries, blood staining his teeth.

“AM I GOING TO DIE?!!!PLEASE, NO. AM I GOING TO DIE HERE?!!!”

Erik made his way towards him, adjusting his gloves and storing away his gun. It was so dark, Dean couldn’t make him out, but he could hear his footsteps.

“OMG. Who’s there!!!!!!!!!!”

Erik picks Dean up one-handed by his collar, silencing him with a tranquilizer to the neck. Dean was now dead weight. Luckily, his car was parked on the other side of the alley, and the coast was clear.

———

“Wha? Where am I?”

Dean blinked twice, rubbing his right hand over his dry tears. Sniffling snot, wrists in pain from being wrapped in chains, Dean stares into the pitch black, figuring he had to be in the trunk of a car with the smell of gas and rubber. Was this his fate? Was God finally judging him?

Death clearly doesn’t discriminate.

He took the lives of young girls, so now the price to pay was his life.

And to think he had a chance tonight with another kill. Maybe, it was too soon to go out for another thrill.

He could feel his death.

The amount of pain he was in, he felt like he was dead already. Ah, now he remembers. Someone shot him in the ribs back in that alley. Aiming for his respiratory technique, Dean breathed slowly and steadily, trying his hardest to avoid the feeling of his own blood dripping from his gunshot wound. If only he could apply pressure without bleeding out so much.

Whoever this person was wanted to take their time with him.

The sound of the car door slamming followed by the car shaking from the impact made Dean go stiff. It was time to meet His executioner. And when his time is up, would they tell his story? Make him another missing person? Dean much rather be seen in the spotlight like the Zodiac Killer had been. Too bad he wasn’t swift enough. Was it a parent of one of his victims? an off duty cop who just had to bring work home?

Whistling began.

“What?” Dean’s voice was scratchy and pathetic sounding.

With the trunk now open, Dean could feel the humid air of Miami pour in. Catching his breath and bracing himself, Dean came face to face with an unfamiliar foe. He had dreads braided back, a crisp suit that must have cost a fortune, hands covered with leather gloves and eyes so cold they could petrify you. He looked like a mercenary, or maybe a hit man. He was young, could be around early thirties. He smiled sadistically. Fuck. Was this bastard as crazy as him?

“It takes a monster to destroy a monster.”

That statement alone was bone chilling. He had the same kill stare but with a different goal.

“You’re playing my fucking game now. No little girls to touch and kill here. You should fear me.”

Swiftly, The unknown man grabbed Dean by the neck, pulling him up and out of the trunk. Dean rolled onto his elbow, pain shooting through his arm and dirt filling his lungs. It was so overbearing that he felt oxygen deprived. With his feet failing him, Dean tries to crawl away, but of course, that wouldn’t work, he was too fat and too weak.

“You can crawl all you want. Your fate remains the same, motherfucker.” Like the Hulk himself gripped his legs, Dean was dragged back across the ground, feet flapping and nails clawing at rocks and dirt. He could feel his skin splitting. With one struggling kick, his foot met the man’s face, bloodying his lip. No words were said then. His eyes were ice cold and demon like. Dean didn’t know what hit him, but those eyes made him get on his feet, and he ran into the abandoned building straight ahead. He didn’t hear the man’s footsteps, guessing that maybe he was too hurt to follow him and find him.

Little did Dean know his weapon of choice: a Kukri knife fell out of his back pocket. Erik has that very knife in his possession now, more than excited to use Dean’s weapon against him. This was going to be one hell of a bloody night.

——-

It was just too easy for him. He needed a challenge. That’s it...a challenge. Maybe a Russian who escaped prison and decided to go on a genocide killing spree. Or a calculated serial killer who played him at his own game. Dean was easy prey. They all had the same motive: hide in the most typical places, pray to themselves and breathe so loud the people down the road could hear, or worse, bleed out and leave a bloody trail. Dean’s wound was beginning to smell. Erik’s sense of smell when it came to infected, rotting, flesh was nearly non-existent. It didn’t bother him one bit.

All the lives he took when he killed in Afghanistan, Iraq, the States apart of JSOC and when he was an ex-assassin made it that way. The scars on his skin were there to prove it. Now, he did the kills without taking orders from no one.

“Dean...you fat ass motherfucker. Dirty, disgusting, sick, smelly ass, redneck, motherfucker.”

Erik drew in his bottom lip between his teeth, the sound of the leather gloves on his hand crunching from how tightly his fists were clenched.

“Why little Black and Latina girls, Dean? What’s so special about them? Is it the fact that they aren’t as privileged as your kind? The colonizers?”

Dean was so fucking stupid. How could someone go so long with precisely killing four little girls but hide where Erik could see him? In a dirty corner filled with old dusty crates and broken glass shards, Erik could see the silhouette of Dean Orrin. His body was practically leaning over from how weak he was. All that blood loss failed him. No energy, no will power, just dead weight.

Letting out a stressed sigh, Erik pocketed the Kukri, walking over to Dean. Picking him up by the back of his hoodie, hopefully choking him, he began to drag him across the dusty cobweb filled floor, startling him and causing him to scream.

“You a bitch, you know that? You kill little girls like you a man but wanna scream like a woman because you are about to die. I knew chicks more gangsta than you.”

Erik laughs hard, finally back in that hallway and headed towards his destination.

“Tell me,” Erik yanks him, hearing him choke up.

“Why little girls? Got raped when you were a kid? Touched your ex little daughter in her sleep and got a hard-on? What?!!!” Erik releases Dean, turning to yoke him up forcefully. Dean’s blurry and dizzy vision made Erik look like five Erik’s. He could still see the hard eyes though, they could never go forgotten.

“ANSWER. MY. FUCKING. QUESTION.”

Erik’s breathing was the only sound, Dean’s mind forcing him to speak but words couldn’t form. That pissed Erik off...oh...that made him mad. Erik’s eyes flickered a moment, before taking one hand to retrieve the Kukri, twirling it between his fingers, and ramming it into dean’s side, opening his gunshot wound further.

Dean’s screams were suspended in his throat, eyes watery and teeth grinding. His breath hit Erik’s nose causing him to drop him on the floor, back to dragging his lard ass leaving a bloody trail.

——

The old morgue was famous back in 95’ but it was closed due to concerns with keeping the dead cold until it was time for burial. It was gated off with grass growing so high gators could live here. No one dares to trespass, leaving it as a haunted destination to never visit. Erik had it soundproofed, and he fixed it up himself. He never used the morgue refrigerators, what was the point anyway? He didn’t care to slow up the decomposition phase. His job was to hunt, kill, and discard of the parts. Currently, in this fully double plastic-covered room, Erik had Dean on an operating table in the charnel house, head and feet restrained. He blinked up at the lights, failing to keep his eyes opened. Dean was already pale, now he looked almost chalky with skin leatherlike. Erik removed his suit jacket, hanging it neatly on a nearby coat rack. The sleeves to his white oxford shirt were rolled up to his elbows, surgical gloves on his hands and an entire surgical gown with goggles included to shield the blood splatter.

A medium force (velocity) impact spatter:

Produced with more energy or force than gravity.

The force of the impact causes the blood to break into smaller size splatters relative to the amount of force applied.

This type of splatter is usually seen in blunt force, stabbings, and secondary splatters.

Produced when the majority of larger drops of blood are broken into smaller spatters with diameters of 2-4 mm.

The force associated with this type of spatter is greater than 25 ft per second.

His first victim, Alejandra Lopez was just 4 years old. It was a rainy week in Miami; they called for thunderstorms around 90%. She was riding her little training wheel bike colored blue and pink down a small suburb in Little Havana. Her slicker hood was up, rain droplets shielding her vision but so what? she was on a mission. Her dad nicknamed her little trainer, speedy. Giggling, she made a sharp turn, only to fall off and in the gutter. She winced in pain slightly, but Alejandra was tough. Her mother was passed out drunk on the couch while her father was pulling doubles at the auto shop. Alejandra carefully lifted from the gutter, whipping off the mud from her slicker. As her doe grey eyes lifted, she came face to face with her murder. He struck her over the head with a lead pipe, watching as her tiny body fell to the concrete, cracking her skull further…

Erik couldn’t sleep after seeing that on the news.

So terrible.

The thought of that crossed his mind just now, causing him to pick up a broken lead pipe he found near a construction site on his way home from the beach. Twirling that lead pipe in hand, he turns to Dean, clearing his throat.

“You remember Alejandra? In Little Havana?”

Dean swallows spit, his eyes struggling to look to his right where Erik was standing.

“I-I-Yeah..yeah the little Mexican girl. I-I remember…” Dean began to cry.

“You remember how you used a pipe to crack her skull?” Erik’s grip on the pipe grew tight and painful.

“...yes…”

“How did that make you feel?”

“...good...but please...don’t…”

“There will be blood, Dean. And guess what? I got a lead pipe.”

Erik began to walk forward, pipe resting on his shoulder.

“WHO ARE YOU TO DECIDE MY FATE?!!! HUH??!!!!!!” Dean screamed at the top of his lungs, causing himself to cough up blood. He was going to die anyway, no use in screaming.

“I’m the Judge. Jury. And Executioner. Don’t fucking bark if you can’t bite.” He sounded baneful and destructive.

Everything went silent, that was until the pipe broke the wind from how forceful Erik’s blow was. Erik aimed that pipe to Dean’s head, the sound of his temporal bone splitting music to his ears. Dean shook, fingers twitching, and eyes wide with pain. His nose began to leak, eyes watering in agony. At this point, he could beg for instant death. Erik did damage for sure, his brain must be ricocheting in his skull right now.

An ugly laugh escaped Erik’s mouth, the sound of the pipe hitting plastic only audible to him since Dean’s hearing was no more.

“I-I-I w-won’t Let you-you…” Dean chokes on blood. His heart rate began to slow further.

“The question isn’t who’s going to let me. It’s who’s going to stop me?” Erik took this as an opportunity to pull out his Kukri. Yes, his now.

“I can imagine how many times you wipe this clean. Fucking sick...and I thought my traumatic past was bad? I can’t imagine yours…”

Holding the knife firm, Erik brought it to Dean’s right hand, cutting it off cleanly. At this point, Dean couldn’t even scream. He was already dying, all he could do was wither in pain. Cutting the hands of a pedophile. You touch young girls and murder them, you get your hands amputated. His dick getting cut off sounded great but Erik didn’t even want to SEE IT. Without saying another word, his other hand was amputated. The blood splatter Erik knew well stained the plastic.

With a clenched jaw and savage eyes, Erik takes Dean by his greasy head, bringing that Kukri to his throat.

“This is for Samara, and all the other little girls you killed. They have no fucking life, now you won’t.”

Erik twirled that knife, swiping across Dean’s neck quickly, watching the blood splatter briefly before slowing to a drip. The life could be seen leaving Dean Orrin’s eyes under those morgue lights.

——-

First off, it’s important to understand what dead bodies are like. They’re very heavy, they absolutely stink, they attract flies and vermin practically from the word go, they release a lot of unpleasant substances, they bloat and they can even explode. Draining the fluids as quickly as possible and mixing them with a lot of bleach before flushing them would prevent this.

Should the body be found, you need to make it as difficult as possible to identify. This means destroying the teeth, finger, and toe prints, and the DNA. The first two are easy, the last one is more tricky. Erik wasn’t a forensic scientist, so he just settled for the teeth and toes. Living in Miami, water was an easy source to dump bodies. Erik used to settle for burying them, but that took hours and a lot of footprints left behind. To make his life easier, he simply dumped the bodies far out in the ocean while taking a routine route on his boat. Applying weights to the feet and covering them with heavy duty body bags always helped him out. This was the only way he could dispose of the evidence before the police got wind of it, which they never did.

Erik wasn’t a wanted man, at least, not as Erik Stevens. When he was Killmonger, international police wanted his neck. Killmonger came out to play when he took the lives of vermin to satisfy his needs, but he went away when he did his daily routines. Believe it or not, Erik had friends, a foster sister, and maybe a possible girlfriend. It was odd, Erik considered himself to be asexual. He didn’t find romantic attraction or love for a woman. It never interested him in having a romantic relationship with a woman. He had sex, though it was more so because he could not because he wanted to. Being asexual had nothing to do with his dick, it was about the sexual and romantic attraction that didn’t spark his interest. It’s not like he didn’t try. There were days where he wanted that, other days he just didn’t and they were most days. Erik was attractive, rough around the edges, a lady killer without even trying. He needed to move on, make it look normal, kill those who deserved it in secret. These were the words of his late foster father who was a fireman.

Erik…

He could hear his father's voice in his head.

Be strong, Erik. Remember, use your disorder for the greater good. Kill those who deserve to be punished...

With a heavy sigh and all his upper arm strength, Erik heaved Dean Orrin’s body over the railing of his boat and into the ocean water. So long Dean Orrin. The pedophile. The abuser. The murderer. Erik took out the tiny glass vial of his horrid blood, twirling it in hand before pocketing it once more, turning to grab up his Hennessy.

“Ah, they playing Wu-Tang tonight,” he smiles as if it were any other evening, sitting back on his suede all-white sofa with his dress shoe covered feet resting on the fancy glass table.

Time to sleep on the water again.

@goddessofthundathighs @hearteyes-for-killmonger @panthergoddessbast @blowmymbackout @chaneajoyyy @bartierbakarimobisson @madamslayyy

————-

If you want to be tagged, let me know.

[femmefatclle]

Hello everyone, I’m Ivy and as per usual, I do things in the last minute. Bellow is everything about my girl Ella who is one big mess but I’m planning huge things for her in the near future, so if you can help me to make it messier - it’ll be even better. The intro got a bit long so everyone who gets to the end, gets a present!

✎⌠madelaine petsch. cis female. she/her⌡❝ — well, look who’s just arrived ! if it isn’t the one and only elienna willard. though, around here they’re known as the femme fatale. don’t tell ‘em i said this but the twenty three year old assistant to a photographer / intern at a small firm kinda has a reputation of being deceitful and self-indulgent. but y’know, they can be versatile and intellectual too. typical aquarius. anyways, welcome home and stay safe ella !❞  

tw for death, abuse, attempted suicide, addiction and attempted sexual assault

NAME: Elienna Willard NICKNAME/S: Ell/Ella AGE: twenty-three GENDER: cis female PRONOUNS: she/her SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual HOMETOWN: Misty Hollow HEIGHT: 5′5 EYE COLOR: dark brown HAIR COLOR: red

/insert Madison Beer’s song - Dear society/

Elienna was born in Misty Hollow, Connecticut to Darius and Alice Willard. Her father was working as a car seller and her mother has a degree in bio engineering - it was known that she left her very promising career because of love after meeting Darius and moved with him in Misty Hollow.

As the years passed, her parents noticed that their daughter was showing signs of being way smarter than the average kids - it happened around the time when she was five years old. Apart from that she tended to stay away from most of the kids, closing herself in their house and showing much more interest in her mother’s books on bio engineering then socializing with people.

Growing up and being even more different because of her red hair, Elienna taught herself to use it as just another of her advantages, learning that manipulating and playing people is the only way she could keep her heart intact from the cruelty of those around her. She became really good at putting the right facade for different people, that way many thought of her of being two faced and even a cruel child. Yet her brain couldn’t make her immune from doing stupid things in the future.

When she was eleven her mother decided to leave her father and both of them moved to San Francisco. They lived there until Elienna graduated Golden Gate University with bachelor in business and pr at just 19 years old.

The university was the place she met her first and probably only real friend she’ll ever have. Best friend even. Because Elienna tended to appear as cold and distant, always standing away from people or acting as if they were beneath her, not to mention that she was way younger than all of the university students, her first months there were very difficult for her to adjust to. But then she met Sage. She was the complete opposite to all of Elienna’s constantly changing moods - three years older than her, wild, reckless, with short black hair and one-two small tattoos on her body, Sage was the light in the redheads life, taking her under her wing and then shoving her into the center of all the troubles.

Both of them became so close that for their second year they decided to move out together. Elienna’s mother was against it but eventually, seeing how happy for once her daughter was, she let this slide.

Sage was the first person who convinced Elienna to try alcohol, then cigarettes, then something else and something else until the vicious circle got all the way around. But having a closed confident, something she never had in her life made Elienna blind to how destructive their friendship was. After all it was all fun and games… until, in her third year, Elienna got way past the line - she eventually had gotten addicted to drugs and a lot of drinking. Her grades dropped, she was on the verge of being expelled because of not attending university for months and even her mother’s money weren’t about to fix things soon if something drastic wasn’t done.

This was the moment where her mother stepped in, trying to get Elienna out of Sage’s poisonous grip. In secret her mother put her in rehab against her will for two months so she could get clean and graduate. Indeed, that way her daughter got clean… but not from Sage’s friendship.

When she was 14, a photographer saw her as she and her mother were walking in one of the parks at San Francisco. Since natural redheads were rare to find, he asked to photograph her for fun, but then seeing that Elienna was natural in front of a camera, even with her shyness, he publicized his pictures. A lot of people were mesmerised by how pure and beautiful the girl looked so with that she even managed to get a few more photo shoots. Then, the era of Instagram appeared and Elienna easily became “star” there with over 16k followers at this time.

Her father died in a car accident five years ago, leaving his house to her. She refused to return to Misty Hollow for the funeral and later sold the property.

After graduation, her mother thought that she’ll continue her promising future in San Francisco, becoming one hell of a business woman, but the redhead surprised her when she announced that she was going back to her hometown. The reason - Sage managed to convince her how good it would be for her to go back to her hometown for a few months, a year maybe, reconnecting and healing from past wounds, before delving into the adulthood.

Going back to her hometown brought out a lot of memories. Since she wanted to try something new, Elienna got the job of an assistant to a photographer and used it as a way to get even better at her side “job” - modeling & being an Instagram star.

But as the time passed, Ell found out that with only being an assistant she couldn’t make much money, so she was forced to take on another job - this time, something close to her degree. Ell went on few interviews and became a business intern in one of the ‘biggest’ firms in town.

But then the strange obsession of her best friend came into her life. At this time both of them lived together again, partying and doing reckless stuff… until her friend got obsessed with the damn horror story of the town. Like, really obsessed. Strangely as it is, this was the thing that caused the first big problem in their friendship even if Elienna herself was a sucker for everything dark and dangerous that lurked in the town’s shadows.

Diving straight into the deep dark, Sage made Elienna follow her down with her. One of the last words Ell would remember that Sage had said to her was - If it wasn’t for me, your naive nature would’ve gotten you to the bottom. Now, with how popular you are and with the ability to make other people do your bidding, to be apart of something bigger then this shitty old town, you can be on top of all of them. So why are you still such a wailing bitch about it?

The next day Sage disappears.

It’s been almost two months now and no one knew what had happened to her. Elienna is a complete train wreck, practical living at the sheriff’s department and constantly posting on social media about what had happened, hoping that someone would help her find her missing friend. But with all the nasty rumours… deep down Elienna knows that she would never find her friend. At least, not alive. And sinking more and more into the pile of horrors this town has to offer, the redhead knows she’s not leaving soon.

Few months ago she was almost raped. That night Elienna was already drinking a little too much when all of it happened. It hurled her into emotionless black pit for a week, she even thought of pressing charges but at the end she didn’t do anything because Sage told her how terrible it would be for her reputation.

After the attempted sexual assault, at a moment of weakness, she thought about trying to kill herself. But when trying to do it, Elienna couldn’t take her life.

Recently she feels as if she’s stalked. And that’s when the anonymous messages start to appear…

Wow, if you’ve made it this far - congratulations! I already have full wc list posted on my blog and you can find it HERE. Ofc if you don’t find your muse into any of the positions - message me and I’d love to think of something with every single one of you. <333