#i am probably putting myself into the trenches for this. oh well

[yantao-enthusiast]

at some point if you focus entirely on mlm ships and all your least favorite characters are women, i think maybe, just maybe, here’s a thought

[knockyasocksoff2022]

The Disastrous Meeting

(A/N: sorry. I know this is bad I kinda have writter's block right now, but I really wanted to write someting. It's longer than I originally planned (I feel like most of my stories are longer than I plan for them to be lol) and I'll probbaly edit this later. Also I didn't mean to make Kunikida such a bad guy in this one but oh well.)

under the cut due to length (3635 words)

I haven’t slept the entire night but I stay laying awake in bed even after my alarm rings. I’m so so so tired yet I can’t fall asleep, not without my Chuuya. The bed is too cold without his warm embrace.

Finally when I grow too restless I walk to the kitchen, but Chuuya isn’t here making breakfast so I decide to forego eating. My stomach is too sensitive to anything besides Chuuya’s cooking and crab, and I’m out of crab so . . .

But knowing he would want me to eat, I look in the fridge and see that there’s some month old vegetables. Chuuya must have left them. They look okay but not worth the effort.

I shut the fridge and feel myself shivering. 

When I put on my work clothing I throw one of Chuuya’s jumpers on before putting on my signature tan trench coat. It isn’t very warm, but it’s something, and it smells like him.

—

When I arrive at the office everyone stares at me.

“What are you wearing?” Kunikida’s voice is devoid of emotion but he’s clearly in shock. Oh god, I think I’ve broken him, but why?

I look down, to my surprise the jumper I wear is at least 12 or so centimetres too short for me, like some sort of crop top, despite being loose. I can’t believe I didn’t think about how Chuuya’s height difference might make it hard for me to wear his clothes, probably because he’s usually here to wear mine. I’m not exactly embarrassed, (I know I look good in cropped things) just startled, and through the waves of emotions that crash over me (love, longing) I struggle to hide it.

“What, oh this? The girl I was with last night left it, I was planning on returning it, of course, I’m no thief Kunikida-kun, but not before I’d properly washed it, so I figured, why not wear it first, eh?”

Kunikida just raises an eyebrow, “And that thing on your neck, did she leave that too, or did you just forget to take it off, because I will not tolerate such unprofessional things in this office.” His voice is stern.

“Whatever do you mean, Kunikida-kun?” I make it sound teasing but I genuinely have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Do not make me spell it out for you Dazai. You know very well what I am referring to.”

I really don’t, but I have a reputation so I say nothing and continue onto my desk. Just as I sit down something chokes me. I gag pathetically. 

“Dazai-san, this is more than inappropriate for work, think of Kenji and Kyoka. What if we have a case that deals with children? Do you care nothing for the reputation of this agency?”

“Kunikida-kun I really didn’t take you for the type interested in choking people.” I wheeze, feeling around my collar to loosen the blond’s grip but I find no hands there, they’re higher up, grabbing onto . . . a choker.

Oh.

It’s one of Chuuya’s, a casual one, not the subtle black one he wears for work (he took that one with him), no this one is joined together by metal rings in the front and back. Kunikida must have thought it was some kind of toy. That man really has no idea about some things, does he?

“Are you going to take it off, or do I have to.”

“You know how weird that sounds out of context.” I continue to tease him, fighting internal panic at the potential discovery of our relationship, while easily wriggling myself free.

I take the choker off, shrugging as if it was a prank all along and throwing it into my work bag. I certainly won’t let Kunikida touch something belonging to my Chuuya.

I can cover this up easily. I laugh, exaggerating the action, pushing my cartoonish persona. “Ah, you’re still so gullible Kunikida-kun! This isn’t what you think it is, you can buy one of these at any pet shop, did you know that.” 

“No, actually, I did not.” he looks intrigued, and pulls out his trusty notebook, probably thinking that women like animals and trying to learn what animals like to impress his mystery woman. Yes, he should be marrying her in less than a year or so.

“Yes, they’re called double lead bearing collars and are considered the most effective by trainers in controlling dogs with aggressive behaviour. I was wearing it wrong, both rings are supposed to go around the side of the dog's neck, not the front and back. Then you attach the special double leash and the dog won’t be able to pull you as you walk it.”

“Hmm, most intriguing. He lifts his pen and shuts the book.

I nod, giving just the right amount of pause. “Yes, I agree, it would indeed be intriguing, if such a thing existed, that is. As of now, it does not, what a shame, don’t you think Kunikida-kun?”

I don’t look up but I can hear the sound of a pen shattering and the spring flying off somewhere to be found by one of the unlucky agency clerks.

—

When the day ends everyone disperses to do the things that normal individuals do after office hours. I have nothing else to do and I feel empty but filled with lead at the same time, the lead being my longing for Chuuya.

As I walk home a chilly spring breeze starts up and I shiver, my body becoming even more numb with the cold temperature, but it’s as if I’m freezing from the inside out.

I pass Chuuya’s favourite wine shop and it crosses my mind to get him a gift but then I remember there’s still another two full weeks until he comes home.

When I arrive home I fall into bed and stare up at the ceiling.

—

When the sun rises I return, from my listless staring, to reality.

Upon this re-entering into reality I notice several things. 

It’s cold, (I know it can’t be because of the air con because none has been turned on since Chuuya left), so more accurately, I’m cold, really cold.

My head, back and throat ache.

When I try to stand up, a wave of dizziness assaults me, I fall back down.

I don’t need Ultra Deduction to know that I’ve fallen ill, or at the very least coming down with something. 

I swallow, it hurts, tears prickle in my eyes. Not because of the aches and pains so much as the fact that my loving husband isn’t here to care for me. Normally I would tell him I’m not feeling well and he would take my temperature and make me tea and maybe draw me a warm bath and wash my hair. And since I fall ill so rarely he would take the day off to work from home and we would spend the day together.

I lay back down and assess the situation. We have no medicine, well we do but it’s locked in a safe that only Chuuya knows the entry code to, and knowing Chuuya he didn’t just make it my birthday or something dumb like that. He told me he used a random number generator. And he neve lets me watch him opening it. And he says he doesn’t worry about me. Ha!

I could of course buy some more medicine but I don’t even feel like moving.

Now, I’m alone with no medicine and nothing to do and I can’t even stand the thought of being here in this lonely empty place all day. My head spins and aches and I feel like I’m being weighed down by dumbbells.

So, I decide to do something drastic, I decide to go to work.

Maybe I can convince Atsushi or Kenji to buy me some soup. Maybe Yosano will give me something, just to make the pain stop.

Reluctant to leave but reluctant to stay, I bundle up and head out.

—

“Oh, Dazai, it’s you, it’s about time you showed u- ugh!” Kunikida looks me up and down, giving a disgusted grimace. I’m a bit shocked, it's rare to see him this hostile, I mean sure he won’t hesitate to knock my lights out, but this is a different kind of hostility. At least I think so, I can’t really think at all with the fog filling up my head.

“Finally ran out of clothes from jumping in that damned river, did you? Ever heard of a washing machine, a dryer perhaps? Wonderful inventions, truly. You ought to use at least one before you think about coming to work dressed like some crackpot wandering the Tescos car park at some ungodly hour of the night”

(A/N: I just realised after proof-reading this that Kunikida sounds so BrItIsH here, sorry!)

I look at my outfit in the reflection of Kunikida’s desktop, paying more attention now than when I put it on. It consists of an old Holiday jumper, striped pyjama bottoms, a blue woolly hat and Chuuya’s UGS. (Which are a little big on me because I have smaller feet than him, despite my greater height.)

“Ah, forgive the outfit, I haven’t been feeling very myself this morning, I think I have a cold.” 

Atsyshi looks legitimately worried at my sincere tone but I see the scepticism behind it.

Kunikida scoffs, “And you came into work? If you were really sick, you would’ve just skipped like usual. You don’t need to put this much effort into faking illness, we aren’t going to believe you anyway, especially because it’s a dead giveaway that you aren’t sick since you put so much effort into this ruse. If you don’t intend on doing any work you should just leave, we don’t have time for this, but since you're here, please get to work.”

His reaction confuses me, I may have lied about other things, but I’ve never lied about being ill. The blond’s face tells me not to argue, but I really just need some medication, surely Yosano won’t mind that.

“I assure you, I am not faking, all I ask is some headache medication from Yosano.”

(A/N: Poor Dazai never sounds sincere even when he is) 

The doctor frowns. “Why? So you can try and off yourself again? Uh, no! Just go jump off the roof if you’re that desperate.”

“Exactly, we are not going to hand you means to commit suicide in this office, now please do your work.”

I want to ask him why I would commit suicide when my beloved Chuuya hasn’t come back yet. I don’t want him to find my body when he returns, that would be terrible. But my throat is too dry to form the question and Kunikida looks like he’s going to explode.

I don’t have the energy to argue so I just go to my desk. I can’t take the boredom so, through the haze in my brain, I try to figure out what to do. Suddenly I don’t really remember how I got here but I feel cold, really cold. Kunikida said something about what I usually do, but I can’t remember what it was. Well, what do people usually do at work? Ah, of course, they work!

I open the laptop on my desk, watching a little mystified as my fingers key in the passcode from muscle memory. Quickly, I begin the paperwork, filling in details of cases as they pop into my foggy brain, my fingers blur as I type, for some reason it feels like I have to get this done as fast as possible but I don't really know why. My thoughts blur together in my head, melting into goo and running into each other.

After an hour or so I feel my eyes closing. Well, no, that’s not right. I can feel that they’re wide open, but my field of view is closing, black eats away like I’m looking at a photo that’s being burnt from the edges and the fire is eating its way towards the centre.

I blink but it doesn’t stop, fear creeps in, colouring the gooey thoughts dark and violent shades. 

I let my head slump against the wooden desk, or maybe it just falls of its own accord, I can’t tell.

There’s loud thumping and a shadow falls over me.

“Dazai, this is your desk not a bed, you can’t just fall asleep. And stop making such a racket, you needn’t hit your keys quite so loudly.” Kunikida scolds.

“I don’t feel good.” is all I manage to say.

“You’re clearly feeling well enough to annoy us with your intense typing.”

“But, Kunikida-kun, I'm not faking. I just need some headache medication.” My voice cracks.

If he notices the crack he doesn't show it. “You don’t look ill, you could’ve at least tried to cover up your lies, now stop being such a pest.”

“My head hurts, I feel sick.”

“Oh, come off it, you brat! We really don’t have time for this, we have something important to do.”

“You can take my temperature!” My voice comes out, pathetic pleading sound.

“I will do no such thing, now get changed, we have a meeting to attend. And it’s with the Port Mafia, so get your act together. We cannot afford to appear weak.”

“I-”

“Go!” Kunikida’s yell cuts me with its hard edges and leaves my ears ringing, as he tosses a stack of clothes at me. 

—

In the restroom I start to change into the things Kunikida gave me. It appears to be some type of suit.

As soon as I remove my jumper, a chill crawls over my skin. I put on the other set of clothes as quickly as I can with my vision spinning and dipping in and out like this. I start to style my hair in preparation for seeing Chuuya, (A/N: think of the Dead Apple hairstyle, cuz I couldn’t find the name) but then I remember that he won’t be there, and the emptiness hits me all over again.

I feel myself slipping down to the floor (ceiling?) as the room twists and bends, and just barely catch myself on the counter. Finally a splash of ice water on my face restores my vision, leaving nausea and an even worse headache in its place.

I stumble clumsily out of the restroom but no one notices.

“Ah finally! Hurry up, you lazy bum, we have to be there in 30 minutes and pick up Ranpo from a mission on the way, you know traffic is a nightmare this time of day. Oh, wait, you can’t even drive. Useless, honestly.”

Positively desperate, I try one last time, “Do I have to go, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Dazai, quiet yourself and get in the car right now.”

My entire body deflates like a balloon at the dismissal but I manage to drag myself along.

—

I open my eyes slowly as someone shakes me awake.

“We’re here Dazai-san.” It’s Kenji, his sweet smile has none of Kunikida’s malice.

“Thank you Kenji.” my voice is a croak. After a second of hesitation, I ask, “Do I look alright?” 

“You look very handsome in that suit Dazai-san. Very respectable.”

“Ah, thanks.”

“No problem.” He skips a head, still cheery despite the imposing nature of the Port Mafia campus.

I lean heavily on the car and sigh as I look up at the big buildings. 

Chuuya’s Perspective

It turns out I didn’t need nearly so long to finishe the mission. But I arrive home from Hong Kong in the middle of the morning so I don’t bother going home. I stash my luggage in my office and prepare for the meeting.

We’re having a meeting with the A.D.A today and Osamu will be tehre. I can’t wait to see hi. Part of me is also afraid. I did everything I could but I know he doesn’t care for himself when I’m gone. WHat if he’s lost weight or cut himself or . . .

I take a breath and don’t allow myself to dwell, I’ll be seeing him in a hour anyways.

—

We get into the conference room before the A.D.A arrives.

–

The president walks in first, I catch Mori’s soft smile before the coll, aloof demeanour covers it again. Next is the doctor, she winks and gives me a thumbs up, a thanks for the wine I gave her. Then is the child genius, then the tiger, who looks like he’s going to pee himself, then Kenji. I actually like Kenji, he says “Hey Executive Cool-hat-san!” I have to smile. Next is Kyouka, Kouyou looks longingly at her, like a mother missing her daughter. Where is Osamu???

Last Glasses man comes in and behind him Osamu strolls casually in, and takes his seat. To the untrained eyes his expression is similar to Mori’s, cool, aloof. To me he looks beautiful as usual, but sick. And he hasn’t noticed me yet. Probably because he’s so focused on his facade.This is him actually trying to appear bored and uninterested.

I clear my throat. 

He sees me. 

He slips. 

Just a little, barely a centimetre.

But I know, I can see.

His eyes widen in surprise and they’re alight, a sliver of sparkle in the corner, a glassy reflection indicating fever. I watch his shoulders sag, almost invisible, in relife. His skin is a few shades paler, and he plays off a shiver as an adjustment of his shoulders. 

Damn it! 

I knew this would happen. Whenever I’m gone he hardly eats or sleeps (as if he eats or sleeps much when I am here).

He looks awful, how has no one noticed? I have to get him out of here, but how, it’s such a small room with so few people I can’t exactly slip him out the backdoor.

He looks at me, his eyes begging me for comfort. 

I look at him telling him, with my eyes, to ask the president if he can leave or something. He shakes his head.

Oh fuck this!

If they’re letting them suffer then, I’m going to make a scene, so help me god.

“Which one of you is responsible for this?” I stand up and point to my husband

People move aside in shock.

“Whatever do you mean, Chuuya-san? You knew that your Partner would be here, did you not.” Mori speaks quietly, calmly, sweetly. He can tell Osamu is ill, just as I can and has decided to make my job easier. He may be an ass but he’s a good boss.

“Don’t you mean ex-partner?” Koyou raises an eyebrow at Mori, not understanding what he’s doing.

“No, I meant exactly what I said.” Mori smiles innocently, his gaze on his own husband.

“Partner?” Glasses man’s voice squeaks and his face pales as he tries to maintain composure. “In what way?” he asks, clearly forcing himself to be calmer now.

I’m still too mad to really answer him. “That doesn’t matter, how long has he been ill?”

“Ill?” Glasses man asks confused

“Yeah, can’t you idiots see!”

“I assure you, Executive Nakahara, he is perfectly fine.”

It annoys me even further not being called by my married name, though I hardly expect him to know it. I walk up to the idealist, grabbing his collar “Fine? FINE?? He—”

A weight settles against me. I look down, and catch Osamu before he slides to the floor. He’s fainted.

I look at the blond, who looks as shocked as if a pink elephant has pranced its way into the room, and rage boils in my blood rising up to the surface, just beneath my skin.

I grab his hand, with much more force than is necessary, and force it against Osamu’s forehead.

“Feel that? He has a fever. It’s so fucking obvious, how can you call yourselves detectives?”

“Oh, so he really wasn’t lying.” I hear the doctor whisper, she sounds incredulous.

“Lying?” I’m confused at first and then I get it, “HE TRIED TO TELL YOU!”

“Please calm down.” Glasses man’s voice is almost erased by fear

“NO, I DON'T THINK I WILL!”

“You must understand why we didn’t believe him.” The blond is afraid for his life, as he should be.

“I. Don’t. Care.” I make my voice quite, precise, deadly as I let go of him. He falls off balance and stumbles to the floor.

“Come on, Osmau, we’re going home.”

His eyes open a little bit, “Mnn, Chuu?” he groans, “m’ gonna be sick.”

Shit! I grab a bin and put it under his chin, and help him down to the floor, just in time. As he empties his stomach I rub his back gently, whispering sweet nothings. I can tell he’s suffering, he hates being in pain.

“It’s alright, it’s okay, Osamu, you’re gonna be okay, baby.”

I know I probably shouldn’t be letting these people know I have a softer side but at this point I couldn’t care less.

When he’s finished I hold him against me protectively and turn back to the detectives.

“Listen to me very closely.” I step closer, “He may be an annoying asshole liar but he wouldn’t lie about this. Next time, believe him, or you’ll be hearing from me.

With that I take my husband and leave the amused port mafia members and shocked detectives behind. 

The mackerel is asleep before I even get to my car. I thank the gods I brought it and not my motorbike.

—

When we get inside Osamu pukes again, this is going to be a long next few days.

EPILOGUE: Author P.O.V.

It’s safe to say that the A.D.A is thoroughly shook. You could hear the yelling from the next town over.

Meanwhile the two leaders of the organisations are smiling bemused at their subordinated shenanigans, both mentally deciding what they should have for dinner since they skipped lunch for this meeting. 

The fight ends when Kunikida passes out from shock after Kuoyou tells him how long soukoku has been together.

[lmelodie]

I have only one (1) thought about fusion AU that's been replaying in my head for a while. A very specific plot bunny that I probably won't write in full but it has captivated me, so i’m going to tell you about it!

Of course it's BlackIce centric, Julians time to shine is now!

Jack and Jacqueline went out on this mission but just happened to stumble upon Killian cause he was just there.

But a vague magical threat ambushes them, Jacqueline nearly gets swiped so they both try and save her at the same time resulting in Julian. Who doesn't actually know he’s fused for a while cause he’s taking care of the immediate threat.

And after the fight, Jacqueline has TO TELL THEM that they are currently fused.

Julian: Mind equations meme

Julian: OH FUCK! 

They promptly have a little freak out about it, literally arguing with himself, only saying how much he literally doesn't wanna be here.

But when they try and unfuse, multiple times, it doesn't work.

Jacqueline’s like, can you unfuse?

Julian: Nope. Looks like we can't. Don’t worry this always happens whenever we fuse it's fine.

And Jacqueline is like, What? That doesn’t sound right, even Jack himself knows that unfusing should be the easy part??

And Julian is like It’s fine, when I say this happens all the time I mean it. Whenever I get stuck the only thing we can do is just kinda wait it out until the components are too physically exhausted from sustaining the fusion and they break apart and pass out. Jack usually does a sprite sleep afterwards.

And Jacqueline is like >:O WTF?? THAT'S NOT HEALTHY! There's gotta be an easier way to untangle yourself.

And Julian is like, nope. Haven't found another way to do it. Just gotta wait it out unfortunately.

But Jacqueline isn’t having it and is like Ok what if i try and tire you out myself, and speed run the process. I mean you’re the epitome of two middle aged men stacked together in a trench coat (literally) how hard can this be? So she tries to fight him.

But surprise surprise, it’s harder than she thought considering that he has the raw power of TWO legendary figures. So when that doesn't work, she tries taking him back to frost manor to get the fam's opinion on how to unfuse them.

(I am not a Jacqueline expert and i don't know who she would most likely call in for a fusion problem, so this could all be replaced with another option besides the frost fam)

But the whole time he’s trying to leave for the city to cause CHAOS.

Julian: As long as we're going to be stuck like this, we might as well make it worth my while. I got a giant snake demon to unleash on the streets!

But even so, she takes him back to Frost Manor and is like, Help me fam idk what to do.

(Enter prose about how Julian can't fit and gets stuck in the doorway)

And Winter is like, hold on real quick gotta message your dad. Now that Julian is here he’s gotta call ahead to the fire department, law enforcement offices, mother nature. Just to give them a heads up, just in case. 

Jacqueline's next idea is to get someone ELSE who has even MORE ENERGY than her to try and tire him out faster. 

GET HIM FIRE!! 

So the twins fuse and Fire tries their best, but I think them and Julian cause even MORE damage to the yard than ever thought possible. Julian tries to see how much ice they handle before their flames get put out.

Julian: Hey as long as you're gonna be on fire, make yourselves useful and light this will you? (offers cigarette)

But we have two options for possible endings:

1) Fire actually works their magic and wears him down enough for them to unfuse (with still a lot of difficulty) but they’re not even as worn as they usually are by the end!

2) Using Fire doesn't work and they have to call in fucking BLINTER to beat his ass into the ground. This is the more violent option and one that does require the Jack sprite sleep afterwards, in essence forcing them apart.

The entire time while they were fused, both of them tried not to peek into the other's mind. But these thoughts are hard to get rid of when you're sharing a headspace with someone else!

So coming unfused they now know, very unwillingly, just a little more about the other, and his point of view. (Maybe even like a feeling or two idk)

[mytremendouslydangerousstudent]

You know what your problem is?

I keep wanting to write to my ex and shake their shoulders violently with my words, commanding them to cease their foolishness. That their life is fueled by an aspiration of foolish pursuits which bring them no fulfillment or joy. That I see them so clearly now, sputtering around in strange ovals, full of wonderful possibility squandered on things they do not want, in the image of a person they do not need to be. They continue on in this pattern that is a mystery to them. The compulsion to tell them these things is the final cobweb of love knocked loose. It is painful not to say it. I see so much. I’ve seen so much! To imagine them realizing these things much later on- the feeling of loss associated with that makes me ache. This aggressive form of duty and care could never be taken in earnest because of history, and all of the bitter things. My words, whichever ones I could choose, would fall flat and dumb. I don’t know if this thought is new. My intuition operates in such covert, maniacal ways. I wonder if our entire relationship was not just a replacement for the words I could not come up with to shake you from foolishness- I wonder if I had resigned to showing you how to be through love. I never felt the need to fix you but I wonder now if it leaked past the barrier of feeling and into the queue of action. You are not even an unhappy person. Oops my narrative voice changed. Back to my tumblr audience. Just kidding. There’s a guy I work with who reminds me of you. He is a Nice Guy Victim sort of leftover from the pop punk surge of Floridian 1990s. He’s my friend but I do not trust him at all due to his appeasing nature. This is behavior I’ve come to find dishonest, mostly thanks to you. This guy tells me all kinds of stuff about his life while we work. He tells me he appreciates my feedback even when it is critical but I just don’t know. I see him move through situations just like you, amiable to a degree of dishonesty. It pisses me off to watch someone put aside their concerns due to a pathological need to be liked. I see the root play out in my mind- you are a child standing in a room, crying out to MaMa, saying you will do anything, crying out for love. It pisses me off to watch myself judge you. I pretend to be the Law so often. It is hilarious. This is probably what they mean by Madness. I am always mad, then laughing at it. It is trench warfare.

As I write this, I feel like a parent at the kitchen table, having just seen you off to the school bus. I am there holding a thing you have forgotten, thinking “Oh well, too late now”, encouraged by the fact that you will never realize it is missing.

[the-fiction-witch]

Behave yourself Benjamin

Media The Queens Gambit

Character Benny Watts

Couple Benny X Reader

Rating Sweet / Flirty

Concept Messy Apartment 

I fixed a stray piece of hair from my eye line as I stood on the grey concrete watching the green tiles around me until the silver train rocketed past with a clutter. Once the doors opened I crossed the yellow line and boarded the foul-smelling capsule of dust, rats and piss known as the new work subway. I stood as it wasn't exactly that far and even in this half-empty midday carriage some jerk found an excuse to stand inches from me rubbing his jeans up against my dress. I merely rolled my eyes and got off a stop earlier than I intended. I walked the grey streets past the iconic brick townhouses and the piles of trash bags. Listening to my heels clack on the stone sidewalk. I arrived at the usual Brooklyn street and immediately noticed the sweet little blue beetle parked up close to the sidewalk immediately also noticed the small bundle of parking tickets under the wiper blade. I rolled my eyes sliding out the bundle and flipping through them as I ran my hand down the car "you poor thing, he treats you so bad" 

I headed down the stairs to the lower levels trying to ignore the dirt and general foul smell the place had going down to the old metal door unlocking it and headed inside shutting the door behind me.

I slipped my jacket off hanging it on the hook beside the long black trench coat setting my bags down by the door.

Turning to see the inside.

"Fuck." I sighed

The small grey basement apartment was…honestly as I expected. 

An utter tip. Books and papers strewn about the place haphazardly, chess boards and paraphernalia lined all available surfaces, the old ottoman and leather chair the only available places to actually sit, the kitchen cluttered with takeaway coffee cups and even a half-open pizza box, water lingered ankle high in the living room bath and shower unable to drain and the light about the sinks mirror still on flickering for some odd reason.

 I caught myself in the mirror in my little black halter neck dress tight to my hips, and of course my heels, my hair well curled and make-up done noticing how out of place I looked here. 

I sighed and headed down the steps into the apartment setting the parking tickets on the table heading to the fridge opening it seeing nothing but empty racks, so I shut it again and peeked into the pizza box spotting two slices still within however they were blooming with mould like horrific flowers.

"Oh hell no" I sighed running my hands through my hair a moment before I snapped "Benjamin Wilhelm Watts!" I screamed at the top of my lungs 

And within seconds the forested glass door to his bedroom opened and stood in the doorway still holding the door was a half-awake Benny in his blue floral kimono and… only his kimono. For a second I thought to look away but I didn't care nothing I hadn't seen far too many times before. His hair was a messy bedhead sticking up wildly, face emotionless and barely awake, his chest bear with some sort of mess on his stomach, the small snail tail obvious as he was pretty much hairless everywhere else leading downward, he was half hard clearly unintentionally, barefoot and clearly struggling to keep himself upright.

He seemed perplexed by the yell that clearly arose him and even more confused by the sight of me

He clicked his fingers a couple of times before pointing at me 

"Today…. The day you were coming up?"

"Yes" I sighed resting my hands on my hips 

"Right." He nods "quick question, pants?" He asks pointing downward

"No" 

"Right" he nods "excuse me," he says before going into his bedroom to put a pair of jeans on before returning to the main apartment

I sighed and began making coffee as both he and I would be needing some 

"I knew it was you" he sighed as he came over eager for his coffee

"Umm? What tipped you off?" 

"You are the only person on earth who knows my middle name"

"I probably am. I like using it. Let's you know how much trouble you’re in" I smiled giving him his coffee and having my own 

"Oh, what have I done now?"

"Uhhh the pig's den, you're calling an apartment?"

"I've been away"

"Not an excuse"

"I've been working"

"Which stops you from throwing out week-old pizza?" I said letting him to peek into the box

"Ohh shit. Alright you may have a point"

"May?"

"You always do"

"You've been home long enough to get little one in trouble," I said picking up the parking tickets and handing them to him to flip through as I went to get my bags

And he rolled his eyes "you love that car more than you love me" 

"It doesn't constantly disappoint, stress, and overall cause my life to be difficult." I explained "you on the other hand," I said sitting my stuff by the chair 

He dumped the tickets and his now empty coffee cup on the counter before I could add anything else he grabbed my waist pulling me close to him so my arms had to sit against his chest our hips meeting as he wrapped his other arm around me too holding me close as he pulled a sad face at me "don't you love me, my little sugar bear?"

"Ummm. Most of the Time" 

"Most of the time? Well I love my little sugar bear all the time. Especially when she visits looking so pretty" he smirked moving his hips against my own

"Behave yourself Benjamin" I warn him 

"Make me" he smirked 

I smiled moving my arms up to be around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss he happily kissed back pulling me closer to him to give me a squeeze as our lips gilded so perfectly against one another his hair tickled me a little where it needed a trim till after a good while we pulled back "I missed you benny"

"I missed you more" he smiled giving my nose a kiss 

"I love you" I smiled nuzzling into his chest 

"Awww, I love you too" he smiled "of course, I love my little sugar bear" he smiled giving me another squeeze

"Why do you call me that?" I giggled

"Because your as sweet as sugar" he smiled kissing my head "and my cuddly teddy bear" he smiled

"Umm alright, don't let anyone hear you talking like that, they'll never believe your goth chess cowboy look again" I smiled 

"We’re all alone I'm allowed to be snuggly" 

I giggled pushing him away "now I am going to unpack my things. This apartment will be clean to a decent standard by the time I return"

"Or else what?"

"Or else you will not touch this body for the next four days"

"At all?"

"At all"

"Alright," he sighed "once it's clean and you've unpacked? Can we… lay on the bed and cuddle?"

"If you're good" I smiled heading into his little bedroom,

[mystic-sky]

This is just a request, but do you think you can write something short about gojo meeting his s/o who is a poc and how he’d react to her curly hair 🥺👉🏾👈🏾 the fandom is still pretty new so there’s not a lot of poc drabbles out there if any at all.

Here you go bby, I hope you enjoy 💕✨

Summary: An AU where you’re a sorcerest whose stationed in Japan due to the National Sorcerer Exchange Program I just made up lol. Even though it’s your first encounter Satoru is a big flirt, as usual✨💘

Word count: 1.7k

It was annoying, being one of the few special grade sorcerers based in Tokyo. Satoru Gojo often wished he could duplicate himself at least three or four times, just to reduce some of the workload stress he had. The older he got, the more he wished he wasn’t the strongest- and that’s a pretty surprising statement on his end.

He felt he couldn’t catch a break. Between special grade work, his students and now looking after Yuji Itadori, who hysterically swallowed a special grade object, he had a lot on his plate.

It was hardly a burden for him. He only wished he could be in multiple places at once. This way, he could make sure the higher ups wouldn’t mess with his students, who meant so much to him.

In sight of the increased special grade activity in Japan and several other countries, the first ever Sorcerer Exchange program was implemented by higher ups across the world. It would ensure that special and first grade sorcerers were evenly spread out and or placed in regions that needed special attention. Satoru wasn’t particularly fond of anything the higher ups did, but this idea wasn’t so bad.

“A government funded, international sorcerer exchange program,” Yaga informs Satoru, who sits across from him, idly drinking his tea.

“And how does this work exactly?” Satoru raises a brow at Yaga before dropping cubes of sugar into his cup, stirring loudly.

“For 6 month spans, high level sorcerers who applied to the exchange will be stationed in different countries to regulate curse activity.”

“Sounds like it pays more. Nanamin might like that.”

“It does, depending on your skill level.” Yaga sits back in his seat. “We’ve already received a few sorcerers from America, Africa, China, Russia-”

“All special grade?” Satoru interjects.

“Currently the exchange program only allows special and first grade sorcerers. Considering the high levels of cursed energy around the world this year, it would be best if we avoided any casualties by placing inexperienced sorcerers in the wrong places.”

“That reminds me. You’re prohibited from participating, considering we’re a red area. Until cursed activity improves here you won’t be allowed to participate.”

“Aww c’mon, you guys suck.” Satoru cocks his head back, sighing loudly.

He already traveled a lot for special grade missions but never for more than a few days. Now there was a whole six-month program and he wasn’t allowed to participate in it? Then again, he couldn’t leave Yuji here with the possibility of the higher ups trying to hurt him again. He promised himself he would protect all of his students.

“There are several meetings I must attend tomorrow and I’d like for you to be there. Don’t be late.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Is that all you wanted to talk about?” Satoru is already up and gripping the handle on the office door.

“I’ve also decided to assign a co-teacher to your first years, for your shorter stationed trips every now and then. She’s an extremely talented special grade from the exchange program. So you needn’t worry of a repeat of the detention center incident with Yuji.”

He had already swung the door open, towering above your body in the door frame. Your nose is barely touching his jacket, and hand almost touching his chest as you were attempting to knock. You take a step back, a bit startled.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I tried to knock,” you say, looking up at the blindfolded man in front of you. “I’m looking for Masamichi Yaga?”

Satoru is startled by your flawless Japanese, considering you’re clearly not of Japanese descent. He took note of your tan skin and big, curly hair that was pinned back in certain spots to display your face.

What a cutie.

“No, I’m Satoru Gojo. Principal Yaga’s the one sitting behind me.” He’s not entirely surprised by your appearance, considering he’s traveled all over the world to fight curses. “And you are?”

You almost think he’s flirting, considering how smooth the question was. Also, you’re now recognizing who he is, cheeks reddening a bit.

“I’m (Full Name). You’re the special grade I’m going to be subbing with for the first years! I’ve heard great things!” You politely bow a bit.

“I know.” His grin large and cocky as he steps out the way, allowing you to walk in. “No need to be so formal though.”

You’re slightly put off by his attitude, but principal Yaga interjects quickly.

“(Last Name), come in. I’ve been awaiting your arrival. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Yaga is on his feet now, bowing towards you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too. I’m excited to work with you all.” You say as he motions you to sit and have some tea.

Satoru has found a reason to stay in the room, plopping down beside you and taking up his tea he had previously abandoned.

“Thanks for sending Ichiji to the airport to help with my belongings. I brought so much stuff, I hope it wasn’t too much for him.” You brain flashes back to Ichiji struggling to hold all of your luggage outside the baggage claim.

“Pffft, feel free to call on him whenever you want. That’s what he’s here for.” Satoru assures you, flashing you a toothy grin. You get the feeling that he probably made Ichiji’s job a living hell.

“I must say, Ms. (Last Name), your Japanese is remarkable. How did you become so fluent?” Yaga asks, filling your cup.

“I’m flattered. I taught myself what I could before attending (insert random ass college name in Japan) University. I’ve always admired Japanese culture so I studied it pretty hard. I can also speak (Native language, if you have one) and (two other languages of your choosing).”

“Wow, your Japanese is better than most locals.” Satoru chuckled. “And you’re pretty too. Lucky me.”

You shifted in place on the sofa. The most powerful sorcerer known to man was sitting beside you and he was complimenting you.

“Thank you,” you say loosely, picking up your teacup.

“Ahem,” Yaga interrupts, earning a tiny snort from Satoru.

“He hates it when I flirt.” Satoru whispers as he leans over towards you. Your face feels a bit hot, and you decide it’s from the steam of the tea in your face and not the handsome man leaning a bit too close to you. You set the cup down after the lightest sip.

“I hate to get down to business so soon Ms. (Last Name), but I’d like for you to get settled in as soon as possible. I’ve mapped out a few assignments for you this week. This is your first.” He slides the first report across the table.

“There have been several reports of abnormal cursed energy in Shinjuku City. It’s likely a special grade. I’d like for you to get to the bottom of it. It shouldn’t be a problem, considering your level of expertise. I’ve forwarded the documents to you as well.” The glint in his glasses makes you chuckle a bit. You flip through the report briefly.

“I skimmed this one on the flight. Whatever it is,” you begin, taking out your phone, “seems to be luring children. This corresponds with the rise in missing childrens’ cases I read about in Shinjuku.”

You place the article on your phone down on the table for principal Yaga to read. You liked to do your own research on locals news to see if curses had any sort of correspondence with a certain area’s events.

“You think a curse is kidnapping children?” Satoru suggests.

“It’s just a hunch. It’s nothing I haven’t encountered before.” You bite the nail on your thumb, realizing the inevitable.

“Unfortunately, if I’m correct, those children most likely aren’t alive.”

You stand up, firmly.

“I trust you’ll take care of it then,” Yaga hands your device towards you.

“Most definitely,” you look at your watch. “And I’ll be done before dinner.”

You offer the principal a smile before you slip on your trench coat, eager to take on your first mission.

“By all means, it can wait until the morning after you’ve rested.” Yaga persists.

“Nope! Not when children are potentially involved. I can’t risk it.” You straighten your clothes, and bow once more. “I’ll report back soon.”

“(Name) doesn’t let jet lag stop her from doing her job. What an admirable woman.” Satoru cooed.

“Well, Gojo-san, it was a pleasure meeting you.” You begin to wave but Satoru is on his feet, and right behind you, making you stumble back again.

“Oh no, I’m coming with you.” He grins. “I’ve gotta see what the most powerful special grade sorceress is capable of in person.”

While you had heard of your own nickname before, you hated when people called you that. You tried your best to be humble about it. There’s always new ways to improve your cursed technique, even if you don’t know how yet.

“So you do know who I am,” you shifted your stance, hands on your hips.

“I’ve heard a few things,” he says slyly. “But I’d like to see them first hand.”

“Hmph, alright then. I suppose you can show me around Shinjuku. It’s been a while since I’ve been there.” You flip your hair, making your way towards the door.

“And it’s your lucky day, I feel like showing off.” You say, peaking over your shoulder.

“Great, it’s a date.”

You stop dead in your tracks, just two steps out of Yaga’s office.

“What?”

“Even after four years of university in Japan? I said, it’s a date.”

The door shuts behind him, and his grin is even more smug.

The audacity.

“You’re not going on a date with me unless you ask me properly.” You roll your eyes, swaying down the steps. So this was Satoru Gojo.

“C’mon sweetheart, we’d be iconic as hell— the strongest man and the strongest woman? We’d be unstoppable.”

“I don’t even know what you look like underneath that thing.” You say, motioning towards his blindfold.

Oh , but you lied. You’d seen his Instagram.

He was a selfie fanatic. That and a cake fiend.

“Wanna see right now? Will it change your mind?” His voice low and steady behind you.

“I’ve got a curse to excorcise.” You roll your eyes, speeding up ahead of him. It didn’t help much considering his legs were so long.

“You know you wanna,” he bends down, voice deep in your ear.

“I’m not listening~

You’re far ahead of him now, attempting to hide the heat on your face and hearing deep chuckles echo behind you.

“Ah, this is going to be the best six months ever!” He laughs heartily.

A small smile crept on your lips.

Maybe it would be.

[honestlywtfisgoingon]

A Match Set

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Pairing: Benny Watts x Reader

Summary: After meeting one night in New York, you and Benny Watts are drawn to each other. As you go through different experiences with one another, you grow closer until it finally gets to be too much for Benny.

Word Count: 1890

Warnings: none

Notes: aye this is my first fic because there is a serious lack of benny watts fics and i had to change that for myself. this will probably be multiple chapters that can be read separately.

It was your first art gallery, and you were both anxious and overjoyed to see people surveying your work. You had put so many hours into each piece and all kinds of people had poured in to look. It was a well known gallery, but the variety still surprised you. You looked around and saw some interesting characters, but your interest was piqued when your eyes fell upon a particular cowboy.

He was inspecting one of your favorite paintings which had chess pieces as the subject. The pieces merely served as part of a metaphor in your art, as the game and all its complexities had never really been your thing. As you looked closer at the man you realized that, not only had his outfit sparked your interest, but he seemed familiar too. Out of curiosity, you walked over and stood next to him.

“What are your thoughts?” You asked, motioning towards the painting.

His initial expression showed surprise that you were talking to him, but he recovered quickly, saying, “It’s good. I think the artist has talent.” You felt a bit of pride hearing that. You opened your mouth to say thanks, but you decided not to reveal yourself. You wanted him to give his honest opinion without fear of offending you.

“So do you like chess?” He nodded to the painting. Hearing this you made the connection as to why you remembered seeing him before. Your father owned a little bookshop back home and you were looking into chess for the same painting you were discussing right now. You had seen this cowboy on the back of one of those books, but you hadn’t given it another thought, never actually expecting to meet him. You decided not to reveal this information either and continued with the conversation.

“I can play a modest game. You?”

“I can play a modest game.” He had a small smile as he shrugged.

“Your first lie.” You said smirking back.

He looked confused but curious, so you explained about your research, your fathers bookshop, the whole story. He puffed up a bit after hearing that, looking impressed that you knew who he was.

“What’s your name?” He asked, still curious.

“Y/n” you replied.

“Nice name. I’m Benny, but you already seem to know who I am. On the other hand I don’t know anything about you.” He reached out his hand to shake yours.

“You walk in here with a black trench coat but you make me out to be the mysterious one,” you smirked as you took his hand. He chuckled a bit, and after your introduction, you asked why he was here.

“My friend knows the artist actually. She told us we had to see her work before going out.” You hummed as you thought about what to say, but he interjected.

“I don’t usually do this, and I’m not sure why I’m doing this now, but maybe you’d consider coffee with me. I won’t tell anymore lies” he joked.

You laughed a little, mildly shocked. “you’re not sure why? That’s flattering” you teased.

“Not what I meant-“ but before you could come to a conclusion on his sudden offer, you heard an excited french accent.

“Y/n! Im so proud! You finally got to show off all that talent!” Your friend Cleo ran up to you and wrapped her arms around you. You hadn’t seen her since you lived in France for a few months and you had missed her. You left for France after you realized you weren’t really needed at home, so you dedicated yourself to trying to soak up some culture. She looked gorgeous like you remembered, fitting for a model. You continued your reunion embrace for a moment before she waved her arms to the men and woman behind her. She introduced the friends she had brought to your show as Arthur, Hilton, and Annette, who all smiled at you. Cleo paused to turn to the cowboy saying, “I see you’ve already met Benny.”

“Yeah we met,” he said, “but I didn’t know this was your work. I would’ve told you how impressed I am.” Your cheeks turned a light pink at the praise.

“Look at Benny, impressed with someone besides himself for once.”Cleo poked fun and the group let out a laugh.

“Hey I’m not a narcissist or anything, don’t listen to Cleo,” Benny made excuses to you, only mildly offended.

“Sure you aren’t. I have nothing against narcissists,” you jokingly assured him. This answer didn’t comfort the man who had essentially just asked you on a date.

You and Cleo continued to catch up and you talked more with her friends as well. Benny just stood next to you, and you caught him glancing at you once or twice, but you just ignored it. Eventually you agreed to go out for drinks with the group, walking with them to a bar a couple blocks down called Hal’s.

You all squeezed into a booth while Arthur went off to get drinks. You sat on the outside, watching the people out on the floor next to you giggling and dancing. Having a couple of drinks beforehand must’ve contributed to the large amount of people out there, you thought. Arthur eventually announced his return by laying a tray of drinks in the middle of the table.

You were all conversing and sipping on your drinks when Annette decided she wanted to dance. Cleo agreed enthusiastically, but the rest of us refused. She suggested we all take shots to make it easier, but once again we tried to turn her down. she pleaded, “come on guys, it’s a Saturday night, and you can’t possible lose something from it. Have a little bit of fun with me!”

We relented, having a feeling that she wasn’t going to give up any time soon. She gave a little clap and handed out the shots. You knocked yours back with everyone else and grimaced at the bitter taste. Shaking it off, you slid out of the booth so the others could get out. You moved back into your spot after they all made their way to the throng of people. You decided you would join them later, but you liked to observe first. You looked over and the only two left were you and Benny. You slid over to him, not wanting to sit awkwardly on the other end like he wasn’t there.

“I bet you five bucks that lady is bored out of her mind.” He pointed to a blonde on a date across the bar, “Either she’s an alcoholic or she’s trying to tune out baldie.” You looked at the woman and saw she was surrounded by empty glasses while the man in front of her seemed like he was boasting endlessly. You both started making observations about the various people in the bar. Most of them were snarky comments that you whispered into each other’s ears, giggling, but you also created imaginary lives for them, guessing who they were and how they got here. After sharing a couple laughs, you sighed and reached a comfortable lull before Benny brought up what you knew was coming.

“So have you thought about my earlier question?” He eyed you seriously all of a sudden, but you didn’t feel any pressure. He seemed the type of confident where he thought you would say yes, but he could recover if you said no.

You weighed in your impression of him. He was cute, with fluffy hair and nice eyes that were a kind of chocolate color. He was funny and you he seemed intelligent (I mean he had to be, he played competitive chess). Albeit his trench coat and hat were a bit eccentric, but that wasn’t a bad thing, in fact you found it attractive.

“So have you?” He asked again, leaning his head in.

“Oh uh” you hadn’t realized while you were thinking that you had zoned out looking at him. Clearing your throat you said, “I’m free for coffee.” You stopped, “But you have to wear the hat.”

“Wouldn’t leave home without it” he winked.

Suddenly you were shoved against him as your tipsy friends barreled back into the booth.

“We should probably join them” you said as you moved off him, pushing one of the leftover drinks towards him. He nodded and you both drank some more just to get on the same level as your friends.

“You two haven’t even danced! I saw you whispering. Too busy flirting?” Annette smiled as she slurred a few of her words. You just looked down, cheeks pink, leaving Benny to respond.

“How were you watching us when you were dancing with that guy, the one who looks like he’s only ever kissed his mother.”

“No, I’m sure he’s kissed other people! I mean he did seem young but...” Annette looked over to the guy she dragged to dance with her earlier. He stood sheepishly in the corner, looking like he hadn’t outgrown his baby fat yet, and was definitely not a city type. “He’s just shy!” She defended, but me and Benny just looked at each other, falling into giggles. You figured out that night that Annette was one of those drunks who got a little childish, but she was sweet.

You would’ve been content to keep hanging out with Benny, if it hadn’t been for Cleo who grabbed your hand and pulled you out to the dance floor. You looked back at Benny, but gave in and allowed her to twirl you into the crowd. You were having a good time with Cleo, Hilton and Arthur dancing on either side of her. You were soon out of breath, but didn’t mind, enjoying it all.

You had moved to the city a couple months ago, but hadn’t had time to make friends, focusing on your work and setting up your apartment. You missed having company, people who were fun and interesting.

You continued to move to the beat of the song until you bumped into someone. You looked back to see Benny smiling next to you. You smiled back and let him in to the little circle you and your friends had created. You felt a little warm, not from the dancing, but from being close to him.

After fifteen minutes you were all tired and made your way to the booth to gather all your things up and pay the bill. You walked out of the bar and into the chilly night air, grateful for the residual body heat that came from all the dancing. You hugged Cleo and your new friends goodbye as took turns getting into taxis and headed towards their homes. Hilton offered to wave you down a taxi too, but you declined, explaining that your home wasn’t a far walk. He shrugged and gave you another hug before climbing into the yellow car. Once again it was just you and Benny.

“Just the two of us again huh?” He spoke, and he definitely didn’t sound turned off by the idea.

“Fate I guess.”

“Sure” he said casually.

“Do you not believe in fate?” You asked. You weren’t a firm believer in the idea but something in his tone made you curious.

“I’ve had this debate before I think. I’m not sure, but I’d like to figure it out. How about you?” He said. You imagined him having a lot of debates. You had just met him, but he seemed to fall into the intellectual category. They always kept things interesting, and frequently offered new perspectives.

“I mean everything’s gotta mean something, there has to be a purpose. I just don’t know if we make our own purpose or if we’re given a purpose; fate.” You mused, not meaning to get existential. He didn’t seem to mind.

“You seem like the type to want to figure things out too.” He said ‘too’. So you and him both liked to do that. You added that to the growing list of things you liked about him.

“I guess I am.” He had a pleased look on his face and you just shrugged as you started to say goodbye.

“Wait” he grabbed your arm, “I heard you say you didn’t live far, I could walk you.” Before you could protest he told you, “it wouldn’t be a big deal, I heard you tell Hilton where you lived, we’re in the same direction.”

You agreed, finding yourself wanting to talk to him more. He offered you his arm casually and you laughed to yourself a little at the gesture, taking it anyway. You walked down the sidewalk, talking and laughing. You felt comfortable as you felt like you leveled with him. It seemed like too short of a walk as you suddenly found yourself at the door of your apartment building.

“Guess this is goodnight.” Benny said as you both stood on the sidewalk.

“What about coffee?” You asked.

“Glad you remembered. I’ll pick you up at twelve tomorrow, we can make it lunch. I’ll pick you up.” He said it decidedly, like it was just a fact. Something you noticed he did often.

“Ok then. Lunch. Tomorrow. Am I forgetting anything?” You said as you stepped halfway into the doorway.

“If you are we can figure that out later. I’ll see you.” He waved with a slight smile.

You waved back and smiled in return, watching him walk away before closing the door. You sped up to your apartment, letting yourself finally feel the excitement and anticipation of going out. You stripped off your clothing as soon as you got in and flopped on your bed, feeling sort of giddy. You felt like you and Benny were connected, though you had barely met him. As you laid down you smiled to yourself, looking forward to tomorrow.

[feralthoughtdump]

Only Angel

Part Two of Kiss With A Fist

On the way to Madripoor, Bucky and his acquaintance talk about names. 

Word Count: 5.5K

CW: violence, talk of killing people, TFATWS ep. 3 spoilers, stitching wounds, smut, unprotected sex, sub!bucky, technically a reader x bucky but he gives her a new name.

“So, we’re headed to Madripoor?” She questions, adjusting the straps of her harness.

Bucky adverts his eyes as she unbuttons her jeans, not answering her question, but she doesn’t seem to notice. They were standing in the back of the jet, a curtain obscuring the two of them from Sam and Zemo. 

“Help me really quick. I have a holster in my bag.” 

He reaches into her light blue duffle back, rifling through the articles of clothing and various weapons until his finger wraps around the leather.

“Thanks, you’re a godsend.” She chuckles. “Tell me about this mission of ours. I need to know what I should wear.” 

“We’re going undercover. Zemo is just… Zemo, Sam’s going as some big shot, and I’m… well-“

“The Winter Soldier?” 

He silently nods. 

“You scared?” 

She buckles the holster around her thigh, tightening it so it slightly squeezes at the flesh.

“Not sure.” He grumbles. “I’m worried, you know, I might end up..” his words trail off.

“Relapsing?”

“You can say that.”

She pulls her jeans down past her ankle and places them into her bag.

He clears his throat and looks away, unsure if she’s okay with him looking.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Buck.” She hymns, reaching into her bag. “What do you think? Shorts or a dress?” 

He looks back up, eyeing the black slip dress in one hand, and the leather shorts in the other. 

“Shorts I guess. Easy mobility.” 

“Smart.” 

As she’s pulling the shorts up past her waist, Bucky stares out the plane window. 

“Do you still go by Angel of Death?” He asks.

She looks up at him. 

“I never chose to go by that name, you know? The public did.” Her hands dig into the bag, pulling out a gun and a few knives. “Angels of death are serial killers in caregiver positions and I have nobody under my care. But they gave me that name because they saw me as some vigilante, someone who took down bad people.”

“Do you like the name?”

“I don’t really care. It’s factually incorrect but names don’t matter when you have to kill the person standing in the way of a paycheck.” 

“Is that how you see them? Just another person you have to kill so you can go buy a fancy handbag?” He scoffs. 

“You have no idea who those people are do you? Those people are corrupt. Evil. People who have no regard for the lives of innocent people.”

“And you think you’re any better?”

His tone is less accusing, rather it’s more curious. 

“Maybe not, but at the end of the day, it’s my job. And if my job means I’m killing morally corrupt people, then I really don’t care. And if I’m as bad as them, then maybe you had a right to kill me ten years ago.” 

Bucky shifts on his feet. 

“You know my mission wasn’t to kill you.” He confesses. 

“Then why did you stab me?” 

“I think for the first time, I felt scared. I was confused and I panicked.” 

“Fair enough.” She takes out a dark red trench coat. One made of soft crushed velvet. Bucky runs his flesh hand over it, taking in the feeling of the soft fabric. 

“I was supposed to take you away, hand you over to HYDRA. I think they wanted you to work for them.” 

She snorts, humored by his words. 

“So they wanted me to be a weapon, huh. Fry my brain until all my free will is gone and come up with a few words in Russian to make sure I’ll do their bidding.” 

“Most likely.” He crosses his arms. “You’re good at your job. You’ve wracked up kills in the hundreds, and I thought I was the one with the high body count.”

“Do you know why I’m good at my job?” She laughs, pulling her hair into a tight bun and securing it with a gold hairpin. “Do you know why I’m one of the best female assassins in Europe?”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders. 

“Every time I’m assigned a job, I’m walking into a life or death situation. I need to be prepared for any type of outcome so I won’t get caught off guard.” She pulls a black, satin, dress shirt over her shoulders. “But do you know the real reason as to why I’m the best?” 

Bucky parts his lips. 

“Tell me.”

“It’s because I never let my feelings get in the way.”

“But you have to feel at least something.” 

“No. I don’t think I really feel anything.” She tucks the hem into the shorts. “I haven’t felt anything in a very long time.”

He doesn’t know what to say. As he observes her concealing weapons within her outfit, he thinks about the past few decades of his life. One mission after another. He thinks about the bloodshed. He thinks about Yori and his son. Did he feel anything when he put a bullet in that boy? Not at the time. But now? All he feels is guilt. Shame. But here she stands in front of him, dressed to the nines, hidden weapons strapped to her body. I haven’t felt anything in a really long time.  No guilt, no shame, no emotions. The silence hangs over them like a thick, heavy fog.

His mind wanders to their first interaction. Though he can’t remember much, he often revisits it in his dreams.

Don’t you want to know my name?

The question she asked him before he plunged the knife into her abdomen. 

“Ten years ago, you asked if I wanted to know your name.” 

“I did.” 

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“No. I would’ve just given you a fake one.”

She sits down on the leather seat and stuffs her feet into a pair of heeled boots. Bucky takes a seat next to her.

“What name would you have given me?”

“I was reading Anna Karenina at the time so probably Kitty.” 

“Do you have a name?” 

“I have many names.”

“No, a real name.”

She zips up her left boot.

“I do. Well, I did.” She sighs, moving her fingers to zip up the right. “I don’t remember it anymore.” 

Bucky frowns.

“Do you want to remember?” 

Her head falls onto his shoulders and she nuzzles her nose into his neck. 

“Not really. Sometimes I think it’s better that I’m nameless.” 

Bucky doesn’t want to say he pities her, but he does. Maybe it isn’t pitying, rather sympathizing. 

“Can I give you a new one?”

She smiles, relishing in the feeling of his stubble against her skin. 

“Sure.”

“I’d like to call you Angel.” 

A hum of content passes her lips and she presses a soft kiss on his skin. 

“I’d like that too.” She whispers. “I’ll be your angel.”

They sit together for a good five minutes, syncing their breathing together, enjoying each other’s company.

“We should go back to your friends.” She mutters, grabbing the coat. 

“We probably should.”

Sam gives the two of them as they walk past the curtain. Bucky sits across from him and he watches with a slightly annoyed eye as she takes the seat across from Zemo. 

“How do you two know each other?” Sam queries.

“Oh. Bucky stabbed me ten years ago.” She bluntly states.

A humored smile crosses her face as Sam’s eyes widen and darts between the two. 

“He stabbed you?”

“Hey, I wasn’t really myself back then.” Bucky quickly defends himself. “Plus, she tried to kill me a few hours ago.” 

“In her defense,” Zemo interjects “being stabbed isn’t something you can just forgive and forget.” 

“Oh, and you know everything about forgiving and forgetting.” Sam shoots back. 

Sensing oncoming tension, she quickly changes the subject. 

“Bucky told me you three needed a tour guide. Someone who knows the place well.” 

“I’d consider myself-“

“Oh Baron,” she laughs “after everything you did in 2017, I doubt it’s easy for them to trust you.”

Zemo’s eyes widened. 

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been to Sokovia before.” 

Sam furrowed his brows.

“What led you to Sokovia?”

“Business meetings.” 

“Jesus, Bucky, who is this girl?” 

“Oh, yeah, I never actually introduced myself. I’m Angel.” Bucky smiles at the use of her name, affection blooming in his chest. “I work for a small company based in Europe. We mostly sell cosmetics.”

Bucky’s impressed by her ability to spit out a convincing story with no hesitation. 

Sam doesn’t seem to buy it, but he lets it go. 

“Anyways, what role do you three want me to play?”

“Well,” Zemo shifts in his seat, “I was thinking you could be my date-“

“No. No” Bucky grouses, a deep frown cutting across his face. “Absolutely not.”

“Relax, James. I won’t try anything with her. I know you two are… close.” 

Bucky scrambles out of his seat to wrap a hand around Zemo’s neck but he steps away at the feeling of Angel’s gentle hand on his bicep. 

“Calm down, Bucky. Everything’s going to be fine.” She looks at Zemo with an amused grin. “Alright. I’ll play the part, but I have a few rules.” She points her thumb up. “One, no kissing.” Then her pointer. “No silly pet names. I don’t want to hear you calling me baby or kitten. It’s patronizing.��� Finally her middle. “And three, I don’t drink. My tolerance is low.”

Zemo and Sam nod in agreement and eventually so does Bucky, but the anger in his eyes refuses to fade away. 

It’s nighttime when they arrive, but the bright, neon lights illuminate the city. 

Loud music seeps out from the clubs and the air smells of smoke and booze. They’re surrounded by crime, and Angel smiles at the familiarity. She can spot a few familiar faces, but she never bothers to say hi. It’s best she stays faceless, unknown, invisible. 

Zemo wraps an arm around her waist and Bucky side eyes him. She can read his annoyance. His jealousy. Yet, his cold, emotionless expression doesn't change. He’s fallen into character and he’s doing a damn good job of it. 

Whispers of ‘is that the Winter Soldier?’ pour around them as they enter the bar, but they all do their best to pay no attention. 

“Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.” The bartender nods towards Sam. 

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby.” Zemo interjects. 

Selby. 

Angel remembers that name. She’s heard it in whispers on the streets. 

Angel takes a seat on Zemo’s lap, leaning her head against the fur on his coat. 

“Who’s the girl?”

“Close friend of mine,” Zemo smirks.

“I’m Moria.” She extends a hand and the bartender politely shakes it. 

Bucky glances down at his fingers. Of course, her name here would be fake. 

“The usual?” The bartender asks.

Sam and Zemo reply with a nod. 

The four of them watch as he pulls a snake out of a jar, cutting its organs out and placing them in a shot glass. He moves on to pour out a shot of vodka for Zemo.

She grins and runs a hand from the fur collar of his coat to his chest. A soft, flirtatious giggle slips past her lips. Oh, Bucky wanted to take Zemo’s shot glass and throw it at the wall but he can’t. Not when the stakes are so high. 

She suppresses a giggle as she watches Sam struggle to down the shot. 

“Got word from on high,” A man approaches Zemo. “You ain’t welcome here.”

“I have no business with the Power Broker. But if he insists, he can either talk to me…” 

He gestures towards Bucky.

Angel surveys the bar, observing the patrons around them. Most of them are staring at the four, suspicious eyes being thrown their way. 

Her concentration is broken when Zemo speaks.

“Winter Soldier” He orders in Russian.

She remembers Bucky’s words on the plane. He’s afraid of relapsing. 

“Attack.”

Compassion, something she hasn’t felt for a long time, floods her body and before he can strike, she finds herself twisting the man’s fingers. Another approaches them and Bucky takes the lead, kicking the man to the ground. Men charge towards them and she fights along with him. He’s throwing kicks, punches, a sight that Angel is all too familiar with. Bucky takes hold of a man thrown his way, slamming him down onto the table, metal arm wrapped around his neck.

They freeze at the sound of weapons around them. Her eyes dart around the room, seeing the guns trained on them. Slowly, she reaches under her shirt, feeling the knives she has strapped to her body. 

Sam places a hand on Bucky’s arm and Zemo quickly stops him. 

“Stay in character or the entire bar turns on us.” 

They all stand as the bartender turns to them. 

“Selby will see you now.” 

She looks at Bucky, then Sam, then Zemo who opens his arms, beckoning her towards him. She lets him place a hand on her hip as the four of them walk away.

“You should know Baron,” Selby’s voice rings through her ears. “People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand, an offer.” Zemo replies. 

“Well, a lot has changed since you were last here. By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” He chuckles.  Zemo releases his hand on her. 

“You’re taller than I heard, Smiling Tiger.” She purrs at Sam, who glances away. “What’s the offer? The girl?”

“No. Something better.”

He walks over to Bucky. 

“Tell me what you know about the super-soldier serum and I’ll hand him over.” Fingers trace over his face, from his cheekbones down to his chin. “Along with the code words to control him. He will do whatever you want.”

A Cheshire cat smile cuts across Selby’s face. 

“Now that’s the Zemo I know.” She settles into her couch. “Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant but right. The serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you want to thank… or condemn.” She shrugs. “Whatever side you’re on.” 

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo inquires. 

Selby stands. 

“The breadcrumbs, you can have for free, but the bakery’s going to cost you.” She sighs. “Your arm candy, Baron, she’s extraordinary. There’s no way a little bird” Selby points her finger up and down at Angel “can fight like that without years of training. Come here, darling.” She beckons her over. Angel turns to Zemo, and then to Bucky, a worried expression on her face. Zemo falters for a second and releases his hand on her shoulder. 

“Go ahead, darling.”

She stands and walks over the Selby, who looks her over with an inquisitive eye. Selby runs a manicured finger along the collar of Angel’s coat. 

“I’ll tell you what,” Selby decides. “You hand both of them over to me, and I’ll tell you everything about Nagel.” She grins, pulling back the strap of Angel’s thigh holster and snapping it back onto her skin. 

“Don’t touch me.” She snarls.

Selby cocks her head, an amused smirk on her face. 

“I have to say, she’s quite the fiery one. I’d like to call her my little firebird. Have her sing for me.”

“A firebird and the Winter Soldier.” Zemo seethes. “Clever.”

Their attention turns to Sam when his phone rings.

Selby saunters over to him. 

“Answer it.” She demands. “On speaker.”

Angel bites the inside of her cheek, waiting with bated breath as Sam speaks to Sarah. He rambles on about money laundering and having a banker killed until Sarah calls him Sam. 

Her blood runs cold. 

“Sam?” Selby questions, voice laced with accusation. “Who’s Sam? Kill them!” 

Without hesitation, Angel pulls the gun out of her holster and unloads a bullet in the woman. 

“We need to get out of here.” She yells, stuffing her gun back in place.

One of Selby’s bodyguards cocks his gun and Angel sends a throwing knife into his head, Bucky takes down the other, knocking him out with his fist. 

“Jesus Christ, Angel!” Sam yells. 

“We don’t have time to unpack that.” she pants, ripping the knife out of the bodyguard’s head. “The second people get word that she’s dead, we’ll have a million-dollar price tag on our heads.” She shoves the knife into a pocket on her holster and bolts to the door.

The four sprint out of the exit and onto the streets, laying low, trying not to get noticed. They walk at a brisk pace, shoulder forward, eyes straight. 

The sound of rapid gunfire sends them scrambling. 

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam yells.

“Oh, tell me about it!” She replies. The shock from her boots meeting the pavement sends pain up her calves.  “I’ve been running in heels for years and it still sucks.”

“That’s not humanly possible. How do you do that?” He pants.

“I got used to it.” 

Angel grabs her gun and cocks it. She one bullet after another and when the wind blows back her coat, Bucky can spot another pistol tucked in the waistband of her shorts. 

Motorcycles start to barrel towards them and they pick up their speed. A bounty hunter throws a dagger, slicing at the skin of her thigh. Despite the gash, she can’t feel the pain. Not with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

They cut to a halt when they find themselves in an alleyway, surrounded.

Gunshots ring through the air saving them from impending death. 

“Looks like we have a guardian angel.” Zemo notes, his run slowing down into a walk. 

They look around, catching their breath.

“Well, this is too perfect.” The four turn to see a blonde walking towards them, gun pointed in Zemo’s direction. “Drop it, Zemo.”

“Sharon?” Bucky inquires. She rolls her eyes and turns to Angel. 

“Nice to finally meet you, Angel of Death.” 

“What? How do you know her?” Sam asks.

“I was investigating a politician’s death a few years ago. I managed to get my hands on her picture but Bucky over here caused a bit of a stir.”

She chuckles. “Nice to meet you too, Agent Carter. 

“I used to be an agent, not anymore.” Sharon states. 

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asks.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember?” Her words, laced with bitterness. She points her gun at Sam “I also took your wings” then to Bucky, “so you could save his ass” finally, to Zemo “from his ass. Unlike you, I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up.”

Angel stands by, watching Bucky ask for Sharon’s help, paying no attention to the cut on her leg. Unfortunately, the adrenaline finally wears off, sending pain up her leg. Her hands press on the bleeding wound, covering her fingers with blood. She hisses in pain, causing Sharon to turn to her, brows raised. 

“This isn’t over.” She spits at them and makes her way over to Angel.

“You might need some stitches for that.” She sighs, handing her a tissue. “I have a place in High Town. You’ll be safe there.”

… 

Bucky takes a seat next to Angel, who is tending to her wound on Sharon’s couch, legs propped up on a glass coffee table.

“She’s stitching herself up.” Sharon smiles. “Best you don’t distract her.”

“I’ll be fine.” Angel murmurs, eyes trained on the needle piercing her skin. “Thanks for the suture kit by the way. I left mine on Zemo’s jet.” 

“No problem. I got myself some first aid supplies when I was on the run. Figured they would come in handy.”

“My calves hurt. You have anything for that?” She grumbles, carefully knotting the thread. 

“There’s probably some ibuprofen in there.” Sharon chuckles. “Those heels are gorgeous but damn, they look painful.”

Bucky gently wraps his fingers around her ankle and looks at her. 

“May I?” 

“Such a gentleman. Of course.”

She places her legs on his thighs and sighs with relief as he massages the sore muscles of her calves. 

“Does it hurt?”

“My calves? Or cut on my thigh.”

“Your thigh.”

She shrugs, pulling the thread.

“Not too much. It’s nothing Advil can’t fix.”

Sharon throws them an amused look. 

“So, what’s going on between the two of you?” 

“James seems to have formed a little bond with her. In more ways than one.” Zemo smiles at them over a glass of whisky.

“I’ll knock that drink right out of your hands.” Angel barks. 

“I have to say, it’s quite ironic. James, you swore that you’d leave your assassin roots behind, yet you’ve taken up the company of one of the most prolific hitwomen in Europe.” 

“He’s got a point,” Sharon says, rifling through racks of clothing. “The irony part, I mean. When I was working the Death Angel case, both the FBI and the CIA profiled you as a psychopath. Someone unable to form proper emotional bonds with others-“

“Sociopath.” Angel interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “Not a psychopath. Psychopaths have no moral compass. But I’d say I do. Sociopaths are still able to discern right from wrong.” 

Sam walks into the room, shrugging a jacket onto his shoulders.

“So why’d you become a hitwoman?”

Though he asks out of curiosity, Bucky still notes the way her eyes narrow, the way her lips twist into a frown. 

“I was getting paid. Plus, they aren’t the type of people you’d like to have dinner with.”

“Let’s drop this, yeah?” Bucky grumbles. “I don’t think Angel wants to continue this conversation.”

Angel. She still hasn’t gotten used to that new name, but she likes it. 

It was nothing like the names the authorities and the public had slapped on her. Killer, psychopath, evil, monster. 

The hardened shell she had built around her has started to crack, but only for Bucky.

For the first time, she wonders what it would be like. To be free from the title of an assassin. 

Maybe she’d live in a quiet Parisian apartment or a sun-filled home in northern Italy. Maybe she’d be alone. She’d be okay with that. Maybe she’ll be with someone else. Maybe with Bucky. She’d be more than okay with that. 

She envied him, even if she shouldn’t. She didn’t go through what he went through. Being taken away, stripped of any control, and then having to live in a world he knew nothing of.

However, Bucky had something she didn’t have. He had good within himself. 

She’s pulled from her thoughts when Sharon hands her a small pile of clothing.

“Here, these seem to be your style. I know some higher-ups so I’ll ask about Nagel. So, while I’m at it, enjoy the party.” 

“Thanks, Sharon.”

“I’ll let you get changed.” Zemo stands and walks away, offering her privacy. 

Sam and Sharon nod, leaving the room, but Bucky stayed behind. 

“Are you okay?” He quietly asks. 

“Yeah. I’m okay.” She curtly nods. 

Bucky reaches for a pad of gauze and presses it to the closed wound. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He holds the gauze in place while she tapes it down. 

“You’re really good at that.”

“Thanks.” She huffs. “YouTube has some great tutorials on bandaging.” 

The music from the party downstairs echoes through Sharon’s home, bleeding into the room. 

“Alright.” Angel stands and grabs the clothing that Sharon gave her. “I’ll change and we can head downstairs.”

She walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Bucky cleans up the used suture supplies and throws them in the small trash can in the corner while waiting for Angel to finish. 

He wonders what would have happened if he had successfully completed his Berlin mission in 2013. What would have become of her? Everything she does, she does it with a flair. From the way she dresses, to how she acts, even in the way she kills. She was spirited, creative, and clever. He can’t bear the thought of anyone, not just HYDRA, taking that away from her. 

“Hey, Buck?” She walks out of the bathroom, holding her hands across her chest. “Can you help button me up?” 

His mouth goes dry when he sees her. She’s ethereal, not of this world. The forest green satin of her dress compliments her gold jewelry, illuminated by the soft lights of Sharon’s home. 

“Um,” he swallows. “Sure.” 

She walks over to him and turns around so he can hook the buttons through the loops. 

“Pretty isn’t it. Sharon has great taste.” 

“Yeah.” He breathes. 

“Do you like it?”

“I guess so.”

She turns to face him with a mischievous grin. 

“What do you mean ‘you guess so’?” 

“I was born in 1917, I know nothing about modern fashion. You look beautiful, though.” 

Bucky sits back down and she crawls into his lap. “You’re so sweet to me. Maybe too sweet.” She giggles. 

“Oh, by the way.” Her hands rest on his shoulders. “I never returned the favor from this morning.” 

She leans in and presses her mouth against his, kissing him with fervor. 

Bucky tucks her lower lip between his teeth and bites, smiling at her little yelp. He reaches up to cup her face in his hands, rubbing his thumb over her soft skin. She deepens the kiss, letting her tongue brush against his lips. 

A whine leaves his lips as she pulls back and stands. 

He pouts and reaches his arms towards her, hands making a grabbing motion. 

“Another kiss. Please?” 

“Oh, Bucky,” She giggles, lowering herself onto her knees. “You’re too cute.”

Her hands reach for his belt, undoing the buckle. She pulls his jeans down, letting them pile around his feet. He stops her hands right as they reach for his briefs. 

“Wait, I-” He stutters. “I haven’t done this in a long time.” Blushing in embarrassment. 

“If you don’t want to, we can stop.” She says sweetly.

“I want to.” He lets go of her wrist and lets his hand rest in her hair. “I just forgot how it feels.”

“If you want, I can take control for a little bit.” She rests her head on his thigh. “Make you feel good.” 

Bucky blinks owlishly and nods. 

“Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

That was the green light. She pulls his briefs down and Bucky kicks them aside along with the jeans. He grins as he watches her eyes widen. 

“You-” She gasps. “Oh, wow, you’re big.” 

“Yeah?” He chuckles, reaching down to stroke himself. “You think you can take me?” 

“I can try.” 

She spits on her hand and wraps it around his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath when she thumbs over the tip. 

“Oh.” He gasps when she licks the underside. “Oh!”

“Feels good?” She presses a kiss on his thigh. 

“Yeah, really good.”

Her lips wrap around his cock, saliva dripping past her tongue and onto his skin. 

He lets his head fall back, a quiet groan slipping past his lips. 

“Oh, Angel, you’re amazing.”

She flutters her lashes and looks up at him. 

It’s a beautiful sight, he thinks, the way she’s all doe-eyed and blushy. 

He grabs a fist full of her hair and pulls her closer, letting his cock hit the back of her throat. 

She gags around him and tears prick at her eyes, yet she doesn’t pull away. She bobs her head back and forth, sending electricity through his veins. 

Spit dribbles down her chin and Bucky tightens his grip on her hair. He lets his other hand cup her cheek. 

“Relax for me, love.” He murmurs. He holds her head still and pushes his hips forward. She squeezes her eyes shut and grabs onto his thighs. Bucky hisses at the feeling of her nails digging into his skin but the pain is overshadowed by pleasure. Her mouth is so wet, so warm around him and he can’t get enough. 

He’s only had his cock in her mouth for a few minutes but he can already feel himself getting closer. 

“Wait, wait!” He gasps. 

Angel pulls off, eyes wide with worry.

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” She asks. 

“No,” He caresses her face. “You were perfect. I just- I’m gonna cum soon and I want you to feel good too.” 

She smiles affectionately. 

“Oh, baby, you’re too good to me.” 

As she moves to straddle him, Bucky takes hold of her waist and pushes her onto the couch so she’s lying underneath him.

“Don’t want you hurting yourself.” He kisses her nose. “Your wound is still healing.” 

His hands push up the hem of her dress, the satin pooling around her waist, exposing the soft skin of her tummy and the scar he left her. He leans down to press a gentle kiss on the scar and he playfully nips at her skin. 

“No biting, puppy.” 

He whines at the name. It makes him feel all soft like he wants to give all of himself to her. His head rests on her tummy and he blinks at her with soft eyes. 

“You wanted me to take control, so I’m taking control.” She coos, running a hand through his hair. “Give me a kiss, baby.” 

He kisses up her body and when his lips meet hers, she takes this as an opportunity to roll themselves over. 

She straddles his hips, letting her cunt rub against his cock. Her eyes close and she sighs in pleasure. 

“You want to fuck me, baby?” She giggles. 

“Yes.” He groans. “Oh god, yes.” 

“What do you say?” she taunts, voice laced with authority. 

“Please.” Bucky pants. “Can I please fuck you?” 

“Mmm. Asking so nicely.” She muses. “Of course you can.” 

His eyes roll back, chest heaving. His mouth drops open but she presses a hand against his mouth. 

“Gotta stay quiet. Don’t want everyone hearing you do we?” 

Bucky nods, biting down on his lip. 

“Good boy.” She leans down and kisses his forehead. “So good.” 

She lifts her hips and presses his cock against her entrance. 

Bucky rests a hand on her hips but she intertwines their fingers and presses his hand onto the couch cushions. 

“No touching.” 

Unfair. She’s being unfair. 

As she lowers herself onto him, Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to moan. 

“Beautiful.” She whispers, eyes hooded and lips parted. “You’re beautiful.” 

He thinks he could cum right then and there. 

“Am I making you feel good?” She whispers. 

Bucky nods, quiet moans on the tip of his tongue. 

She gasps and tightens around him. Bucky bites down on his lip. Hard. 

“M-move.” He whimpers. “Please.”

She replies by moving her hips back and forth. 

“You feel so good, sweet thing.” 

Bucky hums in content. 

“Thank you.” 

With every movement she makes, with every sound that leaves her lips, Bucky’s convinced she’s going to kill him. 

“Do you know what la petite mort means, baby?” She asks him.

“Mhm.” Bucky opens his eyes. “It’s French. It means a little death.”

They’re nose to nose, both gasping into each other’s mouths. The gold necklaces she’s wearing dangles in his face and he bites down on a chain with a smile. 

“It means more than that, baby. La petit mort refers to an orgasm. And from the looks of it,” She teases, “I think you’re coming close.” 

Bucky groans, letting go of the chain. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Are you close, baby? Are you gonna cum?”

“Yes.” He whimpers with desperation. “Can I cum? Can I cum for you?”

“Tell me I’m your angel.” She whispers into his ear.

“You’re my angel. Can I please cum?” He begs.

“No, not yet.” She laves her tongue over the shell of his ear. “Tell me I’m your only angel.” 

“You’re my angel. My only angel.” 

She squeezes around him and quickens her movements. Her hands press down on his chest as she lifts her hips and sinks back down onto him. 

She’s an angel. His angel. In this moment, he’d do anything for her. Anything for his angel. 

“I’m gonna- fuck.” He groans. 

“Gonna cum?” She asks, voice silvery and low. “Gonna cum for me baby?”

All he can do is nod. 

“Alright.” 

She lifts herself off of him and before he can protest, she’s got her lips wrapped around him. He bucks his hips forward and empties himself into her mouth. 

He watches in awe, chest heaving post-orgasm, as she swallows him down and pulls off of him. With a quick swipe of her hand across she smiles. 

She crawls up his body and places a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

“So good. You were so good for me.”

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme Chapter 22

Thomas X Reader

Word Count: 1823

Summary: We’re getting the band back together. 

by @adventuresintooblivion

Y/N huffed a stray curl out of her face as she walked down the street. She’d been hunting Thomas down for days trying to get a hold of him, to warn him. Hell, at this point she’d considered sending a note. But he needed to know that the possibility of a gang war was on the horizon.

It was one of the few times Y/N had visited the Shelby home. She’d mainly avoided the place up until now, letting Thomas and the others have a sanctuary. Everyone needed one. But today the streets were buzzing with activity. Runners made their way back and forth between illicit sales, the horse tracks, and the books that Thomas kept locked up so tightly.

Once inside the volume only increased as it was captured by thin walls. It wasn’t the business, however, that made the whole affair so wild. It was a handful of unexpected visitors. 

Beneath the chalkboard in the back of the room Aunt Pol stood grasping Ada as if it were the last time she was ever going to see the girl. Beside her stood her husband grinning like he was a priest witnessing the Lord rise again himself.

“Is that Freddie-fucking-Thorne I see? What happened to you getting got by the coppers?” Y/N gasped in feigned astonishment.

Freddie whipped around, his jaw falling slack as he took in the sight before him, “Y/N? Is that really you?”

She closed the distance between them quickly, “Oh, don’t tell me no one mentioned I was around. I’ve been here for months.”

In half a breath Freddie swept her up into his arms, “No, I was told all about you. I guess I never really let myself believe it until I’d laid eyes on you myself.” 

Y/N choked out a laugh as she waved in a feeble attempt to return the crushing hug. “Ada, a little help?”

Ada’s laugh rang out like a bell as she lightly placed her hand on Freddie’s shoulder, “Put her down, love. I’d like to say ‘hi’ as well.”

Freddie roughly let down the woman, letting her gasp for breath as Ada wrapped her arms around Y/N, careful to balance the baby in her other arm. 

“Fucking Christ man you’re trying to kill me all over again. And you didn’t answer my question,” Y/N coughed as she returned Ada’s embrace. Freddie bounced on his heels, the excitement too much for him to contain.

He blurted out, “Danny got me out. He’s around here somewhere. I see you met My Wife.” His hand made a small flourish in Ada’s direction as if to show her off.

“Yeah, I see you’ve even gotten her a ring and everything.” Y/N lifted Ada’s left hand and gave it a soft squeeze. A smile split across Ada’s face, making her almost glow in the dim light. “I knew there was a proper man in there somewhere. Had to bash that over Thomas’ skull a few times before he’d listen.”

Freddie froze, “You vouched for me? To Tommy?”

“Of course I did. The Freddie that watched my back in the trenches never would’ve left the woman he loved behind. Thomas just got too caught up in the business of it all.” Y/N shrugged.

Aunt Pol caught her eye, tears were trickling down her cheeks as she smiled like the whole world was right for once. It was only temporary. Even as they all spoke they knew that. Yet, when life is as short and cruel as it is, you knew to take what you could get.

“So, how come I haven’t heard about you getting engaged?” Freddie coughed uncomfortably. He reached for Y/N’s left hand, inspecting it as if it held all the answers. “Cause when Ada told me you were back, I just knew that’s what you came back for.”

“Freddie…” Y/N warned.

Ada cast a glance back towards Aunt Pol. “Yeah, you said she came back for Tommy didn’t you?”

 “It was a joke you’d hear them making all the time. Honestly, if things had gone right you’d probably be looking at a real Mrs. Thomas Shelby right now.” Freddie teased.

Y/N thunked Freddie on his sternum, her eyes narrowed as he doubled over. “Thanks. Share that with everyone. Please. Continue.” 

“Alright. Alright. But seriously, You two aren’t getting married? I thought he’d be ecstatic to see you,” he said as he righted himself.

She shrugged, hoping the movement showed him just how uncomfortable she was. “He’s got a thing for a barmaid at the moment. And you know how I am, second place really isn’t my style. Besides, we’re not on the best of terms right now.”

Aunt Pol stepped forward to place her hand on the back on Y/N arm, “While I knew Thomas liked you, I didn’t realize it had gotten so far. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Y/N shot Freddie a look that could kill. 

They were interrupted by the door bursting open. One of the many men who worked for the Peaky Blinders stumbled in gasping.

“They’ve got him! The Rothschilds have Tommy!”

The air left Y/N’s lungs all in a rush. That was a name she prayed to never hear again. The whole room stood still. Violence raised her bloody crown whenever the Rothschilds marched and every man, woman and child knew it. And now they had Tommy. It was Arthur who broke the silence.

“Out with it man! What happened?”

The man fumbled forward until he collapsed into a chair, shaking his head. “We were on our way to meet Kimber’s boys. We had to cross the bridges to get there cause Kimber was at some fancy party and we got jumped. I swear there were at least ten of them. Beat the shit out of us and tossed Tommy in a carriage when he couldn’t get up anymore. It was bad, Arthur.”

Aunt Pol was visibly trembling as she reached out for the man, “How do you know it was the Rothschilds? Tell me, there is a fraction of a chance that you were wrong.”

He shook his head, “It was them Ma’am. The carriage they brought, it was a beat up old thing but it was painted in their colors. And...And I saw him. Sid, himself showed.”

Arthur glanced around wildly, “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get Tommy.” He grabbed his coat and began running for the door.

“Arthur, STOP.” It was Y/N. “They let this man go. They let him go so he would tell us. Sid knows everyone here would die for Tommy, without question. If you run off like you plan to, you’ll just be running into whatever he’s got set up waiting for you.”

“Then what the fuck do you think we should do then, Miss Knows Everything.” His face was steadily turning a brighter shade of red.

But Aunt Pol simply collapsed. She grabbed for a chair as she went down, the resounding crash caught Arthur’s attention as his fists clenched and unclenched. He rushed forward, encircled her in his arms as sobs ripped through her chest, “NO! No. No. No. No. My boy!”

Arthur stared down at her bewildered, “Aunt Pol, We could go after him. We could-”

“No! She… She’s right. Either they’ll kill him or they’ll make him watch as we try to save him. The Peaky Blinders will be slaughtered.”

John paced back and forth, “I know we’re outnumbered, but it’s Tommy. We can’t just give up.”

Freddie ran his fingers through his hair, “I know I’m not a part of the gang scene, but didn’t these guys almost wipe out Kimber’s gang before he got a hold of the race tracks?”

John nodded, “Yeah, he pays them to leave him alone. They have a whole army of people.”

Aunt Pol’s sobs stuttered to a halt as she rounded on Y/N. “They’ve got an army and we need a miracle. You, you’re the impossible girl.”

Apparently the idiotic moniker had been making the rounds, Y/N sighed heavily as she silently cursed that random Lee.

“Pol, I know I’m pretty stubborn but the Rothschilds?” Y/N shook her head. “It’d take weeks of planning and if we go after Tommy we’d have to leave NOW.”

“I know who you are. Tommy told me. You smuggled priceless goods while in the army. You came back from the dead. You walk on two legs while your spine is held together by sinew and sheer will. You know where that monster is taking my nephew. Now get out there and. Bring. Him. Back.” She spat the order at Y/N.

Arthur stared up at her in quiet astonishment, “Well, I guess you’re in charge of this one, mate.”

Y/N’s mouth set into a thin line. Gears began turning in her head about what she knew, the memories flooding forth unbidden as she relived her childhood. The carriages, the beating, the lone survivor. It all rang a bell. 

She began to pace, “It’s too risky to have this war in Birmingham with that new Inspector sniffing at our heels. They’d have to take him out of the city to ambush us properly.”

Freddie glanced at her, “Which means we need to get Tommy before they leave the city.”

She nodded, “Their carriages are also altered. They have better maneuverability than anything coming out of a factory. Not to mention they’re skinnier so they can fit down roads most cars won’t be able to.”

“How do you know all this?” Ada asked, bouncing her child gently to calm him in light of all the noise. 

Y/N let out a nervous chuckle, “You’ll find out tonight if I get back.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed, “I thought you just said we couldn’t go after him.”

“The entirety of the Peaky Blinders can’t. But maybe, just maybe, a smaller team could get this done.” Y/N glanced around. “Hey Freddie, are you up for an adventure?”

He saluted her, “For you and Tommy? Always.”

Y/N glanced at Ada, who answered with a silent nod, before asking, “Isn’t one of you Shelby’s a gunner?”

John stepped forward, “That’d be me. They handed me most of the big guns but I remember how to work a proper sniper rifle if that’s what you need.”

Her fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm as Y/N’s mind grasped at straws. A vague plan was forming at the edges of her mind, knitting itself together into something that could possibly work. 

“Alright. No, the big guns are exactly what we need right now. John, Freddie, meet me at the corner by the West Bridge.”

“You’ve actually got a plan?” John asked hopefully.

Y/N grimaced, “I’ve got something. I wouldn’t quite call it a plan yet, but come on boys. Let’s go get Tommy back.”

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Queen of Masks ~ Alfie Solomons

Life as a woman, in any country really, isn’t the best, unless you score a jackpot with the most gentle, sweetest man and you become his housewife and agree to be some kind of baby factory and a maid, should he not have enough to provide for one, and a chef, nonetheless.

However, there are enough ambitious women who have enough spite in their veins to trample over anyone standing in their path of success, and would spit on graves and crush cadavers under their heeled boots that they wear with much pride and conviction.

That is exactly the case of Y/N, a gorgeous woman who won against all odds and became a Veterinary Physician in London, Camden, to be precise, and had to work under an older man who had a clinic - But it was fine, she got to learn loads, and interacting with animals on a daily basis was enough to keep her going and not to answer to any provocation from her male colleague who was far inferior to her, intellectually and intuitively speaking.

And one day, after tending to a gorgeous black race stallion, a tall and broad man walked in with a Bullmastiff boy who, upon seeing her, managed to snatch away his chain leash and jumped on her, trampling her to the ground and licking her all over her face.

The man jumped in shock, trying to pry away his pet from the poor woman, only to notice she was laughing and that he face was bright like the sun, as she tried to wipe away all the slobber from her face.

“I’m so sorry, aye, he’s never done somethin’ like this before. Here, let me help you up, right.” the man extended his hand for her to take, helping raise her up, then reprimanded his dog. “Don’t worry, mister, it’s quite alright. I kinda like when animals act so affectionate, it makes it feel as if I’m doing something right. What’s your name, darling? Let’s get you up on the table...Arghh...What a heavy baby...You’re gonna break every bone in my body...” the woman sweet talked the dog, struggling to hold him in her arms like a baby so she could put in on the table to examine. “He’s name’s Cyril, I got him last year. ‘S just a routine check up, but I think there’s a bump on his neck, yeah, right here.” the man explained, letting the girl palpate his dog and continuing to sweet talk him to calm him down. “Thyroid Carcinoma.” the male doctor spoke, which made the girl whip her head to him with a disturbed look. “Thyroid Cancer? Surely, you must be joking. Have you even been to Vet school?!” Y/N protested, shaking her head in protest at his sudden diagnosis. “What else could a bump in the thyroid area mean? Don’t play smart, just be humble and accept when you’re wrong.” the man rolled his eyes, not lifting his head from his papers. “First of all, even if it IS a tumour, it doesn’t HAVE to be cancer, it can still be completely harmless, thus, benign. Secondly, out of all tumours a dog can have, thyroid cancer is the least common one, the percentage going to maximum 2%. Therefore, NOT cancer! Besides, it could be hyperthyroidism, if you want to go over the top, but again, it could just be something the owner felt because something got stuck in his neck and-....Oh.” the girl then carefully touched the neck area, and smiled widely, looking down, nodding to herself. “What? You shut up ‘cause you finally realised I was right, despite your useless statistics?” the doctor grumbled in annoyance, not caring, obviously. “Wanna bet 100 pounds that it’s not cancer?” she asked, kissing Cyril’s head and playing with his floppy ears, action which made the dog bark playfully. “Ah, sorry, mister, I didn’t ask for your name and whether you find it insensitive or not for us to bet on a diagnosis.” she smiled awkwardly, extending her hand towards the bearded man who was watching the interaction carefully. “Alfie Solomons, lass, but call me just Alfie, right? So, yeah, ‘s fine, bet all you want, just make my boy better, eh?” Alfie shook the girl’s hand, seeing her cunningly going to the other doctor and spitting in her hand to shake and make the bet go through.  “Okay, Alfie, you might want to step to the side a bit...If you value your shoes, that it. They look pretty new.” she chuckled softly, signing him with her head to move to the side, and so he did, as she made the dog vomit, and thus, revealing a small ball. “Oi, I can’t believe it! You stupid dog, Cyril, aye, how could you manage to swallow your own toy, yeah?!” Alfie gasped, his brows furrowing from shock. “Weirdly enough, dogs, especially big ones, are prone to swallowing little things, just like human babies are. It was small enough to just make him cough, but it’s a good thing you got him here in time.” the girl started quickly cleaning up the floor as she explained everything, as the Jew was still staring in shock at the idiocy of some animals. “Well, lass, thank you for solving the mystery, yeah, of whatever the hell this was, right. So, then, tell me how much I have to pay you for this consult, aye.” Alfie asked, which made her snap her head upwards, looking up at him, her eyes wide in shock. “No, God, no, nothing, it’s on me! I mean, if it weren’t for you...” Y/N smirked, reminding Alfie of a vixen, as she twirled around and went to snatch away the hundred pounds banknotes from her employer’s hand, who was looking at her with anger and bitterness. “I wouldn’t have been paid more than I’m paid in 3 months in just one day! It’s the least I can do to thank you...And to also see Cyril again, because I think it’s a connection. Right, Cyril? You’re such a sweet baby boy-....ARGH, GODS, NO-...!” but before the girl could compose herself, Cyril jumped on her torso, knocking her down again, coating her face in yet another sleek coat of drool from the lickings. “Damn it, Cyril, you’re impossible! Let the poor lass live, eh? I know, I know, she’s pretty, but leave her alone, alright?” after he finally managed to pry away the canine, he helped the girl up, who, once again, was laughing. “Let me make it up to you, yeah, for all the trouble this prankster’s been giving you, right. I’ve this bakery, y’know, the one nearby, so, anything you want, yeah, anything, you ask for it, you say my name, right, you say Alfie owes you a favour, and it’s all on the house, eh. How’s that.” he spoke, and he could see that her overly confident and extra demeanour shattered in an instant, making her look down, her beautiful, long hair hiding her features, as she was most likely blushing and smiling. “O-Oh, then, if that’s your bakery, means I’ve heard of you, you’re THE Alfie Solomons. Yeah, I’d love that, if you’d have me, but I told you, you don’t have to. I used you to get money worth of about 3 months, or more, so really, I should be thanking you somehow, but I don’t really have anything else to offer, other than to pay for the consult myself.” her serious, boastful voice turned very soft and shy, as fast as the flick of her fingers, as she walked him out of the clinic, so only he would hear. “Your boss there...He seemed kinda...Angry, eh. Are you gonna be fine dealing with him, lass?” he asked, bending down a bit, speaking to her tone level. “I guess. What’s the worst he can do, anyway. Besides, I care more about this conversation right now, and...About this.” she smirked softly, showing off the rolled pounds from her coat’s chest pocket. “So, Mr. Gangster, is there any specific time you’d be okay with me coming by the bakery? Maybe...Under the pretext of yet another regular check up on Cyril? Or...The smell of freshly baked cookies just captured me enough to find myself senselessly walking into the place?” she asked, diving her hands into her pockets, waiting for an answer, too timid to look him in the eye. “Ahhh, I see you’ve heard of me. Well, lass, I guess I can’t pretend to be some ordinary man, right, but maybe we can still enjoy a nice chat once in a while, eh, it would be nice, right?” the corner of Alfie’s mouth turned upwards, extending his hand for her to shake. “Y/N L/N, it’s great meeting you, Alfie. And yeah, it would be great. I’ll be seeing you around, alright? Hope I’ll see you soon and maybe we can have a nice cup of tea and anything that you’ve baked. I’m looking forward to that.” she shook his hand, smiling brightly at him, gesture which he turned. “And I’ll be seeing you as well, sweetheart.” with that, she kissed Cyril’s head once again, before waving Alfie goodbye and walking back into the clinic. “And I’ll be seeing you too...Y/N.” the gangster muttered, grinning at his dog and praising him with a few pats on his head. “Cyril, my boy, you’re my lucky charm.”

A week passed, and Y/N walked into the bakery - However, it wasn’t the front up, the bakery shop that smelled heavenly - It meant the gangster warehouse where Alfie would usually conduct his business meetings. And, of course, it was shocking to him when heard the click of heels and saw a beautiful, slender woman, dressed in high-waisted pants, with a black turtleneck tucked in her pants, beautiful brown leather boots with heels and a black trench coat that elegantly, yet imposingly hung from her shoulders, as if she was some kind of mafia Queen - Elegant, but deadly.

“Hello, Alfie. I heard you have a job around this place. Not sure what it is...Medic? Secretary? Dog-walker? Maybe you could fill me in.” she asked, her hands in her pants, fidgeting in her spot. “Where’ve you heard about this...Supposed job, eh, lass? And why’d you quit your job from the clinic, eh?” he asked, his fingers intertwining as he leaned forward, elbows rested on his desk. “Ah, well...Y’know...I got my medical license pulled, so I need a way to make money, and you’re the only one that I trusted not to treat me like garbage, so here I am. I know there’s no job, but I had to try my luck and be comedic in a way. It’s probably about the only thing I’m good at, sort of. It’s fine if you don’t want to give me a job, I mean, you can’t trust me with your business info after just speaking to me once, I can imagine, and - “ she kept on ranting, until Alfie raised both his hands in the air to calm her down and stop her speaking, before he raised to his feet, getting in front of the desk and leaning back on it. “Well, I did owe you a favour, right, so, sure, you’re hired, right, I’ll find you something. While we’re at it, can you, yeah, can you fire a gun?” he asked, with a mix of seriousness and playfulness in his voice. “Is it...In the job requirements?” she asked, looking around the place with a fake kind of curiosity. “There’s no job seeking, yeah, so, therefore, no job requirements. I was just being curious, alright, y’know, I have to know what everyone around is capable of, okay.” he explained, which made her smirk and turn on her heel to look at him. “That’s only fair. After all, now that you know that I’m particularly incapable of defending myself against people in general, you’ll just have to be extra careful to keep me safe, right, Alfie? We wouldn’t want Cyril to grieve over me, would we?” she chuckled, extending her arms to her side in a dramatic manner. “Haha, yes, lass, I s’ppose you’re right. Can you handle more than one job, eh? I can hire you as a physician, right, but we don’t always have wounded men, yeah, so, you’re a smart woman, alright, I’m sure you are very capable of reading, writing, doing calculus and other stuff that involves using your head, right, so, I don’t know what name will this job have, but, maybe an assistant of sort, eh? Ollie here helps me out a lot, yeah, but he can’t do everything, he ain’t some God, y’know.” Alfie gesticulated, pointing towards Ollie, then tried to explain to her that things are serious, and not to be taken lightly. “Guess this is gonna be the thrill of my life, huh? I’m in, Alfie. At least I can get along with you without fearing having my license pulled-...Oh, wait, I have nothing to fear about anymore.” she chuckled in a self-deprecating way, making Alfie cross his arms to his chest. “You never told me what happened. Go on, tell me. I’m sure you didn’t kill a dog, or somethin’, you’re too smart a doctor to fuck up.” his curiosity got the better of him, as he saw her turning to look at him, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly agape, and he could almost see her brain gears moving, trying to think of a witty answer. “Didn’t you say something about freshly baked goodies and tea? I bet that’s gonna be a much more...Hospitable way of chatting with your new employee, wouldn’t it? Or better said, friendlier? I mean, this place is so...Ugly and humid...Only good for gangster business. The echo here, if you shout, can intimidate anyone, I’m sure. Come on, show me the actual bakery...And you better have a gramophone. I like music.” she smiled up at him, hooking her arm to his, pulling him in a random direction to urge him to guide her to the bakery, where the beautiful smell of bread and cookies mesmerised her, and she playfully swooned in her chair. “I see you’re enjoying this place very much, eh. Well, can’t say I expected you coming today, so I didn’t bake them myself, yeah, but I’ll make it up to you. Sure you want tea and not rum or somethin’?” Alfie asked, a bit awkward staying at the cute little table, with a cute, little cup of tea in his bear-like hands. “Yes, I’m quite sure, Alfie. But it’s fine, you don’t have to drink what I’m drinking, I won’t think of you any differently. In your home, you do as you please.” she chuckled at him, watching as he nodded solemnly, only to down that tea in one go, small droplets of liquid embedding themselves in his beard. “Right, right, I understand, y’er a people pleaser, you want everyone to like you, unless it goes against whatever scheme you have. You’re smart, alright. Very smart, and you’ve sharp eyes, and are cunning. I need someone like you around, yeah. But tell me, how’d you manage to lose your dream job in a week?” Alfie asked, extending his hand to gently grab her chin, pulling it so he could peer right into her gorgeous, vixen-like eyes. “Remember the bet I did when you came around with Cyril? Well, apparently that jerk got mad at me for, to quote, steal his money, so he filed a malpractice lawsuit to get his money back, 5 times more, and pulled away my license, to get revenge on me for humiliating him in front of a customer...Allegedly. Very petty, I know, but, as they say...C’est la vie. Not much to do about it, really. Now I’m seen as a con-artist thief who kills animals, so I have no way of getting a job anywhere anymore, hence why I’m here. Lovely, innit?” she snorted as she took a bit of the cookie, closing her eyes to savour it’s flavour. “And now, I think I died and went to heaven, ‘cause this is the best thing I’ve eaten in my life.” “You’re so hired, lass. Did ya pay the 500 pounds?” he asked, propping his jaw on his hand. “Yeah, thankfully. And by that, I mean I to sell my apartment so now I’m using my saving to stay at a cheap hotel, but, y’know, life’s life. At least I know I won and I was right. Maybe if I had the right connections, I could have won 10 times what I lost...But what do I know. I don’t really know how non-legal things go by.” she chuckled softly, scratching the back of her head in a playfully guilty manner. “Y’know, Y/N...I think we can solve that fairly quick, yeah. Tell me the name, and I’ll make sure things are sold. In the meantime, I’ve a nice, warm room where you can stay, right, and surely, Cyril’s gonna love your company.” Alfie smiled at her, signaling for her to follow him.

At that time, she had no idea this was actually his home, but when she did find out, she was more than grateful, if not, a bit awkward, for  having to rely so much on his kindness. However, just as he promised, Alfie managed to get that jerk of a doctor to pay her 10 times the money she paid him, and thus, she would have been able to get a very modern and luxurious place, only for herself, and even buy a dog, a cat, or hell, more of them.

But she refused, and asked to continue staying with him, if she wasn’t too much of a burden, since she really enjoyed spending time with him, and she had no idea, other than working 200% of her capabilities for her job, whatever that was, at the moment, and, of course, she would have missed Cyril too much.

It didn’t take long for Alfie’s people to realise the obvious chemistry between the two, and Ollie kept trying to convince him to ask her out, but things are always so difficult, aren’t they? Business and logics are much easier than subjective emotions.

It became sort of a routine for everyone around to see their boss writing and reading documents at his desk, while Y/N would sit on the desk, her legs resting on his chair’s back rest, as she would write on her clipboard whatever relevant things she thought were worth noting down, and would occasionally express her opinions regarding ideas that Alfie had, or some businesses that he was dealing with at the moment - All that, with, of course, the frequent witty comments they would exchange - And it was never anything hurtful, or reproachful jabs, only playful and domestic comments that always made her laugh.

“You never told me why you always look down when you interact with people, y’know, and by that, I don’t mean when you’re being some dramatic Queen, but when you’re being yourself. I mean, I haven’t seen women who let their hair so long these days, right, so I was curious about you. You do things much differently than most people, y’know that, don’t you?” Alfie asked, raising his head to look up at her, only to see, once again, trying to think of how to explain things that don’t rely on rational and objective behaviours. “Ah...Well...Uh...Y’know...I’m...My face is very expressive, y’know. So, like...I get embarrassed easily, or...Uhm...When I lie, or something, I tend to grin or laugh. I’m a messy failure who can’t do a pokerface, like, ever, so, since most people are taller than me, if I let my hair cover my face, they won’t see the truth. Or, well, y’know, at least that’s what I hope. I can’t look at them while hiding, so I’ve no way of telling whether it works or not. Contrary to me being flashy and dramatic, I’m kinda shy and terrible around people.” she chuckled awkwardly, looking away from him, bringing up her clipboard to cover half of her face. “Ahhh, I see, I see, so you go to real great lengths, yeah, to get what you want, and so far, you’ve done really well, eh. Is there anything you can’t do, lass? You’ve been doing this job for over a year, and business has improved with...Uh...Lemme see, how much did you say...Ah, yes, here, it says 23%.” he had his glasses on as his eyes scanned the documents on his desk. “I...Can’t socialise, I guess. And I can’t relax. I don’t know how to have fun. Uhm...I can’t human, I guess? I don’t know what to call it, but I think you get what I’m saying. Anyway, we have business work now, so read this paragraph here, I think we have to talk threaten Sabini a bit, he’s over his head now with power, someone has to humble him, give us a better percentage of his business, and -” Y/N tried to quickly redirect the conversation, hating when she had to talk about herself, but obviously, she couldn’t say no to the man who was always so kind and sweet with her, could she? “Nahhh, it’s fine, Y/N, let’s take a little break, right? We’ve been working since early morning, it’s evening now. Ollie, go make tea and bring those treats made today, eh. Now, lass, why don’t you tell me how did you get around to practicing medicine? I’ve always been curious by that, you know, you don’t see many women unafraid of stuff like that, yeah.” he pointed out, letting himself fall down on his chair’s seat, looking up at her. “Y’know, Y/N, you say you can hide your emotions when you hide your face from people taller than you, yeah? But what happens when they look at you from below? Gotta say, Y/N, sometimes, your worried face is rather pretty...Better now, let me look at you when you speak, yeah, we’re equals, when you go all meek on me, you make me feel like some kind o’ merciless boss or somethin’.” he chuckled, raising a bit to put her hair behind her ears, revealing a soft blush coating her cheeks, and god damn, he could feel his heart beating a bit faster. “Uhm...Okay, fine, sure, I owe you that much. Uhm...My dad was a medic too, so it became a family business for a while. And, uhm...Dad was recruited as a war medic, and went with my brother, while I and mum continued to take care of the people and animals from our city. When it was all over, I decided to get to London to practice properly, get more money and provide for my family better. They’re getting old and they need someone to take care of them, somehow.” she explained, but her eyes were darting around, and he could feel she was still hiding something because of her hesitance, but he wasn’t sure what exactly was it that she was trying to hide.

But before either of them could say anything about it anymore, a loud bang echoed through the warehouse, somewhere from the entrance, which made the girl jump in her place with a mouse-like squeak, slapping her hands over her ears.

It’s true, any person would get frightened by a gunshot that resounded so loudly through that place - And yet, this one looked like a panicked, scared fawn in the headlights - And Alfie, of course, noticed that and came to a few conclusions for himself.

However, before he could say anything, a man entered their field of vision, and he could feel Y/N tensing up, her face showing shock and disgust at the person who she clearly recognise. She turned her head to look at Alfie, and with pleading eyes, mouthing a few simple words that may or may not have shocked him.

“Let me kill him” she tried to say, but this mystery man spoke out faster than expected, and it was clear she was getting more and more angry and embarrassed by the moment. “Y/N, darling, what are you doing here? Whoring around with other men, getting into illicit business, thinking you’re superior to men just because you have some over the top ambitions that are completely unreachable, and now you think you can get rich by staying around wealthy old men, huh?” the man kept speaking, igniting an infernal fire into her eyes. “Alfie, I pride myself with my never ending patience, but I swear to God, if you don’t let me kill him...I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” Y/N muttered between her gritted teeth, shocking Alfie since he never saw her as the violent type. “I’m not doing any business with him, alright, do what you feel like doing, Y/N, he’s all yours.” Alfie sat back in his chair, his fingers intertwined over his stomach, watching with interest whatever she was going to do.

Y/N jumped off the desk and slowly prowled around it, her head hanging low, before she snapped it up, glaring lightnings at the man.

“Fuck off. Now. Or you’re dead. Do you understand this simple language, or do I need to put it in words that even a monkey would understand?” she crossed her arms, spitting poison at him. “What, can’t I be angry at my own girlfriend for being a bitch and leaving me alone? I mean, you really fucked up, y’know? You left me when I needed you the most, how tragic is that?!” he yelled at her, but she only rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Yeah, I left you ‘cause you were abusing me. The way I see it, you’re the one who sucks, not me. Now get the hell out of here. Before I do something you will regret.” her voice went an octave lower, threatening him the same way she learnt from Alfie over the time of business making. “Woaw, Y/N, woaw, that’s pathetic, even for you. You’ve never been able to even raise your voice at anyone. You were nothing more than a crybaby who couldn’t step up to anyone, and then you went to war, and what, you think you changed? You didn’t! Underneath this dumb, tough facade that you’re trying to pull in front of everyone else, you’re nothing more than the frightened little girl who needed to have everything in control and grasp a bit of power to feel superior to others after you got beaten up and had a gun pointed at your head by the Germa-” but he couldn’t continue speaking for, in the blink of an eye, she pulled out a gun for her trench coat and shot him in the head, his blood and brains shooting everywhere, all over her, on the walls and floor. “Well...Ask me anything and I will provide you with an answer that is completely honest this time. But, uhm...Take of your shirt, will you?” she had a solemn, pissed off expression as she threw off her coat before hurriedly taking off her shirt, nonchalantly cleaning up her face, then pulling it into a ball, throwing it on the cadaver, then stepped in front of a very shocked, yet impressed Alfie. “Go on, take off your shirt, will you? It’s clean. You promised I’ll never have to shoot a gun, and yet, I did, therefore I need a clean top, right? So, while I tell you the truth, don’t let me stay like this in front of you, okay?” extending her hand in front of her, while her other arm was over her chest, trying to cover her pretty white laced bra, it took a mirthful laugh out of the Jew for him to finally take off his shirt and put it around her, not caring that he was the topless one now. “Will you ever stop impressing and surprising me, lass?” Alfie asked, petting her head as a way to say she did well. “Once I stop shocking myself, sure. Until then...I believe you want to say something, don’t you?” she asked, slowly stepping in front of him, looking up at him as she properly put on his shirt that looked like a dress on her. “Yeah, lass, I think I did.”

With a gentle smile, he cupped her face, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on her lips, one hand stroking his fingers through her beautiful long hair, while the other caressed her soft visage. The tender look in his blue-green eyes felt like the safest, warmest haven she ever felt, and with an impulse decision that her heart made, she leaned forward, her arms slowly snaking around his torso, her head resting on his shoulder, and closing her eyes, she could finally feel her heart calming, for the first time in her life.

“It was you who went to war, wasn’t it?” Alfie muttered in her hair, holding her tightly. “Yeah. I don’t have a brother. It was me who went with my father to war, but he died, so I had to be the backbone of the troops. When I got home, my mum was devastated and she died of grief. I left that place to get rid of memories...And get rid of that fuckass. War left me with traumas, but it also made me strong enough to face up to who I am and stop taking everyone’s shit just because they think I’m lesser than them. Sometimes...When you talk about your time as a captain...I remember my time there...And...I realise how much I respect you...And also, how different you are from all the people I had contact with there.” she explained, her grip tightening around him, her heart quivering from the deep emotions she was feeling. “You’ve been through quite a lot in your life, haven’t you, lass? And you managed to make a life all for yourself, from the scratch, right, so, I think you’ve been doing great. France?” he asked, guiding her to a more private room, much warmer and cozier, while Ollie was to find him another shirt. “Yeah, France. Thing is...You went through all that, and it was worse for you, since you were a Captain, and you must have felt responsible for every death from your troops...And yet...Ever since we met, you’ve been sweeter than anyone has ever been, and that includes my own family. Don’t get me wrong, I loved them, but maybe...Maybe I’m just a bit softer than I let others think. And you managed to hit the right spot, in the good way, I mean. War changes everyone, and yet, you’re...I have no fitting word to describe how much I appreciate you, Alfie, but here...This thing here feels it, and I think you can feel what I’m feeling too.” she explained, resting her head on his shoulder once they sat down on the sofa, as he pulled her closer to his side, kissing her temple lovingly. “You know, Y/N...You’re not wrong. I tried not to think about my time there and the horrors I’ve seen, yeah, so, maybe it doesn’t come off as anything fantastic, and I still don’t think that being a decent person, right, to people who are close to me, is a big deal. But maybe sometimes we take things for granted, don’t we, so, maybe, you’re right. But that guy has no excuse for being a bastard. You’re safe now, Y/N, and when some day, when we’re done with this gangster mess...We can go to Margate and live a normal life there, eh. You, me and Cyril, and the sandy beach and the waves, right, and maybe, if we get bored, we can shoot those damned seagulls, yeah? They’re so annoying, I’m telling ya!” Alfie chuckled, which, in turn, made her grin at him lovingly. “I’d love to go to Margate with you, Alfie, and have seagull shooting contests together, and run barefoot on the shore, and if it’s enough light from the moon, we can swim a bit. Sounds like the perfect life if you ask me.” Y/N kissed his cheek, lovingly caressing his face before hugging his side. “That’s what I like to hear, lass. I’m sure Cyril would bark like a mad dog from happiness if he was hear, right. S’gonna be fun when we get home, eh.”

[fabioquartararhoe]

Hey 👋🏼 I’m sorry for the long text but I need to rant a bit. Am I the only one who’s kinda disappointed by the little amount of statements/actions from basically everyone (especially in sports)?

Today I woke up and suddenly there’s war in Europe. Something that never ever crossed my mind as a possibility. I’m 24 so I grew up with peace around me. I grew up without any real borders . And I can proudly say that in my generation myself & people around me really feel equally “European” & German (if you know what I mean). Something people of my parents generation mostly can’t understand because they still grew up with the leftovers of WW II. They grew up with a divided Germany, with the wall, closed borders, the Cold War. In school I’ve learnt so much about the cruelty of war and suddenly it’s real again.

I’ve been watching the news nonstop today. I feel shocked, I feel helpless, I feel paralysed. And I so deeply feel for the people of Ukraine. Innocent people that now have to live with the consequences of the actions of an autocrat with a twisted mind. A man that everyone either underestimated or simply couldn’t stop. There are people dying, family’s losing a loved one, people losing theirs homes. People fearing for their life every minute of this day and the coming days.

And somehow I feel like most people & organisations go on with business as usual. Only 3000km away-in the same Europe- F1 drives their cars around the circuit like “oh look at my car go vroom! Nothing wrong here!”. F1 Right now doesn’t even cancel the fucking Russian GP. Europa League is playing their little football games. Basketball played their World Cup qualifiers - even the game Russia : Netherlands took place this afternoon. The skiing organisation doesn’t wanna back off from their races in Russia as well.

I know you can’t stop the whole world because of a crisis. And I am aware that there have been wars going on the whole time and we went on with business as usual. But if not even a war in Europe - that could quite possibly soon turn into a global war - can make Europe itself stop in its tracks for a moment what can?

To me everything just seems so irrelevant with all the suffering right in front of our eyes. How can you calmly collect data to make a car faster when there’s an invasion only a few km further? What can a GP in Bahrain really mean when there’s this huge danger and suffering “next door”.

And maybe I’m being stupid or oversensitive right now but I just wished more people would have shown/would show what really is important. You know? Putting some priorities straight. At least openly acknowledging that right now there’s more important things.

i’m not disappointed bcs i knew that people/organizations will be silent at first and then everyone will post bcs it will be a new trend with a hashtag 🤷🏻‍♀️

as an eastern european born in the late 90s it wasn’t always peace here and i don’t feel equally european. romania joined eu in 2007 but i never felt european and i’m sure most of the people from eastern europe agree with me. I expected something bad to happen in ukraine after the annexation of crimea in 2014 by russia, this stupid war isn’t something new…

i agree with you, but you can’t just stop. the world economy is already in trenches, we can’t afford a war and when i say we i’m referring to the people who live paycheck to paycheck, who don’t have the money to pay for gas/electricity.

the sports events in russia will probably be canceled in the incoming weeks, but that’s it. f1 won’t cancel bahrain bcs they will lose money, these organizations care more about money anyway

you aren’t stupid or oversensitive. more western countries should help ukraine, but they always do this. like how many refugees do you think romania, poland or slovakia can afford when we are also struggling. you can’t just take them in your country and leave them to starve or in the cold, you know and if putin attacks one of these countries ww3 will start bcs of the nato article 5…a lot of people don’t realize how serious this thing is unfortunately

[shotgun--rider]

Stay With Me

A @destielsecretsanta2020 gift for @princess-aleera

Summary: For the first time in his life, Dean has the opportunity for a real Christmas with his family. And it would be perfect, if Cas hadn’t decided to bail on him again. OR: Dean and Cas finally use their words. 

Warnings: Dean’s cripplingly low self-esteem, Cas undervaluing himself...you know, the usual.

A/N: Did I anxiously rewrite half of this on Christmas Eve? Yes. Do I have any confidence whatsoever left in the quality of this fic? No! Nevertheless, merry Christmas to my lovely giftee and I hope you enjoy this dumb fluffy little thing!

By now, Dean should have really known better than to have any kind of expectations for Christmas. He hasn’t had anything less than a shitty holiday since Mary was alive, and then he’d been too young to remember it. The weeks leading up to the 25th in his childhood were marked out by shoplifting cheap gifts for Sam (usually practical stuff, like flannels and socks) and trying to convince John that they didn’t need to work a job on Christmas day. He’d managed to walk out with a paper-wrapped ham once, but cooking it in a motel room didn’t exactly turn out and Sammy got mac and cheese for Christmas dinner. Again. 

Even when they got older, it still wasn’t much of a big deal. They’d toss badly-wrapped gifts at each other in the Impala, still the same kind of practical things as always. Once, Sam bought them dumb Santa hats from the Gas-n-Sip and they drove down the interstate wearing them for a couple dozen miles before Dean got fed up and chucked it into the backseat. 

So, yeah, Christmas sucked ass. And usually Dean didn’t give it much thought, because it wasn’t like he had a lot of fond memories to miss. But this year...sue him, this year he’d thought it might be different. Jack had cheerfully requested a Christmas tree with such enthusiasm that they had caved and set one up in the library, and after Sam had spearheaded the decorating with Eileen, Dean had to admit it looked surprisingly festive. And once there was a tree, it seemed only right to put some effort into the gifts, so he painstakingly picked something out for each member of his little family. (It was paid for with a fake credit card, but it was the thought that counted.) And with several more YouTube tutorials than he would ever admit to a living soul, they were neatly wrapped under the tree, too. 

It was shaping up to be something like a real Christmas, and he was starting to look forward to making new stupid traditions and watching the look on Sam’s face when he opened his gifts. 

But Dean Winchester doesn’t get nice things. So even though there’s an ache in his gut he’s trying to ignore as he bends to fish Cas’s gift back out from under the tree, he’s not really surprised. Hurt, maybe. Pissed, definitely. But surprised? No, it only makes sense that the angel bailed on them on Christmas Eve, popping off to who the hell knows where and ignoring his phone the way he too often does. 

This is what always happens, Dean reasons, shoulders a little hunched as he starts back toward his room. He’s an angel, of course he has better places to be than spending Christmas with a pair of boring human hunters. What does Dean have to offer him anyway? The gift in his hands is shitty, he’s demanded way more from the guy than he can ever repay, and he already knows he’s not good enough for Cas. So he’ll just quietly put the gift back and play the whole thing off if anybody asks. 

He’s almost made it to his bedroom when he passes Eileen, the woman giving him a friendly smile that fades into a curious look when her gaze falls on the slightly unevenly wrapped box in his hands. She signs something that he doesn’t quite get, and Dean kicks himself again for being such a fuckup that he can’t even learn ASL right. 

Eileen doesn’t seem to mind, asking her question again verbally and signing along to help him. “Does Cas get his present privately?” She punctuates with a little eyebrow wiggle, always trying to tease him about the angel. 

Dean huffs, shaking his head. He manages the sign for no before speaking the rest. “Nah, Cas, uh, Cas isn’t coming to Christmas.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

Eileen’s face scrunches. “What do you mean, he’s not coming? He was so excited--what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Dean says defensively, a private panic starting in his head at the thought that maybe he did, maybe he hurt Cas and he didn’t realize it. Or maybe Cas knew and left to save him the embarrassment. “He just said he had somewhere to be,”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“He won’t answer his phone,” Dean says a little petulantly. He’s tried calling him about a dozen times at this point, and Cas has to have turned the damn thing off, because he doesn’t even get to the stupid endearing voicemail recording. 

His brother’s girlfriend just gives him a look and folds her hands into a sign he knows immediately. Pray. “He’ll listen,”

Not for the first time, Dean wonders if Eileen is massively misinterpreting his relationship with Cas. Or at least, how much of a shit Cas gives about him. “Look, Eileen, I don’t think--” 

Dean. She makes his name sign sharp and gently scolding. “Just talk to him,”

“Yeah, maybe,” he mumbles. He doesn’t bother to voice the but what if he still doesn’t answer. 

He leaves Eileen with an attempt at looking nonchalant and makes it the rest of the way to his bedroom, flopping down on the memory foam mattress and staring at the ceiling. He’s positioned to one side as always, avoiding sprawling in the middle even though he would be well within his rights. Sam would probably spout some psychology bullshit about subconsciously saving the other half for someone. Yeah, right. 

So maybe he’s a little more bitter about this than he thought. Squeezing his eyes shut, he huffs out a breath, half prepared to just pray to Cas so he can shout at him childishly. “Hey, uh, Cas? Listen, buddy--”

There’s an almost immediate flutter of wings and by the time Dean’s scrambling to sit halfway up, Cas is standing by the foot of the bed uncertainly, more rumpled than usual and his expression pained. “Hello, Dean,”

“Cas, what the hell?” Dean bursts out before he’s even fully decided to say the words. 

“Dean,” Cas fixes his blue eyes on Dean’s face. “I think I may have made a mistake,”

“Really? What gave you that idea?” Dean shoots back sarcastically. “I mean, what the fuck, Cas? I get that you have obligations and better places to be, but goddammit, you have to stop leaving m--leaving without an explanation!” Vaguely, Dean realizes that he’s not totally in control of this conversation anymore, but he’s been sitting on this for a long time. “It’s Christmas, man,” he goes on weakly. “I know this is kinda your first one but you’re supposed to be with your family,”

“I know,” Cas rushes to agree, his face still flickering with distress. “But I could feel your longing after I left, and your prayer--” the angel slumps slightly in his too-big trench coat. “Dean, I don’t understand.”

“First of all, I was not longing. And b, what don’t you get? It’s not rocket science, Cas,” 

“I left so that you could be with your family,” Cas explains, as if he’s not uttering the most insane thing Dean’s ever heard in his life. “But now you’re upset--I’m sorry, Dean,”

“Cas, what the fuck?” Dean says again, momentarily lost for words as he blinks at his best friend. “How do you not---you are family,”

Cas’s blue eyes blink a few times hopefully, before he seems to resign himself. “I try to be of use to you and Sam--”

“That has nothing to do with--” Dean stops. Oh, Cas. “Do...do you think we keep you around because you’re an angel?”

Cas tilts his head. “Well...yes,”

“Cas,” Dean says weakly. God, he wants to punch himself in the face for letting him think this way. “Look, Sam’s plenty useful, doing the research by myself would seriously suck ass. But he’s my brother either way. Family’s not--it’s not about being fucking useful.” 

“Am I your brother, Dean?”

“Yes!” Dean bursts out, too loudly, kicking himself as his mouth continues without permission. “Yeah, I mean--yeah,” he trails off, not remotely willing to try explaining why that might not be the correct label after all. “You’re family, Cas.”

It’s probably just wishful thinking, but Cas looks almost disappointed. “Oh. I see. Thank you, Dean. I will--” a short pause, “I will stay for Christmas,”

“Great,” is all that comes out of Dean’s mouth in reply. “Yeah, that’s great.” 

He wants to tell him that wasn’t actually what I wanted to say and I kinda think I might be in love with you and I want you to stay with me but the shadow of John Winchester and the fear of rejection keeps the words tightly coiled inside. Besides, they don’t do this. They don’t say things out loud, they never have. And--most of the time--that works. 

So Dean swallows and smiles tightly and shoves away his newly-realized I love yous, turning around instead to find where he’d tossed Cas’s gift on the floor beside the bed. “You, uh, wanna put this back out--”

“Dean,” 

Something in Cas’s voice has him straightening up immediately, and when he turns around the angel is looking at him with an expression he’s never seen before and--are those tears? 

“Dean, I can hear you,”

Dean’s stomach sinks like a fear-filled lead balloon, but he asks anyway. “You can hear me what?”

“Sometimes,” Cas says quietly, “if you think something with enough intention, it can be heard like a prayer,”

Dean clears his throat roughly, bracing himself for Cas to explain gently how he has no interest in a man like Dean. “So, uh,” he trails off. Cas is still just looking at him with brimming eyes, which narrow suddenly. 

“You are a good and righteous and wonderful man, Dean Winchester,” he says firmly, standing there so close and yet just out of Dean’s reach. 

Dean gives a sheepish look. “Heard that bit too, huh?”

“Dean,” Cas says again, gently, waiting. Waiting so that Dean can go first. 

And suddenly, with the knowledge that Cas already knows what he’s been trying to say, it’s infinitely less terrifying. “I--I love you, Cas,” he says hoarsely, surprising himself with how, after all this time, the words aren’t really that hard. “And you’re my best friend, and you’re family, and I don’t give a shit if you’ve got angel powers or whatever, and--” I need you please stay with me still gets stuck in his throat, the most dangerous out of all of those words, but Cas must hear it anyway, or be able to tell what he’s getting at, because he’s suddenly wrapped up in the angel’s embrace, the slightly shorter man warm and solid and thoroughly clinging to him. 

He’d make a crack about chick flick moments, but he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on because he’s clinging to Cas just as tightly, gripping fistfuls of his trench coat and trying to reassure himself that this is real. This is real. 

“I rebelled for you,” Cas is saying quietly into his shoulder. “I loved you from the minute I saw your soul for the first time.” And then he moves to meet Dean’s eyes, his own still looking a little watery, and finishes, “And I need you too,” 

And Dean’s never kissed a man before, but after a confession like that is as good a time as any to bury the last of his father’s old words about fairies and manliness. 

It’s clumsy at first, and not really fireworks and magic like chick flick romances like to claim, but it sends warm relief through his entire body. Dean shivers just slightly, pulling Cas closer as their mouths slowly explore, cautiously at first and then bolder, heat lacing the kiss. But more than anything, it feels like something he has been missing for so long that he stopped noticing has finally fitted back into place, and it’s overwhelming. But, Dean thinks as he helps toss Cas’s coat on the floor, so, so worth it. 

***

The first real Winchester family Christmas is nothing short of chaotic, from the first moment that Dean and Cas finally emerge from their definitely-not-cuddling nest of blankets. Sam takes one look at them in the hallway and grins immediately, shaking his head with a loud “finally!” that has Dean scowling and demanding to know how long Sam has been paying attention to them. (The answer is far longer than Dean wants to think about)

They unwrap gifts on the floor of the library, indulging Jack’s inquisitive questions and periodically balling up wrapping to throw at each other. Sam’s hair is slowly collecting bows off the wrapping as Dean gets bored, though he eventually gives up when he has to choose between reaching Sam’s head and continuing to inch closer into Cas’s side. 

For a moment, he wonders about the last Christmas when Mary was alive, and what she would say if she could see her sons and their hodgepodge celebration now. He doesn’t really mind, though, that he can’t remember it. This is all the holiday family memories he didn’t know he needed.

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter XIV]

Word count: 6,791

Warnings: vulgar language, angst (everyone saw it coming)

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

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“Y/N, are you awake?” Mallory asked.

I closed the book and peeked my head up from beneath the covers to look at her. Light attacked my eyes and I squinted for a brief moment, gathering the covers under my chin.

“Did you really need to switch on that light?” I sat up on the bed and blinked. “This one was doing its job just fine.” I pointed at the reading light next to me.

“You’ll grow wings and turn into a bat any day now.” She laughed, and I glowered. Turning into a bat could very well be a possibility. I hadn’t asked Dracula about that. There was a lot I hadn’t asked, and a lot that he probably wouldn’t tell me now. “A joke, Y/N. You still remember those?”

“Not sure I do,” I scoffed. “You look great. Are you going out with Sean?”

Mallory’s blonde locks laid in large curls around her shoulders – an hour of carefully applied curling iron, I’d say – and her makeup was soft in such a way that her eyes looked more almond shaped than round and innocent like they usually did. A beige trench coat covered her outfit but her legs were on display. Mallory favoured mini dresses so I presumed that was what she had on underneath.

“No, he’s being annoying, it’s just me and the girls. And don’t you change the subject. I don’t feel good about leaving you here.” She sighed. “You’re my guest and I’ll leave you here to go party? That’s not right, but if you come with… It’ll be fun, come on. I’ll wait for you if you go get ready. We’ll drink and dance, and maybe you’ll find someone else.”

Someone else to end up bitten by Count Dracula. Another lesson, like Mallory was, to remind me that I was his.

“No rebounds,” I muttered. “I’ll be fine. I don’t feel like dancing.” She frowned. “Mal, I’m incredibly thankful that you’re letting me stay here but you don’t have to feel like you need to cater to me. We lived together during uni. Don’t think of me as a guest, more like a flatmate, a very brief one. I’ll go back home in two days time”

Staying with Mallory was more her decision than mine. Days ago, she’d bought a last minute train ticket from Gloucester and returned with me to London when the Sun was still up in the sky. When the taxi dropped me off at my house, Mal asked the cabbie to wait and strolled up my stairs on weak knees and packed my bags for me, saying that I needed her. I simply watched as she threw my outfits and shoes inside a large suitcase. While I waited, listening to her go on about broken hearts and that’s what friends do, I’d noticed that my bedroom’s window was open; I didn’t remember leaving it like that. Maybe I was being paranoid but being paranoid was a better choice than being stupid and I’d afforded enough stupidity for a lifetime, so I let Mallory harbour me. Dracula had unlimited access to my house since I had invited him in and closed doors and windows were no hindrance to him, as he had proved. Mallory was my best bet of avoiding him and staying safe, for now, and I could keep an eye on her to make sure she would be truly okay.

Mallory acted like usual, her ramblings, her chipper attitude, her easy laughter at the silliest things. Mallory, as before. Mallory, my best friend from college. Mallory, who had a scar on the side of her neck just like mine and, therefore, wasn’t at all like before. All she’d asked me on the following day after the wedding was how we got all the way from Berkeley Castle to Gloucester and how much she had had to drink. As a test I’d asked how she’d gotten hurt and she looked at me, bewildered, and said “I got hurt?”. When Dracula told me she wouldn’t remember anything, I didn’t expect her to not remember a single thing. I’d prepared a lengthy explanation but threw it away in favour of Mal’s bite-induced amnesia. Even when I went to change the bandage on her neck, she barely acknowledged me and simply stared ahead with empty eyes. She didn’t seem to notice the bite when she looked in the mirror, but every day before leaving the house, without a fault, she wrapped a scarf around her neck as if covering it was instinctive. A useful little trick in Dracula’s sleeve, I presumed.

“Tomorrow marks ten days, right?” She asked and I nodded. She motioned for me to scoot over and flopped down on the bed. “Can I just say that it’s weird that he gave you an ultimatum?”

“I was the one who asked for time.”

“Still weird. I mean, it must have been a huge fight. You said he was massively pissed.” She trained her large eyes on me, like one of Diana’s cats did when it wanted food. “And I’ve never seen you like this, Y/N. I thought you’d open up if you stayed with me. You cried the whole trip back from Gloucester and now you won’t shed a tear. You won’t talk about him. You’re sulking, and you never sulk. For a day maybe, yeah, you’ll sulk and throw a pity party like you did when you broke up with Paul a few years back, but then you’ll make yourself busy.”

Back in Gloucester, during breakfast at my rented flat, Mal, with a wound on her throat and face as pale as her hair, insisted for me to tell her what had happened and why I couldn’t stop crying. I’d told her what I could: that I’d lied to him about something, he found out and did something terrible and wanted me to explain myself in 10 days.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Mal.”

“No, you never want to talk but that’s how you’ll heal. You’re on a rinse and repeat cycle of going to work, picking at your food, and then holing up in my guestroom with that poetry book. Where is it, by the way? Did you finally throw it away?”

I retrieved it from under the covers and set it on her lap. The book was warm to the touch. It slept with me, under the pillow or over my chest. Two days after the wedding, Mallory and I went to grab something to eat at a book cafe near our office. The cover, a large red rose overflowing from a jar as moths and butterflies decorated the edges, caught my eye and when I read the title announcing it to be a collection of Russian poetry, I instantly knew I had to have it. To find in those pages the tranquility I found inside Gloucester Cathedral; a moment in which I was wholly unreserved and Dracula had put his relentless pursuit of me on pause. A perfect memory in which I could have lived in forever.

“I thought you liked French poetry better,” Mallory said as she picked it up and opened it at random. “Why are you so obsessed with this book, anyway? Let’s see.” She took a deep breath and spit out the words on the page so fast that they barely sound like verses. “ I love you, I love you and as I rage at myself for this obsession, and as I make my shamed confession, despairing at your feet I lie, blah blah blah, my one reward for a day’s anguish comes when your, pale hand, love, I kiss. Okay, that part was nice.” She nodded in approval as her eyes skimmed down. “I dare not ask for love with all my many sins, both great and small, I am perhaps of love unworthy. God, that’s a bit depressing, isn’t it?”

“You found it!” The pages ruffled when I snatched the book from her hands.

“Found what?”

“But if feigned love, if you would pretend, you’d easily deceive me. For happily would I, believe me, deceive myself if but I could!” I completed as I read through the last lines. “You found it, Mal, you’re brilliant.”

“I just opened the book.” She shrugged. “Were you looking for this poem in particular?”

I nodded as I tried to read it from the start but my brain was foggy from sleep and the words weren’t making much sense.

“Oh my god,” Mal said and I looked up at her. “This has to do with Dracula, doesn’t it?”

“He recited it to me once. He told me it was Pushkin–”

“So you bought the book.” Mallory drew her eyebrows together.

“Well, I couldn’t remember the exact words to google them and I was curious– stop making that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you make when you watch Pride and Prejudice.”

She giggled.

“Your ten days are up tomorrow. What are you going to tell him?”

I closed the book and let it rest near my knee. “I don’t know what I’ll say,” I finally said in a shaky voice. “I really don’t.”

“Maybe if you tell me what happened, I can help.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

The bond wouldn’t let me utter a word about the true issue surrounding the Count to her; I suspected the loophole I’d found with Renfield and Zoe was because they already had previous knowledge of Dracula’s nature.

Mallory took my hand.

“I wish you’d cry, at least I would know what to do.”

I squeezed her hand as my eyes fell on her neck. A crystal choker covered the bite. She should be the one crying because she didn’t remember, because she had a gash at her throat that she didn’t recognise and because a monster of a man had attacked her. I should be the one taking care of her, not the way around. That’s why I’d bargained with Count Dracula in the first place.

“I do cry but only when I wake up,” I confessed. “The tears just come out of nowhere as soon as I open my eyes and then dry up when I realise I’m awake.” My voice wobbled at the last word and I slapped the pillow next to me. “Oh, now they come. Shit.”

Mallory laughed at my frustration and made me lay my head on her lap. Tears fell in soft thuds to the duvet, running over my nose and eyes as Mallory smoothed my hair.

“It’ll be okay, lovey. He’ll understand if he likes you, whatever you did he’ll forgive–”

“He won’t, Mal.”

“He will, he’s gotta. I saw the way he looked at you.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. He was horrible. I don’t know how to begin to forgive him or if I can forgive him. He was nice to me and now I know that’s what mattered, that he was nice to me and only to me–” But he wasn’t nice just to me, he was also nice to Lucy. My chest constricted. “I don’t know if any of it was real or that he actually cares that he hurt yo– me,” I corrected. “He wants me as one wants precious jewels but that’s all it is. He wants to possess me.” The words were strung together between sobs. I barely understood myself so I knew Mal didn’t either but she still rubbed my shoulder to soothe me. “Why am I crying now? I’m done with crying and I don’t want to.”

I slammed a hand on the bed again but instead of the soft duvet, I found the book’s hard surface, and it hit me why I was crying.

From the moment I bought the book, I held onto it as if my life depended on it, skimming through pages during work breaks, sneaking glances at it during lunch, reading it faithfully yet slowly so it wouldn’t end too fast in search of that Pushkin stanza. I’d buried myself in Russian poetry, those biting words that hung on the edge of everyone’s lips, unsaid but that rang true, so I wouldn’t have to dwell on what to say. Perhaps those words would become mine and I wouldn’t have to say anything, not now or ever, and by some magic Dracula would understand. Then Mallory found the verses and I realised I still didn’t have the words. What did I have left to hold onto now that I didn’t need to search for Pushkin’s poem? The sweetness I searched for amidst the sting of my bitterness was gone and that moment in the cathedral wasn’t worth anything if Dracula killed me tomorrow.

Ten days wasted on poetry and in a moment that I would never have again. I wasn’t even sure if my voice would work when I tried explaining it to him. All I had planned was that I would tell him somewhere public in the hope that he still had enough scruples left to not kill me in front of witnesses.

“Diana called your phone when you were sleeping,” Mallory informed me as my sobs subsided. “Taking naps all afternoon and sleeping early won’t help you come up with an answer, you know.”

“It’s the only time when I don’t have to think about him.”

“You don’t dream about him?” She stopped playing with my hair for a second when I nodded and I felt a tug on a lock of hair. The slight resistance told me she was braiding my hair.  

“Just once since the wedding. I dreamt that he was driving and we were holding hands but then–” my hand was nearly crushed in his grip as he raised it to his mouth and tore my wrist open. Blood trickled down to his lap and a scarlet jet stained the windows. I smiled the whole time as he consumed me. “It wasn’t a good dream. Did you get Diana’s call?”

“Yeah. She’s worried about you, told me you only answered one of her calls since you came to stay with me. You have over 10 calls from your cousin, too.”

“My cousin?”

“Yeah, don’t you have a cousin in Manchester named Zoe?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” I hadn’t spoken with my cousin for over two years and her number was saved only as ‘Zee’. “Did Zoe call when I was asleep?” I asked in a neutral tone. I ignored every call from Dr. Van Helsing and if Mallory had answered the phone thinking she was talking to my cousin–

“No, but she must be worried about you. Give her a call back,” she said.

“I will,” I breathed, relieved. Eventually, I would talk to Zoe and tell her that I was done with her – that is, if I survived Count Dracula. With that, rose the question of why Zoe was still alive. Wouldn’t Dracula have killed her?

“Diana said she’s going up to Glasgow for work in a couple of days and that she wants to see you before that. I told her we could all grab lunch Thursday.”

“All right.” I sniffled and started getting up slowly so Mallory wouldn’t accidentally pull my hair. “I’m getting in the way of your night out, Mal.”

“Did you actually think I was going out?” She looked at me in disbelief. “It’s Monday, Y/N, we have work tomorrow. More importantly, I would never leave you here and go drinking.” I frowned as I gestured at her made up face. “I’m wearing PJ’s under my coat. I got ready in the hopes that you would suddenly change your mind when you saw me leaving the house and decide to actually move your arse out of bed,” she explained. I snorted. “A-ha, that was a near laugh!”

“That was a shit strategy. And you knew it wouldn’t work since you didn’t bother to change clothes.”

“Well, I tried everything else.” She jumped out of bed and peeled off the trench coat, revealing butterfly print pyjamas. “Come to the living room. We’ll order hamburgers and watch something.”

She was already leaving the room as I slipped out from under the covers.

“No rom-coms!”

“I wouldn’t torture you like that!” She yelled back from the living room. “Is Harry Potter good enough for you?”

“Great.”

It was familiar enough for me to repeat the lines in sync with the character and keep me distracted. Tomorrow I would figure out how to tell Count Dracula. As I made the bed, I grabbed the book from under the pillow and fingered through the pages. Pushkin’s words didn’t jump out at me and I hadn’t memorised the page number when Mallory found it. For the best, probably.

I set the book aside and went to the living room when Mal called my name.

__________________________________________________________

“L/N, can I see you before you go?”

Talbot’s voice made Mallory and I stop on the way to the lift; my mobile chimed inside my purse and my fingers tightened around the purse’s strap. Another chime reached my ears as I turned back to meet Talbot with Mal on my heels. Whether she had followed me because a partner was summoning me and it was a good opportunity for her to be noticed or because she was fairly acquainted with my phone’s chimes and particularly what they meant today, I didn’t know, but I was glad to have her at my side anyway.

Golden orange sunlight refracting through a window hit my face when I stopped before Talbot and I forced myself to breathe properly. I still had a couple more minutes, an hour if I was being optimistic, before the sun went down and I had to meet Dracula, who didn’t seem to pay much attention to it; he had been texting me since four in the afternoon.

“Yes?” The word was strangled.

Talbot’s severe face didn’t seem to notice my anxious tone and simply nodded at Mallory before settling his cataract ridden eyes on me.

“Do you have anything on your schedule tomorrow at 3pm?”

“No, I don’t think I do, sir. Why?”

“I need you in court.” He handed me a thick manila folder he had hidden behind his back.

“A new case?” I took the file automatically. “But sir, I’m already flooded with them. And court tomorrow? I won’t have the time to prepare–”

“Of course you’ll have time to prepare. You’ll have the rest of the day and night, and tomorrow until three. Pulling all-nighters is part of every good attorney’s job.”

I smothered an offended huff.

“I’m aware, sir.” I paused, and my phone chimed again. I could feel my pulse on my throat. “Unfortunately, I have a commitment tonight and I can’t take this case. Mallory will gladly take it in my pla–”

“I’m sure Miss Nowak would do a wonderful job,” he considered her briefly “but this case can only be taken care of by you. It was originally Miss Grisham’s, your colleague, but she had to go under an emergency surgery yesterday – wicked things, spleens, don’t you think? – and the Judge on this case refused to reschedule a court date.” He scoffed. “Apparently, Grisham had already been granted several reschedules and Judge Llewellyn won’t have it again, which is precisely why this case must be yours. As I understand you have a win inside Llewellyn’s courtroom, which might bode well for you– for us at the firm. Llewellyn is notoriously a difficult man and I hear he’s been mouthing good things about you. No one in this office has ever won before him, except for you and Renfield.”

My phone started ringing loudly and I gave my purse a thwack as if that would shut it up. Talbot eyed my purse.

“Sir, like I said, I have a personal engagement that I can’t dismiss. It’s best that I don’t take a new case. Give it to Mallory, she’ll do as good a job as I would and then this firm will have three lawyers with wins before Llewellyn.”

A new case meant I would have to prepare an opening statement, not to say I would have to spend countless hours studying every small detail to not be stomped to the ground by the prosecutor. The remaining sunlight only gave me a few more minutes to work out my own closing statement – the very last closing statement I would do in my life, perhaps, considering it was entirely dependent on Count Dracula’s verdict – if I took that case I would have to neglect it in favour of my own troubles.

“You’ll take it.”

“Sir, I can’t–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, L/N,” argued Talbot. “If your engagement has anything to do with your phone’s incessant noise–” as if by command, the tune stopped “–then turn it off. Whatever it is, it can be rescheduled. This case cannot.”

Rage built up my chest; I could swallow it down before it reached my throat but the lump there wouldn’t let it pass as easily as it would allow it to burst out. And I didn’t want to swallow it down so more rage could merge with heartache. I’d had enough with rage and I wouldn’t let Talbot bully me into something that I couldn’t do in the benefit of his own interests.

“Any lawyer here would be happy to do it. I can’t,” I said as I offered him the file back. He opened his mouth to protest and didn’t accept the manila folder. “You don’t understand, you absolute c–”

“She’ll take it,” Mallory intervened, squeezing my arm and interrupting whatever name I was about to call him. One of Talbot’s eyes twitched as he evaluated me and he rose his chin, nodding at Mal for the interruption.

“I see Nowak has managed to keep her sense. I hope she’ll teach you some.” He gestured towards the lift. “You may go. Do not disappoint me, L/N.” He turned on his heel and disappeared inside his office.

I started stalking after him, picturing his outraged face when I threw the file on his desk, but Mal jerked me back.

“Are you crazy?” She shook me. “You almost called a partner the c-word–”

“You can say he’s a cunt, it’s not like it’s a lie.”

“Y/N!” She exclaimed, looking around us as if to check if anyone had heard that. “Being angry won’t solve your crap, and you can’t just shrug off work because of a relationship. Focus. Dracula is just a guy but this is your job. If he’s right for you he’ll understand.  It’s not like he’ll die if he waits one more day so you two can talk.”

I stared out the window. My phone chimed, and then started ringing. The sun was still up and I wagered it would stay that way until I went home. As soon as it was dark, Dracula would be there. I could propose a meeting spot but I’d made enough demands – he had said so himself. He was done making concessions for me, and if I said one thing, one thing that didn’t please him, that sounded off to his ears, he would probably tear open my neck and leave me to die by myself on the quietness of my home. There were plenty of things in my speech that needed adjustments to prevent that, several things, actually, that I wasn’t sure I had worded properly. And I hadn’t rehearsed anything, either.

“You know you’re not mad at Talbot,” Mallory said, as though she knew I was pondering the situation. “Dracula will understand.”

My phone stopped ringing and then started shortly after.

“He won’t stop calling until I answer him,” I said. But I’d already made my decision. I’d made it the moment Mallory said I would take the case.

“Then turn off your phone. You’ll concentrate better. I’ll even help you,” she offered. I glanced at her. “I can see in your face that you’re dreading going home. You can stay at my house one more night, or how many more you want, and I’ll help you study your case. You’ll worry about Dracula tomorrow after the court session with Llewellyn , okay?”

Working this case was a perfectly reasonable excuse not to answer his calls and texts. It was good enough for me but I knew it wouldn’t be good enough for Dracula. It would give me more time to work on what to say, although I had the feeling that nothing I said would ever be good enough for him.

What did matter if he had to wait one more day? I was dead anyway.

“Okay,” I finally said. Mal smiled at me. I didn’t have the strength to retribute it.

“Text him and say you’ll see him tomorrow.”

I fished my phone out of my purse. The name ‘Count Dracula’ blinking on the screen made me frown. I pressed the button next to the screen until it went fully black.

“My phone battery is dead for all he cares.” I dumped the phone back in my purse. “Let’s go, Mal. Quickly. He’ll come here looking for me when he realises I’m not picking up.”

______________________________________________________________

Count Dracula tilted his head as he watched the man crawl between tables, shoulders clumsily bumping into a table leg as he tried to hide. Sobs escaped his mouth. Dracula pushed one of the bodies at his feet with the heel of his shoe as the man shrunk into the darkness beneath the table. The man’s ragged breathing made the Count’s bloodstained lips twitch. He made a show of looking around the blackened interior of the pub, putting weight into his strides so the floorboards would creak as he stepped over another body, pretending that he couldn’t see him in his hiding place.

This game of hide-and-seek never failed to amuse the Count but it wasn’t as fun in an enclosed space such as this. It made him miss his castle. If it was his castle, he would throw the man into one of the dungeon’s cells to play with him another moment. But here, in a London pub where he had already engorged himself until his cheeks were ruddy, he only had so much time before sunrise. He wasn’t thirsty anymore and he would have to go home soon to rest his head again, only to be assailed by dreams of Y/N.

“I won’t hurt you,” Dracula declared, throwing his head back. The low ceiling had beer stains. The cleaning staff, the one dead at his feet, must not do a very good job of cleaning the place. “You can come out.”

A whimper came from under the table but the man made no attempt to reveal himself. Dracula waited for a few seconds to give him a chance and then crossed the distance between them and lifted the table. Wide brown eyes filled with mindless fear stared up at Count Dracula in a skinny face.

“Get up,” the Count demanded and discarded the table to the side, leaving the man without his illusion of protection. “Come sit with me.” He took a seat at a table at the centre of the pub and snatched a napkin from it. Red gloves of blood left stains on every white napkin he touched. The man – boy, from the looks of him – just watched and Dracula flicked dark eyes toward him. “Now.”

Slowly, so very slowly, the boy stood up and took small steps toward the table. He threatened to snap in half like a twig from all his shaking. Count Dracula motioned for him to take a seat as he wiped his face and hands with napkins. The boy sat.

“I think…” Dracula began. “No. What would you do in my place?”

“W-what?”

“I gave her ten days. Today is Tuesday, the tenth day, and she wasn’t at her house. She won’t answer my calls and my texts. She was at her office today but left early according to–” what was the woman’s name? Caroline? Christine? Camille? Ah, Chelsea. She’d slipped him her number before he left the office at Canary Wharf. He would have considered keeping it, if only to feed from her, but Y/N wouldn’t like that. Ten days could stretch into twenty or a month if he fed from Chelsea. “She’s avoiding me. What would you do?”

The boy stared at him, mouth opening and closing several times as he tried to formulate an answer. He glanced at the parade of dead bodies around them and then back at Count Dracula.

“Um, who is– hm. W-why is she av-voiding you?”

Dracula nodded, smiling lightly. He was impressed that the boy had managed to restrain his fear for a while but he knew very well the boy was merely entertaining him until he started bargaining for his life. They always did.

“I did something,” said Dracula.

“This kind of something?” He gestured with his head toward the body closest to them and then his face turned red and shuddered.

“No.” He frowned. “Worse, I think. I don’t know, to be perfectly honest. What matters is that she’s avoiding me. I gave her ten days and she said we would talk. She said she knew not to flee. I can hunt for her but–” He threw the used napkins on the table, giving up on making himself presentable. There wasn’t any point to it with six bodies strewn metres away from him. “I don’t want to hunt what’s mine. She should come willingly.”

“Yeah,” the boy drew out. “But maybe she needs more time? I don’t know what you did, man, but if it was worse than this–”

“I bit her friend,” Dracula admitted.

The boy gaped.

“I– I’m sure you had a good reason to.”

“Are you?”

“I only mean–” he said, hunching his shoulders. “I mean, I… I don’t know?”

Count Dracula tipped in his chair and balanced himself so he could lever his feet on the table and cross them. Black leather shoes with small rounded dents at the tips shone at him. He hadn’t worn another pair since the wedding, when Y/N’s heels left those prints there. He didn’t know what that meant. He only knew that he couldn’t remember Y/N’s smile with the same clarity that he could remember her face stricken with black tears.

“Did she cheat on you?” The boy tried.

Dracula laughed mirthlessly.

“In a manner, but she assured me that she had stopped.”

“So, uh, why did you kill her friend?”

“I didn’t kill Mallory. I bit her, that’s all.” He’d bitten her without Y/N’s explanation, which he still didn’t have. “Do you think I exaggerated?”

“Um– uh, no?”

“I don’t like liars.”

“I’m sorry. Sorry.” The boy rubbed his nose. “My name is Trent.” Dracula’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand the relevance of that. “I’m only 19. I live in Whitechapel with my parents and sisters. I’ve got three cats–”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dracula glared at him. And then chuckled. “Oh, are you attempting to sensitize me about who you are so I won’t kill you? I’ve seen that on TV. People have been using that trick for centuries, too. It’s never worked on me. In fact, I think it’s kind of fun. First name basis is important, isn’t it? Makes things more intimate when I kill you.” He bared his teeth at the boy in a grin. “I asked you a question, Trent.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

The words echoed. Y/N had said the same. Dracula massaged the bridge of his nose.

“I changed my mind. Maybe it’ll change again if you answer me.”

Trent shook violently again and started rocking back and forth in his seat.

“I forgot what you asked me.”

“Do you think I exaggerated?” Dracula repeated. The boy looked around them. “Not about this. I know you might believe this is a bit much but it helps me not to think. However, I’m in need of a good talk now. So amuse me, Trent. Do you think I shouldn’t have bitten Mallory?”

“Uh. This other girl you've been talking about… Do you fancy her?” Trent’s thin eyebrows arched, trying to summon a serious expression. Dracula merely bobbed his head. “And you said she’s, huh, yours.” He looked at Dracula and he nodded again. “From what you’re telling me, you want her back. If she’s avoiding you, maybe she’s scared?” His eyes widened as if he realised he’d said something wrong. “Or, or, or! Or maybe she’s waiting for an apology?” He shrugged. “Did you try talking to her, eh, before you bit this Mallory bird?”

The Count ignored the last question.

“She owes me an apology.”

“Yeah, sure she does,” the boy agreed. “But don’t you think you oughta apologise, too? I mean… uh. I don’t know. I’ve never been cheated on but I don’t think biting someone is the right way to go about it.”

Maybe not.

Maybe if he had asked Y/N about it, he wouldn’t have to wait ten days to speak to her. If he had, she wouldn’t have cried. It could have been a terribly simple explanation and she would have kissed him again. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone on a murder rampage for the last days to keep memories of Y/N from permeating his every dream and thought.

Or, and it was just as likely, it wasn’t simple at all. She had learnt how to lie to him. He was certain that she could have lied about everything. It could all have been an act to fool him – the sudden interest in the taste of blood, her questions about his life before a vampire and after, her rare ability to see through him sometimes, the gleam in her eyes at the cathedral… The kiss. But the utter betrayal in her face, the acrid smell of fear, how her voice trembled as she wept, those weren’t false. When she said yes to him, covered in her friend’s blood with her dress ruined and hair in shambles, he knew she had spoken the truth. She had no other reason to lie after what he had done. And now, he found himself doubting if everything else was not all lies.

It didn’t matter.

He had destroyed it. And he knew that if he could go back in time to fix it, he would have done it all the same. She confused him. She had made a fool out of him like no one else had in half a millennia, and she would make a fool out of him for the next millennia as well. Despite what she had done, she was his, whether she liked it or not. He was willing to wait a few more days for her to come to him.

Count Dracula massaged the bridge of his nose again.

“Thank you, Trent.”

The boy’s heart drummed, his blood streaming inside of him in rapid currents. Dracula could hear the noise it made, like a wind howl against a window.

“Are you gonna let me go?”  

“Yes, I will.” He flashed the boy a quick smile. “Although you haven’t been much help, I’m feeling merciful right now.” Trent exhaled a shaky breath and started getting up. “One last thing” – the boy looked up at that, watery brown eyes filled with alarm again – “you didn’t say… what would you do in my place?”

“Uhh–” he paused, panic flaring up and making the drumming in Dracula’s ears become louder. “Show that you care? Apologise if you want her back. She’ll apologise, too.” Dracula just stared. “Or do something nice for her. Especially nice.” Trent sniffled. “That’s what my dad does when my mum is mad at him, and it works.”

Trent waited as Dracula nodded, and then started shuffling across the pub in a slow pace as if he was doing his best not to draw attention.

He eyed the dents on his shoes and felt Y/N’s lips on his. He couldn’t wait five or ten years to feel them again and in order to have that, he would have to make amends. But then he thought of all the lies again and the taste of Mallory’s blood pouring down his throat and all the memories that came with it. A pungent reminder of how unreasonable he had become since meeting Y/N.

Trent was almost at the exit door.

“On second thought!” He called, planting both feet on the slippery red floor. The boy turned around to look at him and Count Dracula bared sharp teeth as he stood up from his seat. “I feel like having dessert.”

The boy ran.

His fingers brushed the doorknob but didn’t manage to grip it. Dracula blocked the way. Trent squealed and his entire body trembled in such force that the Count thought he could hear his bones rattling. He smiled at that and grabbed the boy’s shoulder to stop him from scuttling away.

Trent was as pale as a sheet, so much so that it was difficult to make out defining features on his face, but the shapeless, quivering thing on his face was most definitely a bottom lip moving as his teeth chattered.

“Ah, don’t be like that. I’ll make it quick, as a thanks.” Dracula stroked the boy’s cheek, pointed nails grazing the skin, and he shuddered. “Truly, you gave me quite the idea. But you see, it’s almost dawn, and I need a last bedtime snack to clear my head. You just so happen to be nearby.”

“Please, I–”

“No, no, no, no. Begging won’t get you anywhere and I’ve heard enough of ‘please’ tonight. I’ll make it quick and you won’t beg. Are we agreed?” He cocked an eyebrow. Trent shut his eyes and nodded. Dracula patted his face. “Good boy.”

Dracula turned Trent’s face to the side. He was met with no resistance as he lowered his head to tear through the soft flesh on the boy’s neck. Trent stopped trembling as Dracula’s teeth slashed deep and blood flowed inside his mouth. Memories started materialising but he ignored it and allowed himself to be swept away until nothing else invaded his mind except the taste of blood, its warmth cascading over his body and leaving him no choice but to be inundated with unrestrained elation.

He swallowed hurriedly and, in no time, the flow became sluggish and he began taking it less urgently. If he drank too fast, he would miss it. He waited for it to come as one waits for the first rain to pour, waits for it to wash remains, and to bring restoration. Ecstasy flitted across his deepest thoughts only to be replaced with perfect numbness. Sublime anesthesia and a brief glimpse into the true death he would never feel.

The emptiness he sought, the complete erasure of all thoughts, was the one thing that brought him relief and wiped the image of Y/N’s face. Her rancour and her grief that turned those eyes cruel to cut through him when she saw him with Mallory but, worst of all, the resignation that made her voice docile, almost cowed when she begged him for time. It touched something in him. Something that made him desperate to get rid of it, so abnormal was this sensation, that his only solution was to engorge himself with blood.

Only she had this effect on him. Usually he was picky with his food, choosing when should each dish be savoured and in which order. All it took for that to change was for Y/N to look him in the eye at the Victoria and Albert Museum and say that taking her there was the nicest thing someone had ever done for her. And he simply couldn’t understand that, couldn’t understand he had enjoyed knowing that, that he had enjoyed making her happy, and that he was possibly growing infatuated by her. Not in the way he had grown attached to Agatha or Johnny. It was entirely different; a foreign feeling. It had driven him to feast on a board of directors in an attempt to obliterate the memory. And it had worked for a little while but each time she managed to pull at his control until he wasn’t sure if he had any control whatsoever.

Dracula dropped Trent’s lifeless body.

The anesthesia had faded and here he was, thinking of Y/N again.

He groaned in frustration, wiped his chin and left the darkened pub with its new decor of blood carpets and artfully painted walls.

.

.

.

Taglist: @festering-queen​ @feralstare​ @rheabalaur​ @a-dorky-book-keeper​ @thorin-smokin-shield​ @dreamer2381​ @illbegoinhome​ @girlonfireice​ @deborahlazaroff​ @saint-hardy​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @iwasjustablur​ @princessayveke​ @vampirescurse​ @crossoverqueen89​ @blue-serendipity​ @sunscreenfeverdream​ @25ocurer​ @daydreaming136​ @hello-itsbarbie​

[bluewhale52]

- Love & Zombies -

Aaah I know I’m late to the party but this literally came to me today at work after watching Train to Busan with my hubby yesterday 😅

Summary: you and your boyfriend stay in for Halloween for a movie night, and the movie of choice is Train to Busan! Not only your boyfriend is a scaredy cat, he also asks you a pretty heavy question that may affect your relationship.

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x reader

Genre: fluff, domestic, established relationship au, idol au

Word count: 1600

Warning: none other than it’s heavy with plots and spoilers of the movie Train to Busan! And of course depiction of JHS in the story is pure of my imagination.

—

Halloween has always been one of your favorite events in the year. You like cosplaying, making your own costumes and putting on an alter ego even for just a couple of hours. You even came up with this year’s costume right after Halloween last year. You were excited when you found a beautiful red trench coat in a vintage shop just a few days after, complete with the red wide brim hat. Unfortunately because of the pandemic, your Halloween plans are cancelled, and your debut as Carmen San Diego has to wait for another year.

Fortunately, because of the pandemic, your boyfriend’s travel plans abroad are cancelled, and for once he is able to spend Halloween with you. Despite his busy schedule for the upcoming comeback, he has made sure he has 31 October free. You both are pleased to spend the night together at your place, away from the other members, for your Halloween movie night. He even bought matching Snoopy pyjamas- yours has Snoopy and Woodstock jumping out of a pumpkin shouting ‘Boo!’ and his has poor Charlie Brown clutching his heart in shock.

You know your boyfriend is the jumpy type, screaming and squealing at the smallest sound. And he has been very adamant that you will not be watching any horror movies of the supernatural type. So you have chosen Train to Busan and Shaun of the Dead. Although both are zombie movies, there aren’t many jump scare scenes and the gore level is pretty tame. You are quite sure your boyfriend won’t be hanging on to you for dear life throughout the night.

Hoseok settles on the sofa with a big bowl of popcorn on his lap as you start the first movie, Train to Busan. He claimed he has seen it before, albeit he covered his eyes 99% of the time.

He is still quite relaxed over the opening scene, until the dead deer on the road came back to life. He sits closer to you, pressing his side tightly against yours.

“Hobi-ah, it’s not even 5 minutes into the movie!” You tease him.

“The deer, YN, it’s a zombie deer!” You chuckle and pat his head. He laughs and tries to relax, but you feel your body starts leaning to one side with Hoseok pressing so much onto your other side.

Hoseok makes some comments as the movie unfolds- how cute the little girl playing the daughter is, how good looking Gong Yoo is in his suit- and you know it is just his way to calm and distract himself over what is to come. He hides behind your back when the injured young woman gets into the train and squeals when the little girl saw a person getting jumped by a zombie at the train platform.

Everything goes downhill from there. He keeps telling the characters to run, to hide, to fight the zombies, all the while with a deathly grip on your hand. You even had to save the bowl of popcorn from falling off his lap because he is moving too much, agitated.

“It’s ok Hoseokie, I will protect you,” you coo at him.

“Ah, YN, I should be the one protecting you but I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything.” He laughs nervously.

“No babe, we’ll work together, right. I’d arm myself with a baseball bat to smash the zombies’ heads.” You tilt your head. “You know, I don’t understand why they don’t just aim at their knees. Break their knees, they wont be able to chase after you.” You wonder out loud.

“Wah YN, you’re really thinking seriously about this.” Hoseok is practically sitting behind you know. His hands are on your shoulders, massaging them gently except for the few times when the zombies get too close to the characters and he squeezes your shoulders hard. Super hard.

“Of course, in an apocalypse we must think critically to survive. I’d kill the zombies, you can be in charge of food. Rationing, cooking. You’re much better at planning than I am. And when I’m tired of killing zombies, you can give me shoulder massages.”

Hoseok chuckles at that, and kisses the back of your head.

You both continue the movie, Hoseok now sitting behind you and you between his legs. You crack up a few more jokes, pointing out some of the mistakes the characters in the movie commit, and promising your boyfriend all those errors have been etched on your brain to ensure you wouldn’t do the same in a zombie apocalypse. Hoseok is more relaxed now, laughing and teasing at how serious you are planning your and his survival.

Until you come to the scene where the selfish executive pushes the high school girl to the zombies to save himself.

“Poor Wooshik,” Hoseok says, “he has to see his girlfriend turn into a zombie!”



You scoff at the scene, especially at the part where Wooshik’s character is cradling his girlfriend and apologising to her. “It’s stupid,” you comment, “he’s gonna die soon.”

And sure enough, once the girl has stopped convulsing and truly turned into a zombie, she bites her boyfriend.



“See!” you shout. “He’s so stupid, he’s survived all this while only to die because he can’t leave his girlfriend!”

Hoseok pulls your body aside, half turning it so you can face him.

“Babe, if I got bitten by a zombie, you’d stay with me, right?” He asks, eyes serious and voice earnestly worried.

“Of course not! You’ve been bitten!” You answer, perhaps too quickly.

“So, you’d leave me behind?” His voice is rising, full of disappointment and hurt.

“Well, do you want me to die with you or to continue surviving?”

Hoseok looks puzzled at your question, and unable to answer.

“I mean, if I can put you in a place where you’d be confined after you become a zombie, yeah I’d stay with you,” you think out loud, “but say in that same situation like in the movie, where you’d easily jump me and eat my brains, I’d probably kiss you goodbye right after you get bitten then I’d run to save my ass.”

“I am seriously hurt, YN. I can’t believe you’d leave me.” Hoseok pouts.

“Well if I don’t leave, YOU would kill me! Is that any better?” You counter.

He huffs and you both continue watching the movie in silence. You find it funny that Hoseok would take it so seriously and you want to laugh at the silliness of it. But you also know you need to do some damage control to cheer up your sunshine.

“Hobi, in an apocalypse, we have to think logically and critically. We can’t let emotions make decisions for our survival.” You turn slightly so you can drape an arm around your boyfriend. Your position has shift so now you’re sitting sideways in his lap, and you kiss his cheek tenderly.

“I love you, and I’d never ever leave you, you know that. And even if I had to, because you’re turning into a zombie, I’d be crying and crying over losing you for days, months, and even years. I won’t stop thinking of you. And I’d be blaming myself for failing to protect you. And I give you permission to haunt me to my dying days as my penance.”

You turn his head to face you, and you kiss him softly on his lips. “I love you, Jung Hoseok.”

“I love you too, YN,” he replies, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you back sweetly.

Then he suddenly lets go of you, and you stumble back on the sofa. “Oh my god YN! Gong Yoo! That evil executive bit him!”

Hoseok is practically fuming, “Ah, that selfish man, I hate him! Why does he have to bite Gong Yoo? That poor girl, she now has to see her father turn into a zombie!”

You right yourself up, staring at your boyfriend in amusement. “Aish YN, I can’t believe Gong Yoo is turning into a zombie.” Hoseok is truly looking very, very affected by the turn of events in the movie. And when Gong Yoo’s character throws himself off to save his daughter, you are pretty sure your boyfriend is in the brink of tears.

Hoseok is now leaning forward, and asking you if the little girl will survive. You feel like telling him that no, the girl will become a zombie too just to tease him. But he is gripping your hand so hard at the ending scene of the movie, shouting at the soldiers not to shoot the girl and the other survivor. And when the girl starts singing while crying, Hoseok is shaking your shoulders while still screaming for the girl to survive and live.

Once the end credits roll, Hoseok plops back on the sofa, breathing heavily in relief. You look at him, and announce, “OK, let’s not watch Train to Busan anymore. This movie does not do you, or us, any good.”

“I agree, YN, it’s just too sad. Too sad!” He laments.

Too sad? You scoff and swat your boyfriend. He reacts in his typical manner- eyes wide and face full of innocence while asking you what he has done to earn a smack on his arm. You jump on him, tickling him and pretending to eat him like a zombie would, and he trashes around, laughing hysterically, trying to escape you.

He finally manages to flip you and pin you down. His laughter dies down to a soft smile, and he leans down to kiss you.

“I love you, my zombie killer. Happy Halloween.”

—

Thank you for reading! 💜

[maebelline-is-dumb]

you beautiful bitch.

Fuck. It’s 6AM on a Sunday. Why am I awake? Time to go back to sleep.

I managed to sleep for the whole day, which is honestly an accomplishment for most people, but not a surprise for me.

But this caused me to get up at 3AM on Monday, yikes. My sleep cycle has been getting worse and worse, which is not good, I need to do something about that. Later, I can’t be arsed to do it now. I got to get to work. I owe Lidl my life for keeping me alive, for providing me with the essence of life. Food. Okay, enough with the drama, I should probably get out of bed first.

Oh boy do I love being a shining beacon, a stellar example, for the word routine. It’s a well-rehearsed act. Done every single day.

“Just… don’t look in the mirror, wipe yourself off, Bea, get dressed, get to the Metro on time, don’t mess it up.” I really don’t need to tell myself this every day, yet here we are. I want to throw that mirror out the window. The last thing I need to see is…

Forget it. White shirt, black skirt, and some rainbow suspenders. I am a fashion queen, so absolutely original, never been done before. Makeup, some basic foundation, blush, lip gloss, and winged eyeliners that my friends are really jealous of but could always be better.

God why do I even try?

 I grab a couple beignets and pain au raisins from Lidl and dash towards the Metro station. I put my earphones in. Isle Unto Thyself by Miracle Musical. Holy shit I love this song. Pacing down the streets, gnawing on my beignets, I get to the Metro station. Down the stairs, past the ticket machine, I bolt down the stairs. One minute left. Not too bad for a Monday.

Waiting for the Metro, I opened the mood tracker app on my phone. Wow, 17 mehs in a row. I mean there have been moments when it got better and worse, but it always manages to balance out. Except Friday. Fuck Friday.

I zoned out on the Metro. I saw her again. She looked perfect. God her fashion sense is impeccable. That beautiful autumn outfit of an orange skirt and mandarin top, red trench coat, and adorable orange beanie with an embroidered fox, all contrasted against the winter blue. Her auburn hair glistened in the busy nightlife. Lydia. She’s a goddess. I hope to see you soon, Lydia, you beautiful bitch.

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Wednesday: Working on that ‘focus’ thing

Right. So. I’ve mentioned that I’m trying to focus on just one or two things and actually clear out the WIP folder a bit. One of those things is, and probably will be for the next three years, the Thomas-as-heir novel. I mean, even once I get my research done and pound out a rough draft, that bastard’s gonna need editing up the ying yang and not to put too fine a point on it, I’ve never edited a novel before. It’s going to be more like a complete re-write.

But. It is a thing I am working on, actively, so while I sit and wait for the interlibrary loan system to deliver my books - something I am being very patient about, especially the one I ordered last week which is in system, was marked as ‘available’, and my father could have checked out and delivered to me the next day but oh no, I’ll just order it - have a small snippet of Thomas and his new fuck buddy upper crust friend at a party where they’ve just run into Thomas’s absolute bastard ex the Duke of Crowborough.

Thomas frowned into the night, not really seeing the lights of London. Looking back at it, that was when he’d really fallen for the other man. The weeks of slipping out whenever he could, of covert meetings and passionate abandon, they’d been nice, but no different than any other affair. It was that first letter that had worked its way past the armor he’d already started constructing for himself. The sound of wool against stone as Simon shifted next to him brought him back to the present. “When the Titanic sank and I thought Lady Mary would inherit, my first instinct was to write Phillip,” he continued. “It just…it seemed like such a neat solution to everything. He’d get his heiress; I’d get to be valet, and we’d have each other. It would be perfect.”

“I didn’t hear anything about Lady Mary in that,” Simon noted, his tone somewhat dry. A sideways glance showed Thomas that he was smirking.

With a soft chuckle, Thomas looked away, only slightly ashamed by his past indifference to his employer’s daughter. “Yes, well, she was Lady Mary, wasn’t she? Didn’t really care about her, back then. If I had thought about it, I’d have said she’d have gotten to be a Duchess. What more does a woman like that want?” He looked askance at the other man. Simon thought about it a moment, then shrugged, indicating that he didn’t know either. After all, it was well acknowledged that, in many regards, the London Season had only slightly more to do with romance than a horse auction. “Anyway, Mary wasn’t the point. The point was, I wrote Phillip because I wanted to be with him. I thought he wanted to be with me.

“Thing is, while we’d written, we’d not seen each other in a year. More than that. Despite the letters, I did wonder if, when he got there, if he’d still feel the same. I told myself that he would, of course he would, and if he didn’t when he first arrived…well, he’d fallen for me once, hadn’t he? Shouldn’t take much to remind him why. And if he still didn’t…well…” He trailed off, taking another drag off his cigarette. They said a burden shared was a burden halved, but poking through his old wounds didn’t make them feel any more healed. Quite the opposite. And why should he feel obligated to put Simon’s mind at ease? He hadn’t asked the other man to take him under his wing and show him around the shady corners of the aristocracy.

“If he still didn’t,” Simon supplied, “Then you had the letters.”

With a heartfelt sigh, Thomas closed his eyes and rested his head against the stone behind him. “Right. I just never really believed…” His closed eyes meant that he didn’t see the touch coming. There was just the soft feel of a finger against his cheek, running down the line of his jaw to his neck and then sliding around to the back of his head, shifting into a comforting massage at the base of his skull. He smiled and opened his eyes again, turning to find the other man watching him with open sympathy. Somehow it was easier to take from Simon, from another man like him, than it would have from anyone back at Downton. It still made his stomach do that uncomfortable little twist.

Reaching up, he gently pushed the hand away. “Please don’t think I’ve been pining over him all of these years,” he insisted, forcing himself to smile. “Really. I’ve not thought about him since before the war.” That wasn’t quite true. There had been a few times, when he’d been cowering in the trenches, listening to the sound of distant shelling, that he’d wondered where his former lover was. If he was near by, in another battle field; buried in a hole, or back home in England. If, at some point, he was going to be the one on the stretcher Thomas was carrying. “It’s only, seeing him again, now that everyone knows who I really am and having him treat me like I’m still a servant, still a footman at that… Well. I suppose it’s just a sharp reminder that there are people who will never see me as anything worthwhile is all. Even if I were the long lost crown prince.”