#guess what honey youre still in the hellhole town

[lover-of-mine]

If I told January Anna the shit that happened this year, miss girl would have a heart attack.

[mikasaessucasaa]

Title: Flatlanders

Summary: After being forced to retire from singing, Sansa returns to Winterfell Ranch, a place she hasn’t called home in over ten years, and finds the man that she left behind all those years ago.

Part 1 .... Part 2

1991

King’s Landing, TX

Sansa’s hair was a frizzy mess. It wasn’t usually so humid this far inland, but of course the moment she came back was the same week that the summer storms started. It only ever rained once a year when she lived in LA.

And now she was trekking around town when the sky looked like it was about to open up. She needed to fix a broken fence that’s been neglected for weeks. And she needed to talk to the bank and get their finances sorted. What the hell has Arya been doing all this time?

Fence first. Bank later. And maybe she’ll get so busy getting wood that she might not even have to see Petyr.

And of course it started pouring as soon as she pulled up to the Night's Watch General Store. Damn. It better not be a flash flood. She should have listened when Mama told her to bring a damn umbrella. Bless Sansa’s heart.

Accepting her fate, she steeled herself and made a dash from the truck to the front door. Even the thirty seconds it took her to get inside was enough to make her look like a drowned rat. Forget frizzy hair, her auburn hair was soaked and limp.

She was greeted by a familiar face, but she couldn’t place his name, not having seen him in over a decade. He was scrawny and of average height with short cropped hair.

“Sansa! Woah, never thought I’d see you again in these neck of the woods.”

Honestly, neither did she.

She looked at his name badge. Ah. Pyp. One of Jon’s lackeys who used to follow him around high school. She thought it was adorable back then. She wondered if he still talked to Jon.

“Jon’s gonna be so happy to see you.” She doubted it, but she nodded and smiled. “How can I help ya today?”

“Got a whole section of my fence broken. I think from lightning a couple of weeks ago.”

Pyp showed her a couple of different options. She wanted to buy the cedar since it would last longer through the unpredictable Texas weather, but she saw their finances, and Mama definitely understated just how much trouble the ranch was in. She didn’t know how long her own cash was going to last with her singing voice now gone.

So she went with the pine instead. She’ll deal with it later.

“I’ll give you the friends and family discount,” Pyp said when he rung her up. As she was signing the check, he pulled out another piece of paper and asked, “Do you mind also signing this? My niece loves your music. She’s always jamming to your album on her little boombox.”

Sansa hadn't thought she was that popular. She had one or two songs played on the radio nationally, and produced a couple of songs for commercials. She bet it was her local celebrity fame that made her popular down here.

She gave her signature and hauled ass out of her store with her fence posts while the rain momentarily stopped. She covered her new purchase with a tarp and settled back into her truck.

She checked the time, and damn the bank was still open.

So she made her way over to the Eyrie Bank. Her parents had only ever gone to one bank their entire life because it was owned by a family friend. Papa had been good friends with Jon Arryn for a long time before he passed, and then Aunt Lysa remarried a childhood friend, Petyr Baelish.

To Sansa, Petyr had always been the creepy uncle, but if anyone could help her sort out the mess with the ranch, he could.

There weren’t many customers when she entered the bank, so of course they let Petyr know right away that she was there to see him.

He smiled that creepy smile that he always had, as if he wanted to devour her. It was the same look music producers always gave her when she entered the room. They always undressed her with their eyes first before they bothered listening to her demos.

And she smiled back, as he leaned forward and held her in a too intimate hug. Gross. “Sansa, my dear. It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you so much over these last twelve years.”

“Same here, Uncle Baelish.”

“I wish you had come to visit more often.”

“Well you know what it’s like for artists trying to break in.”

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to give up everything to chase your dreams. You’re so brave.” Liar. Everybody knew that Sansa was forced to leave.

Sansa smiled more. “Thank you Uncle.”

Baelish led them to his private office, and the way that he patted her shoulder after he closed the door made her uncomfortable, but she held it in as she watched him take a seat.

“So how can I help you, my sweetling?”

“I need you to walk me through the Winterfell finances.”

“Certainly, I’ll make it as easy as I can for you to follow.”

Sansa started tapping her finger against the arm rest.

She resented his insinuation. She didn’t finish high school, but she learned to manage her finances, learned how much the Lannisters stole from her, knew how much she willfully turned away from because she needed the Lannisters as much as she hated them.

Still he did make it easy for her to understand, all the while outlining all of the paperwork.

Mama had been behind on bank payments for a long time, even after being given extensions consistently. Eventually, even Petyr’s generosity, so he says, couldn’t save the ranch. So Robb took out a private loan to cover the bank payments.

“Another bank?” she asked.

“No more personal than that. I believe Robb was good friends with Rhaegar’s boy.” He probably wanted to say bastard, but knew better since he was Robb’s best friend.

But she couldn't believe that Robb would be stupid enough to take out a loan from the Valyrian Dragons. Maybe he had a death wish after all.

“And that’s what’s keeping the ranch afloat now? Do you know how much we owe?”

Petyr gave a number and it wasn’t absurd, but, “This interest rate is insane. We won’t ever be able to touch the principle.”

Petyr shrugged. “I did try to warn your dear brother. I told him that it would be better for the bank to repossess the ranch. We would have certainly allowed your family to manage it still.” But he would own it all. “But alas your brother couldn’t see sense.”

She couldn’t tell if Robb was a prideful fool, or smart not to fall into bed with Petyr.

She thanked Petyr for his time and headed to the Dragon’s clubhouse. She had dreaded this part of coming home. Sansa hadn’t seen Jon in twelve years, and she didn’t know what kind of man he grew up to be. He had always been kind and sweet as a child, but kind and sweet men don’t join the Valyrian Dragons.

But she had to know if Robb had a plan all along, or if he was dumb enough to leave his family and the ranch at the mercy of the Dragons.

The clubhouse didn’t know if it wanted to be an auto shop or a bar or a boarding house, just the kind of trashy place that you would find in the south, because what else could it be?

She never thought she’d actually step in this place.

When she was still in school, the girls used to whisper about how they dreamed they would lose their virginities to one of the Dragons’ members. Egg would be ideal, with his pretty boy charm and silver hair, but Jon would do — he may have been shy back then, but the girls all took it as mysterious and dangerous. She wondered if the girls’ assumptions became true in his adulthood.

She assumed Egg must have been successful in popping a lot of cherries, but in her loneliness she sometimes liked to think that she was the only one for Jon, that she was somehow special, despite the mess she left.

There were a couple of pretty girlies loitering in the bar area of the clubhouse when she entered. They teetered around on high heels and tight skirts and tops, and suddenly Sansa wished she had the foresight to dress for battle. Instead she was wearing her stupid ripped jeans, work boots, and a white tee with a flannel shirt.

The girlies turned to look at her and their excited chatter died down. She’s guessing the red hair gave her away, or she really was more popular than she thought.

Out of the crowd of girlies, a silver haired woman emerged in black stilettos, leather pants and a black corset top. Shit, who could wear leather pants in this weather except for Daenerys Stormborn?

“So it’s true, the prodigal Stark daughter returns,” Dany said sweetly, but Sansa knew there was nothing sweet about the woman. She was all fire and ash. Dany probably thrived on the club wars.

Sansa shrugged. “Everyone’s gotta come home sometime.”

“Only when they’re incapable of surviving the world out there.”

“But at least I went out into the world.” Instead of being trapped in this hellhole.

“Only goes to show that you don’t belong here.”

“Winterfell is my home.” Even Sansa would have rolled her eyes at herself if she heard her speak.

“But the clubhouse isn’t. What do you want?”

“I need to speak to Jon.”

“No. You left him a mess all those years ago, and you think you can come waltzing in here years later and just talk to him? Wake up honey. He won’t want to talk to you.” Dany crossed her arms. “Whatever you want to say to Jon, you can tell to his girl.”

Dany had always wanted to claw her way into the Targaryens, maybe she finally did.

“It’s got nothing to do with you Dany.”

Dany waved her hand, flashing an engagement ring. “See this here? Says it’s got everything to do with me, missy.”

Sansa’s heart started pounding uncomfortably in her chest and she felt nauseous and lightheaded. Shit. Of all the damn times to have an anxiety attack.

She stumbled backwards into something solid.

“Sansa.”

The low, broken sound snapped her towards the man.

“Jon,” Sansa said, equally as broken.

Part 3

[homesoutofhuman]

It will come back (Wild)

Time to get spooky...

John Wick/Reader AU- John and reader are FBI agents sent to investigate a mysterious crime, but end up finding out more about each other in the process.

(Think Mulder and Scully, but John is the sceptic, and there’s more sex.)

Warnings: smut, extremely vulgar language, mentions of death and violence, supernatural occurrences, and angst-so much angst, you have been warned. 

Honey don’t feed me- I will come back

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

The piece of paper has the name of your childhood hometown written on it. John hasn’t even said it out loud, but you can tell by the way he is looking at you, large brown eyes full of concern, that he remembers how you feel about this particular place.

“We don’t have to take it.” he says, but his eyes tell you something different, and when you flip over the first page of the file, you know you have no choice.

Teenage girls. All about the age you were when you left that hellhole. You skim over the photographs quickly, not one to be squeamish, but you want to get to the facts before anything clouds your judgement. The killings are violent, vicious even, and are becoming more frequent, as if the killer is getting more confident, or more desperate.

You look up at John. “When can we leave?”

“I’ve gassed up the car and our bags are ready to go.” John glances at you, strapping his gun belt around his waist.

“Good.” you grab your phone and the file and head out as fast as you can.

John catches your arm on the way. “Hey...wait a second.”

You sigh but stop, looking up at him. John looks gentle, but firm, and you know you’re not going to get away easily.

“Tell me you’re okay to do this. Tell me...you’re okay.”

“John.” you move nearer into his space. He smells of wood and peppermint and it makes you dizzy, makes you take one of his large hands in yours and kiss it. John lets you, his knuckles brushing your lips.

“All right.” he says. “I’m driving.”

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

John drives without seeming to feel fatigue. You can’t say the same for yourself, the passing tail-lights hypnotising you, your eyelids growing heavy. You grip the file in your lap and try to make sense of the contents, formulating a plan in your head for once you reach the small town: speak with the local police, examine the latest body, scope out the crime scene. John glances over to you.

“We’ll have to find a place to stop…I’m beat.”

Liar. You think. You can see how alert his eyes still are, currently tracking your own tired features like a laser beam. You soften, his protectiveness is sometimes hard to bear, but right now it is a welcome balm to your fractured feelings.

“There’s a motel on the outskirts of town. We can stay there.”

You direct him and John starts smirking as he pulls into the parking lot.

“Been here before have you?”

You snort. “Not the way you’re thinking. I was a chambermaid here one summer, saw way too many things I’d rather forget.”

John climbs out the car and grabs your bags. As you sign in at reception you feel his hand pressing into the bottom of your spine, he is intrigued by the novelty of a seedy motel. You’re less thrilled, but having him there with you is making it bearable, and when he pushes you up against the closed door of you room, his mouth insistent on yours, you feel like maybe you could grow to like the place.

You cling onto each other, stripping off your clothes as you go. John blindly backs you into the room and your backside hits the TV stand.

“Ouch!” you hiss. “Watch it.”

John is too busy unbuttoning your blouse to apologise. “I’ll kiss it better…” he murmurs, throwing your clothes to the floor. You frown a bit, wanting to protest but his lips are on your neck, so you unzip your skirt and let it fall with the rest.

You flop back onto the double bed just in your underwear, and look up at John. He is breathing heavily, his eyes running over your body. You can see his erection pressing hard at the seam of his pants and reach up a hand from your supine position to grope him wantonly.

He stares into your eyes as he moans “Missed you…”

You know it’s been a while since you were together, work just gets a lot for you both at times, it’s no ones fault, but you know John would come over a lot more if you let him, would stay from Friday night to Sunday evening if he got half the chance. You’re not sure why you haven’t yet felt safe enough to let him do that.

You push yourself up without using your hands and press your cheek to his boxers, almost fond. John swears under his breath and his fingers twist into your hair, scraping your scalp then trailing down your neck. They press pleasantly into the bumps of your spine as you pull away the fabric to take him in your mouth. He tastes so good you almost feel this will be enough to satisfy you, but it isn’t for him. He pushes you off him a little urgently and crawls over you on the bed, pressing you into the mattress with his weight.

John drags a warm, wet tongue down from your nipples to your core. It’s so intimate, like he knows every inch of your skin, every dip and crevice of your body and has decided he gets access to it all. It almost feels like ownership, you ponder, as he pulls off your underwear, but in a way that makes you feel free rather than trapped.

“Something’s got into you tonight…” you tease him as he turns you over, pushing and pulling at your limbs until you’re just how he wants you, on all fours on the bed. You look back over your shoulder to find him staring straight at your cunt with dark hungry eyes.

You whimper and rock back towards him. “Just fuck me John…”

The breath is knocked out of you as he enters you with one swift movement, hitting so deep inside you feel the jolt, he’s large and throbbing, relentless.

You welcome the slight discomfort, pushing back for more which he gladly supplies. He forces your hips back so you’re pressed together as close as possible, his chest over your back, his mouth biting at your shoulder. You can feel his skin, hot as fire and damp with sweat as he pounds into you from behind.

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

The next morning you stop at the town diner. John smirks over his coffee as you devour a plate of pancakes, ravenous after the night before.

“Look they have pie...I’m getting pie…” he says, grinning uncharacteristically at the waitress who is so stunned she pours him yet another cup of refill coffee.

You feel relaxed and satisfied, and you guess that was his aim, fucking you until you could’t worry anymore, but as you watch the people milling about the diner the reality of why you’re there starts to come back to you.

You push away your plate and chew your lip, looking out of the window. John sighs and you feel bad, once again you always seem to disappoint him.

You walk through town to the small police station as fast as possible, praying no one will recognise you. You can feel John watching you but he doesn’t question it, just matches your stride easily with his long legs, making notes while you question the chief a little too sternly. John drops you off at the morgue and you can feel his eyes still on you.

“I’ll see you later…” you slam the door and watch him drive off, hoping he won't get lost driving round the wide country roads. You’d go with him as a guide but you can’t be in two places at once.

You start the autopsy, clicking on your tape recorder. The girl is skinny, petite, she looks younger than her age and you taste metal in your mouth, picking up your tools, working faster than normal. Her body is pristine apart from the wound to her stomach that killed her, and what look like scratches on her upper chest. You measure and photograph the marks, taking a sample. Hopefully somehow you can match them up with the killer’s fingernails, but they look more animal than human.

There is nothing else to see, so you call John to pick you up. It goes straight to voicemail and you curse the lousy reception of the town. You start to walk down the main street, which is, thankfully deserted. Something takes over, your mind wandering, and when you are alert again you realise you’ve walked almost to the end of town where the houses bleed into woods. You remember climbing these trees when you were young, you never felt so happy as when you were up high, supported by their branches.

The mossy, fresh scent invades your nostrils as you walk forward and press your palm against the bark of an oak tree. You always imagined you could feel the trees breathe when you were a child. Something flashes amongst the green, like a knife or a claw and you choke back a gasp. You check your phone quickly, no bars, no messages from John. Knowing it’s a bad idea you tread a few more steps into the forest, searching for the source of the movement, and then you see it.

You stifle the scream in your throat, flattening yourself behind a rock. A man, at least it looks like a man, is standing in the middle of the clearing, panting and looking down at something on the ground. The fading light must be tricking your senses, for you swear he is naked, but his skin has a downy covering of hair. You fumble for your gun and the man’s head whips to the side as if he has caught your scent and he moves towards you making a low growling sound, then he turns on his heel and runs in the opposite direction. 

Before you can even think you’re in pursuit, branches whipping against your face as the forest starts to swallow you up. When you glance back over your shoulder the road looks miles away and when you look back, you realise you can no longer see the retreating figure. You slide to a halt feeling stupid.

Once you’re back at the road you’re cold and tired and in a foul mood. John finds you once your phone starts working and you can barely form words to speak to him. He half carries you from the car to the room, running you a bath without asking and starting to strip off your damp clothes. You let him, passive and compliant as a child, lifting your arms above your head at his command.

You gaze at him as he unbuttons your jeans, his large hands slide over your thighs and you feel yourself growing wet despite yourself. He looks handsome as ever, so warm and real and solid unlike the thing you saw in the woods.

You tell him what you saw, hoping you don’t sound too crazy. John listens patiently but you can tell he is already creating a rational explanation in his head. That’s what makes you the two of you work so well as a team. He is the sceptic, the man of action, while you can make enough imaginative leaps in your mind to connect patterns together, and you know how people work, even the worst of people. Together you manage to solve most of the Bureau’s most unsolvable cases, and on the way you’ve become close, lovers, friends, maybe something more.

You sit in the bath and John moves to get you a drink from the mini bar. He sits on the edge of the tub and openly stares at your breasts until you sink down further in the water, self-conscious.

“Sorry…” he says, downing his whiskey. “You’re just so….I just want you all the damn time...it gets exhausting.”

He rubs a hand over his face and it’s your turn to look concerned. All the same, you feel pride blooming at his confession, and your own desire rises in response to his, making your nipples grow hard. You cup yourself in the water then grab John’s hand which dangles close by, bringing his fingers to your mouth and sucking them as you touch yourself.

He stares at you with raw want. “Get out.” he murmurs, rising himself to offer you a towel. You push yourself into his arms and he leads you back to the bedroom.

“It’s this place John...it gets under your skin...makes everybody crazy…”

“Is that what it is?” he retorts, tugging away the towel so you’re standing before him with damp bare skin. He is fully dressed, and the contrast makes your heart beat fast.

“Makes everyone….wild…” your thoughts stray to the man in the forest, but suddenly you’re faced with John’s broad chest and you spread your palms over it like you did the oak tree. He’s almost as sturdy and he smells as fresh.

John moves his hand between your legs, rubbing until you feel the fire spark in your belly, warming you up. It feels debauched as he guides you to perch on the dressing table. He sits on the stool in front of it and moves your feet so they’re either side of his legs. You’re spread wide for him, the wood of the table digging into your bare ass but you don’t complain.

“I feel wild…” he mutters against your inner thigh, his teeth nip at your skin and you struggle to recall something, an important detail on the edge of your mind.

“Did you find anything in town?” you question him, trying to keep your mind on the case as he brings his mouth to taste you, his tongue is agile and rapid and you arch against him, your every nerve a ragged edge.

He pauses, looking up at your with a quirked eyebrow and you suddenly feel your chest flood with relief. That’s the thing with the two of you, you go from the dirtiest sex to almost wetting yourselves with laughter.

“You really want me to talk instead of eating you out?” he chuckles, shaking his head so his beard rubs pleasantly and tortuously against your skin.

“If you keep talking like that you’ll make me come anyway…”

“You’re fucking unbelievable…” says John, fondly, replacing his mouth with his fingers, fucking you a little roughly in revenge. You hum with pleasure, feeling your whole body getting hotter.

“What, John...what did you find?” you pant out, his fingers are so thick inside you that you almost feel like you’re going to pass out.

“Maybe one thing...I need you to come with me tomorrow...think a local face would make them a little more inclined to talk.”

You nod, curious, but starting to drown under your impending orgasm. “Sure...first thing…oh fuck...John…”

He shuts up then, and watches you come undone, feeling you flood onto his fingers. By the time you’ve ridden out the last shock wave he’s scooped you up in his arms and carried you back to the bed, you’re still twitching as he gets inside you as fast as he can. He’s so close to the edge that it only takes a few thrusts before he’s coming, burrowing his face in your neck and whimpering desperately. You hold him tight, wondering how you can make such a man lose his mind. You both fall asleep, and it’s only in the morning light that you realise with blushing shame that you’re completely naked and John is fully dressed, the zipper of his pants undone, his cock hanging out.

You wake him up by taking it down your throat as reparation and have him yelling obscenities so loud you know the walls of the motel are not thick enough to contain. The fact that your old hometown gets to hear John Wick bellow your name sends a rush of happiness into your veins. You wish you could show him off properly, but you would hardly know what name to give this thing between you.

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

“So who did you want me to talk to?” you ask John as he drives you back through town. You feel in an alarmingly good mood, opening the window and letting the country air blow your hair into a mess.

John for his part is fidgety and tense, like he’s got something he wants to say but is thinking how to go about it. You’re used to that. He is a little slower on the emotional response than you, a fact you’re grateful for, otherwise you’d probably both have killed each other by now. You have learnt to wait, once he gets that pensive, thoughtful look on his face it will always end in him unburdening himself in some way, pulling you close and speaking with a low urgent voice whatever he has figured out, whatever is bothering him.

So you’re not stressing about it, you just feel bad that he’s suffering. You grab his hand on the steering wheel and squeeze it reassuringly.

John glances to you coming back to the present moment and answers your question. “Uh...it’s Davey Price...he lives out on the old road and I noticed he has hunting gear...he fits the profile..loner...no girlfriend..no kids…”

“I know him.” you nod, your voice wavering and you clear your throat, annoyed.

John looks at you sharply and you wave off his concern. “Not well. We were at school together. He was just the same then...kept to himself...us girls stayed away.. gave us a creepy feeling…”

“I bet you were a heart-breaker at school…” John chuckles and you roll your eyes. “Hardly. I was a geek...stayed most break times in the science lab or reading about the supernatural in the library. You…” you look at him, pondering as if you didn’t already know. “You were a jock...you wouldn’t have looked twice at me.”

“I would have..” John says in an offended tone. “I’ve got a real thing for brainy girls…”

He puts his hand on your knee and you swallow a bit too hard. “I would have worn your jacket and made out with you in the gym...maybe even let you get to second base…”

John moves his hand up to your breast and you laugh “Watch the road…”

“We’re here anyway…” he pulls over and looks at you a few beats, you can see whatever he wants to say swirling behind his eyes.

“We can talk once we’ve solved this one John, I just...I need to get out of here as fast as we can. You better stay in the car, I’ll have more luck alone.”

John starts to argue but you make it clear there is no point. He only relents when you remind you have a gun, and that he’ll be close by in the car. You leave him, walking up to Davey’s door and knocking. There is a noise inside, like metal grating along stone and you suddenly wish you’d asked John what made him so suspicious, but too late now.

Davey opens the door, his face is gaunt and he looks old despite only being a few years your senior. He avoids your eyes, shifting with a haunted look and you suspect a drug dependency, glancing around the small house for any clues.

He gestures for you to sit after you introduce yourself. He doesn’t seem surprised that you’re there.

“I’d heard you were back in town.”

You sigh, of course. “People talk.” you chew the side of your nail but try to smile at him.

“I get that.” you see him relaxing slightly. “I remember you...at school...your hair is the same..”

You touch it despite yourself, self-conscious. “There’s not much to do with it really…”

“It’s...wild…” Davey says, and his voice, his voice is suddenly low and deep, almost reminding you of John, but at the same time, it’s so different. It sends shivers of fear rather than desire along your skin.

“Davey…” you start, trying to keep him on track. “My partner came to see yesterday...he thought you might have something to tell me…”

He starts, glancing towards the door as if John were about to appear on the other side of it. You are starting to wish he would, as Davey stands and moves towards a room down the corridor, you have no choice but to follow.

“You can tell me Davey…” you reassure him, hearing how your voice shakes even as you paste a stupid smile on your face. “What is it?”

“I waited for you...you can see me…”

He raises his eyes to yours, finally, and you are surprised yet not surprised at all, to see they shine like silver, they are not human eyes, but that of a starving animal.

He makes a guttural sound of hostility, leaps on you and for a moment you’re frozen, almost surrendering, your throat exposed like you’re quarry. He knocks you to the ground and you wait for the darkness to swallow you up, but it never comes, your hunter is thrown off by a stronger predator. John pushes Davey off you and he crumples against the wall as if he weighed nothing. He draws his gun without hesitation and you see your mistake, you were slow, you telegraphed your movements before acting. John fires in between breaths, fluid and natural as if the weapon were part of his body.

You scream out to warn John that bullets won’t be enough, but all that comes out of your mouth is an incoherent noise. You feel a pain on your collarbone sharp and almost burning, you must have hit the wall on your way down. John flies to your side, disturbed by the sounds you’re making, thinking you’re hurt. You hold up shaking hands to show you’re okay and he pulls you close, hugging you tightly. You whimper at his reaction and slowly move your arms around him, returning the gesture. He kisses the side of your face then glances back to Davey.

You were wrong, bullets were enough, he is lying in a pool of his own blood, his eyes vacant. They no longer look silver, but you still look away, preferring to focus on John, his handsome face swimming in your vision as he gets you out of the house and into the car, calling the local PD for help.

“You’re in shock…” he tells you gently.

“Can’t get warm…” you murmur, leaning into him desperately.

“Shit.” John rips off his jacket and wraps you up in it.

You’re still shivering when you get back to the motel room. John finishes a call with the chief and comes back to you, making you lay down on the bed, curving around your back like a crescent moon, his arms tight and almost suffocating around your waist.

It still isn’t enough. You turn in his arms and push closer. His cheek feels burning against yours as you seek more and more of his heat. Your lips brush his ear and you feel him stiffen, growing hard against your leg. You blink up at him.

“John?”

He shakes his head “Ignore it….it’s just being so close to you...I can’t help it…”

“But…” you start, hating to leave him wanting, but feeling too exhausted to do anything about it.

“Ignore it.” he repeats firmly and you obey, closing your eyes. As you fall asleep you can feel the beat of his heart against yours, rapid and wild.

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

“We’ll handle the clean up.” the chief wipes his hands together as if the aftermath of the murders were something easy to be rinsed away. You know that’s far from the truth. You questioned John relentlessly until he reluctantly gave up the details, a room, chains, hunting knives. You feel like there’s something missing, it doesn’t add up in your head, but no one wants to hear about your fairy stories, especially not John.

He knows you so well though, watching you as he packs up the car and checks out of the motel. He grabs your hand to stop you chewing your fingernail.

“He’s dead Y/N. And I’m taking you back to the gun range for more lessons.”

You smile a little at the thought of John’s strong arms around you, showing you how to aim your pistol. The first time you’d had sex was after one of his ‘teaching sessions’ at the range. Turns out it’s hard to shoot a 9 mm with a 9 inch dick digging into your back, so you’d taken him home to show him your technique in the bedroom was much better.

John’s lips are on your ear, reading your thoughts. “This time we’ll be concentrating…”

“Right…” you reply, already dreaming about watching him shoot, the muscles in his shoulders, the focus, it’s all the strongest aphrodisiac for your soul, he makes you wild.

Wild...the word reminds you of Davey...the wolf-man you’ve started calling him in your head, you even put it in your case notes to John’s consternation.

“I can’t hide what I’ve seen John” you’d said, trying to stay calm. He did the same, but you know he still has something on his mind.

The drive back to the city brings you both out of your funk. You put your feet up on the dashboard, and the Southern Gothic radio station gives way to lighter pop. You and John sing along together, and he catches your eyes, laughing out loud and even agreeing to a drive-thru burger at your request.

You park up to eat, the spot is warmed by the sun, bathed with rainbow crystal light. Now you’re away from your ‘hometown’ you feel more yourself, and you realise this city, this man, are more home to you than that place will ever be. John finishes his food first and traces his finger up your ankle, your foot still bare on the dashboard. You feel decadently lazy, stealing some of his fries. His eyes are thoughtful and you hold your tongue, letting him speak.

“I know we didn’t call this anything…” he starts and you almost choke on your food. He sounds so serious you’re scared he is trying to end things.

John whacks you on the back until you’re breathing clear again, then with a glare, he continues.

“Y/N. I’m too old for bullshit. You must know...I’m in love with you.”

You don’t respond right away, you’re so intent on letting him say his piece. John looks sad then, sighing, moving his finger to trace the soft bottom of your foot and you shiver, feeling vulnerable.

I thought we didn’t need to say it John…” you whisper, your throat closing up with emotion.

“Yeah? Turns out I do. I fucking do Y/N.”

He’s getting agitated, upset, so you turn, grasping his hands, but he’s already pulling away from you.

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

“No.”

“You have this idea of who you are...that you don’t need anyone...but I know you...I’ve seen you…”

You stare, it’s more words than you’ve ever heard him say at once, and they keep coming.

“And I let you see me...don’t you love me?”

He finishes with a voice that sounds half whimper, half a plea to be put out of his misery.

“John!” You’re suddenly angry and you don’t know why. His words are too close to home, too familiar.

“You cannot do this to me…”

“Me? Do this to you? Fucking hell Y/N...can’t you see you’ve done it to me?”

He restarts the engine and you scramble to put your seat-belt back on, the sunlight seems to have drained completely, leaving you cold. Neither of you speak until he drops you back at your door. As he parks, you see him calm once more, he avoids your eyes and speaks in a low voice.

“After today, I won’t speak of this anymore...don’t worry.”

You bite your lip. “Will we go on as before?”

He gives you a longing, pained look. “Don’t worry...I want you too much...I’ll fuck you still...if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You feel the words like he slapped your face.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh really? Cause that’s one thing you can’t deny...you’re just as addicted to me as I am to you...”

You know it’s true, so you don’t waste breath denying it. Instead, you find yourself asking him something else.

“Do you believe me? About Davey...the wolf-man...do you believe me?”

The silence stretches out as you watch John wrestle with his own conscience, his beliefs, and his love for you.

He leans in and kisses you, a lingering innocence of a kiss, lips pressed together, as if you’d never done all the filthy things you’ve done together.

“I believe you...”

You release a held breath, the tension draining out of you.

“I do love you John. Just give me time...I’m not...fully domesticated yet...”

John’s face goes pale with shock, then floods pink, life dancing into his eyes.

“You’re still wild...I get it...”

You let him sleep in your bed all weekend, let him into your life slowly, like blood soaking into water. You pretend you don’t feel the itch for freedom when the moon is full, and he pretends not to notice the silver gleam in your eyes.

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

You’ll hear me howling outside your door...

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

- Song lyrics from - It will come back, Hozier <3

[iv-kplpt]

charlie’s series of one night stands: gotham city

ao3 rated m. my oc gets to bang telltale version of penguin. woo-hoo.

She was in a bar in Canada, somewhere around Winnipeg. The day was cold and cloudy and all she wanted was a beer and a break – so she headed to the nearest bar, a tiny, crowded place, filled with smoke, voices and cheap booze.

The bartender's name was Evelyn – „Evie for friends, but these days we all gotta stick together, so call me Evie, love” - as she told her, as soon as she sat down.

„So we're exchanging names?”, she asked, smiling lightly. „Fine. My name's Charlie.”

„That's a lovely name, darling. So, Charlie, what can I serve you?”

„Whiskey on rocks.”

„Your accent says you're not from around here.”, Evie said, pouring her drink. „Where do you come from?”

„How do I sound?”

„Well, you sound like you're from that godforsaken hellhole of a city called Gotham.”

„Fuck, seriously?”, Charlie sighed, tapping on the countertop with her long nails – today they were painted black. „You wound me. Do I really sound like I'm from there?”

„You do. I would know, I grew up there.”

„Huh.”

Charlie took a sip and smiled, shaking her head. She put the glass down and once again looked at Evelyn, brushing some loose auburn curls away from her face.

„Funny thing, I was there recently.”, she admitted, tapping her foot to the tune of the song playing in the background. „A month ago, I think.”

„Did you like it?”, Evie asked, with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. Charlie laughed quietly, already knowing the right answer – it was in Evie's eyes, in the way she moved, in the way she rolled her eyes a bit when she mentioned the city.

„It sure is one of a kind.”, she said. „I never saw so many criminals in one place, and I'm travelling all over the globe.”

„I heard it had gotten much worse lately. Ever heard of the Waynes?”

„Oh, please.”, Charlie snorted. „Half of the city belongs to them, not to mention that giant tower AND that golden plaque. Is it really pure gold?”

„So I heard.”, Evie nodded, looking at something – someone – behind Charlie. „Calm down, gents, or I'll kick you out!”, she said suddenly, in a tone much louder and harsher. Suddenly it became crystal clear why she's the bartender – something in her voice made the arguing men calm down instantly

Maybe she has a superpower, Charlie thought. Maybe that's why she left Gotham.

„Why did you come to Canada?”

„Well, for starters, it's not United States and I didn't have money for any other plane ticket.”, Evie said, shrugging nonchalantly, her silver hair glimmering in the dim lamplight. „Fresh start and all that crap.”

„Fresh start from what?”, she asked, sliding her finger around the rim of her glass.

„From an asshole named Tony. Those Gotham boys...”

Evelyn paused for a moment, shook her head and sighed.

„Those Gotham boys shouldn't be kept around for long. They are all the same – all flash and no substance, will make you scream at night, and then cry in the morning, when you realize your wallet is gone, along with your fucking heart.”

Evie sighed again and started to wipe the counter with a piece of cloth. Charlie nodded, finished her drink and set the glass down.

„Well, my Gotham one night stand didn't steal anything from me. He was incredible in bed and I wish he gave me his number, but I guess I was lucky.”

„Who knows, maybe in turn you stole his heart.”, Evie said, smiling lightly. „Maybe he'll come barging through the door, looking for you.”

„I wouldn't mind another night, yes.”, Charlie said, winking at her. „But that's unlikely. He was... Deeply rooted in that city. I don't think he's going to ever leave it.”

„He sounds half decent. Maybe he should leave that city.”

„Yeah? Why?”

„Ah, that's one hell of a story. I'll get back to you in a moment.”

She stepped away, to take care of some other thirsty patrons. Charlie looked at her absentmindedly, not having anything better to do.

Despite her age – Charlie decided Evie is probably around sixty – she was moving gracefully, there was spring in her step. She kept her head high and her back straight - „head up, boobs out”, like Charlie's old roomie used to call this posture. Her silver hair were long and thick and her sharp, narrow face was just straight up gorgeous. Evelyn was a beautiful woman – and Charlie knew she's going to hear one hell of a story, judging by the spark in her amber eyes.

„So.”, she said when Evie came back to her. „What's going on in the city of heartbreakers and assholes?”

Evie laughed, poured her another drink – and another one for herself – and pulled her phone out of her pocket, opening some news app. She handed the phone to Charlie and winked at her.

„Just because I left doesn't mean I don't read Gotham Gazette from time to time. Go on, read... Read the ten latest articles.”

Hiding her slight disappointment – she was hoping for a juicy tale – Charlie picked up the phone and started scrolling through the app, filtering out the stuff she already knew about Gotham. Batman... Filtered out. Massive spike in crime... Filtered out. Upcoming elections... Triple filtered out, she didn't care about the local politics. A man called Penguin... Not filtered out.

„Holy fuck!”, she said, smiling widely and enthusiastically tapping the photo of a masked man in a suit. „I know this guy!”

„Well, you should call the Gotham police then. He's a wanted criminal.” „No, you don't understand. I know him... In the biblical sense. We fucked. He's my one night stand! The one who didn't steal my wallet!”

„Wait, darling, are you sure?”, Evie asked, leaning towards her, visibly intrigued. „ That's him? You definitely should call the cops. Who knows, maybe they'll pay you.”

„Yeah, and tell them what exactly?”, Charlie snorted, still staring at a photo, remembering how the man looked without his dead-bird-shaped mask. „Hello, yes, I have a valuable info on the Penguin. I know what his dick looks like. It's PIERCED. I repeat: the Penguin pierced his DICK!”

Evie snorted, covering her mouth and waving the free hand. There were tears in her eyes, Charlie noticed with satisfaction; good. They were on the right track to becoming really good friends.

„Oh, I want to know all the details.”, she said finally, after calming down a bit. „Hang around for a while, would ya? I'm closing in a few hours and then I'm all ears.”

„No problem, I love to talk about my conquests.”, she said with a smirk. „In the meantime though can I get some fries? I'm starving.”

„Honey, you're the girl who fucked the Penguin of Gotham City. This is going to be the best story I've heard in a long time. I can get you anything you want.”

Charlie grinned in response and stretched out, yawning loudly. She needed attention – and Evie was giving her just the right kind of attention.

She spent the next few hours catching up with events in Gotham, looking around and dismissing various drunk Don Juan wannabes. None of them was her type, except for one – the dark skinned, lean woman in a business suit; but she was drunk and Charlie wasn't that kind of person.

When the closing hour finally came, she helped Evie with kicking out last of the patrons, cleaning up the tables and locking the place up. Finally, they sat in her small living room – which was just above the bar – with cups of hot cocoa with marshmallows in hands. It wasn't the first time a total stranger was completely charmed by her, and she was sure it wasn't the last – but it sure as hell was the most pleasant one.

Plus it felt nice to be able to gossip about sex with someone like Evie – someone with their own fair share of adventures.

So she started talking, pausing from time to time to take a sip from her huge mug – and judging by Evelyn's face, she was indeed telling one hell of a story.

***

She arrived in Gotham shortly after leaving that small, weird town by the river, the one famous for its maple syrup production. Her leads that made her show up there turned out to be cold and useless – and the only good think to happen to her during her stay there was a long night with a certain biker. A handsome man, bit of an asshole, but with his heart in the right place – exactly her kind of man, in all his leather loving ruggedness.

So when she showed up in Gotham – the biggest city she visited in a long time – she was kind of pissed off. Tired. In need of both distraction and motivation. She was desperate for a lead – any lead, really – and she vaguely remembered that piece of shit Harry talking about having a cousin in Gotham.

She knew her name and what she did for a living, so she decided it's just a matter of miraculously coming across a good and cheap private eye, willing to help her out – nothing too complicated. Charlie decided it's time to give herself a short break – unwind, have some fun, maybe buy some new shoes, because her old boots were starting to fall apart.

She heard Gotham has much to offer in terms of night life – a lot of clubs and bars, drugs, liquor and sex costing about the same; though she wasn't sure whether „the same” meant „dirt cheap” or maybe „who even can afford that?!”.

So she wandered from club to club, looking around, sometimes admiring the – mostly crumbling, but still breathtakingly beautiful – architecture, wondering why Gotham feels so wrong during the day and so right during the night. Night was her time anyway; she loved its sense of mystery, anonymity and danger. Well, okay, Gotham was equally dangerous both during the day and during the night, but Charlie always had a flair for the dramatic.

One night though she somehow wandered into a place she wasn't supposed to be – again. That was her superpower – always finding that one place that's not going to welcome her with darts, cheap booze and comfortable stools. She heard about this place from a drunk man in another part of the town – it was well hidden, so most people didn't know about it. What he didn't tell her though – and what she didn't figure out until the last minute – was that it was hidden for a reason.

„Reason” being, obviously, being mafia occupied.

Well, fuck, Charlie thought, as the bouncer put his hand on her shoulder and started dragging her in a direction that most definitely was not the exit. Well, shit.

And then – he showed up.

„Hey, mate!”, she heard a man calling out after the bouncer; he had a thick, british accent. „Leave my friend 'ere alone, she's with me.”

The bouncer stopped, but he didn't take his hand off her shoulder. He turned around to face the man, forcing her to turn with him.

The British guy was tall, rugged and handsome, very handsome. Exactly her type of handsome. He reminded her of her previous adventure – but this one was a bit younger, and was wearing a trenchcoat instead of a leather jacket.

„I was looking for you!”, she said to him, hoping he'll play along. She gave him her most charming, genuine smile, noticing his eyeing her up and down, pausing for a moment – of course – at hear cleveage.

„Paul, be a darling, let her go.”, the stranger said finally, returning his attention to the bouncer, who – hesitantly – let her go.

The stranger continued.

„It's been a while since my last tête-à-tête with Charlie” - she blinked quickly, hearing her name spoken by this man she never met - „so please, kindly do fuck off.”

The stranger put his arm around her waist and started leading her between the tables, ignoring all the stares and whispers.

„Do we know each other?”, she muttered to him under her breat; in response he tightened his grip a bit.

„Not now, darlin'.”, he muttered. „I have a private room reserved on the back.”

He smelled of cologne – of course he did, they always smelled of cologne – whiskey and smoke.

When the door to his private room closed behind them he let go of her; she fixed her hair and straightened her dress, as he – mockingly gallantly – bowed, taking her hand.

„Oswald Cobblepot.”, he said, lightly brushing her hand with his lips and looking into her eyes.

„Well, my name's Charlie.”, she said cautiously, watching as he takes off his coat and throws it on the floor. „So, I have a few questions for you, Oswald.”

„And I'll gladly answer 'em, considering you now have to spend some time with me.”, he said with a devious grin, falling onto the nearest chair. „There's no escape.”

„Ha-ha, very funny.”, she sighed, rolling her eyes, and sat down on the opposite side of the room.

Just as she was opening her mouth, there was a knock at a door. Oswald sighed with annoyance.

„What?!”, he snarled, as the door opened and a waiter entered the room.

„Is everything alright?”, he asked calmly, glancing briefly at Charlie and focusing on Oswald. „Do you need anything?”

„I could go for a martini.”, Charlie said, crossing her legs and grinning at Oswald. „Your treat... Friend?”

„Everything for you, darling.”, he said carelessly, looking at the waiter. „You heard the lady! A martini for her and a bourbon for me. Take your time.”

When the door closed, he returned his attention to her.

„Do we know each other?”, she repeated her earlier question, playing with the hem of her dress. „I don't remember you.”

„Oh, I have friends all around the world, Charlie.”, he said calmly, winking at her. „I know a lot about you.”

Seeing her surprised expression he laughed and shook his head.

„Nah, I'm just fucking with you. That was a lucky guess. Never seen you before, but hey – I'm a gentleman. I just wanted to help.”

„I'm not a damsel in distress.”, she retorted, way sharper than she intended to. „I had this under control.”

„Sure you did, darlin'.”

He shot her a quick grin and she instantly knew where exactly this situation is going.

They received their drinks and were left alone again. She moved to another chair, one standing a bit closer to where he was located.

„So, Charlie.”, he said after trying his drink. „You're not from 'round 'ere, are you?”

„If I was from around here I wouldn't be in this bar, genius.”

„That was a rhetorical question. I know you're not from around 'ere, so the question is... Where are you from?”

„Why do you care?”, she asked in return, taking the olive from her glass between her fingers and squeezing it gently.

„Well, I want to get to know you, Charlie. I thought that's obvious, me taking you to my private room and all.”

She laughed and batter her long lashes at him, finally looking at him properly, one final moment of hesitation before making a decision.

„Okay, Oswald... Fuck, is there a shorter version? That's a mouthful.”

„Oh I'm a mouthful alright.”, he said nonchalantly and she groaned. „But sure. You can call me Oz.”

„Alright, Oz. Ozzie.”, she said, still playing with her olive. „Let's get to know each other.”

Before long, they were in a cab, on their way to get to know each other. She couldn't decide what was the deciding factor – his grin? His face in general? His hands? Or maybe his scars? She didn't know and she didn't care. Another one to her list of enjoyable evenings. Another lost piece of underwear. Oswald Cobblepot wasn't a patient man – and she liked that impatience. She was sure their driver appreciates it a lot less, with all the feeling up going on in the backseat of his cab, but they tipped well. Back in the room, between a kiss on the neck and a hand sliding up her thigh, they decided on his place – he was taking care of his friend's luxorious flat, plus there was something he wanted her to see. She agreed. With his hand under her dress she'd agree to everything.

He wasn't lying about the flat – it was luxurious; but she only cared about the amount of flat surfaces – she was getting really impatient and really, really into it – and the mysterious thing he wanted her to see so badly.

It was... Disappointing. Not at all what she expected; she was hoping for something useful in their situation, maybe for some custom made luxurious toys, not a gas mask. It was shaped like a bird skull, sure – he informed her it's shaped like a penguin skull – but it was not at all relevant to why she came here with him.

„Oz, I don't care.”, she said, interrupting him. „Don't ruin the mood.

She grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him closer. The mask fell to the floor and rolled under the bed; he put his hands on the mattress and leaned in, pushing against her chest; she started to ruffle his hair lazily, feeling some old scars on the back of his neck under her fingers.

Rest of the evening – and the night, and the morning after – was both a blur and one of her sharpest, most distinct memories. Everything was both fuzzy like the hazy view outside and sharp like her nails on his back. It was impossible to focus on just one sensation; he'd make her feel like she's dissolving with his teasingly gentle touch, only to bring her back with a sudden pinch or with a light bite.

He had long, slender fingers, marked with scars here and there. In the back of her head – when she was still able to form coherent thoughts – she concluded he probably used to be a pianist; and his firm grip on her wrists kept her from further scarring his back. He was covered in scars, old and new – and she very much enjoyed the vision of him covered in smudged blood.

He eventually did draw her blood – he bit her collarbone just a bit too hard and she winced, torn between the stinging pain and the feeling of his fingers inside her. He smiled and winked at her, his lips covered in her blood.

„You alright?”, he asked, and lazily brushed her neck with his bloodied lips. She felt the warm stickiness and sighed deeply, closing her eyes.

„I'm trying to come, you know. You're not helping.”, she eventually said, her eyes still closed and her wrists still in his iron grip. She bucked her hips and groaned.

„Oh, I can help with that.”

„Well, what are you waiting for?”

He was lightly tapping his fingers on her abdomen, distracting her from her own train of thought. She opened one eye; he was looking at her with a grin on his face, visibly waiting for something.

„Oh.”, she finally realized. „You fuck.”

„You're not helping.”, he muttered, planting a lazy kiss on her neck and brushing her sensitive skin with his infuriating stubble. „Come on, Charlie, say it.”

The light tapping turned into gentle massage and she let out a moan.

„Okay, okay...”, she breathed out, trying to concentrate. The touch ceased. „Please.”

„See? That wasn't so hard.”, he whispered and let go of her wrists. With a grin and a series of quick, light bites and kisses he lowered himself and put his hands on her thighs, gently pushing them apart.

The world quickly turned into a blur when his lips – and his wicked tongue – found her center.

She could feel his hair under her fingers – and when he made her scream for the first time, she in return made him wince in pain by pulling his hair. He grabbed her wrists again, pressing her onto the mattress.

„Oh, did that hurt?”, she gasped out, staring into his eyes. „Poor thing.”

„Shut up.”, he responded; he let go of her wrists – she was started to think he has a thing for holding his partners like this – and pulled away.

He was looking for something in the drawer of a nearby nightstand; rumaging furiously through its contents. She giggled.

„What, you lost something?”

„Take a wild guess.”, he said, with one hand on a zipper of his pants.

She stretched out lazily, enjoying the way he looks at her breasts, now covered in bitemarks and love bites.

„Get back here.”, she said eventually, looking at him with her eyes half closed. „I have an implant for that. Way ahead of you, Scruffy.”

He smirked, got out of his pants and came back to her, to her embrace, to her skin, and rest of their time together was a blur only filled with not so tender touches, bloody kisses and moans and sighs muffled by the other one's skin. Oz was a man of many talents, and he put almost all of them to use during that long night.

When she woke up he was still asleep. He looked almost peaceful – his scars and her blood smeared on his face ruined the illusion. He was still very handsome though, and she almost regretted she can't stay longer. She left him a note – a really genuine one. One last time she ran her hand through his hair and just like that she was out of that flat, and out of his life.

*** Mentally back in Canada Charlie finished her cocoa and put her mug down. Evie let out a satisfied sigh.

„So you really fucked the Penguin.”, she said, shaking her head. „Holy shit.”

„I know, right? I'd stay longer if I knew what's going to become of him. Maybe I'd blow him.”

„Is that what you're into? Criminals?”, Evie asked, raising her eyebrow. Charlie laughed in response.

„Not really, but it would be one hell of a story. And a cool new nickname. The Birdblower.”

„That sounds absolutely terrible.” „Yeah, it does. Still better than „that heinous bitch” though.”

Evelyn stretched out and put her legs on the couch, still staring at Charlie.

„I wonder if he remembers you.”, she admitted suddenly. „Don't get me wrong, darling, he's definitely not a romantic hero, but here we are, chatting about his pierced junk. Do you think he tells his friends about you?”

„I don't really care.”, Charlie admitted; she wasn't telling the truth, but she wasn't lying either. „Maybe I'll find out some day. We'll see.”

She got up, picked up her backpack and put on her jacket. It was time for her to leave; not this particular town, no – she had some unfinished business here – but it was time for her to go to the motel and get some sleep.

„Thanks for the nice evening, Evie. I might drop by later this week to say bye.”

„Well, I hope so. Take care, kid.”

She left Evie on the couch in her living room, absorbed by memories of all the men she treated same way Tony treated her once, all those years ago.

When she was outside, in the cold, she pulled out her phone and went to Gotham Gazette webpage. In the meantime they published a new story on the Penguin; for a moment she considered reading it, but eventually she closed the page without opening the article. The past should stay in the past – there's no point of living in it; though she really wondered if he kept her note for some reason.

She hoped not.