#cop!au

[27nox]

Change of Plan AU: Anniversary (Part 1)

I finally got to post a content from one of my AUs after almost a month sobs

(Portal Bill is always overshadowed by Teen Bill lol)

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, minor character deaths, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers​

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

You browsed the shelves with a deep frown, the sounds of your friends’ laughter in your ears as they searched for their favorite snacks too. You guys were halfway to Florida, the excitement in the air contagious as you embarked on the road trip that had been in the works for almost a year. You could hear Wanda telling you to hurry up, something about making the process rocket science.

“Sorry,” you dragged out, joining her at the counter. “…but I think what snacks you choose for an hours long car ride is pretty important.”

“We’re literally going to eat right after this,” a familiar voice said from over your shoulder as MJ pulled up beside you. “…and shopping too.”

She grumbled that last part, and Wanda chuckled.

“The whole point of this trip is to have fun,” the redhead reminded her.

“In some small rinky dink backwoods town?” Michelle murmured. “They don’t even have a mall.”

The man working the counter gave her a look at that, and you nudged her with a look of your own. You definitely had similar thoughts of your own when Pietro stopped here, Wanda’s brother voicing his desire for something to eat. It certainly wouldn’t be your first choice, but it had its charm you could admit. Everyone seemed nice so far, and you were quick to scold Michelle when you made your way out of the gas station.

“Don’t be so snobby,” you told her. “Besides, we’ll be leaving in a few hours anyway.”

“Finally,” you heard Pietro groan as the three of you approached the car. “I was about to leave you.”

Wanda lightly pushed his head as she slid into the passenger seat, you and Michelle settling into the back. Driving from Maine to Washington to Florida sounded like an insane thing to do when it was first suggested, but the more you and Wanda had laughed about it, the less funny it became. Michelle pretended to need her arm twisted into going, but it was obvious that she was into it. Once Pietro offered to be the main driver, the plans were set.

“I was googling restaurants here while you three were taking your sweet time,” he said, pulling onto the road.

You watched Wanda snatch his phone, scrolling through what he’d pulled up.

“We should see the Statue of Athena when we get to Tennessee,” Michelle suggested, looking out of the window.

Pietro mumbled something unintelligible, but Wanda voiced her agreement. You were mostly quiet on the way to the restaurant, but it wasn’t a long drive. Michelle was right when she said the town was small, and the restaurant that was decided on took no time to get to.

It was a quaint place, nothing too extraordinary or even huge. There weren’t many cars in the parking lot, and the only notable vehicles were two police cars near the building. Wanda and Pietro were going back and forth about what the restaurant may or may not serve while Michelle slid some shades onto her eyes to block out the sun.

There was a bell above the door that rang when it opened, and you looked around the establishment as Wanda talked to one of the waitresses. As the woman led the four of you to a table, your gaze passed over four cops seated in the corner of the restaurant. You didn’t know if they were on break or officially done for the day, but if their table was anything to go by, they’d been eating here for a while.

When the waitress came back with menus and glasses of water, you asked her if there was a bathroom.

“Oh, sure, honey,” she sweetly told you, pointing towards a hallway over her shoulder. “Just through there.”

“Why didn’t you go at the gas station?” Wanda wondered as you stood.

“…because it was probably ten times more disgusting than this one could be.”

You told Michelle what you wanted to order just in case you weren’t back by the time the waitress returned to get orders. You hurried into the hallway, finding the bathroom with ease. There was only one, and you were relieved when your knock on the door was met with silence. Like you predicted, this bathroom was cleaner than you expected the one at the gas station to be.

You’d drank a lot of water since the last stop, and you didn’t even try to hold in your sigh of relief as you peed. Just as you were pulling your pants up, you heard a knock on the door, and you hurried to button them and wash your hands.

“I’ll be out in a second,” you called.

With one last look in the mirror, noting that car ride sleep was doing more wonders than sleeping in your own bed, you opened the door.

You were startled by the sight of one of the cops you’d seen earlier. You blinked at the sight of him, noting how boyish he looked up close. He seemed just as taken aback by you, although why, you didn’t know. You had the stray thought of wondering if he was even old enough to be a cop, and you shook it away. You knew guys from back who started making moves to be one the second they turned eighteen.

“Sorry,” you apologized for almost running into him. “It’s all yours.”

You sent him a polite smile, the smile dropping some when he didn’t really…move. A few seconds passed of him just looking at you, and after some time, he finally blinked himself, shaking his head. You noticed some strands of his dark hair move with the action.

“Sorry.”

Now, it was his turn to apologize.

“I shouldn’t have been standing that close,” he said, finally moving out of your way so you could walk out. “Enjoy your food.”

You sent him another polite smile at that, returning to the table. Pietro told you that they’d ordered when you sat back down, Michelle confirming that she’d ordered for you. When you made yourself comfortable in your seat, you glanced around again, your gaze catching an unfamiliar blue one. It was one of the cops at the table, a blond man with an intimidating build, and you quickly looked away.

“I kind of don’t want to skip North Carolina,” Wanda said, and both MJ and Pietro sighed.

You chuckled, already knowing why she wanted to go there.

“Outer Banks is just so far out of the way, Wanda,” you told her.

“Yes, but it’s a road trip,” she quietly whined. “The whole point is to see things and have fun. Besides, it’s not like we have a set date on when this is supposed to come to an end. It can end whenever we want, right?”

None of you had an argument for that, and she smiled, almost triumphantly.

“Okay, don’t get ahead of yourself. We all still have to agree,” Michelle said, but she couldn’t fight back her small smile.

“…but I’m driving,” the only man of the bunch spoke up, and Wanda flicked his arm.

“There are three of us and one of you. Hush before we put you in the trunk,” Wanda teased.

The waitress brought your food over before another word could get in, and you glanced up to thank her. As you did, your eyes passed over that same cop from earlier, the one you’d ran into outside of the bathroom. Your gazes briefly connected, and you had an odd reaction to it, a shudder traveling down your spine.

You frowned a bit as you gave your attention to your food. It wasn’t that weird, you guessed. It was a small restaurant after all, and aside from them and your friends, there were only about three other people in the building. It was probably your own bias to be honest. Men in positions of authority never bode well with you, and policemen were at the top of the list for a multitude of reasons.

You guys discussed the rest of your trip over your lunch, making a list of things you wanted to see. Pietro huffed at every third suggestion. When there came a point where you could feel yourself getting full, you peered around for the waitress. With no sign of her, you decided to just go to the counter and ask for some takeout boxes. What you presumed was the owner nodded at you.

“Yeah, give me one moment…”

When he walked away, you pulled out your phone to see if there actually was any place decent in town to shop at. Worst case scenario, you guys would wind up at a Walmart or something. Google was just pulling up some results when you felt a shift in the air, a shift at your side. You glanced over and was shocked to see that same cop from before next to you.

You didn’t acknowledge it outside of that, facing forward again just as he spoke.

“Hey, Nick! Bring some out for us too,” he called.

Your attention was drawn to your fingers on the counter, tapping them and drawing circles into the wood. You could feel the heat of a gaze on your face, and you thought that maybe you were imagining it until the man next to you spoke up.

“Are you and your friends new in town?”

You were startled by the question, by the act of him talking to you, and you looked at him just as he spoke again.

“…or just passing through?”

There was a small smile on his lips as he said that, the corners curving upwards ever so slightly.

“Just passing through,” you finally answered. “Road trip.”

He hummed with a nod, gaze passing over you.

“My buddies and I went on a small road trip a few years back. It was pretty fun.”

You gave a tight lipped chuckle at that, looking towards the kitchen and wondering what was taking the owner so long. You both felt and heard the cop move closer, and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye just as he spoke again.

“Our town isn’t much, but there’s a few nice shops and boutiques around here,” he said, making you look at him in wonder.

“Oh?’

“Yeah,” he said, pulling out a pen and paper. “I’d hate for you to leave here with a bad impression.”

He chuckled, and you eventually joined in.

“We need you to come back. How else will we make any money?”

“Right,” you lightly said with a smile.

You took the list from him with a thanks, and he held it for a few seconds longer than necessary before finally letting go. You folded it up as he introduced himself.

“Peter,” he said, holding out his hand.

You hesitated, eyeing the appendage for some reason.

Peter seemed nice enough, maybe overly so, but again. That was probably just your own bias. Besides, even if he was a little strange to you, you would never see him again. You guys would be leaving in a few hours and heading further south. On the off chance that you did ever come back to visit, the chances of running into this same cop were low.

You gently shook his hand, introducing yourself too.

The owner finally returned then, bringing a bunch of carryout boxes with extra to keep at the counter. You took a few, thanking him and leaving the man Peter without another word. Your friends were in a discussion about Pietro’s ex-girlfriend when you returned. You told them about a list of shops in town as they packed up their food.

“That cop told me,” you told Wanda once she asked, walking outside. “The youngest one.”

You didn’t think of him again once you were in the car and driving down the street. Wanda was happy with the suggestions, finding at least two things at every shop. You and Michelle stopped for ice cream while Wanda went into some mom-and-pop pharmacy. Pietro was by the car and on his phone. While Michelle complimented the chocolate mint she got, you glanced up and caught sight of a cop car slowly passing by.

You only gave it a second glance when you recognized the cop in the passenger seat as the same blond from the restaurant. You frowned a bit, Michelle’s words fading to the background. You reminded yourself that it was a small town, and while the police department back home had hundreds of cops, the one here maybe had a total of fifteen. It was probably normal here to see the same cop several times in the same day.

You and Michelle met Wanda back in the car, Pietro telling you guys to get a move on. You were texting your mom, telling her you guys were on the road again as Pietro started the car. You loved her, but she worried too much, and while you didn’t mind placating her and keeping her up to date on where you were, it still made you roll your eyes.

After eating and walking around for a bit, you could feel yourself getting sleepy. It was to be expected. All of that combined with the smooth drive was really doing you in. Wanda and Michelle’s conversation became nothing more than a soft hum, and you were drifting more and more, but you knew Pietro hadn’t been driving long when you felt him starting to slow down.

You didn’t think a thing of it at first, not until you heard him curse anyway.

“What’s wrong?” Michelle wondered.

“The engine is cutting out,” you heard him say. “There’s…the gas. It’s gone.”

You opened your eyes at that, peeling them open just as the car came to a complete stop on the side of the road. You blinked, rubbing them and sitting up.

“What?” you heard Wanda say.

“Didn’t you just get gas?” you wondered.

“Yeah,” Pietro scoffed. “What the hell…?”

He tried to start the car a few more times with no luck, and only then was that when you started to get worried. When the twins got out of the car, you followed with a frown. Michelle poked her head out of the window as Pietro popped the hood.

“We had a full tank and then suddenly it just dropped,” he said from under the hood. “It has to be the fuel line…”

Wanda leaned against the car, and you pulled out your phone. You started texting your mom, and after a while of it not going through, you realized you must be on a bad stretch of road. You were holding your phone high as Pietro tried to figure out what was going on with the car. Wanda was trying to make a call too, and you’d just dropped your arm in frustration when the sound of a car reached your ears.

“Someone’s coming. Maybe we can get them to call someone or bring us some gas,” you suggested.

As the car appeared at the top of the hill, you realized it was a cop car. You weren’t sure if you should feel relieved about that, and you sank your teeth into your lip. Without even needing to flag them down, it started to slow, and you moved closer to the rental as it stopped right behind it.

You didn’t really know how to feel when a familiar face rose out of the passenger seat.

It was the same cop from the restaurant.

Peter.

The one who rose out of the driver’s seat was at the restaurant too. You remembered him, skin dark and hair cut low, and you wrung your hands together, frown deepening. You wondered how many coincidences became weird, became something that was no longer a coincidence.

“Hey,” Peter waved to you, that friendly smile on his pink lips.

You could feel your friends’ eyes on you, and you sent the cop a tight smile.

“Hi,” you nervously breathed.

“Car trouble?” he wondered, moving closer.

His partner lingered by the cop car…watching. You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling weird all of a sudden, and you glanced over your shoulder. Pietro was peering from around the hood, and Michelle had gotten out of the car, now.

“Yeah,” you finally answered. “We think it’s the engine or…something. One minute we had a near full tank of gas and then nothing.”

You shrugged as he neared the front of the car, peering under the hood. You glanced back at the other cop nervously, unable to help feeling like something was off. Peter didn’t remain under the hood for long, straightening and sending a nod to his partner. You heard the other man speak into his radio, and Wanda spoke up.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re just going to give you guys a ride back to town,” Peter said, and that didn’t relieve you.

“What about the car?” Michelle wondered.

“We’ll get someone to come and get and take it to a shop,” the other cop finally spoke up.

All four of you looked at each other. You still didn’t know what exactly was wrong with it, so it made sense to have it looked at, but this was definitely putting a dent in your plans. Not to mention how off this all still felt to you.

“There’s four of us,” you commented. “Honestly, if you could just call for a tow…”

“Well, that’s why I called for backup. That way we can give everyone a ride,” the other cop replied.

You looked to your friends, trying to gage how they felt about this. This just didn’t feel right to you, but you guys were stuck practically in the middle of nowhere with no gas and a faulty car with unknown reasons as to why. You didn’t want to be the one to disagree if everyone else was okay with it, but Wanda spoke before you could.

“Actually, I think we’ll just keep trying to call a tow.”

You could see another cop car coming over the hill, now, and you moved closer to Michelle. Peter, the only cop whose name you knew, was near you again, and he sent you what was meant to be a comforting smile, you were sure.

“It’s no trouble. Just let us drive you back to town and-.”

“Thanks, but we’re just going to decline,” you told him. “That’s nice of you though…”

You made to get back in the car when Peter stopped you. You were startled by the feel of his hand on your wrist, looking at him with wide eyes, and Pietro’s voice reached your ears.

“Hey,” he called, nearing you both. “We appreciate the offer, but we’d rather just call a tow truck, alright?”

He grabbed Peter’s arm, the action drawing his attention to Pietro, and you used the opportunity to stumble away. Peter looked at your friend with a gaze in his eye you couldn’t name, but it unnerved you, cementing that odd feeling you’d felt since they’d arrived. Peter didn’t look so boyish, now, so…nice. His dark eyes studied Pietro’s hand on him, and the other cop car had slowed to a stop, now.

“I could arrest you on assaulting an officer,” he quietly said, and your heart skipped a beat.

“You grabbed our friend first,” Michelle argued, the concern that you’d been feeling all along now reflected on her face.

“Pietro,” you said, reaching for him and trying to get him to back up.

He did, but you had a feeling that the offense was already done.

“He shouldn’t touch you like that,” he spat, and Wanda was now standing with you three.

You didn’t like the way Peter was looking at Wanda’s brother, and you looked over as the other officers got out of their car too. Your lips parted, chest clenching painfully as your eyes landed on that same blond-haired, blue-eyed cop from the restaurant. The brunette at his side had been there too, and you sharply inhaled.

Something was very wrong.

The blond was quickly approaching, speaking to Peter as if the four of you weren’t even there.

“What’s the problem?”

Peter spoke before any of you could.

“Car trouble. We tried to offer them a ride back to town, but their friend here thought it was okay to assault an officer.”

The way Peter spoke to the blond, it made it clear who was the higher up of the two, and you scoffed at the words leaving his mouth.

“That’s not true. You grabbed her and Pietro-.”

“Pietro, is it?” the blond cut Wanda off, approaching her brother. “You have the right to remain silent...”

“Wait,” Wanda cried. “This is insane, he barely touched him. Your buddy-.”

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney.”

You blinked in disbelief, unable to understand how some simple car trouble had escalated into Pietro getting arrested. While Wanda was trying to argue with the cop currently putting Pietro in handcuffs, you didn’t notice Peter moving closer to you until his hand was on your arm.

“We’ll drive the rest of you back to town…”

“No!” you pulled against his hand, shocked when he didn’t let go. “I don’t want to go anywhere. You can’t arrest him, he didn’t do anything!”

Panic filled you when Peter appeared to be stronger than he looked, practically dragging you away, and Michelle called out. It had gotten Wanda’s attention too, and they both ran over.

“Let go of her,” Michelle cried.

In all the commotion, you didn’t realize the other two cops had come over too. There was too much going on, and in the chaos, you found yourself tripping over your feet and out of Peter’s grip. Your chin knocked against the pavement, and you winced. You pushed yourself to your hands and knees, glancing up just in time to see that blond cop reach for his gun.

Your lips parted at the sight of Pietro pushing against him, unaware of what was about to happen.

You screamed his name just as the sound of the gunshot rang through the air, and you felt your skin grow cold at the sight of your best friend’s brother going…limp. Blood had never bothered you before, but in this context, it was the worst thing you’d ever seen. Wanda’s scream brought tears to your eyes, and you heard Peter curse.

“What the hell, Steve?” one of the other cops said, and their cavalier attitude about it had you stumbling to your feet.

The blond cop, Steve, finally spoke up.

“It was going to happen now or later, right?”

You looked at him, horrified, and you mindlessly reached for Michelle’s hand, but she batted it away. You looked at her, meeting her dark eyes as she seemed to have come to some conclusion you hadn’t yet. She looked disturbed, and she wouldn’t take her eyes off of you.

“Run,” she whispered.

Obviously, you guys were going to run, but her hand was pushing on your arm, pushing you away. Wanda was a screaming and crying mess, detained by the brunette who’d come with Steve, and more than you wanted to run, you wanted to hold her. What had just happened didn’t quite feel real, and you had a hard time convincing yourself that this wasn’t some awful nightmare you’d conjured up while falling asleep in the car.

Pietro was dead…and your eyes studied the way his blood crawled away from him. It made your stomach turn, and Steve’s next words took what little breath you had left.

“Peter…are you taking her or not?”

He sounded irritated, frustrated, and you slowly looked from him to Peter. His eyes met yours, and you took a step back as several things happened at once, too fast for you to comprehend, but just slow enough for you to witness.

The other cop, the brunette with hair that brushed his chin, took out his gun, and suddenly Wanda was just as dead as her brother. Steve was grabbing Pietro like he was nothing, the fourth cop was reaching for Michelle, and Peter was taking a step towards you. You didn’t even have time to react to it, Michelle grabbing your hand and taking off.

You couldn’t quite register that you were running, feet moving so fast and clumsily that it was a wonder you didn’t fall. Grass and twigs were scratching at your ankles and branches were snagging on your clothes. Witnessing the death of two of your friends wasn’t something you were able to process, too in disbelief, too in denial.

Michelle’s hand was tight in yours, and then it wasn’t.

You stumbled to a stop as she collapsed, your wide eyes falling to her frame. She was gasping and clutching her chest, a horrifying gurgling sound leaving her lips. Blood was soaking her shirt in a terrifying capacity, and when you fell to her knees beside her, her bloody hand pushed at you. Against your better judgement, you pressed your hand against her chest, but you knew it wouldn’t do any good.

Every cough coated her lips in more red, and you could hear the hurried footsteps approaching.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, and even though Michelle couldn’t speak, her dying action was to harshly shove you away. You glanced between her and the approaching cops, and feeling like your body was working on autopilot, you struggled to stand. It took you too long to take your eyes off of her, breaking out into a confused run.

You didn’t want to die, and you didn’t know why this was happening.

Michelle’s blood was on you, all of your friends were dead, and you were being chased through the woods by cops you had never even seen before today. Your vision blurred from your tears, and you felt like you weren’t getting air fast enough. You couldn’t hear anything else outside of your breathing, ears deaf to all other sounds.

You had never been particularly athletic, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins had your legs pushing farther than they ever had. Your mind couldn’t focus on anything beyond the sight of your dead friends, fear tightening your chest at the thought of ending up just like them. You thought you were running fast enough, but maybe it was silly to think you could outrun a cop who’d trained for things like this.

You hit the ground hard.

Truthfully, you didn’t even understand why you’d fallen at first. You’d just started flailing and screaming, and in the commotion, sometimes your hands or feet would connect with something. Or better yet, someone. Your nails broke skin, and you couldn’t tell what blood was MJ’s and what blood was…Peter’s.

“Hey, hey,” he gently said, trying to shush you, pressing his body against yours and trying to get his hand over your mouth. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You didn’t believe him. Why would you believe him? You couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t swallow down the heavy sobs that kept climbing out of your throat. Every swipe of your hand got more of Michelle’s blood on his face, and the visual made your stomach churn. You were pushing your arm against his throat as he reached down, and so sure that you were going to die, you were shocked by the feeling of being shocked.

The taser made you jerk, halting your movements long enough to allow Peter to grab your arms. Your body was still shaking some when he turned you on your stomach, and you squeezed your eyes shut, your breath moving dirt. You couldn’t stop crying even if you tried, and you wailed at both the feel and the sound of the handcuffs clicking into place.

“Sam,” you heard him call, his breathing just as heavy as yours.

Peter was sitting on your lower back, knees pressed into the dirt on either side of your waist. You felt him pull the back of your shirt down, a pinch making you wince, and you didn’t miss the way the hand that held your head down was massaging your scalp with its fingers. It was almost soothing, or maybe that was just from whatever was in the syringe.

Your body felt weighed down by more than just the grown man holding you down, and when he moved, starting to lift you, you confirmed that. You stumbled, vision tilting and spinning, and Peter leaned you against him. You could feel his arms holding you as your knees buckled, and you blinked up at him, your breathing shaky. The corners of your vision were going dark, and a few more tears escaped.

“I don’t want to die,” you heard yourself whisper.

You could make out his frown, the way his dark eyes ran over you. You shuddered at the feel of his fingers on your cheek, brushing a tear away, and you swallowed when he shook his head.

“You’re not going to.”

The stench of blood was the last thing any of your senses registered.

[fictionalmenxyn]

--༒𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝༒--

—༒𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐳 𝐱 𝐘/𝐧 𝐘/𝐥/𝐧༒—

pairing: firefighter!eddie x cop!y/n

relations: friends to lovers

summary: they both knew each other before the station, they both fought. Y/n had been the lieutenant for Eddie's platoon. So they knew each other quite well. But Y/n had to leave the military sooner than she expected due to a bad injury. What happens when Y/n sees that Eddie has joined the same station she helps out at, station 118. Y/n is close friends with station 118, as she works with Athena.

(Reqs are open!)

[morganbritton132]

A little continuation from this post I made about Eddie being an unwitting accomplice to Steve’s crimes:

Eddie is sitting in his van in the parking lot, twirling a bathroom pass around his finger as he watches Steve let the air out of Billy Hargrove’s tires.

He looks away, contemplates going back to history class, and then jumps out of his skin at his passenger door opening. Steve sits inside like, “Hey, wanna make a hundred bucks?”

There used to be a time when Eddie would kill to have King Steve Harrington talk to him… “I don’t have that much gear on me.”

“I’m not - no, I’m not looking to buy,” Steve shakes his head like it’s Eddie’s fault for not understanding what he’s asking. “Two hundred. I need a ride.”

Eddie should’ve said no. Wayne would’ve told Eddie to say no, but here he is. Pulling into the parking lot of some posh looking law office while Steve turns towards him like, “You’re good at acting, right? Good, c’mon.”

Honestly he doesn’t know if it’s curiosity or stupidity, but Eddie didn’t back out of that parking lot right there and go back to school. No, he got out and followed Steve inside.

Pass the receptionist’s desk, pass the unpaid interns, and the junior partners, to a big glass door in the back where Steve stops short and tells Eddie, “Okay, follow me and then stand out there and look angry and fed up.”

“I am fed up.”

“Good on, Munson. You’ll kill it,” He says and then heads into the office without knocking. Eddie reluctantly follows. Steve pulls a 180 and says in a voice on the verge of tears, “Dad, I really messed up.”

He launches into an Oscar worthy performance about Tommy messing with him and not paying attention, and him sideswiping Eddie’s van, “And he says he’s going to sue me. He knows a lawyer.”

Because Eddie has clearly hit his head and is now dying, that somehow works. Or at the least, Richard Harrington is too busy to deal with this because he doles out cash to fix his van. He even says, “Have the invoice from the mechanic sent to my office. We’ll cover payment as long as this wraps up cleanly.”

“Dad, he’s going to fix it himself. He’s handy.”

That sounds like an insult but he was handed another extra hundred so Eddie just mumbled something and gets the hell out of there. He’s barely got his seatbelt back on before Steve is getting back in the car looking pumped.

He grabs the cash and splits it. Three hundred evenly. He grins, “I didn’t think that was going to work.”

“What do you need three hundred dollars for?”

“Oh. I don’t.”

Eddie stares at him incredulously, “So you just lie to everybody.”

“Pretty much.”

[ikiprian]

Ghost Kitchen (brought to you by criminal entrepreneur, Red Hood)

Danny’s got the easiest job in Gotham.

He works as a fry cook at a shoddily-run, independent burger joint. Hardly anyone comes in, despite prices being criminally low, and portions insanely large, and while the manager looks like the average tough-as-nails ex-con, he lets Danny mess around in the kitchen whenever the place is empty. (Which is often. This place has to be the city’s hidden gem or something!)

Mr. Manager’s the only one ever there with Danny, except for sometimes when his buddies come over to smoke and play cards. Danny would find it shady, except part of his job is not to ask questions. Literally, he was told during the interview.

(It was a weird interview. Why would they need to hire someone who’s been in a gunfight before? Like, he has, but Gotham’s idea of “hirable qualities” is so bizarre.)

So instead he whips up some killer burgers with the frozen ingredients, and basks in the praise as the guys tell him he shouldn’t have, he does too much for this joint, ain’t that friendly!

Now, Danny’s a chef on the newer side. As a teen he’d preferred the look of Nasty Burger over anything with Michelin stars, and he only really took up cooking after Jazz moved out for college. But just like ecto-exposure used to turn the groceries sentient, Danny’s low-level ecto signature imbues all his food with something historically haunted Gothamites just love! And Danny’s never been one to half-ass a job when it makes people happy.

With fresher produce, real meat, Danny’s sure he can take his dishes to the next level. It takes a couple months of badgering, but his manager finally agrees to contact the mysterious store owner, who keeps the place going, despite profits Danny knows have to be in the red.

Danny spends the morning prepping. He pours his heart into his food, eager to impress. The big boss will be here soon, and he wants to prove that despite the dangerous location, this place has real potential!

It isn’t until the Red Hood shows up that Danny realizes he’s been working for a money laundering scheme.

[crabs-brencil]

honestly we were so deprived of a car chase

also 80s cop au or whatever just any excuse to not draw connor in his cyberlife clothes lmao

[pastelpaperplanes]

Can we have more Mob AU please?

months and MONTHS old but I made The Mister to go w The Boss 😏😏

never separate them!!

How does Megs get any work done when his husband is THIS GUY?? who knows. I would never be able to focus on anything. gd.

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 17

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 3.4k

warnings: uhm... blood, injuries to hands and feet...

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 17/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

Determined, Jeongguk drives west, soon swapping his car for another black one at the rental. While he waits for the staff to grab the right key, he enters an address into his phone’s GPS, scanning through the satellite images in preparation. 

Ideally, he would’ve scoped the place out beforehand. In person. But he doesn’t have that option, so he tells himself that it’ll be fine. He just has to be careful. 

A few moments later, he gets into the driver’s seat, driving the new car back east, passing both the station and not too far from your apartment building. There’s a part of him that wants to stop by, to beg you to come back with him, but he ignores it, knowing full well that you wouldn’t appreciate it.

Luckily, the sun has already set by the time he arrives at the address an hour later, providing him the cover of darkness. The street in front of the two-story suburban house is quiet, and he slows the car to a stop at a safe distance. He’s relieved to see a few other cars parked along the street, making it easier for him to blend in.

Despite not being trained in surveillance quite like you, Jeongguk tries to think two, even three steps ahead. He manually switches off the interior lights before killing the engine, ensuring no harsh lights give him away if someone happens to be watching. If that someone also happens to know him, he’s fucked. 

Surrounded by darkness, he quickly scans the area before slipping out of the driver’s seat and into the back. Hidden from view, he picks up the binoculars he borrowed from the station, leaning against the seat in front of him as he peers through them.

Although it’s dark, the streetlights and the glow from inside the house are enough, and he starts by inspecting the cars parked outside. They’re ordinary cars with plates he doesn’t recognize. Unlocking his phone—the brightness set as low as possible—he writes the plates down to look them up later.

Then, he turns his attention toward the house. It’s a white-painted home with a decent-sized porch that almost reminds him of the house he shared with you during the mission, only smaller. He keeps his gaze on it, noticing movement through the mostly curtain-covered windows on the bottom floor, but it's impossible to make out any details. Just shadows dancing against the beige fabric.

A sudden sound interrupts the silence, and through the side-view mirror, Jeongguk spots a vehicle approaching from behind. He ducks, staying completely still. The dark car passes, and a few seconds later, Jeongguk peeks out from behind the driver’s seat again. The driver is parking outside the house, and so Jeongguk holds his breath.

The door on the driver’s side opens, but the man inside is distracted by something in the passenger seat, and as he begins to step out, his face remains hidden from Jeongguk’s view. He’s wearing dark clothes; a thicker winter jacket of some kind, and his hair is black. Nothing incriminating or identifying.

Come one, come on.

With both feet on the ground, the man turns his head to quickly scan the street, and Jeongguk sinks back down in his seat, his eyes wide. 

JJ.

Jeongguk watches his coworker slam the door shut, only to round the car to seemingly grab something from the backseat floor out of view. A second later, JJ emerges with a small black bag in his hand—just like the one Sana briefly described to Jeongguk after he’d stumbled across her and Jihyo buried in papers and questioned them.

JJ heads for the front door of his “stepsister's” house, taking the two steps up in a single stride. Jeongguk watches him knock and then how he stands there, waiting for someone to open. Again, Jeongguk holds his breath, praying that tonight will lead to a breakthrough. 

It’s almost as if they know that Jeongguk is waiting, on the edge of his seat, because whoever is behind that door is taking their goddamn time. Additionally, his phone chooses the worst time to ring, the vibrations unnoticeable for his target but distracting for him. Then, the door opens, and Jeongguk’s dextrocardic heart skips a beat, and maybe it also fills his veins with anger.

Ryung.

You have a hard time putting your feelings into words, somehow satisfied by your recent breakthrough but also jittery and nervous about what it might mean. You could be one step closer to finally putting some very bad men behind bars, or at least try to, but you’ve also realized that, yeah, there’s a risk that you’re in more danger than you thought.

On one hand, you’re probably farther away from JJ (at least), but on the other hand, you’re alone. Although you didn’t stay with Jeongguk that long, it’s still taken you some time to get used to not living with him anymore. Your apartment is smaller than his house, but it’s a pretty home; recently renovated but with a homey feel to it. At least you try to convince yourself that.

“Okay, my phone’s about to die, but you have a safe flight. Bye,” you tell your mother, waiting for her goodbye before hanging up and slipping your phone into the front pocket of your black hoodie. 

Your mother. You’ve tried to keep her as unknowing and uninvolved as possible, and although she knows that the city’s police force has been dealing with some corruption, she doesn’t know that you’re in the middle of it. It’s been relatively easy to keep her in the dark, or at least in the shadows; she’s not the most updated person, preferring to stay off social media and only read physical newspapers now and again.

For the longest time, before everything unfolded and while you dealt with the harassment at work and the tampering of your car, you thought your end was inevitable, and you didn’t want to worry her. Now... well… you guess you still don’t want her to worry. It would be useless as there’s never been anything she could do to help you. If anything, she’d be in danger too.

Living alone again, you've set a new bedtime routine in place. It includes a hot drink—usually tea but sometimes cocoa—along with lazily scrolling the internet on your laptop with the lights dimmed while the TV hums in the background. It helps take your mind off things and the human voices make these dark nights feel less lonely.

Tonight, however, the nine o’clock news reported a mass shooting involving multiple gunmen not too far from your station, and you watched in horror as the news anchor described the chaos. Squad cars from neighboring districts had been called in to help your understaffed station handle the panicked crowds and roaming gunmen. As a criminal investigator, there’s nothing you can do to help; you’re not trained to handle a task like that. You think about your colleagues, mainly all the officers called in, hoping none of them get hurt tonight.

To calm your nerves, you put the kettle on and rummage through the cupboard in search of your tea. Maybe chamomile will calm you until there’s an update.

But you don’t have time to pick out a tea bag before there’s a sharp knock on your door. You freeze. It’s late—almost ten p.m.—and you haven’t really made friends with your elderly neighbors.

Swallowing hard, you turn around and very slowly make your way from the kitchen to the door. Your heart pounds against your ribs, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Maybe it's Jeongguk?

Holding your breath, you rise onto your toes to press your eye to the peephole. A chill runs down your spine, and your blood freezes.

It’s not Jeongguk. It’s Hoseong, and he’s dressed in black, staring right at you, smiling.

You stumble backward, body locking up in fear.

He looks the same as you remember him—tall and muscular with dark eyes. But his hair is longer now, nearly reaching his jaw. He used to seem so charming to you, but even if he mostly looks the same, all you see now is how unsettling he is.

“I know you’re in there,” he sings, hos voice teasing. “And a little bird told me you’ve been having trouble with your door. The latch, was it?”

He knows about your door? You step back slowly, heart pounding. What do you do? You always lock your door—like now—but lately, the latch has become misaligned. It’s a small issue. Barely noticeable. Just enough to make locking and unlocking tricky sometimes.

But there’s a gap. A weak spot.

Then, you hear it. It’s a faint, eerie sound, like someone sliding a thin object, maybe a credit card, into the door. As if to wiggle the latch loose.

What do you do?

Your first instinct is to scream for help, but when you think about it… Your neighbors are elderly, and Hoseong is definitely armed and on the warpath. The best thing they could do is call the understaffed, already busy cops. They can’t help you.

Instead, you rush to the kitchen, yanking open a drawer and wrapping your trembling fingers tight around your sharpest knife. A second later, you hear the unmistakable sound of the door sliding open, followed by quick, angry footsteps.

Hoseong is smiling when he steps into view, a knife glinting in his hand. The smile is twisted, never reaching his eyes, and instinctively, you start to back up against the counter. He looks angry, frustrated, maybe even worn beyond the smile. You guess life on the run brings an element of stress.

“Finally, I’ve got you alone,” he seethes, striding toward you. “You’ve ruined my life, you know that? Fucking whore.”

You hold your knife out, preparing to defend yourself as best you can. But the truth is that Hoseong isn’t just a good bit bigger and a lot stronger than you—he’s also faster and more athletic. And most importantly, he’s trained to defend himself and disarm others in a way you just aren’t.

So when you thrust the knife toward him as he closes in, he dodges with ease and uses his free hand to grab your wrist hard. In one fluid motion, he clamps his knife between his teeth to get his other hand free, harshly yanking your knife from you. It clutters against the floor somewhere out of view. Next, he’s taking his knife back, shifting his grip on it, and preparing to strike.

With one hand still trapped in his grasp, you don’t get the angle or opportunity to disarm him like he did you. Instead, your left hand only manages to grab the blade. You’re not sure if you feel how it hurts or if you just know that it does, but something warm starts to drip down your hand as you try to keep the knife away from you, gritting your teeth.

Somehow, you manage to land a kick to his crotch, and despite the less-than-perfect angle, the pressure of the knife lessens as Hoseong stumbles back. Seizing the opportunity, you push him away with all your might, sprinting toward the only place with a lock. 

The bathroom. 

Almost instantly, Hoseong regains his balance, and he’s so close that you briefly feel the graze of his fingers in your hair as he sets off after you. Panicked, you grab anything within reach, hurling it back between you to slow him down. A tall, vintage vase crashes to the floor, a frustrated ‘fuck’ drawn from Hoseong, and it’s what buys you just enough time to reach the bathroom and lock the door behind you. A split second after you’ve twisted the lock, he’s yanking on the handle. Hard.

Alone in the bathroom, gasping for air, you fall to your knees. Blood is quickly collecting on your gray tile floor, and you have to look away from your shaky, torn-up hand. Your other hand reaches into the pocket of your hoodie, fumbling with the phone as you pull it out. It’s nothing more than pure luck that it didn’t fall out during the commotion. 

Suddenly, a booming crash shakes the door, and you both see and feel the impact as Hoseong tries to kick the door in. Quickly, you scramble to sit in front of it, pressing your back against it and planting your feet firmly on the floor.

You glance at your phone, already knowing there’s no use. The police won’t have anyone to send, and even if they did, Hoseong’s going to get you before they’ve even dispatched someone. Eyes blurry with tears, you press on a contact, lifting your phone to your ear and listening to the signals. 

“Hello?”

Hearing his familiar voice, the deep but slightly surprised greeting, is what does it, and you break further. He sounds like he didn’t expect you to call, probably because you’ve made it clear that you don’t want him around.

“Jeongguk?” you sniffle quietly, shakily, knowing that there’s nothing he can do either. All officers were called in, so he’s at least thirty minutes away. 

He must hear the overwhelming emotions in your voice because his next words are clearer, sharper, as if he adjusted the phone to hear better. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s here–” you whisper, your voice trembling—especially when Hoseong kicks against the door again, the shockwaves hitting you.

“–What?” Jeongguk questions, and you hear rustling in the background.

“Yeah, Hoseong’s here, and he’s got me,” you cry, nearly dropping the phone as the door is hit again. You do your best to grip the device tightly. “I’m not gonna make–”

Silence. Not even the rustling you heard on his end. You lower the phone to look at the screen through tears, only to find it black and dead.

This time, you’re not gonna make it.

Closing your eyes, you try to get a deep breath in. Maybe two. You know it’s inevitable, but are you just going to wait for it? Desperately, you open your eyes again, looking around the blood-stained bathroom for something—anything—to use as a weapon or shield when Hoseong inevitably breaks the door down. 

But there’s nothing, and hit after hit rattles the door against your back. You’re not sure why he didn’t bring a gun. Of course, he’ll succeed tonight anyway, but a gun would’ve spared him some effort and you some unnecessary terror. Sure, someone might hear a gunshot, but he’s not being very quiet now either. You have a feeling he saw his undisturbed opportunity with the mass shooting happening and the police stretched thin. If someone in the building has called, it will still be a while before anyone arrives. He'll be done and on his way by then.

Despite the lack of weapons and protection, your eyes focus on something you can use to at least buy you some time. You stand up on shaky legs, quickly heading over to the bathtub, and with all your might, try to drag and push it in front of the door. Adrenaline still pumps through your veins, but you’re starting to feel the pain of your hand, blood smearing across the white porcelain. 

The tub is incredibly heavy, but even in your state, you manage to wedge one end against the door. You’re fairly certain that it’ll keep Hoseong from breaking the door in, but the tub only reaches your thigh, and Hoseong might break through the door above it. After all, it’s of the flimsier kind, and you’re surprised it’s held on for so long already.

Or, he might realize–just like you have–that the door doesn’t swing inward. It swings out.

“You can’t hide in there forever,” Hoseong pauses his assault on the door, his voice the angriest you’ve ever heard. “You won’t be able to weasel your way out this time.”

“Why can’t you just let it go?” you finally yell, your voice strained.

“Let go? Let go?” He spits the words with fury, his rage palpable. “You’ve ruined my life, you understand that, right?! Either I live the rest of my life on the run, or I risk rotting away in jail just because you couldn’t let it go.”

You want so badly to yell obscenities at him, insult him for being too stupid to realize that he ruined his own life. He decided to assault you, turn everyone against you, and make attempts on your life. He took the risk, and he only has himself to blame now that karma is chasing him. But you don’t voice those thoughts, fearing that it would only fuel his anger and that’s the last thing you need.

“But how does this help? Coming here to hurt me now? If anything you’ll only risk a longer time in jail?”

“I don’t care,” he argues, his voice still dripping with hatred. “Life on the run will be better knowing that you’re six feet under and that your heroic boyfriend couldn’t save you.”

And then, there’s silence again. It doesn’t last long, but there’s something eerie about those four or five seconds before you hear a sharp metallic sound. 

Eyes widening, you realize that yeah, he’s also figured out that the door swings outward—he doesn’t need to kick the door in if he can unscrew the latch instead. That's what the metallic scraping is; his knife working the lock.

Your heart pounds as you frantically scan the room again. Maybe if you could wedge a broomstick or something under the handle and across the door frame? But there’s no broomstick. There’s nothing. So you’re left holding your breath and waiting for him to succeed. It feels like ages, but it’s probably only a minute or so before the lock falls to the floor with a metallic clang.

You back away from the bathtub and the door, knowing that it most likely won’t make any difference. And you’re right—the door swings open half a second later, a raging Hoseong setting his eyes on you and charging.

You try to dodge him, but he grabs you by your wrist and pulls you out of the bathroom. You stumble as he drags you out, your hip banged violently and painfully against the tub. 

“You fucking whore. You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done,” he promises, making sure to drag you across the vase shards on the way back to the kitchen.

In vain, you try to avoid them, wincing when they cut your feet. Your pain makes Hoseong—who’s of course wearing shoes—laugh, but he stops when you surprise him by throwing yourself to the floor.

The shard you grab cuts your skin, but you try to ignore the pain as you drive the sharp point into his back, piercing through his thin black jacket. Hoseong curses and his posture falters, but you doubt it did any real damage even if it hurt, and you’re right. You barely have time to blink before he whirls around, swinging his knife at you. Unfortunately, you don’t dodge the blow completely, and you feel how it swipes your side.

Still holding your wrist in a tight grip, it’s Hoseong’s turn to stumble when you yank on it in an unexpected direction; the kitchen sink. You manage to get a few steps closer, and that’s all you need. As he swings again, you reach for the kettle, hurling the scalding water over him. Some of the scattered drops hit your face and hands, stinging as they land on your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the pained yell Hoseong lets out as he drops your hand and staggers back.

Exhausted and in pain, you'd hoped it would be the end of it, but it's not. Seemingly running on nothing but fumes, adrenaline, and anger, Hoseong straightens up, and then he’s focusing on you yet again, gritted teeth and angrier than ever.

<previous | next>

[the-barefoot-hatter]

Bill is a self-taught driver!

[silentheiss]

AU where Luo Binghe’s a burglar and he’s been following this rich guy for last week and he actually seems kinda nice but it’s not Luo Binghe’s business. he needs money and he’ll take what he deserves so he breaks into the apartment. the moment he steps in he’s horrified cause the whole place’s a mess, the floor is covered by empty take out boxes and there’re so many meds in the bathroom cabinet and where was the last time this guy washed his bedsheets??

anyway, Shen Yuan comes back home to a clean apartment and a homemade dinner and a very distressed, very pretty burglar

[starry-bi-sky]

i think i'm hilarious -- aka i made blood blossom danny au memes

all of these come from my DpxDC prompt "i am pushing the batdad agenda--" and it's corresponding additions in the reblogs ksdjlf.

i am. rotating them in my head. forever and always. personally i think there should be more batdad aus in dpxdc, their dynamic could be neat. :)

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training II (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers​

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

When you opened your eyes, it was dark.

For a moment, you thought that maybe you’d gone blind, but you could just barely make out the shape of your hand in front of your face. There’d even been a split second where your heart stuttered, thinking you were buried in a box or something, but then you’d sat up. You were on a soft surface, and it didn’t take much longer to realize that it was a bed.

You couldn’t see anything, no matter how hard you stared or where you looked. It was all just dark, and with difficulty, you pushed yourself to your feet. Your body felt weighed down, almost like it was filled with sand, and you stood still for a moment, pressing your hand to your head. That gave you pause…and you sniffed.

The smell of blood hit your nose, and your lips parted, eyes widening.

You stumbled back, bumping into a wall, and a loud gasp escaped you. You stared ahead into nothing, eyes watering as you remembered watching your friends die one by one. Pietro was the first to go, dying for something as silly as trying to protect you. Wanda had died for even less, and Michelle… You struggled to breathe, recalling MJ’s last moments and how she used them to push you away.

You pressed your hands to your face, tears wetting your palms, and before you could stop yourself, a loud wailing noise climbed out of your throat. Your knees shook, and you were falling before you realized it. Your forehead touched the floor as you cried, and you wanted to convince yourself that it was all a nightmare.

It had to be.

You had to be still in the car, Pietro behind the wheel as he argued with Wanda, MJ listening to whatever songs she had on her phone. You had to still be asleep, your mind coming up with the most horrific nightmare possible. That had to be the truth, but everything felt too real.

Your skin felt too dirty, the stench of dried blood was too strong, your ankle ached too much. All the signs pointed to otherwise, that this was your reality, and you cried harder. You couldn’t see a thing, didn’t even know where you were, and you didn’t know what to do. Those cops had to have brought you here, and you wondered why.

They’d killed your friends like it was nothing, had talked about their bodies like they were nothing, and it made your chest clench painfully. You didn’t understand why they did that, what was going on, and more importantly…why you? Your friends had been taken from you so violently, and you were still alive, and you didn’t know why.

There was too much going on in your head, and you fought to remember everything that had happened. You remembered the blond one, the scary one, saying something to Peter. Peter was the one who’d looked nice…sweet. He’d been friendly, and at the time, you’d thought he was a little too friendly, but you’d written it off. Now…you wished that you hadn’t.

Are you taking her or not?

That was what he’d said, and the words had only served to confuse you then, but now you understood. He had taken you. Where? Only God knew, but you were fighting with the fact that you were now a statistic. You’d been taken, by cops no less, and that fact only made you cry more. Any chance of you getting out of here seemed laughable because these guys were professionals.

You felt cold, and you knew it had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. You peeled your eyes open and kept them open, because every time you closed them, all you saw was your friends. Bloody and lifeless. It made your stomach turn, and you fought the urge to be sick. You didn’t have the strength to return to the bed, and so you remained on the floor, cold and afraid and crying so much it made your throat hurt.

You surmised that you drifted in and out of consciousness, not because you could even relax enough to find sleep, but more so out of exhaustion than anything. Your body had seen and dealt with too much in such a short amount of time that it took it upon itself to try and heal.

The next time you peeled your eyes open, you could see light.

It was only a crack of light, and it looked too far up to make sense. You didn’t even know what you were looking at at first, but then you sat up, and your lips parted. The light was coming from beneath a door…at the top of stairs, and you trembled.

You were in a basement.

You could feel yourself shaking at the realization, and you forced yourself to your feet. You tripped a few times going up the stairs, stumbling to the door, and the sound you made was loud. You banged on it, searching the wood for the handle before frantically pulling and twisting.

“Hello?”

Your voice croaked at first, but the more you yelled, the stronger it became.

“Hello?” you screamed, banging on the door. “Is anyone there?”

When only silence met you, you could feel your eyes watering again, and you squeezed them shut. Your chest twisted painfully, and you wanted to break down again, but you thought about MJ and how much she’d tease you for being so weak. Taking a deep breath, you sniffed and hit the door again, standing this time as you kicked it too.

“Let me out!”

Your arms felt so weak, and there was no telling how long you’d been down here. The door shook from the force of your assault, and you wouldn’t stop hitting it, your vision starting to blur.

“Let me out, let me out,” you shrieked.

Your hands were starting to hurt, and you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. When it became too much, you stopped, falling to the stairs and sitting down. Your chest heaved, and loud choking sounds left your throat as you dropped your head into your hands. You were trying so hard not to panic, but it was hard. You didn’t know where you were nor why this had happened, and you dropped your hands with a frown.

You blinked at the light coming from beneath the door…

…and the way it broke up, now.

It took a moment for you to realize that someone was standing there, shoes in the middle of the door, and you sharply inhaled. You leaned over, doing your best to look underneath, but all you could see was their shoes.

“Hello?” you choked out.

They didn’t reply, and you blinked back tears.

“I don’t… I didn’t do anything,” you told them. “I don’t know why I’m here, but I didn’t do anything.”

Again, silence was all that met you, and you started crying again.

“Please, let me out…”

They started moving away at that, and you cried harder. You didn’t know who they were nor why they pretended not to hear you, and you stared at their shoes. At the way they seemed to hesitate in leaving, and you blinked, your tears halting.

“Peter…?”

The person stopped completely, and you moved closer to the door, frantically trying to reach underneath.

“Peter?” you questioned louder. “Peter, please! Let me out!”

You pushed your fingers underneath the door, wiggling them.

“I won’t say anything, I swear I won’t,” you cried. “Please, just let me out.”

Your words seemed to fall on deaf ears, and to your detriment, someone stepped beside Peter. There was a hushed exchange of words before they both walked away, and you were alone again. You let your head drop to the step, harsh sobs leaving you, and that was where you remained.

“Oh dear.”

There was someone standing over you the next time you woke up. A woman. You hadn’t even heard the door open, and when you craned your head, you focused your shaky vision on her. You felt so weak, dirtier than you did the last time you woke up, and with a frown, you realized why. The smell of urine was strong, and again, you wondered how long you’d been down here.

Her brown hair brushed over her shoulders as she leaned down to grab your hands. Her eyes held something like sympathy as she helped you stand, and you winced, regretting the night you’d spent sleeping on the stairs. It took you longer than you cared to admit that a light was on, allowing you to see, and you blinked at it as it hung from the ceiling, a string beside it.

Of course, you wouldn’t have known it was there.

It was dark, and you’d never been here before.

The strange woman helped you down the stairs, slowly and with patience. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her, both relieved and fearful of her presence. She was a woman, yes, but that didn’t guarantee anything. Still, she was kind, and she didn’t say anything about the way you’d soiled yourself. You glanced away, and the action forced you to really take in the basement.

It was nice, but just nice enough to not be considered inhumane. The twin bed was a dark wood and looked like something you’d see at Badcock. There was a large rug on the floor beside it, and a door in front of it that you hadn’t even noticed. The rest of the room was bear with plain white walls. The unknown woman led you to that door, and you watched with wide eyes as she reached for the key around her neck.

When she unlocked it, it revealed a bathroom.

“You’ll need to wash up,” she told you, moving towards the tub and running some water. “Clean yourself very good.”

Her tone and her words had you looking at her again.

“Will I get to leave?”

Your tone was hopeful, and the look she gave you had you deflating. She pressed her lips together, seeming to think over her words carefully.

“This room, maybe. If everything goes well…”

You didn’t understand, and she was helping you peel your clothes off of you before you could voice your confusion. You couldn’t even find it in you to be embarrassed or shy. You’d witnessed your friends dying and had been locked up in some basement for God knows how long. Some woman helping you to undress so that you could clean yourself was the least of your concerns.

You hissed when you sank into the hot water, eyes watering at how quickly it took on a pink hue.

“My name’s Jane,” she eventually told you, helping you scrub.

You looked at her, drinking her in and repeating her name to yourself.

“Jane.”

She nodded, and you looked at the water again.

You had so many questions, but you didn’t know where to start. Why were you here? Why had they killed your friends? Who was she and could you trust her? You decided to focus on the more important one.

“What do you mean I might get to leave this room?”

Jane softly exhaled, running you some more bath water after draining the filthy batch.

“If you want to leave this room, you’ll need to get it together,” she whispered.

Her harsh words didn’t match her soft tone, and your frown deepened. She looked you over with a frown of her own, pulling her lip between her teeth.

“No more of that crying and screaming and banging like you’ve been doing…”

Your eyes widened, and you sat up.

“You heard that?” you asked in a small voice.

“The whole house could hear it,” she answered.

Your embarrassment was taken over by confusion.

The whole house.

You wondered if that was just exaggerated language on her part or if you really were in a house full of people. If the latter was true, you wondered about your chances of escaping, and when you looked up, Jane’s eyes met yours.

“No more of that either.”

She continued before you could open your mouth.

“You’ll be seeing Steve today…”

The mention of the blond cop had you shuddering, and you held back tears.

“…and if he thinks you’re not ready, he’s going to send you right back down here.”

Your hand wrapped around her wrist at that. It wasn’t on purpose, but the thought of spending another day down here had your chest clenching in pain. She softly shushed you, reaching for your hand and gently prying it off of her.

“Hey, hey,” she softly started, taking your hands. “It’s going to be okay. He just… If he thinks you might be a danger to anyone else or if you’ll try to escape the second you step outside, he’s going to leave you down here.”

You hadn’t meant to start crying again, but the whole thing was overwhelming.

You’d been on a nice road trip with your friends, and now you would be trying to appeal yourself to some insane man just so he’d treat you like something a little better than a dog. Jane shushed you again as you wailed, head falling, and you shook your head.

“You have to be good, okay? If you’re good, he’ll let you out, and that…that’s better than being down here…”

It wasn’t appealing to you, and you leaned your forehead against the side of the tub.

“Trust me,” she whispered, stroking your head. “Peter is sweet. He…he’s much nicer than the others.”

At the mention of him, you lifted your head with a frown. You had an inkling of why you were here as you processed her words, holding her gaze, but you fought it. No. You didn’t want to accept that, and you shook your head.

“What does that have to do with me…?”

She sadly tilted her head at you.

“He’ll be good to you.”

You blinked again, more tears kissing your eyes, and you pulled away from her. You could feel your stomach twisting, almost painfully, and you pressed your hands to your mouth. You wanted to ask her plainly why you were here, but you couldn’t find the strength. You were scared that if you opened your mouth, anything left in your stomach would come out.

Jane seemed to read it on your face though.

“Peter chose you,” she quietly continued, resuming in dragging the cloth over your skin. “You’re his, now.”

Your vision swam at that, and you reached for the edge of the tub. More tears fell, and your head spun. He chose you? You were his now? As self-explanatory as the words were, you were having the hardest time making sense of them. It was 2023, and Jane was speaking like it was centuries ago instead. Peter would be good to you? What exactly did that mean when you were a victim of kidnapping?

For the first time since that day, you felt anger flare up, but then you looked at Jane.

Really looked at her.

She was beautiful, no doubt about it, but there was something in her face and eyes that spoke to a life of trauma. There was a dimness in her eyes that told you she didn’t believe what she was saying, but more so she accepted what she was saying. That she accepted the reality that would be yours too, and your face fell.

“Were you chosen too?”

Your question seemed to have taken her by surprise, and even though it took her a long time to answer, her brief silence was answer enough. She nodded just as you both heard the door open, and your eyes widened, jumping at the sound. Jane quickly rose to her feet, and her change in demeanor was evident. She gestured for you to stay, and you watched her swiftly walk out of the bathroom.

“Is she ready?”

You recognized the voice, shrinking in on yourself as Jane replied. When she returned, she had a simple white dress in her hand. She urged you to get out as she drained the tub, quickly pulling the dress over you. As she straightened it, she quietly spoke to you.

“Remember what I said,” she whispered.

When she guided you out of the bathroom, your worst fears were confirmed.

Steve, that intimidating blond, stood just at the bottom of the stairs. He wasn’t alone, and you weren’t prepared for that. You choked up at the sight of them both, recognizing the brunette as the one who’d killed Wanda. Jane’s hand was on your arm, guiding you, and regretfully keeping you upright. Your vision had started swaying before you knew it, and you fought to look better than you felt.

You couldn’t hold either of their gazes, your own lowering as it focused on the floor.

You heard heavy footsteps near you, and you shook.

None of this felt real. None of it, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You were sure that your face looked like shit with how much you’d been crying, but you didn’t think you could’ve stopped even if you wanted to. The closer he came, the more you shook, and you flinched when his hand roughly gripped your chin. He forced you to look at him, and your lips trembled.

His eyes were so blue and cold, and they didn’t match the faux sweet smile on his pink lips. He studied your face for what felt like too long, drinking you in, and you didn’t know what to think of it when he hummed. His thumb brushed your skin, and disgust rolled in your stomach. These were the same hands that had killed Pietro, and the thought made you want to cry again.

“Peter has good taste,” he finally breathed, straightening and stepping back. “Bring her up.”

You didn’t know how to react to that, but the brunette did, looking at Steve with a deep frown.

“Already? She’s only been down here for three days…”

His words shocked you, and your eyes widened. Three days? It had been three days since…? You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the thought, eyes watering again. No wonder you felt so weak, no wonder you’d soiled yourself, no wonder you felt like you were going even more crazy than you already had when you watched them kill your friends.

Three days.

You swayed at the thought just as the unnamed male continued.

“You left Nat down here for three and a half months.”

He almost seemed to spit the words out, and the knowledge that there was another woman here, another poor unfortunate soul sharing your fate, made you queasy. It really seemed like there was quite literally a whole house of people here, and you tearfully wondered just how many women were here.

Steve turned to him with a wry smile.

“Well, she’s not Nat,” he told him. “She’s weak.”

The words had you wincing…because they were true. You glanced away, unable to stop a few tears from spilling over.

“Another day, and I’m convinced she’ll bite off her own tongue to choke on, and then all of this will have been for nothing.”

By ‘all of this’, he meant the murder of your friends, no doubt.

“Look at her Buck,” the blond chuckled, glancing at you. “She’s shaking.”

He reached out to tap your chin.

“Poor thing. Peter really knows how to pick ‘em,” he mused, dragging his eyes over you, and you hated it. “…because she’s perfect for him.”

He nodded at the brunette, Buck, and the other man came towards you with a dark scarf. You trembled as he tied it over your face, and Jane shushed you when you started crying again.

“Take her upstairs, Jane. Bucky will be right behind you.”

That sounded like more of a threat than a simple statement, and it took a long time for Jane to get you to move your feet.

You ripped the blindfold off, spinning around just as the door shut and locked behind you. You stared at it before reaching out to pull on the handle with no such luck. You could hear Jane’s footsteps fading, and if you listened hard enough, you could hear other feminine voices down the hall mingling with hers.

You took a step back from the door, staring at it with dread before finally turning around.

The room that met you was nice. Not necessarily small, but modest, and it was prettier than any room you’d ever been in. You didn’t grow up with money, and wherever Peter and his…friends lived, they lived well. You bitterly wondered if they earned their living by kidnapping and transporting unsuspecting women. However, if that were true, you wouldn’t have the memory of Wanda and MJ’s lifeless bodies in your mind.

You touched your white dress with trembling fingers, looking around the room with tearful eyes. You were so tired of crying, but you couldn’t stop. None of this made sense, and it seemed every hour you had to remind yourself that this wasn’t a nightmare.

You’d really been kidnapped and given to some man like a gift instead of a person.

Your chest hurt, and with unsteady feet, you moved further into the room. You took note of the way it was furnished, of how homey it felt, and you were reminded of Jane’s words, of how ‘nice’ Peter was compared to the rest. A lot of thought had gone into the room, but it only reminded you of a golden cage. You felt frozen…until your eyes landed on the window.

You ran to it, but disappointment stopped you in your tracks.

The bars on the outside of the window were visible through the opening in the curtains, and you backed up until the back of your legs hit the bed. You didn’t sit so much as collapsed, falling onto the bed with a loud sob. The pretty room became blurry, and you twisted your fingers into the white fabric of your gown.

This couldn’t be real.

It couldn’t be.

You had to get out of here, but then you thought about Steve’s words. You recalled the mocking tone of his voice as he called you weak, and the way defeat seemed to surround you at the truth in his words. You thought about Nat, about a woman you had never met, and how she had lasted three and a half months before finally…breaking? Is that what you were? Broken?

Had the vile murder of your friends broken you?

Was that why Steve had waved you off as nothing more than a broken and docile girl perfect for Peter?

You didn’t even know how you’d go about getting out of here, the thought overwhelming you so much, but you had to. You had to get help, and help the other women here, and get justice for your friends. You just… You didn’t know how, and tears ran down your face. Wanda always knew what to do in tough situations, and you desperately wished you could ask her what to do.

…but she was gone.

…and she wasn’t coming back.

That thought had you crawling further onto the bed, laying down and pressing your face into the pillows. Your head started throbbing almost immediately, a sign that you were crying way too much, but it also told you that you needed to eat something. As if someone was reading your mind, you heard a noise, it startled you into silence, and you hurriedly sat up.

You stared at the plate of food that had been slipped under your door, the opening underneath just big enough. You hadn’t noticed it at first, and you hurried towards it, ignoring the food and sticking your face against the opening. You could only see just enough to make out someone lower legs should they walk by. At the moment, the hallway was empty, and you sat back with a frown.

Your eyes landed on the food, unmoved by how good it looked, only picking at it and nibbling. Despite how little food you’d had in the past few days, your stomach just wouldn’t settle. You knew if you wanted to escape, you’d need all the strength you could get, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to eat much, and before you knew it, you were crying again.

You scooted back until your back met the bed, and you leaned your head against it, softly crying into your hands.

[morganbritton132]

Hopper: *Just trying to make sure this kid doesn’t die before his brain is fully developed*

Steve, to everybody in the waiting room: Hopper wants to shoot me. He told me that in the car.

Waiting room: *sends Hopper dirty looks*

Hopper: That’s - I didn’t say that.

Steve: He said he wants me to get shot.

Hopper: To get a shot. A flu shot.

[bestdressedchuuya]

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

manmade monsters Sun/Moon au. bc i have no self control lol

i also mentally call it the 'why are there giant robot monsters in my shed' au lol

idk what else to say so uh. enjoy

[dollopole]

I was just thinking about the fact that in so many Merlin fics, Merlin keeps being an healer/doctor/medic, which makes sense, since that’s how he started his life, by helping people however he could, but now consider this:

Merlin, who has lived so long and more than probably witnessed the deaths of thousands, even of those he loved, cherished and respected. So what if a millennia of life completely flipped his view on what it means to heal and study medicine. What if after all Merlin saw, everything that happened had the opposite effect on him, which means that he stopped trying and left the job to someone else.

Merlin still helps, surely, in the end, it’s in his nature as human, but we can already see how he changed, even only after ten years of being in Camelot and witnessing death after death.

What if he despaired because disease spread and not even his magic could help it, what if his magic decided that humans had to live with their own course of actions and so his magic simply refused to help them, which got Merlin just angry at the prospect of doing this for so many years.

But now take into consideration when Arthur returns:

I believe Arthur would be the healer/doctor/medic this time around.

He would be eager to help everyone he can, because that’s also in his nature, but since he can’t do it anymore in the way he once did, he has to find another path for him, a path that would make him heal too, heal from all the times he killed, instead of helping someone in danger.

Arthur lived a life of death even before Merlin could start to think about killing someone.

Arthur had his hands smeared with blood since he was a child. Being Uther’s son was automatically, in both magical people and peasants’ perspective, who lived under Uther’s tyranny, a sin and a guilt, even before Arthur could pick up a sword.

He did not just kill sorcerers, but he was raised with a mind of a killer of justice. To defend his kingdom, his father, his counsellors, his court and his people no matter what he felt regarding it, was and had always been his main duty.

He was trapped in a murderous cycle, literally, where he couldn’t do anything but raise himself to believe that the only way to help people was to kill them.

On one side, we have a man who spent his life helping people and who got tired of death, and on the other side, we got another man who spent it killing people and still got tired of death.

But to Arthur and Merlin it happened in different ways.

Where Merlin left the responsibility to someone else, Arthur decided to take that responsibility himself, in the hope that maybe, one day, he could bring back to life all those he had condemned for the simple act of living as themselves.