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jokeringcutio · 7 months ago

Note

Can you make another one of the albert Shaw, but can it be a continuation from the neighbour when he meets her?

AN: Sure ♡ Enjoy :)

Drabble: Albert’s pretty neighbor - part 2

Fandom: The Black Phone (2022), Pairing: (AFAB) Reader x Albert Shaw/The Grabber Ratings: Mature Warnings: Older man x younger woman, attractive neighbor, giving you a free life hack in this, mutual attraction but neither dare act on it, crushing on a villain/the bad guy, thigh clenching, Reader likes Albert’s dog Samson.

The sun was beating down on your exposed skin. You were pulling weeds, dirty nails clawing at the earth, when you heard a soft whimper. Glancing up, you saw Samson, Albert’s hulking cane corso, watching you with those soulful eyes from the other side of the flowerbed. He was separated only from you by your neighbor’s fence, but looked like he would have jumped upon you if it hadn’t been there.

"Hey there, big guy," you cooed, wiping sweat from your brow, the sun a relentless predator above.

"Seems like Samson has taken a liking to you," came a deep, gravelly voice. Albert stood a few feet away, his chestnut hair tousled, grey-blue eyes gleaming under the falling sunlight.

"Does he now?" You chuckled, standing and brushing off your hands on your thighs. You edged closer to the fence, fingers lingering on the wooden slats. Samson's tail wagged, a slow thump against the ground.

"He's usually wary of strangers," Albert confessed, taking a step forward. His gaze never left you. "But you're different."

"Perhaps I'm attracted to the dangerous types,” you teased. The way Albert's eyes darkened, just for a second, made your skin tingle.

Had you said something wrong? Or right? "Or perhaps he senses kinship. He wants to be a good boy, I want to be a good girl," you quickly said, feeling a flutter in your stomach. "Perhaps," he murmured, almost to himself. He cleared his throat, shaking off whatever thought had gripped him. "How’s the garden coming along?"

"Slowly but surely," you sighed, glancing back at the tangled mess of plants. "Seems like every time I make progress, these weeds pop up."

"Gardening is a battle," he said softly, a strange warmth in his voice. His hands, rough and calloused, gripped the top of the fence. "But it's worth it. Beauty for all that effort."

"Yes, exactly." You smiled, feeling a connection, something unnamed sparking between you both. His presence was magnetic, drawing you in despite the age gap, despite the unknown shadows in his eyes.

"Need any help?" he offered, tilting his head, a lock of greying hair slipping over his forehead. He looked almost boyish, and you couldn't help but imagine what his touch might feel like, strong yet tender.

"That's kind of you, Albert, but…" you began, but he cut you off with a raised hand.

"Please. It's no trouble. Neighbors should help each other out." His voice was firm, authoritative, but there was an underlying softness that made you relent.

"All right then," you agreed, heart pounding as he slipped through the gate into your yard. Samson followed, a silent shadow at his master's heel.

"Let’s start over there," Albert suggested, pointing to a particularly stubborn patch of weeds. You nodded, feeling the heat of his body as he moved past you, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of cologne mixed with sweat.

"Thanks, Albert. You're very kind,” you said, kneeling down beside him. His smile was warm, but his eyes, those piercing eyes, held secrets. You wished you knew what thoughts made them darken with desire. Was it you? Your presence?

You suppressed a slight shiver. Having him near, smelling his scent, and feeling his hot skin next to your own was enticing.

"Just being neighborly," he replied, his tone light. But you couldn't shake the feeling that beneath the surface, something darker lurked. Something dangerous.

"Well, I appreciate it," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. As you worked side by side, the distance between you seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken words and hidden desires.

"Anytime," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You couldn't help but wonder what lay behind that charming facade, what shadows hid within his heart.

But for now, you let the moment linger, enjoying the rare closeness, the fleeting connection. Even if it was built on a foundation of lies and darkness.

"Anytime," he repeated, almost like a promise. And you couldn't help but hope he'd keep it.

A sudden, sharp clatter came from within Albert's house. You both froze, your breath catching in your throat. Your eyes instantly flicked to the side. Samson was there, wagging his tale, happily circling around the two of you as you worked on the flowerbed side by side.

So it wasn’t him. But Albert lived on his own, right?

A burglar?

"Did you hear that?" you asked, instantly rising from your knees.

The sound seemed to have come from his basement. A tiny window that you hadn’t noticed before, situated behind the back, lay at the source of the sound.

"Probably just Samson knocking something over," Albert said quickly, standing up and brushing off his hands. His smile was tight, eyes flickering with an uneasy light.

“Samson’s right here,” you reasoned, trying to peer through his basement window. "It sounded like it came from downstairs." Your heart pounded harder against your ribs, curiosity mingling with unease.

"Must have been the ironing plank,” Albert pressed, blocking your way before you could peer through the bars of the tiny window located slightly above the grass line. You would need to go on your hands and knees for that, but Albert prevented you from doing that, holding out a reassuring hand to signal everything was all right.

And he must be right. If he wasn’t worried, why should you be? A burglar? Unlikely. Nothing as exciting as that had happened in Denver for ages. You were scaring yourself now for no reason.

“Did some of my ironing there earlier today,” he explained in such a calm voice that you felt the tenseness leave your muscles. You slowly started to relax, noticing the delighted spark in Albert’s eyes as he watched you visibly getting less tense.

“It probably fell over. Might not have set it against the wall properly," he insisted, his tone firmer now.

"How about coming inside for a drink? It's awfully hot out here."

You considered for a moment, then nodded. "Sure, why not?"

Albert led the way into his house, his demeanor shifting from tense to overly casual. You followed, eyes darting around, taking in the neatness of his home. He clearly lived here on his own. No signs of belongings of anyone else. Not that you expected it. You knew he was a bachelor in his fifties, working an ordinary job and living an ordinary life.

Plus, you had seen his home before. He often invited you over for a drink. You figured it made him feel less lonely, that it was nice for him to talk to someone. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to be near him. You took every opportunity to be by his side – to hear more about him, listen to that deep and dark voice, watch those bright blue eyes roam over your body, and fantasize that there could be more between you.

Yet… Everything is in its place, but too perfect. Too controlled.

Samson padded behind you, tail still waggling with delight. You flashed him a small smile before looking back at Albert who had come to a halt and was waiting for you to catch up.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing to the living room. He disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with two cans of soda. He handed you one, fingers grazing yours for just a second longer than necessary.

"Thanks," you murmured, taking a sip. His kitchen lacked a certain variety, you mused silently.

You watched him how his eyes darkened, unreadable, as he took a long sip.

"So? Ironing eh?" you said. “Share?”

"Not much to tell," he replied with a shrug, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper. "Did the laundry.”

“You don’t seem to wear anything that needs ironing. Not a lot anyway,” you said, feeling the heat rush through you as you realized you were looking him up and down. His pants perhaps, you thought.

“I wear shirts,” he said in his defense, to which you sputtered and stifled a laugh.

“Hang them to dry on a clothes hanger. No ironing needed, guaranteed.”

The thoughtful expression on Albert’s face made you laugh openly now.

“What? You never thought of that before?”

“Not yet, no,” he reluctantly admitted, but with that small curl of his lips that indicated he enjoyed this banter. His fingers curled tighter around the can he was holding. The fact you noticed this betrayed how you fixated on him.

“I’m just an average guy, trying to get by," he murmured, voice low and not average at all. Not with the way he made the heat rush between your legs, squeezing them together and silently wishing he hadn’t noticed. You clung a little tighter to your own soda can as well, hoping the coolness of the can would cool you down as well.

"Somehow, I don't believe that," you teased, leaning forward slightly. "Everyone has their secrets."

"Maybe," he said softly, his gaze locking onto yours. "But some things are better left buried."

"Is that what you think?" you challenged, feeling a thrill run through you.

"Absolutely," he replied, voice dropping to a whisper.

A silence fell as you tried to think of something clever to say. Your eyes rested upon him, curious, filled with want. You wanted to know more about him, wanted to know why he seemed to have this dangerous edge to him when all he had shown you to be was a nice and helpful neighbor. Attractive too.

Was it all just in your mind?

That was when you noticed Albert sat frozen. His lips parted, his fingers twitching. And only then did you realize that Albert's hand hovered above your knee, fingertips trembling. The air between you thickened, charged with unspoken desire. Your breath hitched, heart pounding like a wild drum.

You wanted him to touch you, needed it.

But just like that… he pulled back, eyes flickering with restraint. He didn’t allow you the time to interpret what it was that you had seen in his eyes, for he turned away from you, twisting his torso as he set his can aside. His gaze shifted, catching on the clock on the wall.

"Damn," he hissed, low and urgent. "I have to go."

"Work?" you asked, voice tinged with regret.

"Yes," he said, standing abruptly. The spell shattered, reality rushing back in.

You knew he had traded a shift with one of his colleagues. He had told you earlier when you were both working in your garden. So, for him to announce he had to leave shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

You followed him to the door, each step heavy with unmet longing. You watched as he picked up his vest on the way, throwing it on, grabbing a bag he must have prepared earlier with… dinner?

Then he pushed the door open, holding it for you. He turned, his usual charm slipping back into place. “Ladies first,” he gallantly said, making you smile.

You accepted the gesture and stepped outside, instantly feeling the hot summer sun beat down on you.

"Have a good day at work," you said, smiling.

"Thank you," he said, smiling softly in turn. It was as if your smile had been infectious. His eyes twinkled with something. Mirth? "Take care of yourself."

"Always," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"And how could I forget you!” You almost exclaimed, leaning over to signal Samson to come closer. The dog padded over, tail wagging. You felt Albert’s burning gaze. Was he studying you?

“I’m gonna miss you,” you mewled. “Be a good boy, okay?” You petted his back, then rose again and nodded once more to Albert – a silent sign saying ‘thank you’.

He returned the nod. “We’ll have to do this again, sometime,” he said. And was that a rasp in his voice?

You couldn’t help but smile brightly, excited at the promise of being close to him again. “Of course,” he hadn’t even needed to suggest it. You’d take any excuse to hang out with him.

His eyes locked with yours, dark and swirling with a silent storm – all sorts of emotions you had difficulty naming.

"See you soon." Albert murmured, patting the dog's head. But his eyes were fixed on you, sending a delightful shiver down your spine.

"Yeah, see you soon," you said, stepping away from his porch. The door closed behind you, and you heard the click of the lock. With another wave, Albert made his way to his van. You watched as he drove away and finally let out a deep sigh.

Then you turned away, walking back to your own garden, the memory of his hovering hand burning in your mind.

#grabber x reader #grabber x you #the grabber x reader #albert shaw/the grabber x reader #albert shaw x reader #albert shaw #reader insert #the grabber #black phone 2022 fanfiction #older man x younger woman #Reader is the neighbor #Albert Shaw is your neighbor

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call-sign-shark · 1 year ago

Text

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: Disobeying Tommy's orders, you're back in Small Heath. Your rebellious attitude starts to really bother him but you don't care. All that matters is that you're reunited with Arthur and John, the two men of your lives. From then, nothing can go wrong. Nothing, right? -- Featuring John Shelby x Reader.

Words: 5.5k

TW: Extreme angst - read at your own risk, graphic depiction of violence, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, major character death, allusions to self-harm.

Notes:

✞ Theme song on repeat if you want to break your heart: HERE

✞ Quotes from the TV Shows are in bold and italics

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT CHAPTER

The deafening howl of the train’s honk boomed in Small Heath’s station, quickly followed by a whistling sound. The steel giant had barely opened its heavy doors when the foul-smelling wind of the city rushed into the wagon and made you wrinkle your nose in disgust. It was not that you hated Small Heath strictly speaking, but the stark contrast between the industrial city and the green landscape of the forest in which you lived now was difficult to process. The sound of your stiletto soon clicked on the metallic steps as you got off the train, attracting people’s eyes to your tiny frame. Yet, you weren’t really sure if this sudden attention came from their sound, or rather the sight of your short black dress adorned with the most expensive white fur coat you had ever owned, and the gold choker necklace you wore, whose shape was one of a barbed wire wrapped around your neck. When your heels found the dirty concrete of the platform, a gargantuan hundred pounds Cane Corso with a spiked collar followed you closely, like a silent but off-putting bodyguard. He was your shadow, mimicking each of your movements and grazing your steps, except if told otherwise. Loyal guardian, Kaiser was even more protective since Arthur left. Without minding the fascinated or curious stares that were looking at you, you walked out of the station with the dog’s leash in one of your small hands and a cigarette in the other.

“Mrs. Shelby? Here is your bag.” A man told you, all the while putting the said luggage at your feet.

“Thanks, sir.” You replied with a brief polite smile, before stubbing your cigarette on the nearest wall and throwing it away. At first, you had been surprised by the care the staff provided you during the whole trip until you saw the glow of fear in their eyes as soon as they noticed your family name on the ticket. She’s Arthur Shelby’s wife, you better be ready to help her with her stuff if you don’t want her husband to knock at your door and break your skull. That was what the ticket inspector told one of his colleagues when he met him in another wagon a few minutes after this frightful discovery. Waiting in front of the train station with a slight feeling of uneasiness, you swept your surrounding with your celeste blue eyes, whose coldness equaled the freezing English wind. Looking around you in the hope of catching sight of a cab, your fingers absentmindedly brushed the almost imperceptible white burn scar on your wrist. The circle-shaped wound the cigarette had left on your skin had miraculously healed in a matter of days.

“Welcome home, little Angel.” A familiar voice echoed right behind you. You turned around in one swift movement, and your freezing gaze turned into a child-like expression: John’s smile welcomed you, its charms so blinding that it made you momentarily forget about the dreadful feeling you carried in your soul.

“John!” You exclaimed, unable to hold your joy any longer. Kaiser’s bark followed right after when he recognized who the man was. Without further ado, you rushed into him to pull him in a hug. Amused, John could not help but chuckle at such a vivid reaction before wrapping your body with his muscular arms and tightening his grip around you with the firm desire not to let you go, “What are you doing here?” You asked, looking at him. Your enlightened expression adorned your doll face and made your hypnotizing eyes shine with elation.

“That ain’t the right question, love. What are you doing here?” He teased you, raising one of his eyebrows, then stared right at your eyes. His tongue pushed the toothpick that was in his mouth from the right corner to the left before he went on, “When Arthur got your letter he told me about your arrival in Birmingham. Hell, he was so happy and terrified at the same time I thought that bastard was having an aneurysm. I’m the one who came at the train station ‘cause Arthur still has to make a few last-minute adjustments to welcome you here.” As he talked, the young Shelby brother had freed one of his hands from your delicate body to pat the big Cane Corso’s head. The latter closed his eyes, mouth wide open and tongue hanging in bliss.

“A few adjustments?” You frowned.

“Like, threatening all the men of Small Heath not to even look at you, and dealing with Tommy’s reaction. He’s fuckin’ mad at you, eh.”

Of course, he was — you could not expect less from Thomas Shelby. God, you barely arrived in town he already found a way to bother you, even if he was not here. At this stage, he had real talent. “You know what? Fuck Tommy. If he thought I’d be dumb enough to stay out of the plan while my husband and you risk your lives, well it’s his problem, not mine. And if Changretta’s men come to my door, I’ll put them in the dirt myself.” That being said, you waved off the topic, “But let’s not talk about Tommy, please” You concluded, then laid a soft kiss on his chin. As your juicy lips crashed against his skin, John half-closed his eyelids and let out a soft exhale from his nostrils.

“Yeah, I bet you will,” He stated, referring to you possibly burying Changretta’s henchmen six feet deep. John enjoyed the physical contact for a few extra seconds, then he gently parted from you and closed his fingers around your wrist in a soft grip. You raised your gaze to him, surprised.

“Wait a minute. I just wanna check something before you get in my car.” His smile vanished, handing over to a very serious expression that kind of unsettled you.

“What‘s the problem?” Your smile followed his somewhere else. You didn’t know where, but what was sure was that it had left your face.

Without the slightest warning, John raised your arm above your head and made you twirl one first time, “Would you look at you, little angel! What a stunning outfit!” He exclaimed, before spinning you again to admire your otherworldly beauty, “Oh my God, I’m in love. Last time we met you were barefoot in the grass like some kind of ethereal nymphet and here you come in the shape of a goddess, dressed like a queen?” You suddenly chuckled at his unexpected reaction.

“Hey fuck you! You’ve scared me!” You nudged him in the ribs with your free arm, but it only made him laugh louder.

“My little heart can’t resist that.” He winked at you, his grin stretching in an adorably annoying smile only he could do before making you twirl again. Sometimes, you wondered if Tommy and he were really brothers. He is so different from Arthur and John. You thought.

“John! Shut up, dumbass. Your little heart can’t resist girls in general — or more like your cock can’t resist girls.” You rolled your eyes, faking an annoyed pout which only resulted in John protectively wrapping your shoulders with one arm.

“That’s my mean angel! Fuck I’ve missed you and your quick wit so bad. C’mon!” He said, grabbing your bag with his free hand before you started walking away. Kaiser ran and hopped inside the car a few seconds before you did.

The whole trip went well, casual conversations and joking with John had managed to alleviate the anger in your heart, which was far too focused on the driver’s joyful voice and stunning eyes. He talked to you about the kids, about his new house, and about some childhood stories. Surprisingly enough, each of his sentences had snatched a smirk from you despite the anxious situation in which the Shelbys were embedded. Nevertheless, your mind drifted away at some point and you stopped listening to him though. Not that he bothered you, but it was rather due to the fact that you lost yourself in the contemplation of the smallest details of his face. The adorable freckles, his little round ears, his pinchable cheeks… Everything about John Shelby made you feel at home.

“Is that fine with you?” His voice suddenly popped your thoughts bubble.

“Hm?”

“I was saying that you’re going to live a few days at me house just the time for Arthur to secure Watery Lane properly. You’ll spend Christmas with me, Esme, and the kids.” He repeated, noticing he had been talking to himself for a little while.

“Ah,” You started, batting your Bambi lashes quickly to chase away your daydreams. That was all you could say, for you dive into your thoughts right again. A comforting silence fell between you. After a little while, John slightly bit the inner of his cheek and glanced at you. The truth was he had been hesitating on his next move for five solid minutes. No matter how goofy John Shelby could act, he was a sharp observant. Considering his ease at analyzing people, he naturally noticed the way your fingers nervously played with the fabric of your dress, indicating your inner turmoil. The young gangster slowly moved his hand towards you, still conflicted about what he was about to do — Was it appropriate? Were you going to slap him? He hoped not, for he didn’t want to crash the car on the side of the road and explain the reason behind the accident to Esme. But worst than facing his wife’s wrath was to offend you.

No, no he wouldn’t want you to hate him. Yet, John was not the kind of man to let the demons of his mind win. Acting first, and thinking after was a motto he often applied in real life. He briefly looked at you again, his sky-blue eyes meeting your aquamarine iris before they shifted their focus back on the road. The young Shelby brother finally gathered his courage and rested his warm and strong hand on your thighs.

“Hey. Are you okay? You didn’t tell me what you think about living at me house.”

“Oh yeah,” You slightly shook your head, “That’s fine with me John boy.” You finally said, punctuating your sentence by gently covering his hand with yours and, to his greatest surprise, your small and cold fingers clenched around him. The physical contact almost immediately sent a wave of comforting warmth into your soul. John’s lips stretched in a caring smile and he replied to your sweet gesture by turning his hand to intertwine your fingers together.

That was definitely fine with you, for you knew that as long as John was around, there was no place for the storm.

Only for the sun.

A sun as bright as his smile.

“Get the fuck off my way.” Arthur’s gruff voice thundered in the hallway, followed by a noisy thud and Michael’s flourishing insults.

“Piss off, Arthur!”

The tall gangster had been so eager to rejoin his sweet angel after two awful weeks of loneliness that he had shoved Michael right into the nearest wall for the sole reason that he had been walking too slowly for Arthur’s tastes. All the while walking through the corridor, he had thrown his beret out of frustration and had brought his hands in his hair to nervously slick them back. He busted into the living room and his shiny steel blue eyes, sparkling with a gleam of hope, searched for you.

“Hey, Arthur.” When your soft voice swirled in the room and reached his ear with the tone of a mesmeric siren’s chant, goosebumps of excitation appeared on Arthur’s skin. Moving your body with a wildcat’s grace from the sofa, you stood up and looked at your husband with an adorably shy smile, like a young bride seeing her groom for the very first time. All the confidence you’ve felt kinda disappeared now that you were standing in front of him — would he be happy to see you? Or did you deceive him by disobeying and coming back to town despite Changretta’s men lurking in the shadow? You hadn’t the time to think about the matter though for Arthur rushed to you without waiting any longer and, with an uncontrolled strength enhanced by the power of his overflowing emotions, hugged your little frame. The gangster then lifted you from the ground, causing a cry of surprise to break free from your plumped and glossy lips.

“Bloody Hell, angel! I’ve told ye to stay safe at home!”

He said, putting you back on the ground right before cupping your face with his large, warm, and calloused hands, before you could even react, “I’ve told ye it was too fookin’ dangerous here! What if Changretta and his men would have attacked you on the train eh?!” He exclaimed, a bit more aggressively than intended. At first, you opened your mouth to reply but no sound came out. The sight of his pained eyes and his worried expression suddenly made you feel a bit guilty: if there was one thing you hated it was being the cause of his worries. “Hmm?!” He insisted when faced with your silence. His piercing blue iris dived into yours, looking in their celestial frost for the answer your mouth could not produce.

“I— I don’t care. If you’re in trouble then I am too. If you fight, I fight. If you die, then I fucking die. We’re one, and I’m sick of acting like the good frail wife waiting for her husband to come back from the war,” You started, shaking yourself out of your silence; and the more you spoke, the more your confidence came back, backfiring, “I don’t care about the danger, Arthur.” A desperate smile stretched the corner of your lips, making your eyes squint a little bit. A smile both tainted with sadness and mad love, “The first time we met I’ve made the promise that you’ll never face Hell alone ever again and I don’t plan to back up now that we’re at its gates.”

“Yer fookin’ crazy, I swear you are.” He replied. His eyes shone with dawning tears as he observed your holy pulchritude, “Out of yer goddamn mind, Heaven Shelby… Fookin’ bonkers.” His face relaxed, anger swept away by the winter breeze that had rushed into the living room through the open window. Arthur finally let out a nervous yet endeared little chuckle and shook his head in disbelief, "You're so much trouble eh."

“I’ve learned from you.” You straight off replied, gently pressing your forehead against his in this intimate gesture that was so proper to him. Yet, he didn’t reply right away, still shaken by your fierceness — these last two weeks had almost made him forget how untamable you were. He wanted to scold you for behaving in such a reckless way — He really did. But the truth was big bad Arthur Shelby couldn’t resist you. And God knew how hard it was to function without your heavenly and reassuring presence. If he had to be honest, he would admit that he wasn’t sure he could do it without you anymore. He was consumed by his love for you, body and soul.

A little sigh escaped from his lips as his boiling worries slowly faded away, drowning himself in the little details of your face. With trembling fingers, Arthur grazed your snow-white hair. Fuck, he had missed you bad. Very bad. To the extent of drinking himself to sleep almost every night and lashing out at the boxing ring, mercilessly beating his opponents, for these were the only ways he had found not to slip into pure insanity.

“Angel —“ He started, wanting to say so many things at once, but words choked in his throat. Closing his mouth, Arthur swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he did. The joy of having you there was so intense that his mind could not find something relevant to say: he wanted to talk about Tommy, about the letter he had sent you, about the Changrettas but nothing mattered anymore. What did though was you and him. That was why he finally gave up everything to hug your frame again, his spine bent so that he could bury his face in your small breasts. “I promise I’ll protect ye with me whole life, Angel. No one’s gonna hurt ye. Not on me watch.” He finally mumbled, the sound of his words muffled against the soft pale skin your cleavage exposed, thus turning his plead into more of a symphony of low grunts than anything else.

“I’m here, darling.” You reassured him. Arthur squeezed your body a bit too painfully in reply, but you didn’t mind. The uncomfortable pressure of his brutal grip chased your worries away and made your whole soul flicker — It made you feel so tiny, so fragile, as no other men did before, and you genuinely liked it. So, he could break you in half with his hug if he wanted, you would be okay if it was the price to pay to keep feeling his possessive and aggressive love all around you.

With the desire to soothe his heated spirit and confusing thoughts that were bumping into each other in his confused head, you let your small fingers lose themselves in his messy hair. Your gesture brought immediate relief, whose warm sensation spread in his bones at the contact with your frozen skin. Arthur’s whole being gradually relaxed, and he could finally let out the pressure of these last two weeks. All of sudden, you felt salty and wet drops running down your chest, “I’ve fookin’ missed ye.” He lamented, his crystal tears dying in your cleavage. Parting from you was the worst idea ever, he thought, and he didn’t want to experience it ever again.

“I’ve missed you too.” You said in a whisper. Ceasing to caress his hair, you put your hand on the back of his head and pressed his face a bit more against your bosom, keeping him still until his grip finally loosen around you and his tears run dry. Now that the storm of emotions was slowly calming down, Arthur sniffed one last time and raised his head, his lips reaching for yours. The press of his kiss, eager and hungry, dissipated the last couple of clouds of his troubled mind the moment your flesh reunited. Weakened by his scorching passion, your legs shook at the sweet and liquored taste of whisky on your tongue, while his strong hands explored you just as if the tall gangster wanted to make sure you were really here. To make sure he was not dreaming. His hands grabbed you, rubbed the sides of your thighs, ran up the curves of your ass, and then clenched on your shoulder blades for a short while before going down again to seize your waist in a bruising movement. You squeezed your eyes tighter, shaken to the core by the way his fingers left streams of fire in their trail, melting the ice that had settled under your skin the night he had left the house without you. Arthur deepened the kiss, almost leaving you breathless.

After an undefinable while during which you both lost the notion of time, his tongue gave yours one last stroke before he finally broke the kiss and reopened his eyes. Yes… You were still there — to his greatest relief. You let out a faint feverish sigh, the sensation of his kiss still tingling on your swollen lips, then you tilted your head to the side. Betrothed by your adorable pout, Arthur’s smile widened until the crow feet at the corner of his eyes appears.

“Look at you. You’re fookin’ stunning, little one.” He laid his big hand on your cheek and you gently rubbed it against his palm in reply.

“What about you tell me what you're up to instead of treating me like a little girl, Mr Shelby?” You teased, your reunion definitely erasing the worries out of your brain, even if the threat section D had sent you still lingered at the back of your mind.

“Listen,” He started, his thumb brushing your lips with utter desire but he tried not to get too distracted by them, “John should have already told ye but you’re going to stay here ‘til Christmas hm? The house isn’t safe yet and you’ll be safer with Esme and the kids. Also, John will stick around to protect you. Just until Christmas right?”

“What about you?” You retorted, furrowing your brows.

“As for me Tommy and I will figure out what to do. But don’t ye worry… " He brought his face closer, his mouth reaching your ear, "Each night I’ll be back in your arms and I’ll show ye how bad I’ve missed you.” He whispered, his low voice alike the growl of a starving wolf, “I'm a little afraid ye’ forgot what’s like to feel your husband, hmm.” A little amused snort came from your nostrils at the delightful perspectives. For sure, Arthur’s way to make up for the last two weeks of loneliness you’ve both been through was particularly exciting.

“You think so? Little evil me is not so sure if she prefers Kaiser’s presence next to her in bed rather than yours. ”

“We’ll see, love.” He was about to kiss you a second time to shut your bratty mouth when Esme appeared at the doorframe, arms crossed in her chest and one brow raised.

“There are kids there.” She reminded, her voice cold and slightly bothered. Of course, she wasn’t enchanted by your stay here, but it has been two years since you joined the Shelby family, which had given her all the time needed to tame her hostility toward you. Your relationship was still rocky, but at least she had stopped insulting you on every occasion.

“Oops, sorry Esme.” You replied with the biggest and most charming smile you could do before taking a step back from your husband to help him —and you— resist the temptation of giving in to your burning desires. Arthur could not help but chuckle at the comment. He slipped his hands into the pocket of his long black coat, coming to the conclusion that it was safer if they stayed there.

“Alright, no need to bark Esme.” He grunted, but the sincerity of his grumpiness was definitely undermined by the faint smirk etched on his lips.

“I’ve made tea.” Esme went on, her magnificent brown eyes going from Arthur to you several times. Their dark color struck you for one second for their hard beauty reminded you of autumn leaves spinning in the immensity of her iris. You did not hate her. You never did. As harsh as her behavior had been, you had come to understand that her reactions were dictated by fear rather than spite. As a very catholic person, Esme was more than terrified by evil spirits — and she ultimately thought you were one, not seeing the enamored twenty-five-year-old girl you were, but the evil witch you could be. You could not blame her though, for she wasn’t entirely wrong. Somehow, you were convinced that Esme was the only one of the family who truly understood your dormant dangerous nature. What she did not grasp though was the sincerity of your feelings, “Hurry up.” She said, turning around and returning to the kitchen.

“Come on,” You gently wrapped your arms around your husband, “Kaiser is waiting in the kitchen. He’s going to be so happy!”

“Ah right, let’s see the man who took me place in bed.”

Arthur had barely stepped into the room when you heard the dog’s frantic barks, soon followed by his muscular body running toward his master to greet him with great enthusiasm. The sight of Kaiser almost reaching Arthur’s height, with his two front paws on his shoulders, filled you with joy.

It was at this very moment that you were almost convinced that nothing could go wrong.

The calm of the forest was a type of peacefulness nothing else could outmatch. All that was lacking from this grandiose landscape was the mighty shadow of the old and wise mountains of Haute-Falaise, whose silent lullaby could only be heard by those who paid close attention to it. From where you came, Christmas was always synonymous with snow along with the cold sensation of frosty wind biting at your face. Each time you would come back home after a joyful moment of playing games outside with your little sister, the warmth of the hearth’s fire would welcome you. But this Christmas, like many others since you left France, there was no snow. No mountains. And no little sister anymore. You were alone in the forest, wandering among the dead trees and the howling breeze.

Katie had woken up with a light fever, and she had cried in her father’s arms for twenty strong minutes before he managed to hush down her sorrow. Following a quick discussion with John, you informed him that you knew a natural remedy against fever and then, you went in the forest to collect the few plants you needed to concoct a healing tea. Esme would have naturally disagreed with the idea if John had told her, which hadn’t been the case. Instead, you simply replied that you needed some fresh air when she asked you why you were venturing outside the house on Christmas morning.

Oh, fuck it's you. Got nothing better to do on Christmas morning? // Tommy wants everybody at Charlie's Yard now, come on.

You’ve been wandering for over one hour when you finally found all the plants you needed for Katie’s tea. Satisfied, you headed back home with a light heart, already thinking about the pleasant breakfast that was waiting for you. A small grin flattered your lips at the thought of the children tearing their gifts’ paper apart and screaming with awe at the discovery of their new toys.

What's gonna happen man, it's fucking Christmas.

Moreover, you could not wait for the adults to open their gifts too. Even if Ada told everyone to focus on the kids, you could not help but buy a little something for the house’s hosts: a beautiful silver necklace with a protective crystal pendant for Esme, and an expensive ring for John inside which was engraved the sentence “Le soleil brûle dans ton sourire” which meant "The sun burns in your smile".

John. John, come to the meeting. All right? Think about the kids. Come to the meeting and if you want to leave, then fine.

For sure you could not wait to see their surprised expression slowly shifting to joy the moment you would give them their gifts! A little smile flattered your lips at such adorable thought. In truth, you had stopped celebrating Christmas for so long that the perspective to do it today delighted you. It was going to be a wonderful, wonderful day.

Get in the fuckin' house!

The petrifying detonations of gunshots tore the forest’s silence apart, which caused a cloud of afraid birds to erupt from the trees’ thick foliage. One shot, the surprise made you wonder if you had really heard that or if it was just the traumatizing memories of men chasing you down in the forest that was playing with your mind. Two shots, you turned towards where the noise was coming from, realizing it was real. Three shots — they stirred a brutal pain in your chest. A pain so vivid your fingers loosened their grips on the plants, letting them go, and grabbed the place where your heart was. It was drumming so hard in your chest that you felt it was about to burst your ribcage open. Crushed by the unexplainable ache and a crawling feeling of anxiety, you leaned against a tree not to collapse on the muddy soil. Your throat felt tight, to the extent you could barely breathe anymore. With eyes wide open, you desperately tried to calm yourself and comprehend what was happening to you. And suddenly the macabre evidence of the whole situation hit you like a train — a suffocating panic seized you again as you realized that the gunshots were not coming from hunters in the forest but from John's house.

No.

Your body moved slowly from the tree, taking a few wobbly steps.

“No!” Your voice yelled but no one was there to hear your desperate cry except the pristine nature, which had sent the wind to howl in pain with you. A surge of adrenaline ran through your body and, as if you had received the fiercest whiplash ever, you started running to the house as fast as you could. You ran faster and faster, with the cold breeze biting your face and brambles clawing at your exposed skin as you rushed past thick bushes. That was all you could do anyway for every other function of your being had shut down to focus only on your restless race. You could not think straight anymore. You could not hear anything else than the brutal beating of your heart resonating in your skull. Gosh, you couldn't even see properly, your vision narrowed into a small point in the horizon that was John's house. So you just ran, you ran no matter the insufferable burn in your lungs and the soreness of your legs.

"Hey! Come back, little doe". You could almost hear them behind you. The cruel men who hunted little thirteen years old you in the dark woods of Haute-Falaise. "We’re not gonna hurt you! Fuck — where’s that little slut?!"

Moving away the last branches aside, you jumped above a thick root and broke the last meters that separated you from the house. That was when you heard it, the agonizing scream of Esme. Her voice, filled with pain and fear, almost pierced your eardrums like the wailing lament of a Banshee. You reached the front of the house and suddenly, your legs made an abrupt stop, refusing to move anymore. In front of your wide-opened eyes, from which tears were already leaking, laid the inanimate body of both Michael and John in a crimson puddle of their own blood.

"John! Oh my God, John! No!" Esme yelled, her face contorting with indescribable sorrow and insufferable ache. She was kneeling on the pavement and hugging the motionless frame of her husband, whose skin already faded two shades paler. The young Romani beauty shook him but John's eyes remained shut. At first, you wanted to scream along with her, giving in to panic, but no sound came from your mouth. Instead, you let your quivering body drop to its knees and immediately put the moist palms of your hands on your best friend's wounded chest — The numerous bullet holes had made flowers of blood blossom on the white fabric of his shirt.

You took a deep breath, threw your head back, and closed your eyes in a desperate attempt to channel all the magic that was running in your blood to save him. After all, you had witnessed your mother performing similar miracles in your childhood. All you needed to save him was a faint beating of his heart, even the weakest would do the trick. Thus, you focused on your task the best you could and drained yourself of most of your energy in the hope of seeing John reopening his magnificent blue eyes and offering you one of his beaming smiles. You were pretty sure that he would come back to life, just like the bird you had found in the garden two years ago. Yes, you were going to bring him back to life, and this awful nightmare would be over and you would all have a good fairy tale ending.

— But life wasn't like the tales you loved: his heart had stopped beating for too long for you to do anything. It had been only a matter of minutes but still, you came too late.

You came too late.

When you understood it, a river of tears streamed down your angelic face. One of your hands gently moved up to his throat, and you pressed two fingers on his carotid artery to check his pulse in a desperate and last attempt to feel something, but there was nothing. Only the dull silence of Death. You slowly backed off and looked at the surprisingly peaceful expression on his face, forever frozen by the Reaper's cold kiss.

John was gone.

And so was the sun.

✞ A little note now that you've finished this chapter: Heaven did not ignore poor Michael by the way. When walking past him she noticed that his wound was not as serious as John's, so she decided to check him after checking John.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ gif by the amazing @fkmylif3

✞ Tag list: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @brummiereader @alexandra-001 @dearshelby

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letsunity · 1 year ago

Text

With Thunder Comes Lightning

Summery: Peter and MJ tried again, but the spark wasn't there; they stay as friends to raise their soon-to-be daughter. Everything was going great until evil goop and a spooky vampire guy fall out of an orange portal. Little does Peter know that the biggest pain in his ass and future mutant best friend has landed right at his feet.

art by @gryphll

Chapter 4 - Appointment

Doctor appointments weren't MJ's favourite thing. She had a phobia of needles and other medical garbage. The smell of sterile stuff made her ill.

Of course, Peter has to be the friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. For her safety, MJ had their new buddy.

"It's just a checkup. Everything's going to be fine," MJ told herself, biting her lower lip. "I don't feel fine. Ok. Can I have some encouragement?"

"I've never been to a hospital, so I can't accurately assure your safety," Miguel stated, the coldness of it concerning her. "I'll kill whoever comes too close. Does that help?"

"You're trying. That's helpful enough, tough guy."

"I suspect you're infantilising me."

"I have a baby growing in me. Everyone is an infant to me now. And you're, y'know, a decade younger than me."

His little grumble was cute.

MJ might not know how to make a portal watch or swing webs, but she could see when someone was hurt.

The entire situation hurt her best friend; Peter was a good man with a titanic heart, and it weighed heavily on him. She wanted to hug and tell him it was ok, but she couldn't lie to his face. She didn't know how this would turn out.

He cried himself to sleep last night. He was grieving the loss of his friends alone. He tended to put himself on an island when in pain, not wanting to put the burden on others. It was a selfless part of him she used to love, but now she worried.

Her best friend was in pain, as was her new friend.

"Is there anything that they can do here to help you?" MJ asked, her blue eyes wandering up to meet those dark sunglasses.

"There's nothing to help in my universe. I doubt it'll be any different here."

"You never know. They might have something for those allergies and the light thing."

"No."

"Hmm, that sounds like self-harm."

"It's not undeserved."

"What is it with Spidermen and being all self-sacrificing?"

"We have the power to do something. We can do enough to make a significant change. By sacrificing ourselves, the people we protect can rest in peace. That's what it means to be Spiderman."

"Almost sounds like a quote."

"It was. From the Spiderman of my universe before me."

He was from the future, but MJ didn't even consider there might have been a previous Spiderman. Was it like Peter and Miles?

It's exciting learning about other universes.

"What was he like? The one before you?"

"I never met him. He died long, long before I came to be. When Klyntarus ruled our universe, there weren't any heroes or anybody with the power to do something - I'm... still alone on that front. But he was a good man from what I understand."

At least Peter had co-workers, allies and friends.

She was sad knowing that Peter had died there. All of the other heroes, too. It wouldn't be surprising if Klyntarus had something to do with that.

It's sweet that he was inspired by the original Spiderman, though.

He's right, though. If you can make a change for the better, you should.

The creed of Spiderman is to put others before yourself; it's a heavy burden but an honourable one. She respected it.

"I'm glad that he inspired you."

"Gracias."

MJ didn't like the smell of the hospital entrance. It was messy, sterile and also tainted with puke. Thankfully, she wasn't alone in her disgust.

"Oh, mierda. Huele como una morgue horneada," he hissed, cringing.

"No idea what you said, tough guy, but agreed."

She didn't enjoy having to sign in. The receptionists weren't interested in being helpful, mostly ignoring MJ. They only started to pay attention when Miguel growled; it reminded MJ of a pissed-off cane corso.

Having a giant buff Latino vampire proved helpful. He's like a bodyguard, scaring people into listening to her. She used to do that for Peter when people ignored him for being a nerd.

She loves nerds. They've got so many interests and know many intriguing things. They can never bore you.

With the giant having kidnapped their attention, MJ was finally able to get things moving. All they had to do now was linger in the cesspool of stench until her doctor could be assed.

MJ's not happy about sitting on a warm chair surrounded by sick people, all looking as pleased as her.

She hates hospitals.

"How's your first hospital visit?"

"Mierda."

"Agreed."

Although MJ didn't have spidey sense, she had bullshit sense, courtesy of being a little redhead spitfire. She could detect something akin to one of those space wizards in those movies that Peter enjoyed.

There is a foulness in the force.

With some scouring, MJ spotted the source of the foulness. It was a woman glowering at her and her friend, paler than carved marble; she must be anaemic.

MJ's been around long enough to see one of those people.

She's not standing for it. She might be eight months pregnant and a shorty, but MJ had a spider's spirit.

Hopefully, she could distract him from that witch.

"If it's not rude for me to ask, is Nueva a Spanish version of new york?"

"No. It was destroyed in the calamity of 2038 and was rebuilt by Hector Nueva, soon named after him. I'm just Mexican. A little Irish, too."

"You're a damn big leprechaun."

"Very funny. I'm more like a Chupacabra, anyway."

"And here I thought you didn't like vampires."

"I don't. Vampires suck. Chupacabras are cool."

"They do suck."

"You're worse than Parker."

"I take that as a compliment, thank you."

Peter will feel much better knowing that she's not alone. She's got a buddy guard to protect her from any ominous sludge.

All Miguel has to do is sit in the corner and be spooky.

She was due measurements, weighing, blood pressure, a quick ultrasound, and possibly a pelvic exam - she hated those. It's so awkward and invasive.

While MJ should want nobody else in the room, she doesn't get a pervy vibe from Miguel. He didn't react when she came out of the shower, not bothered or even interested. He didn't have a single care about that sort of thing.

Her bullshit sense often intertwines with her gaydar. He's not straight; she knew that much. If she were a gambler, MJ would put her money on asexual.

Does he know what that is? She might ask later.

"MJ."

"Yeah?"

"We need to leave."

"Wait, is it him? Is he coming?" MJ questioned.

She was scared of being too close to that monster. It's hurt her friends so much, and she hasn't even seen it.

MJ didn't get to ask more as a roar echoed from outside.

Before she knew what was happening, she was facing the pale ceiling, bright orange webbing keeping her there. Several other people were up as well, but not her surprise roommate.

A suited Miguel was beneath her in the waiting room, his hands gripping the thick horn of nonother than Aleksei Sytsevich, also known as the Rhino.

Something was wrong, though. His thick hide was burned and scorched, ooze dripping and refusing to mix with his blood.

His face, usually mixed with rage and bloodlust, was full of fear and anguish. Most of his face was gone, reduced to burned bone. He only had a single eye, but she doubted he could see from it.

"Помогите мне кто-нибудь!" Rhino roared, his voice bloodcurdling and terrified. "Обжигает! Обжигает!"

MJ didn't understand Russian, but she knew he was in agony.

A black sludge ripped from his spine, red eyes scowling at Miguel.

"2099! What a coincidence! Such a little universe, hmm?" Klyntarus cackled, forcing Rhino to push forward. "Such weak little bodies. Can you imagine how it feels to be a flame sailing a sea of kerosene?"

"Eres toda mía, perra mocosa!"

"I look forward to you trying."

She winced as Rhino cried again, begging for help that couldn't come.

Klyntarus rammed into Miguel again, pushing him through the empty reception desk. People were running in panic, terrified.

MJ scrambled for her phone, texting Peter as quickly as she could. As soon as he realised she was there, it would go to ultimate shit.

Pick up your damn phone, Parker!

Peter hopped past Morbius' claws, finding them far less impressive than Miguel's. Honestly, the vamp had nothing on Peter's roommate.

He didn't have Miguel's power or claws; even Miguel's fangs were much more intimidating. The red of his eyes had much more potency than Morbius'.

"You are depriving some village of their idiot!" Morbius sneered, trying to pierce Peter.

"And Twilight is missing one of its vamps!"

Peter jumped on the ledge of a balcony, cracking his aching back.

He wasn't sure how to feel about Morbius now. He was somewhat interested at the beginning. After ten years, though? it got old.

At this point, Morbius was the villain of the week.

Weirdly, he felt like a knockoff compared to his fellow spider. He didn't have the same energy or vibe.

He can't put it into words exactly, but compared to Miguel, Morbius is nothing.

"That movie is an insult to what makes vampires so-"

"-Lame?" Peter finished, uninterested. "Are you going to sparkle now?"

"Insolent brat!"

"I'm almost forty, dude."

"You're younger than me, so you're a brat!"

Man, so this is how Miguel felt.

He's still going to annoy him over being younger. What friend would Peter be if he didn't?

When Morbius pounced, Peter jumped onto a nearby roof, feeling his cracked phone buzz. He should ignore it, given he's fighting a "mighty" foe, but his senses demand otherwise.

Peter looked at his phone, seeing a missed call from MJ. Was she done with her appointment already? That was quick!

The text, however, told him otherwise.

Fuck Peter with a salty menorah. He's there.

"I've got a thing. Debate movies with you later, Mikey!"

"Darn you, Spiderman!"

"Whatever!"

He wasted no chance racing towards the hospital, and police were already surrounding the chaos. He landed upon a police car, fear dancing in his bones.

Peter's spidey senses were screaming to run away, but he couldn't. His friends and baby were in there.

As expected, Jameson was still kicking, talking to news cameras, no doubt blaming Peter for this, somehow. He's glad he quit working for that asshole; it was such a toxic environment.

Whatever, he's too old to care about what Jameson's whining about.

Peter swung inside, smelling the rot already. He's here alright. It disgusted him that Klyntarus was attacking a hospital, but he was already vile; Peter shouldn't be shocked at his evil.

There were glowing, orange webs on the ceiling where MJ's text said she'd been. He couldn't see her anywhere, so he would have to go looking. The trail of bloody melted viscera and rot was a good indicator.

The hospital looked like something out of a horror movie; it was decayed, in ruin. It's been infected by Klyntarus.

He was scared that he would find her and hurt them. He was terrified of being a father but even more afraid of losing his child.

Fuck, how can Miguel cope with losing his daughter? Peter hadn't even met his kid and was scared for them.

Peter crept through the ruins, cautiously stepping over suspicious mounds that stank of death. He relied on his spidey senses, but they were overwhelmed by that monster's presence.

Something big had barrelled through the hospital, almost like a torpedo or tank. It would take ages to fix this place up if that were even possible.

Klyntarus destroyed everything around him. It's likely that wherever he goes, it's inhospitable.

He saw some glowing web, a sign of his teammate. He followed it, finding a deep hole that ran so far down that Peter couldn't see the bottom. It appeared to reach the under levels of the hospital; there should only be a basement, though.

Another buzz from his damaged phone - a text!

Peter stared at it, analysing the three dancing dots that eventually became a message. His heart was tachycardic with worry and fear.

The older Spiderman ran, looking at the fading numbers on the doors he passed. He paused at 16B, the one that MJ's number indicated. Despite knowing it could be a trap, Peter broke the door open, scouring the room.

MJ was sitting beside a gurney. She was in shock, afraid and alone.

A recently deceased young man lay not far from her. He was horrifically burned, and most of his left leg was reduced to sludge. He died slowly; Peter knew that as soon as he spotted him.

He quickly came to his best friend's side, checking her for injuries.

"He had Rhino's body," MJ whimpered, shaking from the ordeal. "He was crying for help, Peter. Rhino. He was in agony."

That explained why the hospital had a giant hole in it.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Peter said, bridal carrying his close friend. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No. No, Miguel distracted him so we could run out. Something went wrong, though. The bodies didn't stay -"

"Parker!"

Peter twisted to the deceased man, who was now sitting up, black fluid running from his orifices. His eyes were empty, devoid of life, but something was in there, puppeteering him.

He was close to tightening his grip but knew it'd hurt MJ. He wouldn't do that to her.

She clung to his body, hiding her face in his chest.

"He will reign long, and your friend will be far too gone!" the corpse cackled, rotting at an astonishing rate. He melted to bones before Peter's eyes. Not even his clothes survived the rot.

As cryptic as that was, Peter knew what it was implying.

Peter had to get MJ outside first, however.

He made his way out of the hospital, feeling that fear fade with each step. The further from Klyntarus he was, the more confident he felt.

Did Klyntarus' very presence rot your soul? It seemed so.

"Keep her safe," Peter ordered a surprised and confused police officer, turning back towards the building. "And don't let anybody else inside. I mean it."

"It's the same thing that killed those heroes, isn't it?" the officer said, removing her jacket to cover MJ. "Don't die in there, Spiderman."

"I don't plan on it."

He couldn't make any promises.

So, fear growing in his chest, Peter returned to the leftover Walking Dead set. He wouldn't be shocked to find Rick Grimes' room where he was somehow untouched in a coma for a year.

That entire show was a fever dream; he was sure of it. After Glenn died, the only fun left was, ironically, Negan. He'll have to make Miguel watch that.

When he arrived at the suspicious hole, Peter jumped. His knees complained when he landed, cracking in all the wrong and unsatisfying ways.

The fear of Klyntarus was far more potent than before, suffocating Peter in an aura of fear and death.

He's not looking for that thing, though.

Peter quickly spotted the entrance to a tunnel that shouldn't exist.

Rhino's body lay mangled and twisted at the entrance like a macabre decoration. Instead of being melted, it looked like a savage beast and tore the poor bastard apart. He didn't want to be on the backside of whatever caused that.

He walked down the tunnels, listening out for his friend.

His senses went off, sending a tingle down his spine. He turned around, annoyed to see Morbius had followed him.

"Not the time, Count Lame-ula. Ugh, that sounded better in my head. Whatever, could you go and haunt some little kid's birthday party? I'm in the middle of something."

"What horrors could have created such strife?" Morbius asked, both in awe and horrified by the situation.

"An extradimensional genocidal evil Symbiote that decays whatever he touches. You should go before you eats you, too."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care."

"You're trying to deceive me!"

"Not everything is about you!"

"Fool! I am the reincarnation of the great Count Dracula!"

"Sure, and I'm the reincarnation of Link - see my little fairy, Navi? We're on our way to rescue Zelda," Peter sighed, rolling his eyes behind his mask. "Just go bother someone else, alright?"

Vampires suck.

Peter paused, feeling something else was down here. It wasn't Klyntarus, but it felt similar and yet distinct. He could feel it was nearby and dangerous, but not the precise position.

That "something" was coming and fast.

Of course, Morbius acted like a child and attempted to attack Peter while distracted. He wouldn't get the chance to get close, however.

A blur of red and dark pounced upon Morbius before he could reach Peter, his senses screaming at him to run. He couldn't see what it was but could hear the rabid rage and terrified cries.

Peter webbed the mysterious form and pulled it away from Michael, hearing a dog-like grunt of annoyance and frustration.

A pair of deep, red eyes stared back at Peter. They were similar to Klyntarus'; they had his unique shade, but Klyntarus didn't have pupils or irises. The eye shape was far too human to be Klyntarus, even if he tried to make a human body.

The eyes were what Peter was focused on at first, but then he saw what the rest of the red was.

A suit.

"Miguel?" Peter questioned, realising what, or rather who, he was looking at.

His pupils were so thin they were almost non-existent. He was shaking, breathing heavily and hunched over, foamy drool dripping onto the ground.

While Miguel didn't exist to Peter's spidey sense, this did. It wasn't the same as Klyntarus, but it was similar enough.

Miguel was swallowing air. It's like he was in a scary trance, trapped far away.

His claws were out, ready to scratch something that wasn't there. His fingers were shaking so much.

Peter felt like he was looking at a werewolf, pure instinct and consciousness battling for control, and the former was dominant.

Morbius shifted into shadows, reforming behind "Miguel". It was a stupid idea, for Miguel turned and bit Morbius' arm.

Having seen what it could do to Klyntarus, Peter grabbed his friend. The stupid villain was clawing at Miguel's face, trying to make him let go. Glowing blue was dripping from Morbius' arm - the venom was already being delivered.

"Get it off me!" Morbius yelled, turning his vampiric claws to Miguel's neck. He wouldn't let go, eyes staring at something that wasn't there.

It was clear Miguel wasn't there. He couldn't hear Peter, stuck in this bizarre and scary trance.

An idea came to Peter.

He took out his phone and turned on the flashlight, shining it directly into Miguel's eyes.

The trance version of his friend yowled, letting go to cover his eyes. While Morbius had left deep scratches on his face, the photophobia forced him to let go.

Morbius stumbled back, his arm shaking horribly.

Ignoring the vampire, Peter grabbed Miguel's shoulders, trying to figure out what was happening.

His "buddy" dropped his arms loosely, glowering towards Peter, but it didn't seem directed at him.

"It's me. It's Peter, alright?" Peter said, trying to get through to him. "How about we sit down? Does that sound good?"

He knew Miguel was much more powerful than him, but Peter's faster. If he needed to, Peter could stick to the walls or ceiling.

Encouraging his distant friend to sit down, Peter watched him, paying attention to his eyes.

Without any stimulation, he watched the redness in his eyes fade. When the red left, some awareness returned, replaced by confusion.

"What happened?" Peter asked, glancing at the groaning Morbius still clutching his arm.

"Había mucho ruido," Miguel muttered, rubbing his eyes. "He tried to take me. Estúpido bastardo."

The corpse's warning.

Did Klyntarus trigger a flight or fight response, only instead of Miles' invisibility, Miguel went rabid? It could've been a PTSD thing, too.

"Where's MJ?"

"She's safe," Peter said, feeling Klyntarus' presence growing. "We need to go."

Peter grabbed the taller man's side, feeling his broken ribs. That never seemed to stop him.

"I can move."

"I don't doubt that, but you still seem out of it."

The possession attempt had an impact, as he was still spaced out. It was like he was stoned or drunk.

"Happens sometimes," his friend grunted, a noise that did things Peter wished it didn't. "I didn't hurt you?"

"No. All I'm hurting from is arthritis."

"I always hurt someone..."

He didn't like hearing the sadness and regret there. And Peter couldn't say that he hadn't. He attacked Morbius and must've killed Rhino, though that seemed to be a mercy.

"Indeed."

Peter scowled at Morbius' body, watching "his" head tilt. While Peter was focused on Miguel, he didn't even realise Morbius got snatched.

He didn't like the guy, but Morbius didn't deserve that fate.

The kidnapped body was already starting to decay.

"I'm going to take everything from you, Peter. I'll break you in ways you didn't think could be broken. And I'll have him, too," Klyntarus vowed, tilting Morbius' head too far to the right. "I'll let you play with my toy for now. It'll make it all the easier to break him after I've shredded your soul."

"What's to stop me from walking over there and ripping you out of there?"

"Because you're like all the other Parkers I've eaten. You don't kill, even when you want to. You won't kill me while I'm in someone's body. It's cowardice I thankfully bred out of my true body." His friend hissed, but it only made Klyntarus smile. "You've come so far from the fragile ball of flesh I ripped from that whore wetback."

Peter can't kill. It's his greatest strength and his weakness. How is he meant to beat something that'll only stop if it's destroyed?

He needed to get Miguel out of here and look after MJ. He had to find somewhere safe for her to stay.

Regardless of how his friend felt, they needed help. They were going to get the X-Men for backup.

"Until I find a more suitable temporary vessel, Parker. Farewell."

Peter shot a web at Morbius' possessed body, but he vanished into shadow.

Another day where he could've done something but didn't have the balls. That was a theme he was getting angry at.

"Maldito cobarde."

"Yeah, to whatever you said, pal."

Xavier's going to have a field day over this.

Special thanks to spider-the-bat for the borders!

#ao3 refugee #ao3 might be fucked #ao3fic #peter b parker #miguel o'hara #peter b parker x miguel o'hara #spiderdads #klyntarus #symbiotes #mj watson #bestie goals mj #across the spider verse #spiderman atsv #attempted spanish #plague of the spiderverse series #with thunder comes lightning

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andromedaspark · 1 year ago

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Characters as dogs.. again. Because I'm insatiable.

Gavin: German Shepherd

Nines: Cane Corso

Sixty: Red-Nose Pit Bull

Connor: Blue-Nose Pit Bull

Hank: Great Pyrenees

Markus: Doberman

Simon: Basenji

North: Belgian Malinois

Josh: Chesapeake Bay Retriever

Kara: Border Collie

Luther: Tibetan Mastiff

Alice: Bluetick Coonhound

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luckyroll3 · 6 months ago

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Crimson Lights: Chapter 4

A playful jingle sounds from my phone and I practically snap my neck swiveling to reach it. Despite not seeing Chris for over a week, we've kept in touch through regular texting, carrying on our conversations and flirtatious banter through our phones.

Chris: Still available for dinner tonight?

Kay: Yes! Planning to leave work in a few. What time should I come over?

Chris: I’ll start cooking around 7:00. Can’t wait to see you. I’ve been having dirty thoughts all day. I’ll send you the code for the elevator.

His message makes me blush a little. I walk back to my laptop, making sure to save and close all my important documents before tidying up my desk at the clinic. Ready to leave, I pack up my bag and head out, eagerly anticipating my dinner date with Chris that evening.

—

With my skin still dewy from a refreshing shower and my body moisturized, I slip into a pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt. I want to strike the perfect balance between cute and casual.

Shortly after 7:00, I enter Chris’ code in the elevator, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation dancing in my stomach. The elevator dings its arrival on his floor and the doors slide open. I step into the living room and see Chris standing in the kitchen wiping his hands on a towel, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. He’s wearing ripped black jeans and a black t-shirt. His eyes light up when he sees me. He strides over and wastes no time pulling me into a tight embrace.

“Hey gorgeous,” he murmurs, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

I return his hug and melt into him, savoring the feel of his arms around me. He takes my hand, intertwining his fingers in mine and leading me to the kitchen. “I hope you’re not too hungry. I just got started.”

“You’re hot, rich, and can cook? Is there anything you can’t do?”

Chris chuckles at my comment, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Just wait until you taste the food before you start giving me too much credit,” he teases, nudging me playfully with his elbow. I can't help but laugh, feeling at ease and comfortable in his presence.

He pours two glasses of red wine and hands me one. I take a sip and ask, “Can I help with anything? I don’t really like to cook, but I can chop and I’m a damn good taste tester.”

“Ha! What’s your comfort level with salads?” He gestures to a lettuce head, several tomatoes and some other veggies.

“Salads I can handle!” I take another sip of the wine, then wash my hands.

He hands me a knife with a hint of skepticism in his eyes. “Don’t fuck it up!” he says with a laugh.

We work side by side for the next few minutes, our conversation flowing as effortlessly as it had the other times we’d been together. We cover light-hearted banter and deeper topics. I find myself opening up to Chris in a way I haven’t with anyone else, feeling a sense of connection beyond just our physical attraction.

“What’s your favorite meal? Just so I know for next time,” he says over his shoulder as he grabs some spices from the cabinet, a playful lilt in his voice.

"Next time?" I muse. "That's rather presumptuous, don't you think?"

"Is it? Or is it simply hopeful thinking?" His chuckle was rich and smooth.

"Maybe a little bit of both," I admit, feeling a smile tug at my lips. “I’m a simple girl: homemade mac and cheese. And not that shit out of the blue box!”

He laughs loudly. “I would never!” he says, pretending to be offended. We continue our back-and-forth banter, laughing and chatting.

I finish my salad duties and hop onto the bar counter. I pour myself another glass of wine and as I take a sip, I watch as Chris skillfully maneuvers around the kitchen, his movements fluid and confident. There is something deeply attractive about a man who knows his way around a kitchen and I find myself being more entranced with each chop and stir. I continue my story about the two gigantic cane corso puppies that bounded into the clinic earlier today. I recounted how their long, gangly legs tripped over each other as they eagerly explored their new surroundings. Despite their size, they were undeniably adorable. “They were so damn clumsy with those big feet, but also so fricken cute!”

“Cuter than me?” He glances up from the simmering red sauce he stirred with care.

“Oh absolutely!” I laugh, taking another sip of wine.

He gives me a charming grin, his dimples deepening as he turns back to the pot of sauce. He carefully adds a pinch of salt and stirs it in. He takes a small spoon from the counter, then dips it into the sauce. As he brings it to his lips, I can see him blow on it gently to cool it down before walking over to offer it to me. “Tell me what you think?” He brings the spoon to my lips, allowing me to take a sip of the sauce before tasting it himself. “More garlic?” he asks.

I let the flavors of the sauce dance on my tongue before nodding approvingly. “It’s delicious,” I say, unable to tear my gaze away from his eyes.

Emboldened by my second glass of wine, I wrap my legs around him, trapping him in place as I press my lips to his in a kiss that starts soft, but quickly escalates.

He stiffens in surprise, the spoon in his hand pausing mid-air. But then he’s kissing me back, matching my fervor as his free hand finds its way to my waist, pulling me even closer to him. The world shrinks down to the space where our bodies meet, the taste of him mingling with the lingering flavors of the wine and sauce on my tongue. It’s all-consuming and intoxicating.

The kiss ignites something wild within me that grows as Chris drops the spoon and both of his hands roam the small of my back, urging me impossibly closer. His fingers slip up under my shirt, tracing the column of my spine. I respond instinctively, my own hands yanking his tucked shirt free from his jeans before venturing beneath it to explore the taut muscles of his abdomen. I feel his muscles tense beneath my touch, urging me on. I press my crotch against his and feel him starting to get hard. The anticipation, built up from being interrupted before, was almost unbearable. With trembling hands, I fumble with the button on his jeans, desperate for more. As I finally manage to open it and tug down the zipper, I feel him moan against my lips. The sound only fuels my desire further as I reach eagerly for his cock.

The cocoon of intimacy enveloping us is suddenly shattered by the ding of the elevator, followed by a cacophony of voices and laughter as the doors open. My heart sinks as I look up at Chris; I feel defeated and frustrated by yet another interruption. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I whisper-yell at him, throwing my head back in exasperation before breaking into a laugh. “I can’t even be mad anymore.”

Chris lets out a groan and zips up his jeans, clearly caught off guard by our unexpected visitors. “Shit,” he whispers back, a mixture of shock and annoyance crossing his features as he steps back from me. “I had no clue they were stopping by.” Chris turns towards the elevator, raising his voice to a shout, “Uh, hey! What the fuck are you losers doing here?”

I find my wine glass and take a long sip as I watch five men make their way off the elevator - Changbin, Felix, Hyunjin, Han, and an unfamiliar face he was holding hands with. This must be the partner Han mentioned at the party.

Changbin offers his fist towards Chris in greeting as he says, "I told them you had plans tonight." They bump fists before pulling each other into a manly hug. "But when they heard you were cooking...you know how these fuckers are."

“Yeah, I know.” Chris sighs in resignation. Despite his annoyance, I can tell he’s secretly pleased to see them. He greets each of them with a warm hug and playful banter. It's almost as if he hasn't seen them in ages, even though it’s probably been just a few hours since they were last together. It brings a smile to my face.

With a joyous skip in his step, Changbin approaches me with a grin spread across his face. "Kay! Up top!" he exclaims, extending his hand for a celebratory high five. I oblige and our palms connect with a satisfying smack. "I can take responsibility for the other two interruptions, but this one is not my fault. I tried to stop them!" He bursts into laughter when he sees my raised eyebrow, clearly questioning what he knows. "Chan tells me everything. I'm his BFF," he boasts gleefully before settling onto one of the bar stools.

"Great," I mutter, hopping off the counter and taking the stool next to him with a sigh. "So now everyone knows I have blue balls."

"They suspect," Changbin corrects me with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "But I'm the only one who knows for sure." He pours himself a glass of wine and refills mine, his demeanor playful and carefree.

I hear Hyunjin’s voice behind us, “So this is what you’re up to….10th floor girl. I approve!”

Both Chanbin and I swivel our stools around to face them. “Hi Kay,” Felix says in his deep voice with a bright smile. “Ignore him,” he adds playfully as he shoves Hyunjin’s shoulder.

“Thanks. Who’s this?” I point my chin towards Han’s partner.

“This is my lover, Minho,” Han introduces very dramatically.

Minho rolls his eyes, but extends his hand for me to shake.

“How long until the food’s ready,” Han asks as the group settles onto the couches.

Chris walks back to the kitchen and calls over his shoulder, “Probably another 45 minutes.”

Changbin and I have a casual conversation at the bar while the others have a lively discussion in front of the TV. Suddenly, Han makes a loud declaration, causing Changbin to burst out with a hearty laugh as he yells, “The lies, the lies, the lies!” His contagious laugh spreads to the others, who all join in, including Chris, who snorts with amusement as he places a tray in the oven.

I turn to Changbin, my curiosity piqued. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a housewives fan!"

His eyes light up with excitement. "Are you kidding? I love that shit," he declares. "I watch every single one... but don't spoil anything for me. I haven't caught up with last week's episodes yet." As he speaks, his hands gesture animatedly in the air, emphasizing his love for the guilty pleasure TV shows. He and I discuss some of the newly casted housewives.

I hear Hyunjin say my name, and I strain to hear what he’s saying about me amidst all the conversations. Minho tries to shush Hyunjin as he erupts into loud, raucous laughter. My attention snaps towards the couch, where Chris has suddenly appeared, seemingly teleporting from the kitchen in record time. He stands at the back of the couch, towering over Hyunjin and gripping under his neck firmly from behind. The room falls silent, everyone on the couch seemingly holding their breath. Changbin looks unbothered, like he’s used to seeing scenes like this play out. He takes a sip of his wine.

Chris forcefully tilts Hyunjin’s head back so that he is looking down directly into Hyunjin’s face. Their eyes meet. His voice drops low as he issues a warning. “Behave,” he growls.

“C’mon hyung! I’m just….,” Hyunjin pleads through his laughter. Chris raises his eyebrow as he cocks his head to the side, silently challenging Hyunjin to finish his sentence. Understanding the unspoken threat, Hyunjin quickly quiets down. “Ok, fine. Sorry,” he concedes with a sigh and a roll of his eyes.

“Good boy,” Chris says. He leans down to give Hyunjin a quick kiss on the corner of his lip before releasing him and heading back to the kitchen.

Felix lets out a relieved breath and then playfully slaps Hyunjin on the back of his head. "Stupid," he whispers.

The boys seamlessly slip back into their previous conversation, their laughter echoing through the air. As they joke and tease each other, I turn my attention back to Changbin. “What the hell was that?” I question, still trying to make sense of the strange and unexpectedly intimate moment I had just witnessed.

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids #skz fanfic #bang chan #bangchan fanfic #bang chan imagines #skz smut #bang chan smut #bangchan smut #hyunjin #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #bangchan #changbin #changbin smut #changbin imagines

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