#imagine you live in an empty room that is six steps long and four steps wide?

[keferon]

So.... how do you want Jazz's enclosure? I'm planning out some things, but I want to know how you want the story to go. Is it completely empty or really nice or something in between?

So far he has two, his main tank and his stage tank.

Please tell me your desire, what is your vision. 🌟

This will effect not only the vibe but the world. Don't let me pick, I have too many possibilities, and I need a point to start the "butterfly effect" lol ^^;

-GLC

You know by asking me you probably just erased any hope he had for a nice comfy place ahahahha

Basically. I'm thinking of something similar to what most of the real world aquariums have. Which is haaahhm. Not fucking comfortable. Because the whole thing is just a concrete pool. With NOTHING inside. Sure Jazz can escape from it at nights and go wander around but his own place is an empty box. Staff can bring him some toys and fun stuff like music but they aren't allowed to let him keep it.

Half of the reason - empty pool is infinitely easier to maintain. Another half comes from the first one - it is also cheaper. If there's no objects then Jazz wouldn't accidentally break them and their pieces wouldn't accidentally hurt anyone or clog the filtration system or something.

So I'm thinking yeah he would have his main tank and the stage tank but this is it. No pretty/comfy/fun places to live in. Cause that's how bad it is in real life. Empty concrete box that will make you want to bash your head against the nearest wall just from sheer boredom.

I'm not sure what kind of architecture you had in mind but I was imagining something like this pretty much the whole time

Surely there's a lot of people who find this cruel but unfortunately Jazz is basically a money printing machine for the aquarium bosses so their number one goal is to make the most profit with as little expenses as possible.

Which results in Jazz having such poor physical and mental state. Between the performances and training sessions he basically lives in solitary confinement.

[monocaelia]

atlas.

- he could only hold the world for so long, it was about time his body caved in ; aka, the two times you're reminded of his humanity. feat. gojo satoru & gn!reader genre : hurt/comfort , happy ending w.c. : 1.8k

warnings: spoilers for jjk s2 ep5 note : i hate goe joe satoru.

gojo satoru.

you didn't even need to see him to know who he is; he is the revered member of the gojo clan blessed enough to be born with both the six eyes and the infinity cursed technique and is a one in a lifetime miracle.

from the beginning of his life, gojo had been the strongest sorcerer in existence. with both blessed techniques at his will, he was near unstoppable and was worthy of shouldering the problems of jujustu society from a young age, as decided by the gojo clan.

and, for someone as blessed and impenetrable as he is, gojo had never felt the emotional strife of losing someone dear to him.

there are two times that you recall ever witnessing gojo satoru lose his composure, where you have seen the blessed one who holds the power of the gods in the palm of his hands and is always one step ahead of everyone else fall to his knees as the weight of the world finally takes its toll on his poor soul.

the first time was when getou suguru had betrayed jujutsu tech. you weren't sure of the details; you were in the middle of a mission and had returned to the news of your classmate and friend becoming a wanted criminal.

honestly, hearing it firsthand did not feel real to you. getou suguru was someone you had always admired. he was someone who not only had a powerful cursed technique, but was also a skilled fighter and knew how to use his technique to the fullest despite coming from a normal family rather than one of the prestigious families that were well-known in jujustu society.

you had shared smiles with him, stories of the crazy memories made while exorcising curses and the near-death experiences shared while on missions together.

and you knew gojo and getou were near inseparable during their time at jujutsu tech; you couldn't imagine the pain gojo was going through with the news of his one and only becoming a murderer wanted in all of jujutsu society.

you find gojo satoru alone in getou's old dorm room. it's empty; the once neat, but lived in dorm now completely void of any evidence of being lived in with the exception of a framed picture of your class left on the nightstand.

getou and gojo tower over you and ieri, but it's all smiles from the four of you. because of the small frame and the number of people in the photo, you're all squished together. though, it's not like any of you minded.

a perfect picture of youth; the most beautiful moment in life.

the frame is held in gojo's hand as he sits on getou's dorm bed. you can see his fingers clench the frame as frustration settles into his bones, before he relaxes once more.

"it's not your fault, you know," you say gently, breaking the silence and hopefully through the roaring storm that you know is brewing within gojo's head. you step into the room and join gojo on the bed; he doesn't move and he doesn't face you.

"no one saw it coming." you try to reassure him, but you know any attempts at this point are futile. gojo does not respond, a flood of memories flying by crystalline eyes as he tries to figure out when it went so wrong.

the silence is permeable as reality settles into gojo. his lips part, a shaky breath, and he's speaking again.

"i should've seen it coming," he whispers. there's a clear anger in his voice, though you know full well exactly who it's directed at. "i was his friend and i didn't even realize he was hurting alone." His voice cracks.

"i didn't even do anything to save him."

it is then that you begin to see gojo as who he is. he isn't an untouchable god who feared nothing, who had enemies that couldn't even lift a finger to hurt him if they even dared. this gojo beside you isn't an omnipotent god, he's just a kid like you; he's human. he's vulnerable, even if the elders believe otherwise, for his friends are his one and only achilles' heel and the key to his humanity.

not quite knowing the words to comfort him, you reach over to hold his hand. it isn't much, but you know firsthand that just having someone beside you to help support your pain is better than shouldering everything alone.

the tight squeeze of your hand and the quite sniffles beside you are all you need as a reminder that gojo satoru is not a god; he is only gojo satoru.

the second time gojo felt genuine fear was when he nearly lost you.

as a result of a curse that was underestimated for second-class sorcerors to take, you had become collateral for a simple mistake from the higher ups. of course, mistakes could just be that, but everyone knows better.

this was set up so they could easily dispose of you and rule your death as a mere 'accident.' the higher ups needed you gone as the deemed your existence a hinderance to gojo's full potential, a dam in the middle of the river.

lucky for you, you made quick work of the curse before collapsing with the only words you heard being a shout of your name.

the bright lights of the jujutsu high infirmary are the first thing you see when your eyes slowly flutter open. your vision is blurry and the world is still spinning as you regain consciousness. with hesitance, you slowly sit up despite your body aching and telling you to lay back down.

it is only when a firm hand presses against your chest and pushes you down do you actually do so.

crystalline blue meets your gaze. they're playful and full of youth, a pair of blue eyes that you're most familiar with. but theres a shadow of solemnity behind those bright irises and you know exactly why.

"about time you woke up," gojo speaks up, ruffling your hair with his hand. they're roughened from years of training and fighting, but there are no other blemishes that stain the purity of his hands. "i thought you finally had enough of me and decided to kick the bucket, dear." there's a light, jesting tone to his voice as he speaks. he's laughing, though you can see the redness underneath his eyes as he brushes off your near death experience as a joke.

"and leave you alone to torment the students? as if," you jab back with a smile of your own. "i wouldn't ever want to wish that on your students. fushiguro would drag me back from the dead if i left him alone with you."

gojo's bottom lip juts out and his brows furrow in a pout as you say this and you can't help but laugh a little on your own.

"but i know you'll miss me, so i won't die just yet," you reassure your white haired companion. your hand reaches over to hold his own and gives it a gentle squeeze, a reminder that you're alive and still breathing beside him as your pulse and your warmth bleed onto his own.

his hand squeezes yours tightly, as he did years ago, and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth as he bites down onto the plush skin. his eyes aren't focused on you anymore and instead focus on anywhere but you as the reality of the situation settles into his bones.

"promise?" gojo asks, his voice a mere whisper.

he already lost one of his closest friends years ago and you witnessed that heartbreak with your own eyes as you had comforted gojo when he needed it most. you couldn't imagine how his fragile heart would break again if he had lost you just now.

despite being the strongest, you know that not being able to fully protect the ones he held close was one of gojo's biggest weaknesses as much as he tried to hide it.

but you know that you couldn't give him any empty promises knowing the work you're doing. it would only give him false hope and the both of you know that better than anyone else.

you don't answer him and instead pull his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss onto his skin. with a gentle tug, the hand held by gojo is pulled into his chest as he cradles your palm. his fingers intertwine with yours and your heart swells at the small action.

it is then that you meet crystalline blue once more, though this time they are unwavering as they firmly stand their ground against the hands of fate that, at any moment, could cruelly tear the two of you apart.

"don't leave me," gojo begs. "you can't leave me until the world has turned for the better, for us and for the youth of jujutsu society. i'll make it happen so..."

the once invincible sorcerer brings your hand up to his lips and he presses a kiss along your knuckles, reciprocating the act you did before.

"please, don't leave me."

gojo leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. it's soft and hesitant, but you know at this point his fear of your life nearly slipping through his fingers has caught up to him. he pulls away, only to lean down again to kiss you.

your heart flutters feeling his lips kiss yours and you can tell from the way his lips barely ghost of yours that gojo is scared you'll disappear from him if he moves the wrong way. like a warm wave easing the worries that burrow into his entire being, your hand that's free from the one held in gojo's reaches up to cup his face. your thumb caresses his cheek and bring him closer to you, reassuring him that you won't slip away from him should he kiss you too hard.

gojo pulls away from the kiss with cheeks warm and his eyes, now a calming blue that held the stars you love so much, glint with satisfaction and relief.

though, the sweet and tender moment shared between lovers is ruined the moment gojo opens his mouth again.

"don't break my promise, okay? i don't care if you die, i'll die with you and haunt you forever as punishment for dying first, okay?" your white haired boyfriend urges as he leans his forehead against you, blue now an annoyance to you as he forces you to make eye contact with him.

your hand pushes his face away with a snort, ignoring his whining complaints as you do so.

though, it's not like you would ever willingly die first. you couldn't leave gojo satoru alone, your soul couldn't bear the burden of knowing you would shatter the glass that makes gojo's heart.

[everythingelseisextra]

Treasure The Memory

Part One: Everything Is Fine

Part Two: Commit To The Bit

Part Four: Petty Criminal

Description: A couple days after the hose incident, you find yourself feeling empty, and set off to find Thomas and apologize. Warnings: Language, alcohol Word Count: 2292 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @globetrotter28 @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

Twelve horses. From six in the morning to six at night, you work without stopping. It’s your purpose, your drive, the only reason you have for getting up in the morning. The only reason you eat or drink. There’s an aching kind of emptiness that begins after the car drives away, that makes the time go by slowly while you work through the horses. Heaviness that pushes your muscles to work harder than usual, an odd sense of carrying something. But, still, you put your head down. You have work to do. You don’t have time to fantasize a life beyond what you trudge through. You don’t have time to imagine things had gone differently. 

You don’t.

But on the second day after, the weight is the same. You wake before sunrise and find yourself expecting to see him watching you ride in silence again, observing. You fill buckets and clean stalls and turn out and all the while, the back of your mind stumbles off somewhere, looking for the dawn to break like it did two days ago, like some groundhog day. You were given a splash of color in the long span of gray, and now you can’t forget what it was like. Now you can’t stop yearning for the boldness, the attention. 

That night, you lay in the twin bed shoved into the corner of a tiny room, and you stare at the night sky through the cracked window. Cool air caresses your face, and you sit up to look out. You see only the shadows of the barn and the void of the countryside, all-consuming darkness. Here, you think, is where everyone else’s ghosts come to haunt. Here is where the forgotten come to waste the rest of their lives. Here is where I will live, and here is where I will die. 

No. 

You stand up and walk the two steps to your wardrobe, pulling your clothes out and scrambling to put them on. Whatever you plan, whatever strange scheme, will present itself to you as you move. You can’t be like this forever. You can’t keep being fine, fine, fine, until you’re ready to go and all you can look back on is mediocrity. You can’t keep going out and waiting for someone to ask you who you are, what you’re about, whether you’re okay. 

You need to be the one to ask. 

You rush out to the barn. This late at night, no cabs will come to you, not when you’re so far out. Wired, almost manic with desperation, you halter your quickest horse, a mare named Secret, and forgo the saddle to ride bareback. The night is still young, and if you get there soon enough, get there fast enough, then maybe, maybe you’ll find him. Gripping your mare with your thighs, you cluck and urge her forward, loosening your reins and pushing your calves into her sides. She shoots off, and suddenly, you’re coursing through the night, the wind whipping your hair, the sound of hooves pounding the only thing you can hear. 

The first few minutes, exhilaration runs through you, and you breathe in the wild rush of the darkness. Then you feel the cold, and the dryness waters your eyes, and your skin grows red and chapped from the constant battering of the wind. And still, Secret gallops, and you cling to her back and duck your head and clutch her mane in your shaking hands. 

City lights blink softly at you through the mist of early night. You sit back and talk quietly to the mare, bringing her from a gallop to a canter, then to a trot, then, finally, to a heaving, breathless walk. Her sweat seeps into your pants, her fur covers the inside of your thighs, and your own sweat drips down your forehead. Still, you walk on, her hooves clattering on the stone streets. Eyes glint at you from alleyways. The city murmurs its quiet song. And, you, an interloper walking boldly into an unknown territory, hoping. 

You remind yourself: hope is a thing with teeth. 

The Garrison stands solemn in the darkness. The lights inside silhouette figures moving, dancing, banging their hands on tables and chairs. Tonight is Saturday night. Closing your eyes, you steady your breathing. Cold penetrates your bones and you find yourself trembling, coming and going in waves. You run your fingers through your hair, like it could be tamed, and slowly slip off the horse. You find an old hitching rail a few blocks away and tie her, offering her a bucket of water. You leave her there, in the dark side of the alleyway. You won’t be long. 

When you open the double doors to the Garrison, you’re flooded with golden light and feral singing and warmth. You still tremble, but less so. The chills are chased away by the faultless sense of revelry in the air. You push through the crowded sitting area as though fighting your way down an overgrown path. Limbs swing into your way, people stamp their feet, and a rousing chorus starts up. 

You stumble through to the bar and lean on it, facing towards the seating area. Men on tables, men dancing, men drunk and throwing up in buckets. Men howling like wolves, men grabbing their women, men cheering each other on. No sign of the man you came here looking for. Your heart sinks. 

The barmaid laughs from behind the bar while she walks towards you. She leans over, smiling faintly. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m—” Your voice doesn’t carry; she leans closer to listen. “I’m looking for Thomas Shelby.”

She points immediately to a slim door, closed, but that opens into a small, octagonal room. “I wouldn’t interrupt.” 

You hesitate. “Who’s he with?”

“His brothers.”

“Thank you.” You nod to her, then push through the drunken party to stand in front of the door. You breathe in whiskey and cigarette smoke and body odor, and breathe out. Then, cautiously, you knock. 

If there’s a response, you don’t hear it. Throwing caution to the wind, you place your hand on the handle, take another breath, and push it open. 

Three pairs of eyes stick to you; two angry, one surprised. You step inside and close the door behind you. Silence, so thick it seems to buzz with the energy of their gazes. From their seats behind the table, they look you up and down, and you’re suddenly in a spotlight, caught in the blindness. No one speaks. 

The man on Thomas’ left breaks it. “Who the fuck are you?”

Your eyes drop and you mouth the words; no one.

“I said,” The man stands awkwardly, scooting out from behind their table and approaching you. He’s considerably taller than you, leaning down to loom over, speaking far too close to your face. You catch the smell of whiskey and beer on his breath, and your eyes lock onto bits of food stuck in his mustache. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Enough, Arthur.” Thomas leans back in his seat, arms loosely crossed, a cigarette in one hand. 

“I thought you hadn’t taken a woman since—”

“I haven’t.”

“Is this the one that sprayed you with the hose?” The man on his right grins at you. “My kind of girl.”

“Wouldn’t let someone spray me with a hose.” Arthur steps back, though you keep yourself shrunken away, a little too overwhelmed by what you’ve stepped into to unravel yet. “I’d knock ‘em out and spray ‘em meself.” 

“That’s enough.” Thomas stands and walks out from behind the table, brushing past you to open the doors. The riotous sound of the bar fills the small space again, and you step away from the door, trying to get away from it. “John, Arthur, go join them.” 

“No, I want to hear what hose-girl has to say.” The man still sitting, presumably John, stays sitting, eyes going straight to Thomas’. “I’m staying.”

“John.” Thomas’ head tilts slightly, his eyes flicking to you, then back. “Get out.”

John looks at him a moment longer, smile fading, then shrugs, stands, and walks out. Arthur follows. Thomas closes the door after them, and you close your eyes, relieved by the quiet. 

“Sit down,” Thomas says. You hear his footsteps move past you, then the sound of him sitting back down. After a moment, he adds; “Please.”

You open your eyes. His hands lay on the table in front of him, his cigarette between his ring and pinkie finger. His dark hair sits as though he styled it, and you become suddenly aware of your appearance, the wildness of your hair, the goose pimples still on your skin, the slight shiver of your body, the sweat dried on your temple. His eyes are on you, expectant, and so you nod and sit on the other side of the table as he asks. Your gaze remains downcast.

In silence, he pours you a small glass from the bottle of amber whiskey, and you take it, slowly sipping the smooth liquid. Once you place it back down, and settle into your seat, he speaks. 

“If you came to ask for forgiveness, it’s already given.” His voice rolls off his tongue, a plodding sort of sentence that you can’t help but get wrapped into. “Past in the past. We can go our separate ways.”

You look up at him, head still tilted down, and you toy with the rim of the glass, running your fingers along it. Your voice is quiet, not quite even enough. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am.” 

“No. When you said I didn’t know who you were, what did you mean?” You look back down, unable to hold your gaze steady with his for long. 

He rolls his shoulders and sits back, hands still laid across the table. “I’m the lead of the Peaky Blinders.”

“The razor blades.”

“Aye.” He inclines his head to you.

“And you guys do… what?”

“What needs to be done.” 

“That’s very vague.”

“We’re a group of well-intended people who do very bad things to achieve our goals.”

You smile faintly. “I’m supposed to be scared of you.”

“Most people are.” His eyes search your face. “You’re not.”

You shrug. “Truth is, I’m scared of everyone. I’m so used to it that it doesn’t make you special.”

He brings his cigarette to his lips, takes a slow drag, and exhales a plume of smoke. “So you are scared of me.”

You take another sip of the whiskey, hoping to avoid answering. Your body shivers, despite the warmth of the drink inside of you, burning as it goes down. 

“Smart thing to do now is go home, feed those horses of yours, and forget you pointed that bloody hose at me.” He sits up, leaning towards you. The space between you shrinks with the intensity of his gaze, and you sit back, meeting his eyes. “No need to get mixed up in the shit I live with.”

“I don’t want to forget it.” Something about him sparks some bravery in you, helps your voice come smoothly, helps your mind connect with your body. Or maybe that’s the whiskey. “It might’ve been… unfortunate, but it was the most fun I’ve had in— well, in years.”

“Treasure the memory, and get out while you can.” 

You look down. This conversation is not going the way you’d hoped. You play the last cards you have. “I won’t sell you Draco, but I’ll let you ride him.”

Silence. Your gaze shifts upwards. One of his eyebrows is slightly raised, his cigarette paused halfway to his lips. 

“What do you want?” He gestures at you, still holding the cigarette. “Why do you want this so badly?”

“I don’t know. I guess I want something different. I don’t want… to die in a house I feel trapped in. I don’t want to—”

“I’m not here to play games.” He stands, starts for the door. He stops, looks over his shoulder at you. “I’m not here to listen to girls who don’t know what they want.”

He opens the door and begins out. Sound rushes in, a deluge that almost catches you off guard and drowns you. Instead, you stand and project your voice. “Thomas.”

He pauses, looks back at you, slowly closes the door. His eyes are cold, calculating, a glint in them that tells you he’s teetering on a line between anger and amusement.

“I want freedom,” you say, finding some strength to your voice. “I want to feel like I’m more than my past, and more than the money I have. I want to have people care about me. I want to not be alone anymore.”

I want you.

“And,” you let out a short breath. “I want a do-over. I want you to come ride with me. Without spraying you with a hose.”

“A do-over,” he repeats, one hand still on the doorknob. 

“Yes.”

He considers you, blue eyes sharp, but not as cold as before. “Tomorrow morning, then.”

“Okay.”

His gaze falls to the door beside him, and, almost imperceptibly, he takes a breath. “You ready?”

You nod and walk forward, moving towards the door. 

“Wait.” He steps in front of you, blocking your way. You stop short, a foot away, and your eyes trail over him, marking his positioning, ready to dart away if needed. 

He takes off his coat jacket and holds it out to you. “Wear it on your way back. Don’t need you getting sick.” 

You take it, and offer him a small smile. “Not so scary.”

“Don’t decide yet.” He opens the door and the world floods back to you. As you walk out, you hear him say, “Goodbye, No One.”

[purplemarshal]

Lovers Rock

Possibly the last chapter for my little 2012 Casey x Donnie fic. Unless there's high demand for more.

Casey’s P.O.V.

When I woke up the next morning I wasn’t surprised with the absence of Donnie. Not saying that I have the best memory of last night but I do think we were a little closer than either of us would like to admit. But I wasn’t going to let something as silly as essentially cuddling get in the way of today, but I think we all know Don would. 

After stumbling over a couple loose projects I finally made my way out of the dimly lit lab and into the equally familiar environment of the entrance of the lair. 

I could both hear and feel the turtles training in the dojo, so without any goodbye’s I left, walking through the sewers as though I didn’t have a care in the world. My hands practically froze to the ladder as I was climbing up so the rest of my walk home was already doomed. 

Pausing in front of my apartment door I took a moment to reset. My house was normally quiet, especially when compared to the Hamato household. So considering the time, not even six a.m. yet, and how I stayed at a friend's house last night I should probably make breakfast for the three of us. Silently I turned the doorknob and crept into the dark living room, making sure to not step on any of the floorboards that I knew would cause any form of auditory disturbance. 

Angel, my little sister, slept in the room closest to the entrance, followed by my dad then me. The kitchen and bathroom were on the wall opposite to the bedrooms so I had to be ever so careful with what my next move would be, but because of my experience I worked mainly off of muscle memory, making my Dad’s meal first because his alarm should be going off soon. Next I would make mine, and last I would make Angels. Once everyone was awake, and soon gone I had the apartment to myself.

Hours passed and I barely did anything. The turtles didn’t need me for patrol today and April was coming back tomorrow so all I could do was stay here; and there is nothing to do here. Except for sleep.

Considering how little I slept last night it sounded pretty good. Sprawling onto the living room couch I mentally imagined how the rest of the day should go. Angel is staying at our grandparents house so no need to worry about picking her up today, and dad is going on another business trip so I could sleep however long I wanted. 

‘Someone is watching me.’

I stumbled off of my cramped sleeping arrangement to try and calm my nerves, I was home alone, so why did it feel like I was being watched? That however was resolved as quickly as the green brown and purple flash that sprinted into my room. Why is Donnie here? My eyes quickly found the small digital clock beneath the T.V. damn seven P.M. a four and a half hour nap was probably not the best idea, but that wasn’t my biggest concern right now. 

“Donnie?”

I called out, putting on my favorite record, turning it up enough to fill the emptiness of the apartment in a pleasant way. Peering into my bedroom I wasn’t surprised to see the oh so familiar mutant sitting on my bed, even though they couldn’t say the same. Their eyes and mouth blasted open at the sight of me, although surprised to see me in my own home. 

“Hey Don, I’m surprised you're not sick of me yet.”

They chuckled and shook their head, calming down a little but they still looked uncomfortable.  

“Would you like to be?”

The bed creaked under my added weight as I sat next to them. 

“You know what I said the other day on patrol, about how “charming you were? Well what I meant by that was-”

Being the idiot I was while stumbling over my words I didn’t notice them leaning in, and eventually meeting their lips with mine. A short, but extremely effective way to shut me up I suppose. The kiss however got interrupted by the sound of my record skipping, Donnie got up and flipped it over, but when they sat back down, I didn’t fail to notice how they were slightly closer to me. 

“You’ve already said that, asshole.”

Donnie muttered, moving their hand on top of mine. I felt like I was on fire, and if I weren't the Casey Jones I probably would’ve exploded from all of the emotions at once, but instead, matching their tone I mumbled.  

“I might let you stay, but just for tonight, Birdbrain.”

They chuckled into the second kiss, this time it was longer.

“Now, how many men have you kissed?”

We pulled apart, but still touched our foreheads.

“Very few.”

A short answer.

“But you offered me a kiss, why?”

I positioned myself to meet eye to eye, full of adoration. 

“Such a foolish reason I’m afraid, I just wanted to kiss you.”

12:10 a.m. Jan 1 2024 So, yeah. Not sure how to feel, Happy New years everyone!

[zablife]

Camping

Jack Nelson x family

Summary: Jack Nelson’s four children are playing one hot, summer day and decide to cool off in their father’s office, pretending to camp out under his large desk. What will happen when their father returns home unexpectedly?

Author’s Note: Written for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie Hot Fic Summer Challenge. I chose camping for the PB fandom. I was going to go in another direction with this originally and then I stumbled on the pictures below and decided on something completely different. I hope you enjoy it! (I used the family structure of another story I wrote called Homecoming. You don’t need to read that fic to understand this one though.)

Warnings: language

It was a hot day in Boston and the sun baked the pavement to a temperature more suitable for frying eggs than jumping rope. The neighborhood kids didn't seem bothered, chasing each other with shrill squeals of delight despite the scorching heat. 

Jack Nelson’s four children had been playing outside for hours. Their cheeks were pink with fresh sun which would leave a constellation of freckles across their tiny noses by the end of summer. Their mother had used her time in an empty house wisely, busying herself with household chores. Hearing her bustling about inside, they looked around for ways to entertain themselves.

Five year old Susan was the first to suggest they come inside to escape the harsh rays of the midday sun. “I’m too hot,” she protested to her eight year old brother, Robert. 

“Alright, come on. Let’s go in,” he sighed in agreement. Being the oldest, he took it upon himself to call to Elizabeth and Mary, leading them indoors in a tidy line like baby ducks.

When they entered the house, the air felt thick and stagnant despite a single fan running in the corner. The fan occasionally blew hot air across the living room, but it did little to bring them relief. Six year old Elizabeth piped up with an idea. She was always coming up with fun things to do so the other children listened intently.

“Daddy’s office is nice and cool. Let’s go there,” she suggested. 

“Mom said we can’t go in there!” Susan said protesting. 

“Don’t be a chicken, Susie !” Elizabeth taunted her, running toward the door.

“I don’t know, girls, let’s play something else,” Robert said trying to keep his sisters from imminent trouble. 

“Daddy isn’t home, silly! He can’t punish us if he’s not here. Let’s play under his desk! It will be like we’re camping,” Elizabeth said employing her imagination.

“Yes! That would be so much fun!” Susan agreed, changing her mind.

“Oh, alright, but just for a little while,” Robert said watching his three sisters barge into their father’s study. 

It was dark and quiet, a somber atmosphere that made them all hush their incessant chatter. It was cooler inside as their mother had drawn the shades early that morning so the sunlight could not warm the space.

Three year old Mary brought a blanket from the sofa and let it drag behind her as she toddled into the room. She asked for Robert’s help to drape it over their father’s desk to make a fort and he agreed. "Look, now we have a door!" she cried in delight, watching the fabric cover the opening under the desk. She pulled it back like a curtain to demonstrate and Robert nodded his approval.

Jack’s oak desk was a monstrosity that took up a portion of the room by the large window. It had impressive carvings and beautiful brass handled drawers, but the girls liked the fact that they could fit under it with room to spare. Robert had long since stopped this kind of play, preferring to sit in his father’s chair instead and imagine himself as the boss.

He watched his little sisters huddle under the desk. Only their feet were visible behind the blanket door to their "house." They played quietly for a few minutes before someone stepped on Mary’s fingers and she began to wail loudly. “Shh, don’t cry, Mary,” Robert said, moving the blanket aside to reach in and pick her up.

“I want Mommy!” Mary cried loudly. Robert dutifully went in search of their mother, but not before Elizabeth cried after him, “Don’t tell Mom we’re here!” Robert didn’t look back, but Elizabeth knew he wouldn’t snitch.

With just the two girls under the desk, their play space had increased and they giggled as they laid on their backs, pushing their feet into the top of the desk. They banged their feet against the wood and hummed to themselves, pretending they were walking on the ceiling.

Suddenly they heard someone approaching the room and looked at each other in fear. They knew the sound of their father’s heavy footsteps. The girls sat up quickly, but realized there was no time to run away and tried to hide themselves without making a sound.

Jack looked puzzled as he walked in, finding Mary’s blanket lying across his desk. He balled it up and placed it in a drawer quickly apologizing to whoever he was with, “My kids must have been in here today. Little rascals,” he said. The girls pulled their knees up to their chest and pushed themselves against the front of the desk, trying to keep their little feet out of sight.

“Now, gentlemen, where were we? The contracts, right?” He searched the drawers looking for his paperwork and found it, placing the documents on the his desk.

After a moment of hearing pages flip above them another man's voice sternly accused, “This isn’t the deal we were promised, Nelson."

Jack sucked in a breath before answering, “Well this is the fucking deal you get, boys. Take it or leave it.”

Elizabeth and Susan clapped hands over their mouths, eyes wide at their father's foul language. They had heard him use the f word before and their mother explained it was a very bad word that shouldn't be repeated. The forbidden nature of the curse made it irresistible to them though and they could barely contain their giggles whenever they heard a naughty word. Today was no exception. Susan began first and Elizabeth soon followed, snickering to themselves. 

Jack looked from right to left, trying to find the source of the noise he had heard. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to compose himself when it hit him that his children were in the room. Then he thought to check under the desk. He knew his girls were obsessed with that hiding spot. 

No sooner had he ducked his head under the desk, they yelped, “Daddy!” Jack motioned for them to come to him and they slowly crawled out. 

“I’m sorry for the interruption, fellas. Just let me deal with this real quick,” Jack said trying to handle the situation at hand. Before he could say anything to his children, Elizabeth had popped up next to him and was staring down the grown men in front of her with no sign of fear. 

“Are you gonna take the fucking deal or not?” Elizabeth said in a loud, clear voice, arms folded across her chest to signal that she meant business. Jack's head whipped around to look at his daughter. There was no mistake what she had said. He was silent for a moment before letting out a hearty laugh. He shrugged sheepishly before saying, “What can I say, the kid takes after her old man!”

Then he bent down to the girls and pointed a finger at them threateningly. “You tell your mother about this and you’re grounded for a week." He knew he would be in just as much trouble as Elizabeth if his wife found out about her outburst. "Now go play!” he said giving their backs a nudge. Susan grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her from the room before they could cause any more trouble.

[kyberphilosopher]

Hiss

[Part ii. of Bite] Jason’s been resurrected, only to find he’s been replaced as Robin. Luckily, an old enemy of the Batman has the attributes to help. Word Count: 6465

Warning[s]: guns, crime, language, crude humor, Mitski, non vegetarian reader, age gap, glorified taskmaster ally. Following part i the readers official gender is not disclosed. 

“Uh, Jason? We might wanna let god fix it, because if we fix it, we’re going to jail.”

☈ - ✮ ✭ ✮

Six months. That’s how long it took for Jason to die. Six. Whole. Months. In an abandoned warehouse, in some foreign country that he couldn’t even remember. He’d been fifteen, small for his age but fifteen nonetheless, when that clown had beat him. And what had Batman done? Nothing. He’d let him sit in that warehouse, in that foreign country, with that clown at age fifteen- for six months. And he had done nothing.

Not that it really matters now. It had, at one point, to Jason. He’s in denial that it still does. But to Batman? Oh, it never mattered at all. How long had it taken Bruce to replace his son? A week? A month? No, it had been six months. Barely. And the clown? He was safe and sound, very much alive and loose as he usually was. Batman had put him in Arkham, after a while, but of course it hadn’t lasted for very long. Jason’s death? That was permanent. At least until there was a new and improved and very much replaced Jason running with Batman, six months later. That was permanent too.

So one can imagine the confusion you felt when you opened the door to find a very much alive ex-Robin on your apartment doorstep. 

201 Arkham Street, apartment 317 Gotham City, Gotham County, New Jersey

That’s the address given to him by the Riddler. Putting him in Arkham seemed to be one thing that the Batman had got done during Jason’s little time away. Clearly it had ended up well enough for at least one person. Jason hadn’t even needed to threaten the Riddler out of riddling. In less than ten minutes, Edward Nygma had revealed the Mockingbird’s address, who they like and don’t like, what their suit was made of, and finally their name. Batman had always assumed Riddler and Mockingbird were best friends, birds of a feather with all the times the they’d seemed to make some kind of appearance by the others side. Some friend Riddler was now. 

Jason had snuck into the Batcave recently, and while going through files, decided to take a glimpse into Mockingbird’s just for the sake of curiosity. He wasn’t expecting much. When he was fifteen, it had been near empty. But sure enough, the file had been expanded upon relatively greatly in the past- what? Four years? That sounded right. But one thing that hadn’t changed was your seemingly long standing friendship with Edward Nygma, the Riddler. Still, so much for it. 

Batman had seemingly made a note of allies of theirs, then crossed out multiple names. Poison Ivy, Bane, Deadshot- and yes- the Riddler, stayed. Scarecrow, Black Mask, and Catwoman were all shockingly crossed out. Jason hadn’t expected the last one. Below the allies were the list of crimes. That had changed too. They’d gotten more violent towards the end of the list, straying away from the Mockingbird that the ex-Robin had known. Mockingbird had picked a fight with Dick’s Nightwing enough times for Batman to make a note of too. Before Jason could get to the new pictures of Mockingbird, he quickly closed the file. Didn’t need to see anymore. 

So based on what he had gathered, you should’ve looked different. He’d memorized your face when he was fifteen. Was expecting it to have changed compared to then. But when you open the door and Jason’s face to face with you, Mockingbird, it’s like the first time. Only your eyebrows have gotten slightly darker, and your eyes have rung with dark circles. 

✮ ✭ ✮

The same can’t be said for Jason Todd, however, who you let into your apartment rather quickly. 

You’d done your research on him, too, but only after you’d heard about his death. A death which was confirmed. After locking the door and beginning to turn around, he answers the question before you can ask. 

“Superboy and Lazarus Pits.”

“Ah,” you respond, crossing your arms. The man stands tall in your living room, though it’s not forced. You’ve got no idea what a Lazarus Pit is, but it seems to have changed the Robin you knew before. He was scrawny before. He puffed his chest out before. He had something to prove before. Now his broad shoulders make him look bigger naturally. He could reach up and touch your ceiling with no effort. His face and jaw are masculine and strong, eyes bright green and blue and cyan like you remember. That’s how you know it’s Jason Todd.

“It’s because of the power struggle, isn’t it?” says Harley beside you as you both look over the side of the roof, her flat on her belly and you crouched on the ledge in watch. 

“Hm?” you’d tossed back through your voice changer, not even looking away from the busy street below. 

“Jay killed the Robin,” Harley chirps. “You know- Batman’s little boyfriend? In the shorts and the tights with the flips and the kicks? Oh, that kid went bing, bang, boom. Jay’s been real pumped about it.”

This had made you turn to Harley Quinn. You looked at her over your shoulder, still in position. Though you hadn’t thought about it at the time, it was a good thing she couldn’t see through your mask right about now. 

“The kid?” you say at last. 

“Yeah! Jason Todd! Ya’ know him?”

Harley doesn’t look at you, bubbly as ever in her own world. But you watch her for a moment. Then you turn back around to the direction of the street. “No.”

“Well I’m sayin I bet that’s why there’s so much crime goin’ on now. Old Batty’s got it...”

“I heard,” you tell Jason, before he can go into further detail. He nods once in understanding, in line with a breath, and then looks around the room. Your apartment is small, seemingly in decay, and looks like a shithole. Just like the rest of the building. 

“Mockingbird, I presume,” he offers finally. “Y/N L/N was it?”

You nod once, holding your gaze at the ground in thought before taking a step toward your kitchen. It’s close by to the living room. So close, in fact, that your island counter practically touches the back of your couch. “Robin,” you greet in turn. 

“My name’s Ja-”

“I know what your name is.”

Just then a sprinkle of dust falls from your ceiling, mixing with dirt and shit and pollen. “Nice place,” Jason condescends. 

“I’m sorry,” you put your hands on your counter as you lean in to look at him. “Weren’t you under the ground not too long ago?”

“Weren’t you in jail not too long ago?”

“I never went to jail.”

“But your buddy Ed did didn’t he?”

Your eyebrows crease, and Jason notices you lean forward a fraction of an inch more. He got to you. “How do you know about Edward?”

Jason Todd gives a small smile. His right hand reaches up until it’s poking the side of his head a few times. “Bat knowledge.”

You frown tightly. “Don’t do that. I didn’t like that.”

“You like beating up Dick Grayson?”

You shift. “Yeah. I did.”

“And Catwoman? Huh?”

“Yeah,” you say a little louder. “I did. What wonder boy? You wanna see the scar to prove it?”

“Okay,” Jason huffs. He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching, and then he speaks softer to control himself. “Okay. I’m not Boy Wonder anymore, or wonder boy. Don’t call me that.”

You look him up and down. His eyes, his jaw, his brows. The Robin you knew those years ago. He’d been beaten and blown up. He must’ve cried for help. 

“Okay,” you say, equally as soft. “But just for the record, I haven’t been the Mockingbird for years. Can’t really call me that either.”

“Why not?” Jason Todd questions, turning around so his back faces you while he observes your apartment. You can see his muscles through his shirt. 

Because you were just a kid. Because I liked you. Because you didn’t deserve it. Because Batman didn’t help. Because you were replaced. Because most of my friends laughed it off. Because I couldn’t go after Joker myself. Because I got angry. 

“Just grew out of it,” you shrug instead, turning around. You open your dirty fridge and pull out a bottle of lemonade and two glasses. “What are you doing here, Jason?” you say as you pour the drink, your back now turned to him. 

“I need your help.”

“Whatever with?”

“I’m thinking of getting a little...” Jason’s voice goes low into something like a masculine purr, “...revenge on Batman.”

“You came back from the dead,” you turn around with two glasses of lemonade, “to get revenge on the Batman? That’s your great plan?”

“No,” Jason says simply. He’s since turned around so he’s facing you. “Screwing with the Batman is just a piece of the fun. He’s nothing.”

Jason accepts the glass that you hand to him. You sit down on your couch in front of his figure. That simple motion is enough to bring out some more dust from your walls. “So what’s the revenge?” you take a sip of the sweet, gritty liquid. It coats your teeth strangely in seconds. 

“New Robin. Ever heard of Tim Drake?”

You stop your sip, looking up at the big, broad Jason. You can already tell where this is going. “Uh, Jason? We might wanna let god fix it, because if we fix it, we’re going to jail.”

His brows shoot up. “You hit me in the face with a pipe.”

“I didn’t hit you. You walked into my swing. But you wanna go after the kid, Jason? Really?”

“Yeah.” He crosses his arms so his forearms flex. 

“Tim Drake?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes in thought. On one hand, you hadn’t been Mockingbird for years. You stopped when you were eighteen, and you’re twenty one now. Not that it’s helped you very much. You’re still struggling in a shithole, broke and unhappy and no longer able to afford school. And Tim Drake hasn’t really done anything wrong. But on the other hand, Batman is a dick, and you really stopped liking him after what happened to the former Robin. You’d wanted to go after him and the Joker for it, but you’re not far enough in the Gotham food chain for that. Trading swings with Selina was as close as you got. 

“Alright.” You stand. You’re not even close to Jason’s height. “Lay out the deal. You got a suit?”

✮ ✭ ✮

And that’s how you and Jason Todd ended up on a roof that night. You, at the crisp age of twenty one, and he at what you suppose is his version of nineteen. Still working on wrapping your head around that one. 

You’ve pulled out your Mockingbird suit from under the bed. It was a bit dusty, but not hard to slip into. Everything seems in place. It’s just old. Your voice scrambler is still working okay and all the eyes light up efficiently. Jason’s got a suit too. 

“I don’t,” Jason answers, his face suspicious. His eyes are twinkling as he looks down at you. It’s so hard to believe he’s just a boy- or was, last you saw him. 

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “I got you.”

You lead Jason to your room, into your closet, and into a space even farther back where an illuminated glass case the size of several yard sticks stands. It must cost more than your whole apartment. Inside of it is a metal suit like a military uniform, similar to Bruce’s Batsuit but with an Arkham emblem over the chest. 

“Call it the Arkham Knight. You like it?”

“Where did you get this?” Jason steps forward, raking his eyes up and down the design. Bruce would hate it. 

“I stole it from the Batcave.”

“The whole display case?” Jason snaps to you. Then his brows shoot up and he takes a step closer. “How do you know where the Batcave is?”

“How did you know where my apartment is? And yes, I took the whole case. It was just sitting there.”

Jason turns back around to the suit. It’s growing on him. He admires it. It’s perfect. The Arkham symbol will put the Batman into a state of despair. “Hard to believe you and Selina aren’t friends anymore.”

“We never were,” you mutter back. It’s really not his business that you ended so many partnerships because of his death.

“You’re sure this is the place?” you question. It sends Jason into a state of euphoria, hearing the distorted villainy of your voice again. It feels like the first time too, just like when he saw your face again. It feels how it did when he was fifteen and infatuated with the Mockingbird. It’s almost dizzying. It’s just strange to hear it knowing that now you’re on the same side. 

“Yeah,” he answers through his helmet. His voice is distorted too. “This is the place.”

You’re overlooking a Gotham street at night, something you’ve both discovered vigilantes, heroes, and villains do a lot of. Smoke fills the air along with police sirens and building lights. You’re positioned in one of the outer districts though, away from most of the commotion. 

“I can’t remember the last time I was here,” you say, half to yourself. 

“I can,” Jason says back. “When I ran with Batman. Last year. I was fifteen.” Jason's voice drops. “Or was I...”

You frown behind your own mask. Of course. Jason died four years ago, and he was fifteen when that happened. He came back- you’re not sure when- older and stronger and behind on the changes of the world. He must not know about social media, or the latest television crazes, or the new roads in Gotham. It makes you sad. 

All Jason sees when he meets your eyes through his visor is several red slanted lines. You’re both unreadable through your helmets. 

“There’s a good restaurant down on this corner,” you both turn back to the street, crouching in wait. “Maybe B-Man likes it.”

“He never eats,” says the ex-Robin. “Never sleeps. Never does anything.”

“You know he broke my buddy Scarecrow’s bones last Halloween?” you scoff. “Literally for not knowing where Black Mask is. Your old boss is weird as hell.”

Jason cocks an eyebrow you can’t see. “Thought you weren’t friends with Scarecrow anymore?”

“Anymore? B-Man keeping tabs on me?”

“He keeps tabs on everyone,” Jason shakes his head. “You’re just a file.”

“Hm,” he hears you say. Contemplate, more like. You speak again after a moment of silence. “Well Scarecrow and me are fine, thank you for asking.”

Jason scoffs. “He your boyfriend or something?”

“My boyfriend’s over in Metropolis.”

Oh. 

“How’s your girl?” Your head snaps to Jason at once, hands twitching around. “Or guy.”

He tosses a look to you that you can’t see, but you can guess at. Somewhere between ‘what the hell’ and ‘why the hell’ and an eye roll with furrowed brows. 

“Come on. Rose Wilson seems your type. Ooh, Artemis?” You suddenly nudge his arm with your elbow. “Batgirl? Is it Dick?”

Another look is thrown your way. This time it feels more angry. “Whatever, Robin,” you offer lightly. 

It dawns on you that perhaps Jason has never had a partner before. That seems more likely, especially after thinking about his situation, and suddenly you feel bad. It’s too late to vocalize an apology now though.

“Fine,” you say at last. “Let’s just stop talking.”

“Let’s do.”

✮ ✭ ✮

It starts raining not long after that. 

The drops bounce off your suits harmlessly. There’s still no sign of this Tim Drake and Batman. 

“Hey,” you break the silence. “Has anyone ever told you you look exactly like a statue?”

“Must be a resurrection thing.”

“Yep.”

The rain falls harsher.

“So,” Jason begins. “I have to ask. How do you do the- the…” he spins his pointer fingers around rapidly.

“What the fuck are you doing? What is that? No- what is that right there?”

“The thing that you do.”

“I’ve never done that in my life, Jason. What is that? Finger jiu jitsu?”

You hear Jason suck in a breath as he turns away. “You think you’re so funny.”

“You asked me for help. And between the two of us- who has died here? Not me. I’m hilarious.”

“Oh,” he scoffs. “So hilarious.”

“You seemed to think so. When…” your voice trails off. You almost wanted to mention that night in the warehouse to him. A memory of him looking up at you, his hands bound behind his back as he stares in wonder flashes in your mind. But it doesn’t linger for long. Movement in the street catches your eye. “Jason.”

Both your heads snap down to the place below. Sure enough, after a few seconds, a figure steps into view of the moonlight. A skinny kid with dark hair and a bright red and yellow costume. He looks younger than Dick or Jason.

“That’s him,” your partner says. He reaches behind his back and pulls out a long rod. It unfolds with a click that you recognize- the click of a gun.

“What?” you furrow your brows. “Woah- what?”

“I’m gonna shoot him,” Jason tells you casually, fiddling around with the weapon. It’s coming into shape more and more as a sniper rifle.

“That is a child,” you whisper hiss. “He’s like ten!”

“I don’t think he’s ten,” Jason puts his eye over the scope. “This is revenge.”

“Please, do not shoot a child for replacing you in your job of tightie whities vigilante.”

Jason huffs through his mask and looks over at you. “What did you think this was, bird?”

“I thought we were just like, gonna kick him in the balls or something! This is exactly what I meant by ‘we are going to jail’! I told you we should’ve let god fix it!”

“He’ll be fine.”

You knock the rifle out of the Arkham Knights hands with a bang. It clambers across the roof top until it’s nearly over the edge, half on half off.

Jason and you go down at once, shoulder to shoulder in a tackle. Thunder booms overhead. Through his visor, Jason sees you raise a white, gauntleted fist back in a punch, aimed right for his face. Luckily, he manages to catch you by the torso and neck and throw you off.

When he pushes himself to his knee and foot in a kneel, he looks up to find an exact replica of himself. Not literally, of course, but looking at you is like looking into a mirror. Your hand is placed on the rooftop the same way his is. Your knees are bent at the exact same angle as his own. When Jason cocks his head to the side slowly, yours follows him at the same time. So this is what it means to fight the Mockingbird.

He decides to reach for the gun at the side of his leg. He manages to fire once- and miss- a bang going off that he’ll be lucky Drake doesn’t hear over the storm. You knock the gun out of his hands easily, dodging a punch to the stomach before countering with one of your own to his face. It hits the exact same way Jason’s do. He sees your knuckles coming closer to him and almost thinks they’re his own.

Next idea is toss you off the building. Key word: you. Not him.

Jason grips the back of your head through your hood, reaching around. He carries you with him while he stands, tensing his abs as he feels you hammer your elbow away at them. It’s the knee to his crotch that makes him let go and let out a strangled groan.

But before anything else can happen, you spring forward at him in a pounce. Your palms latch onto his shoulders. His feet disconnect from the surface of the roof and the both of you go backwards until neither one of you are on the building at all, over the side.

Jason gets tangled in the emergency stair well. His metal suit clangs against it as he falls and tumbles down, either causing or saving some head injuries. You hit your back on an old street light before landing in a trash bin.

This is it, you manage to think to yourself. Lying in a garbage bin in Gotham at night. And in the rain. This is rock bottom.

I am going to kill everyone on the block for this, thinks Jason.

✮ ✭ ✮

You do eventually get up and remove yourself from the garbage bin. Jason sits at the bottom of the stairs, watching you. You do not exchange words. He does, however, follow you down the street as you essentially stomp.

“Ma’am,” he offers quietly to a gawking older woman.

You enter a small restaurant. More of a diner, really. The door jingles as it opens, and Jason watches you walk to the side until you find a table by the window. You sit down with a huff, tapping one of your helmets red eyes. He shuffles into the space ahead of you, nearly skirting the table across the floor with the bulk of his own muscle and suit. He can feel your judgy eyes on him as he clambers into the seat like a large, run down father.

“Hi there,” a chirpy waitress bounds. She’s a large, redheaded woman in a bright yellow uniform and a hat with a spring connected to a plastic burger on top. It is ridiculous, funny, and you are sadly not in the mood. “My, aren’t you two some interesting looking people! We don’t get a lot of men of metal around here!”

You both look at her silently, masks on but hatred seeping through boredly.

“What can I get you tonight?”

“A gun,” you drawl tiredly, rubbing your palms over your mask.

“We’re not sellin’ those right now, my dear. Something else?”

“Two cheeseburgers would be fine,” Jason speaks up for you.

“Two burgers,” the waitress repeats with a smile, writing it down in her burger notepad. Her cheeks are rosy as she beams happily. “And should I be expecting Superman?”

“Die,” you snap to her, watching her hurry off to the kitchen. Then you put your head down in your folded arms on the table.

Jason glanced around. It’s empty except for the two of you and some dumpy guy in a trucker hat with wide eyes. “What’re you staring at?” Jason all but barks. Normally, he tries to make himself as unnoticeable as possible in public. Not very confident or secure, it seems. But now he’s tired. He just fell down about a million floors worth of metal stairs. It’s late and he lost two of his guns.

“What?” you raise your head, also looking at the trucker hat man. “You’ve never seen two people in superhero suits before?”

“Beat it,” Jason orders.

The man is quick to stand and speed walk away. Still you egg on, “get out of here, bozo!”

“What a fuckin’ prick,” Jason grumbles as he watches the man trip down the street through his view from the window, the door still ringing to signal it’s been opened.

“Yeah,” you agree tiredly.

Your nimble fingers reach up and back to push your white hood from your head. Then they click against the sides of your face and pull the helmet away, revealing your face. You inhale as if you couldn’t get enough air before. Jason watches you, still as a statue, his visor giving him the luxury of being able to monitor your breathing.

“Now what?” you gripe, rubbing your eyes. It can’t be comfortable with all the armor on your hands, but you don’t seem bothered. You must’ve gotten used to it by now.

The Arkham Knight ahead of you only cocks his head to the side slightly. Silent with his helmet. “I’ll help you punch Tim but that’s as far as I’ll go.”

“Why are you defending this kid?” you hear Jason breathe in return. For a split second, electricity runs through you at the sound of his distorted voice, the way his body looks in his suit of armor and how unreadable he is through the helmet. It shocks you all the the way down to your crotch.

“You know,” you begin, eyes widening and voice quieting with a sudden nervousness. “He’s just a kid. Younger than you were.”

Jason scoffs and turns his head away from you, now looking out the window. Gotham is dark and damp outside. “Bullshit,” he scoffs. Then after a few seconds and continues. “Tim Drake and I are the same age.” His head pulls back slightly, fingers giving a strange, sudden twitch. “Or were. We’re-”

You’ll never know what Tim Drake and Jason Todd were. Jason never finishes his sentence, and only his suit flashes with little codes and details to let you know he’s still alive in there. Besides that, he’s as still, lost in sudden thought. You frown and lean in a bit, tapping your elbow with your fingers while you shift uncomfortably. “You’re nineteen, Jason.”

His head twitches again. Now you know he’s heard you. “I’m two years older than you,” you reason. “You’re nineteen.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Why did you let me go?”

Your eyebrows scrunch and unscrunch. Another wave of electricity shocks down your body, but this time it’s because his voice sounded more like his own. You could hear it under the layers of metal and distortion. But option one is to respond to his question by pretending you don’t know what he’s talking about. That seems like it’s for the best.

“You were just a kid,” you tell him honestly. He silently presses you on. “And I just- I looked at you and I…” I really liked you, kid. Best night I had in years. Made me smile. God, you had to stop working with so many other Gotham city villains just for making jokes about the kid. “You were fifteen,” you say, looking away. “Just a kid.”

Jason watches you. Again, your head turns so you look out the window. He would’ve expected that to be the end of it, but you continue. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”

Jason’s about to pretend to not know what you’re talking about, because it seems like it’s for the best that way. But then he remembers you can’t see anything through his helmet. “What’re you talking about?” he gruffs.

“You saw my face in that warehouse,” you press. “If you had told Batman, I would’ve been to jail. Maybe Arkham. But that never happened. So why didn’t you tell him?”

I was obsessed with you, Jason’s mind screams. In love with you! It hisses, which makes Jason cringe. “Guess you were a kid too.” That’s right. You were seventeen back then. What is that? Last year of high school? You balanced a criminal career and the required education for a minor at the same time. Where were your parents during this?

Jason bites down on his lip hard. Parents. Should shut up about that, probably.

“I’m uh,” you bite your lip and then lick it. “I’m sorry for pushing you. On the roof.”

He shifts. “It’s nothing.”

You turn back to the window. Your arms uncross from atop the table and go to rest in your lap. This close and this still, Jason can make out all the details in your suit. It’s impressive. Kevlar and rubber and plastic, the Riddler had told him. Not the gloves. That’s metal and plastic. 

“So,” Jason decides. “How do you that?” Your brows crease in confusion. He tries to do the finger motions he’d down before, which makes you cringe. “The mirroring. And the fighting and the…” he goes through the motions again. “It in your helmet?”

Your confusion sinks away. A new expression washes over your face as you lean in. One finger reaches up, poking your temple and you smile softly. “Bat knowledge.”

Just then, the waitress saves the day. “Two cheeseburgers for the scary suit people!” she beams, setting the plates down. For a second, her breasts are pressed into each of your faces. Jason first, who does not move and you can’t see under the helmet. You bite back a snicker but instead seep a childish look. Then you’re next, and you can feel Jason’s silent laugh under his Arkham Knight suit as your eyes go wide. “Enjoy, dears!”

“Boobs,” you shiver. “Just got boobs in my face.” And then Jason watches you carefully pick up the burger in your dangerous gloves, and take a bite.

Indeed, for the first time that night, the man in front of you reaches up and pulls off his own helmet with a click. You watch it be taken into his large, veiny hands and passed to the edge of the table, against the wall of the window. Then your eyes wander up to his face, which makes you chew slower.

A strong face. Sharp jaw, perfectly in line nose. Lips always pulled into a scowl. Bright eyes with tired circles and scars across his skin. There’s a streak of white in his dark hair you hadn’t noticed at all before, though now it’s practically blaring you in the face. Jason Todd is very handsome. 

“What?” he says behind his burger, raising it to his lips but freezing before he can bite into it.

You shrug and focus again on your burger. You hear Jason bite into his own.

“I don’t have any money,” you tell him after a moment, swallowing down a bite.

“Me neither,” Jason answers. He nudges his head towards the window. “There’s an ATM across the street.” You nod in response.

A few bites in you speak again. The minutes have been filled with the noises of chewing and swallowing and yummy meat and cheese. “You ever heard of Mitski?”

Jason swallows his bite, which are bigger than yours. “What?”

“Mitski,” you repeat. “The singer?” Jason shakes his head. “You seem like you’d like her. My boyfriend hates her.”

Jason’s brows twitch.

“Why aren’t you with him?” he questions, taking another bite.

You roll your eyes. “Too expensive. He’s-”

“But he lives there.”

“He just didn’t offer,” you shrug. “I don’t have the money anyway. It’s fine.”

Jason cocks a brow. Your own boyfriend didn’t offer to get you out of this shithole?

You roll your eyes. “We haven’t talked in a long time okay? He’s busy. I’m busy.”

Both of Jason’s brows raise now, almost playfully. “Busy with what?”

You’d be offended if you weren’t busy trying to answer. What were you busy with? After you graduated, money went dry with university. It became less frequent after retiring from the Mockingbird mantle. Most of your jobs were minimum wage and short lived. You’re a bartender now, but not somewhere that’ll keep you going probably. Most days you sit around the apartment or run errands, sometimes hosting Ivy. Last time she’d been over, she’d given you a plant that had quickly died and spoke about Harley quite a bit. And Riddler obviously doesn’t come over anymore. Scarecrow had once but he’s off doing god only knows now. 

“Shut up,” you hiss. “What are you busy with?”

“Controlling crime in Gotham,” Jason takes a bite.

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Well.”

“You know you didn’t have to ask me to do this,” you say. “You could’ve just asked someone else. There’s a lot of people in Gotham okay with child killing.”

“I wanted you,” Jason explains. He’s quick to speak again to keep you from thinking about his words. “You were the first person I thought of.”

You’re nearing the end of your burger. “How did you find me?”

Jason shrugs mid-chew. He’s almost done as well. “Riddler.”

“Gave me away that easy?”

“Yep.”

You chew your last bite. It was a good and hearty burger, the cheese melting perfectly against the patty and your tongue.

“You want anything else?” Jason asks.

You watch the street outside, eyes squinting on the ATM. “Jason,” you mutter. “Jason.”

✮ ✭ ✮

Three men snicker as they load up dark blue duffel bags. They’re slimey and smelly, like an old sewer. Money falls from the machine like a waterfall.

Their success doesn’t last long.

One of them comes in contact with the Mockingbird’s elbow and slams his head into a brick building. The other two are just inexplicably on the ground, incapacitated while the Arkham Knight stands overhead.

“Fuck,” you breathe through your helmet. “I missed this.”

Jason’s just picked up the duffel bag when the sudden sound of sirens blare through the air. It’s close. Too close.

“Well that’s no good,” you mutter. You turn to Jason, taking a sharp step forward. “Give it to me.”

His brows furrow under the mask.

“I’ll pay the waitress,” you say. “You run.”

Jason reaches behind his belt and shifts the weight of the bag into one hand. A gun appears- a small handgun. You duck down as he raises it at you, holding your head down as the BANG! rings through the air.

You stand back to your feet, bracing yourself at the sudden sight. The Arkham Knight charges you, but only to pick you up like you’re nothing and jump through the glass window he previously shot at. The adrenaline makes things hazy, but you can see the blue and red lights now. It doesn’t matter. The two of you fly across what turns out to be a pawn shop, burst through the back door and back room until you hit the cold outside air of Gotham again. Multiple doors slam shut behind you. You’re both out of breath and panting, and it’s raining again. This time in an alleyway.

But the cops won’t follow you out here.

It’s quiet besides the panting from you two. Jason has more endurance, you’re sure, but you can hear his breathing inside his helmet. He lets the duffel bag slip out of his grasp as you double over. “I did miss that,” you offer. “Running from the police.” The Arkham Knight just continues his breathing.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

✮ ✭ ✮

Two days after the incident, you enter your apartment lazily. Your keys are tossed onto the island counter before you wander through your mail. One of your letters is from Ed in Arkham, warning you about “some big guy asking about you”. A bit late for that now. You haven’t heard from Jason since that night.

It isn’t until you go to sit on your couch that you notice a large, nearly bursting open envelope. Your fingers stretch to reach it, examining it. No return address, but written in pen in sloppy letters is the word “Bird”. Luckily, it doesn’t feel like a bomb. It feels more soft but firm.

You open the envelope. Your breathing hitches, breath slowing when you see what’s inside. Then a smirk comes over your face.

Just then, dust falls from your shitty apartment ceiling.

✮ ✭ ✮

A week after the failed Tim Drake incident, a young man decides to pay a visit to your building. He is tall and strong, with raven hair laced with a white streak at the front. He frowns at everything, ducking his head to make himself smaller and less noticeable. He cares not for being perceived by other people. He’s well aware of how he looks.

The man’s knuckles tap against apartment 317. He shifts, looking back and forth. The man is quite attractive in is casual red hoodie and jeans, but he wants to be out of the open as soon as he can. After a moment, there is no response from inside.

He scrunches his brows and knocks again. When he takes a step closer, he can hear something from the inside. Music. A piano and drums and maybe an organ?

Jason twists the door knob with ease and steps ahead and inside. The apartment is completely and totally empty. The music becomes louder and more clear. It’s a female singer he doesn’t recognize.

Only the bones of the kitchen remain. Counters, cabinets, a sink, and an old fridge. There’s mold in the corner of the space. But in the middle of the floor where the couch and living room used to be is a cluster of things. Things meant for Jason Todd. 

The man eyes the pile for a few seconds. Then he sets towards it. The first thing he recognizes is a CD player with the volume turned all the way up. He still doesn’t know the song.

Besides the player is a suit he’s quite familiar with. It’s clunky, but folded as neatly as it can be given that it’s made of metal. On the top is the helmet that gives it away. The Arkham Knight suit. It sits on a dark duffel bag in front of a small white piece of paper with the promise of ink inside. Jason decides to open that first.

You’re coming back… and it’s the end of the world…

Haha! I knew you’d show up!

Jason nearly rolls his eyes at the first sentence.

Thanks for the money. I know it was you. Thanks for the fun night too. Sorry about hitting your balls. They felt really big if that makes you feel better.

It didn’t.

I was thinking of Metropolis, but what do you know, me and the boy toy decided it might be better to hold off on it. I got a bit of dirt on the kid by the way. You’ll find it on the back of this paper. Oh and I hope you like the Mitski soundtrack. I bet Drake’s the kind too. I’m going to keep the Mockingbird suit if you don’t mind. I guess our night of fun kinda reignited an old flame. Don’t even think about coming after me.

Son of a bitch, Jason internally screams.

I have a gift for you though. You get the Arkham Knight. You look good in it. And a little something extra in the bag by the way. 

Love, Mockingbird.

I just need a quiet place… where I can scream, how I love you…

Indeed, inside the duffel bag Jason Todd finds some cash and red fabric with an R emblem over the chest. He doesn’t need to pull the rest out to understand what it is. He decides not to question how you got his old Robin suit or when, but lets himself smile a bit, his chest expanding with his breath. It’s a real smile too. 

You’ve given Jason everything he needs to go after Tim Drake himself.

✮ ✭ ✮

I hope I’ve ruined everyone’s day. You think I would let the reader and Jason be happy together? You absolute baffoon. Maybe I’ll make a part three for gits and shiggles though. I’m not sure about this one. Definitely more based around their interactions than the drama unlike the first one. It was fun though. I hit the paragraph limit. I think I did a good job with the chemistry. I do apologize for giving the reader a real set in stone age though. I don’t like to to that because I think it takes away the point of having a ‘reader’. Also if you’re vegetarian please just eat a cheeseburger it’s so good y’all are weird. Oh and fun fact I just got a Red Hood tattoo on Saturday! Look at me go!

Tagging everyone who asked for a part ii: @yunho-leeknow @fyowyn-writes @martianmilfhunter @beardedfandiplomatprofessor

[donutloverxo]

A Royal Scandal 3

Modern Royal King!Steve au

(Image from Pinterest)

cowritten with @lizzygal​

Note - There will be no taglists for this. You can subscribe to the  ao3 story to receive updates!

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, mentions of previous domestic abuse, somnophilia.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 7k

Story masterlist

Sometimes Steven forgot that you weren’t that much younger than him. He forgot about a lot of things when it was only the two of you. You did that to him. You made him forget things that everyone else reminded him of constantly, intentional and not.

Early that morning was no different.

Long before his alarm went off, Steve found himself on his side watching you sleep. Feeling in every way equal to you, like there was not this huge ocean of things that he did not have in common with you, opposed to what the two of you shared.

Obviously, he was the son of kings and tyrants while you were the daughter of immigrants and a blue-collar family. You’d grown up in a house full of love and kindness and acceptance, he had not. You’d ended your teenage years going to college and then travelling and ending up here, where you chose to stay and work and travel and live a life that Steve could only dream of, his own had never been his own and never would be.

You had dreams and hopes, little things like aspirations. He didn’t.

Steve’s life was dictated by things like duty and obligations, expectations. Yours was not.

Maybe that was why he’d been so drawn to you?

Compared to all the royals around Europe and titled individuals, politicians, even old families, none of them interested him even a fraction of the amount that you interested him. To Steve you were exotic. You were a fascinating creature who might as well have come from Mars.

He couldn’t even say what it was or why.

For so long it had felt right to be alone. Considering the blood of monsters ran through his veins, Steve had been uninterested in any sort of companionship more than a brief encounter at a private location.

For Christ’s sake, he refused to sleep in the bedroom that his father had slept in.

Upon assuming the throne, he’d selected to take up older quarters in an unused part of the palace living complex. As if to ensure he was as far away from the rooms that his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had slept. Choosing to sleep in a bed untainted by any of those men, stored from when his land was ruled by an emperor. Hoping with the hopes of a young king that it would save him from their madness.

Beside him, you slept so peacefully, trustingly.

Steve had never brought anyone into his private apartment. Nor had his bed seen any carnal action since it’d gone into storage. Until you. He’d simply never been so inclined.

A rough sound from the growth on his cheek rubbing against his pillow. A pleasant reminder of that night that felt so long ago, yet also like only yesterday.

He’d had a beard back then he remembered.

A full bushy one.

One that had made you laugh softly at, roll your eyes and still manage to pull off an acceptable bow when you greeted him that late night.

“They beat Canada then Your Majesty?” You had inquired with good nature, setting down a whole stack of papers and folders onto the very modern conference table in a big room that could fit two dozen, more if the people were standing.

He’d beamed.

Steve remembered he’d been in a particularly good mood that night. Even if he was working late on the education push into the outer regions of his kingdom. A good amount was still very rural, many simple villages that lived as they had fifty or more years ago. Many parts of his kingdom were still deeply rooted in the past.

“Indeed. Eleven to four.”

He was beaming. Beaming! You were pretty sure you could see molars. It made you shake your head and begin to sort out all your work into piles to go over. Not that you’d ever admit to secretly being caught up in the hype of the team being so close to gold at the Winter Olympics. “So then the beard stays?”

“You of all people,” he admonished, coming over to help you. Picking up the well-marked up maps you’d spent hours annotating.

Making you roll your eyes.

On he went though, obviously needing to drive home the seriousness of this matter. “The beard stays until we win gold. Next we play Norway. I don’t think it needs to be said that we cannot risk it.”

He was serious. Really serious. If that full glorious beard was any indication.

More focused on the organizing task yourself.

Sorting your work by region, pile by pile, each had taken much work and effort and negotiation, endless phone calls and trips and emails to each area to get them to work not only with you, but one another. It was like herding cats. It had taken you months to get this all sorted out for Steve to see. His ideas weren’t even ready to be implemented. This was just the pre-gaming, the leadup, the work in preparation. You weren’t even on Step One. You were on Step Zero.

“Now that I know, I’ll be sure to grow a beard next Winter Olympics.”

And then you were rewarded with a rich hearty laugh from your king.

Well not your king, as you weren’t a citizen of this country. But you still liked to think of him as your king.

Watching you sleep was something he’d never tire of. Never get enough of. It was a luxury that he didn’t realize he wanted day in out.

The ability to wake up with you tangled up in blankets. Curled back against his front. Hogging pillows as you did. Allowing Steve to run his fingers up and down your bare thigh, along the curves of your body. Letting him lean forward to press his lips to your shoulder and see the peaceful rest of your face in his slowly lightening bedroom. Every last inch of you here for him.

Hungry.

That was what it was, he was hungry for you. Like a big bear that woke from hibernation after a long winter. At times he felt such a way. Never having felt this way about anyone prior.

In his own time, he slipped his fingers down along the round of your ass underneath the flesh of your hip. Warm. Soft. Smooth. Neither of you had left the bed since the late night bath in his tub.

Further down Steve allowed his fingers to trail.

Memorizing every last second to get him through his day. From how you felt pressed against the front of him, how your back moved against his chest with every steady breath you took. The way your legs tangled in his buttery sheets with his own, how the soft cheeks of your bottom pressed against his alert groin.

Most definitely though, how your skin tasted and felt beneath his mouth. Smelling like yourself from all your favorite bath products kept in his bathroom.

You’d smelled so good that night too.

You always smelled good.

It was something that he had noticed but hadn’t given any real thought to.

It seemed to be a mix of perfume and body lotion or cream. Cause Steve found the flowery smell would linger after you walked by in the way that perfume did, infusing the air and making his brain scream out that you were near. But also, when you shook his hand, it always had that sweet fresh clean smell afterwards.

Now, whenever Steve smelled it, all he could think about was you.

Those smells danced around him. Making the late hour bearable. Making the fact that the offices were empty but for the two of you, when you both should have been home in bed, not matter.

“Ok…” you were talking to him, pointing out places on the massive map that was his nation. Arms crossed. Legs spread. Standing beside you as you informed him with tones that indicated your happiness, your displeasure as well as your utter irritation. “…so I managed to get in touch with every Education Department in all nine of your territories.”

Though you were not looking at him, Steve nodded, laser focused on this project he’d tasked you with months ago.

“All of the department heads are on board with your desired overhaul to completely modernize the entire system. Unfortunately, they told me that I had to call all the district heads for all forty-six provinces to get their agreed participation too.”

Your tone went from pleased with yourself then skeptical and then annoyed.

You turned your head to look at him. “Which is what I spent the last three months doing. It was something of a thing.”

Steve could only imagine.

He was quiet though so you could go on. More than pleased with how well you worked in this position. He’d originally been skeptical with your being a foreigner. How dedicated would you be to a job in a country that was not your own? One hundred percent as it turned out.

Your hands flattened out dramatically on the table. Outrage surged from you. “I’m still waiting on two appointees because their predecessors apparently died during harvest season and no one could be bothered to replace the position. I literally had to fly out to the outer reaches of civilization to find this out. Cause all the government offices are closed during harvest season, fyi. But they’re literally filling the positions now.”

Such was the challenge of having a large kingdom with one foot in the future and one in the past. Such things led to the difficultly of keeping a Chief of Staff.

Steve’s previous Chief of Staff had come highly recommended and lasted a little over a month.

Whether it was from a lack of dedication, the obvious frustrations of the job or maybe he simply had not wanted to jump on a plane and fly six hours then ride by car five hours to remote areas in order to complete his work. Steve could not be sure. All he knew for sure was he’d keep you as long as humanly possible.

In his eyes, you were a saint.

“What’s with the question mark?”

Making you look to see which question mark you’d marked on the map full of stickers and marks and tabs. Hours had been spent working on the damn thing.

Seeing which question mark in question made your nose scrunch. “Oh…them, they refuse to even answer my calls until they are allowed to take their traditional name for their province. Which is way above my pay grade. Someone else is going to have to deal with them. I tried.”

Ah, Steve nodded, that was far from surprising. The far outer regions were notoriously independent or rebellious, depending on your stance.

He would deal with them accordingly. Not how his father did, but in his own way.

Steve’s attention was drawn to two nearby provinces. Each had a frowny face sticker. Without asking, he merely pointed.

A noise of pure disgusted frustration came from deep in your throat. Making you stand and look to him, brandishing your hands in all directions. “I tried my best with them. I really did. Both of those provinces absolutely refuse to take part in anything if the other is involved. Apparently, they’re still salty at one another over something that happened in fourteen-seventy-three and refer to me as the foreign she-devil. So…good luck with them Your Majesty.”

Soundly you slept.

Comfortable. Safe. At peace.

Making him feel like a true man. A provider able to care for you, protect you, satisfy you. As if he were stripped down to what nature intended. Instead of what society had dictated for you both.

Reaching down to that heavenly place between the V in your thighs, Steve pushed his fingers further to find your softness slippery, your skin slick with viscous arousal. In pushing his finger up further, running it around the edge of your slit to where the gateway to your body was hidden, he found you heavily aroused. Coating his fingers with a thick fluid that promised you would be able to take him now. Oozing into the cervices between his fingers and smearing thickly down his palm and over the back of his hand.

Unable to help himself, he brought his hand out from between your legs in order to look at your arousal. Merely the sight made his balls clench in eager anticipation. Tasting the bodily excretions had his hips moving against yours on their own.

A noise came from you. Though you were far from waking. Always one to enjoy your sleep.

On his tongue you were heady, ripe. Tasting like sin. Steve licked his fingers. Eyes closed so he could savor the taste, how you clung to his tongue and were thick, like a burst of brandy swirling with his saliva.

Awakened now from his deep sleep. Ravenous like a beast of the forest. He pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Making you mumble. Making you wiggle in your sleep, causing you to reach your arm out for a pillow to pull close. Hooking your leg up higher too. Becoming more comfortable in the bed in addition to opening yourself up more to your king. As if your body had connected to his on a level your mind was unaware and encouraged him to take you.

Down he peered. Strands of hair fell across his forehead at the harsh angle. A soft lightening of the sun through drapes he never closed last night allowed the sight of moisture. Folds of bare skin sheened up at him. Tempting him with that webbing of goo that promised him you were ready.

Taking himself in hand, he caught sight of your name curled over his side. Reminding him of your absolute possession over him. Sending his hand low to pull his foreskin back in order to feed this hunger of you that consumed him.

Your signature was all swoops and swirls.

Recognizable above anyone else’s writing he came across on a daily basis.

All over paper and on the maps. In little corners. Highlighted. In different color pens. On stickie notes. Written on napkins or on the back of random pieces of paper.

At the time, he’d had no idea how far gone he really was.

Not even when he watched you take note after note with a purple inked pen, your hand flowing across paper like a swimmer cutting through the water. Taking down his every word, every command.

A incredibly distinctive feeling of being full woke you up from your glorious sleep, in a very singular sort of way that could be from only one thing. Only one thing on earth felt like that when waking you up.

Pulling you out of a warm blissful sleep only to wake you with the exquisite feeling of being stretched open, pushed into, filled up. Making your fingers clench bedding or pillows or whatever they could grab.

A low breathy moan came from you in the time between you were woken and awake, your face burrowing in a pillow was followed by a soft profanity. Weight slowly covered you. Weight pinned you down to the bed a little at a time. Skin and sheets and soft dustings of hair rubbed against you.

Only when you had fully woken did you feel pubes brush against your cheeks. A light tap of scrotum bumped you too.

Long arms wrapped around you. Wet lips mouthed along the curve of your neck.

This was a far superior way to wake up. Compared to your apartment, in bed alone, to your neighbors loud shrilling alarm clock through your paper-thin wall.

Groaning out at the feel of His Majesty’s cock stuffed safely up in your secret garden. You found yourself whining at Steve at whatever time it was in the early morning. “…fuuuuck…what’d I say about doing that…” A swivel, nay, a swivel with a pop of his pelvis followed, making you see stars, gasp deeply as if you’d been stabbed in the lungs and then add on for God and Country. “…My King…shit, My King…oh shit, My King.”

Though it may have been said in jest, his tone was hot enough to scald. “If memory serves me correctly…” another deep push of thick hips shoved you forward into the pillows. “…you say, not in my ass unless I’m awake.”

Stars.

So many bright and colorful stars.

Mmm.

Yes, that was something you had told him on many occasions and it still held very true. If Steve was going to put anything in your ass, forget that thing he claimed was a dick, you needed to be fully awake so you could both physically and emotionally prepare yourself.

Nothing at all could have prepared you for the drastic turn your life was about to take that night.

Nothing.

Everything had been so normal. It was so regular. Like many a long night working late hours at the palace before. Hours had been spent going over all your hard work contacting each and every head in each education department per province, as well as per territory. In addition to the national department of education, preparing to prep them for what the king wanted.

Like any other late night, Steve helped you put all of your paperwork back in the correct order you had it in. Like every other time, he requested a palace car take you to your apartment. Granted the apartment you shared with your best friend was walking distance away. It was late and simply not safe and you found were touched that Steve would think about your well-being.

For a king, he wasn’t that bad. When it was the two of you anyway.

Looks aside, which he had in spades, he could be very funny in a sarcastic sort of way. He was very well read and intelligent, quick on his feet. Although people seemed to think of him a certain type of way based on his father and his own kingship at a young age, when he really was his own person.

You’d noticed he had a definite interest in the classical masters and had on rare occasion seen him sketch out something on a flight or during a less than stimulating event. He had an artistic ability that would never come to anything due to his role.

His strong sense of duty paired with a disgusting moral obligation pretty much guaranteed his life would be spent in service to his country. Period.

You could see why people thought he was hot. The man had been blessed by the genetic gods. Plus he was a king. Who didn’t grow up dreaming about being a princess? Or think about a literal Prince Charming from fairy tales?

Having now had the benefit of working in a real life palace. You knew the realities of that fantasy.

You had two pages of notes that could attest to the reality of your childhood Disney Princess movies.

Reality was always so different.

Not for the first time, you found yourself repeating yourself. “…and let me say one more time. Thank you so much for talking with my parents. I know it was only ten minutes, but, I know how busy you are and it just completely topped off their visit. My mother has been telling everyone about how she met the king. You even have my father cheering for the hockey team.”

A smile came over Steve’s face that was real.

It wasn’t one of his practiced smiles. It was an actual smile. You could tell because it reached his eyes.

“Well,” Steve answered you with a shrug, sounding genuinely pleased even if he also sounded tired and like he wanted nothing more than to go off to his living quarters in the palace and crash into bed, before he had to get up to start a new day. Helping you stack the last of your papers up. “Anything to convert a soul to hockey. Technically, it is his team too.” And because he could not help himself, Steve added on, “Even if his grandparents fled from here for a cushy life in the west.”

Up your hand flew to your chest.

Your jaw dropped in mock pain. “Ouch, Sir! That one was painful.”

His smile grew at your over-the-top reaction.

Still though, he dipped his head and you noticed there was a little blush on his cheeks above where that magnificent beard grew. Chagrined, he quickly followed up with, “I apologize. That was a cheap shot.”

In a physical sort of way that his people were known to interact, personal space be damned, Steve reached over to touch your arm apologetically. Not something he did frequently. Although he had done it a handful of times. The press of his mouth to your cheek was new. The little kiss was brand new. Steve’s lips were gentle on your skin. His beard tickled your face.

Never in your life had your heart pounded as violently in your chest as it did at that gesture. Quickly, your head turned. Though you did not move back or say anything. Instead, you found yourself staring at Steve. Looking into those pools of blue that were looking at you with the same amount of surprise that you felt. His lips were right there, right there.

Blood roared in your ears, your heart pounded faster and faster and faster.

He kissed you.

Did he really though?

Was it a kiss or was it a kiss?

For a moment in time, you leaned in. Leaned closer. Leaned till you almost touched him because that was what your body wanted to do. Until you remembered that Steve was a king. A KING. Remembering that made your head command your body to lean backwards a bit. Allowing you to see that he had leant in to meet you.

He’d leaned closer to kiss you.

What were you doing? What in the hell were you doing? You had no business doing this, no business at all messing around with Steve.

Fingers moved along your arm, tracing up the back of it softly. That simple touch made goosebumps break out over your skin. It made your breath hitch. Your hands began to shake so you grabbed the fabric of your skirt.

However, you made no move to step away from Steve. Nor did he make any sort of move to step away from you.

Another attempt at a kiss was not made.

Fingers touched your face instead. Steve was close enough to you that you felt his legs brush yours. You felt his breath against your face. Fingertips ran across the swell of your cheekbone, down over your lips, tracing the bridge of your nose in what felt like a desire to memorize your face.

Steve was gentle. His fingertips felt like feathers on your skin. He made you shake like a leaf in terror because you wanted him to touch you more. You wanted to be touched. You wanted to feel his hands on you and the soft glide of his thumb along the line of your jaw was painfully insufficient.

Without thinking, you reached up with your hands until you remembered that he was the king.

Were you allowed to touch the king? You weren’t sure. He was touching you and it was fabulous but were you allowed to do the same? You wanted to. You so deeply wanted to. You just were not sure what was allowed in this situation. It had not exactly been covered in the Royal Protocol Guidebook you had.

Then came Steve’s voice. Harsh. Gravelly. Desperate.

“Touch me. It’s ok. I want you to.”

For only a heartbeat or two you remained still, observing him, making sure. Only after that did you reach up with your hands to cover his wrists. Rub along the fabric of his button-up shirt. In doing so, you not only felt the strength in his well-muscled wrists, or how warm the silky fabric was, but, you could feel him tremble. He was shaking about as much as you were.

A rush of air surged from his lungs as if you had burnt him.

Curious, you turned your head so you could place a single kiss on the inside of his hand touching your face, right at the base of his thumb. In doing so, you ripped a noise from deep within him. A noise that was both pained while also infused with wanting.

“This is ok?”

“Yes,” he croaked out, as if he were terrified you would stop.

Never would you have ever imagined he would be so responsive. Almost touch starved it felt.

Sometimes, Steve still felt as if he were a little touch starved to you. Sometimes it felt like he’d gone his entire life without having that physical connection between two people. As complicated of a man as he was with as complicated of a life as he had, you at times forgot that he was still a human being with human being needs that were essential to thriving.

And it wasn’t like you were complaining.

Far from it.

Not after the orgasm you just had, not from on top of him either. Lounged across the front of him. Loose limbed. Languid down to your marrow. Peppering the damp skin of his neck with slow wet kisses and scrapes of teeth. Long drags of your tongue collected drops of salt that tasted of him. Lazily. Heart to heart. Stomach to stomach.

There really were worse ways to wake up.

Like, for instance, in your apartment taking cold showers cause the building’s water heater was ancient. That wasn’t fun at all and usually had you shivering and hurrying through an icy shower. Straight up not a good time.

This? This was soooo much better.

Feeling Steve’s long legs wrapped up in your own, paired with his softening member filling you by virtue of sheer size not letting himself just pop out…this was a much better way to wake up. Far superior in every way.

Not that you were willing to waste precious time like this luxuriating in post-coital bliss. No, no. A burning question was hot on your mind that kept popping up after last night. After all, you were a modern woman and this was a serious relationship. You had every right to ask this question at any time you wanted. Even now. As your boyfriend, the king, fondled your breasts in his hands with such intensity that you would have thought he’d just broken out of Alcatraz after a decade of no nookie. Not that you were in the least bit complaining. Not one bit.

“Am I going to have to quit my job?”

It was something of a concern.

You loved your job. You loved working with Steve. You loved your life as it was and a big part of you suspected becoming queen would mean big changes.

Not that you lifted your head from his neck, or ceased your trek down towards his collarbone. Trail of your kisses never slowing or stopping. No hint of any sort of disruption came. Not for a moment or two. Not till your ravenous boyfriend squeezed your breasts possessively. Thumbed your nipples and finally opened his eyes, as if it were the biggest chore on earth.

His voice was rough. His tone felt like hot gooey honey that just got everywhere. “No…not yet…”

Leading you to make a noise. A pop followed when your mouth left the dark spot you’d been sucking on nearly at his collarbone. What with your name already etched on him. What else could you leave in a display of ownership over him? “Nothing else to add My King?” For added emphasis, perhaps you gave you vaginal muscles a clench knowing what that did to him.

A grunt came from beneath you.

Wrapped up in yours, Steve’s legs clenched in response to what you did. White teeth sank into his upper lip and you absolutely thrived at the sight and feel of him arching up against you, shifting around beneath you at the way your body squeezed him.

Those hands left your breasts only to reach down, run over your waist as they had so many times before, leading you to grab them. Snatch then right up. Press them down into the mattress over Steve’s head. Since the man was far larger than you, this sent you leaning downwards and ever closer to his face. “Steve? I asked you a question.”

How easy it would have been for him to get free. Yet, he seemed content where he found himself. Still wedged within you. Warm in bed. Body a sea of a complex cocktail of chemicals after physically releasing into you. A far better way to wake up than alone in a massive bed. Or worse, to his mother jabbing at him to urgently tell him something that was not urgent at all.

Feeling your breasts press against his chest. Lightly brushing over his skin, your nipples little points that sparked a definite interest in his dick.

God did he want you to be his queen.

“Not yet,” Steve ground out, nearly close to being overwhelmed by you. Each and every word was enunciated to utter perfection, as if it took all of his concentration and effort to get them out. “I’ll have the palace leave your name out of the official statement today. We can go slow. Ease you into things…ease you out of your job…” and to reward him for such a thoughtful statement, you clenched around him once more.

However, it seemed, there was more and even though his eyes rolled up into his head at the feel of your core squeezing his not entirely soft organ, he pushed on with the determination of his ancestors. Grunting. Arching back into the bed as the pillows had all wound up on the floor. Perfect teeth clenched together. “M-my people…will…love you…too.”

So, it was entirely possible, that you were feeling all kinds of powerful watching him writhe beneath you. Knowing exactly what sort of repercussions this could have to your morning. Which was still progressing on time. It was entirely possible that you may have intentionally pushed your own pelvis against his to reseat yourself.

“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure? You saw what happened with those two over in England. And that prince isn’t even next in line to the throne.”

Perhaps it was the seriousness of the direction in which your conversation had taken, Steve remained beneath you. Taking no action, even though you could quite literally feel his dick grow more interested in what your hips were doing.

A panted out, “…fuck…” escaped from him, before he opened his eyes to look at you seriously, if not also a little heatedly. “Quit obsessing over them. The King of Jordan married for love. Queen Rania was a commoner. If you must, focus on them.”

Sudden movement found you falling off Steve and onto the bed, shoved onto your back and in a flash, he was on top of you again. Over you. Hovering. Though he’d escaped out of your body, you could feel the king’s most delicious semi, slick from your previous copulation, squish between you both.

Admitting on an exhale, “Forgot about them.”

“Everyone does.” He agreed, surveying down, taking in the sight of you. “My country appreciates you. They’re fond of you. You’re in all the papers and they’ve given you a nickname.”

And that. That. Nearly killed the mood.

It sent your eyebrows together dubiously so.

Everytime you were in the press it was when your skirt had been blown up on a windy day, or if you’d accidentally gotten food on your shirt. Or that time a baby goat pooped on your shoes. Or when you’d tripped and fallen off a dock into a lake. Who could forget that time you’d accidentally called the Prime Minister of Canada a ‘moose fucking cannibal’ when you’d still been getting the hang of the language, your first year on the job?

You’d been affectionately dubbed, ‘the King’s Foreign Devil’ and it had stuck.

Hell, you still got asked about your thoughts on the Canadian Prime Minister whenever a member of the press was around.

“Most the time, you have a higher approval rating than I do,” he added. Much to the consternation of Maria Hill in PR. “Trust me. There is nothing my country loves more than a hard-working loyal servant of the people who talks shit about western leaders.”

Mood totally killed, you seethed and not for the first time, “That was an accident! I was trying to call him Canada’s Disney Prince.”

***

The note had been hand delivered to the palace and was now crumbled into a ball in the Queen Mother’s bedroom as she stormed off, once more, that early morning in a fury of rose satin and silk. Her perfume clouded around her, drifting behind her, much like the wake of a boat cutting through the water.

Thick carpets silenced her heels. Doors opened for her as she neared them, allowing her to not need to slow her step even for a second. Not a single moment wasted as she made her way through the private living quarters of the palace.

Down hallways and around corners, over to the rooms that her grown son had selected as his own.

It would have been so much easier if he would have just taken the rooms that his father had lived in.

Although, with the horrific memories attached to those rooms, how could she blame him when he elected not to? She had her own private rooms. The dead kings rooms were locked up tight and still not used. Abandoned like so much he’d done, started and accomplished in his life.

Upon coming to her only child’s rooms, those doors were held open for her and on she pressed on. Sailing through his rooms, one after another, until she got closer to his bedroom and could hear his shower which was the direction she headed.

A brief glance was made at the mess that was his bed.

A roll of her eyes was followed by a shake of her head.

Some things males never grew out of it seemed.

“Steven!” She called out in warning, should he be in the bathroom about to come out in the nude. Which was the last thing she wanted to see.

Not only was his bed a mess but his clothes from yesterday were all over the floor.

She had every intention of telling him that he needed to straighten up this mess before the cleaning staff came in his room. The last thing she wanted was for them to think he was messy and then tell their families and friends when they went home that the king had a messy bedroom and word would get out that her son was a slob. Ugh. No. She’d make sure that he straightened up.

Speaking of the devil.

As his shower ran, Steve peered out of the bathroom with a wet head. A midnight blue towel was wrapped around his waist. A toothbrush was in his hand. To Sarah, it was very clear that her grown son had not shaved yet either.

Seeing him in such a state that morning along with his messy room and the fact the shower was going wasting water. It did not make her mood any more agreeable.

Though her son was taller than her and considerably more muscular, she never feared him.

She knew he would never hurt her like his father had so many times. Towards the end, Steve had even defended her from his father’s physical attacks. Those days. They had been dark. Horrible. Terrible. When she noticed that her husband had begun to carry a knife to protect himself from his son. Well. What was she supposed to do?

Attacking her was one thing. Being violent towards her was one thing. There were some things that she learned to tolerate. It was unescapable. Their son though. To take a knife to their son? Her son? Sarah would never allow such a thing.

She was queen at the time.

It was not so difficult to get the drug that she put in her husband’s evening nightcap. She’d used all of it. Thrown the vial away the next day when she went to rouse the king as she did every morning, only to find him dead in his chair. Fireplace having long gone out. Slumped down. Cold. The coroner had said it was a heart attack. Exactly as she’d been told the drug would work. He’d been buried with no one the wiser. Not even Steve.

“Yes mother?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You are not growing another beard. Last time you looked like some man that lives up in the mountains in a tiny shack.”

Just as her own father once did, Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise and question.

No. That was not why she was here.

Sarah had a higher calling that morning and straightening her slim shoulders, she so informed him. “Hope and Janet are here in the city. They’ve come for a surprise visit and will arrive at the palace within the hour.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at her in response to her information.

It was horrifying. It was outrageous. It was not what he wanted to hear that morning one bit. Not at all. Not one single bit.

Hope and Janet?

Those were two names he never wanted to hear with the additional words being, ‘on their way’. No. Just no.

All he could say that was remotely civil, after what the then Princess Hope van Dyne had done, came out in something of a tone. “I don’t want to see either of them. If you want to see them, that’s your choice. Keep them away from me.”

Considering what the now Duchess Hope had spewed to every reporter, journalist and whomever with a platform…Sarah was a little surprised that Steve was being so kind.

She’d expected a bit more of a reaction from her son.

Could she be holding a bigger grudge against her one-time closest friend’s daughter? After what had happened, Queen Janet van Dyne had become somewhat distant. Which was not surprising. Hope had not broken the engagement gracefully. Nor had she been anything less than opinionated afterwards.

“I suspect she is in trouble,” Sarah confessed. “Why else would they come here? Considering everything that Hope has said over the years.”

Steam continued to seep through the cracked door.

Sarah was about to say something about the shower. Steve was wasting a considerable amount of hot water. She herself was leading the Go Green Initiative in the country and as she stated constantly, it all began at home.

“Mother, don’t take this the wrong way, but, I wouldn’t shit in Hope’s mouth if she was starving.”

Ah.

Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge Steve’s current opinion on the wayward duchess?

Pondering his statement, Sarah found herself looking for any way to come back with a counter when she noticed that the shower turned off. Which was odd. Shower’s didn’t turn themselves off.

What was even more peculiar, Steve reached back behind himself to shut his bathroom door.

It clicked.

Like a light going off.

How could she not have noticed? How could it not have been obvious?

Blue eyes that were a little softer than her son’s narrowed. “You aren’t alone.”

Silence.

Quiet.

Her pink lips opened in surprised. A question hovered on her tongue.

“No mother.”

“But…”

“Mother,” he implored as only a son could. “Not now. She would not want the first time she officially meets you to be when you’re dressed for the day and she is not.”

And though her son’s words were true. They were right. They were exactly what she would have wanted him to say and because she had raised him well, she was even proud that he had made such a quick decision. It wasn’t fair.

Sarah wanted to find out who you were. She wanted to meet the woman that her son was involved with. Was that so wrong? Sarah wanted to meet the woman that her son was considering marrying. There was so much she wanted to say to you, so much to teach you, so much she wanted to learn about you. Perhaps her desperation showed because her son reached out to place a hand on her elbow.

“If you can chase Hope and Janet away, we could have lunch together. The three of us. If not, dinner? Or even tomorrow. I’m not doing anything with Hope under this roof. Not after she referred to our country as a third world plus hellhole full of war criminals and superstitious backwoods heathens.”

Ah, so he did remember.

Those words had been seared into her memory as well. Sometimes Sarah wondered, as Steve had never really given much indication that he cared one way or the other what Hope had said. It was only after she began to speak unflatteringly about their people that he grew irritated, much like herself.

Although, what irritated Sarah more, was the quiet that came from the royal house of van Dyne and Pym a few countries over. Never once had Janet spoke up. Never had Janet said anything about her daughters outrageous remarks or behavior. Nor had she apologized.

Knowing her son, Sarah knew that he would never court anyone who was not kind or compassionate. Steve would never pick a Hope as his queen.

Up came a hand that bore a lovely ring decorated with fresh water pearls from their own waters. “I’ll have them gone before lunch and then we will all sit down together so I can finally meet her.”

[smolvenger]

Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed (A Fix-It Fanfiction of The Essex Serpent), Chapter 16: Volkamenia

Series Summary: What happens to the woman left behind? The Essex Serpent is reimagined to be told from the perspective of the sweet and sickly Stella Ransome, giving her a different ending from her canon fate. After her priest husband William cheats on her, despite devastating heartbreak, she searches for freedom, happiness...and revenge. And even new love.

Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven//Eight//Nine//

Ten//Eleven//Twelve//Thirteen// Fourteen//Fifteen

Chapter Summary: Stella enjoys the honeymoon and bliss of her second marriage to Harold Cavaradossi. However, her past continues to haunt and torment her.

Pairing: Stella Ransome x Male OC: Harry Cavaradossi, some Stella Ransome x William Ransome (but with the angst of his cheating actually discussed)

Chapter Warnings: Major Character Death is discussed, as Discussions of sex and masturbation, discussions of being cheated on, and of babies and children.

Chapter Word Count: 3K

A/N: This was going to be the last chapter and then I wrote over 8K words so I decided to split it in two to make it digestible!

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED, THANKS!

The next morning, I kissed my new husband on the top of his forehead as he slept. Even his snoring I found a sound as peaceful as the patter of raindrops. I put my white nightdress back on and with a dressing gown, it was blue. I could wear my blue again. I was relieved. I went to the living room and saw some of my things were moved there in suitcases- my dresses as well as my mourning. There was an empty box with the address of a store written on a tag.

I gathered my widow’s weeds and placed them into the box. One phase of my life was now over, and a new one was beginning. I said a silent goodbye to the blacks, greys, and lavenders as I sealed the lid. I then got some paper and wrote a note on top of it.

“Dear Shop Manager, I am now remarried and do not need these anymore. Sincerely, Mrs. Stella Ransom-“

I stopped mid-writing. That was no longer my name. I had signed “Mrs. Ransome” or “Stella Ransome” for years and now a new name was in its place instead. Something I had to get very used to. I scratched it off and replaced it with my new last name, carefully making sure I spelled it right in its lengthiness.

“Sincerely Mrs. Stella Ransom Cavaradossi.”

That name was still new. I had to let it sink in that it was me. It was as if maybe that old Stella had died back there and here was a new, happy Stella in her place. Or maybe it was like a caterpillar finally released from a long time in its cocoon to be a beautiful butterfly and fly into the openness, to the sky at last.

I heard a yawn and looked behind me. Harry awoke with smugness in his grin as he stretched his arms out. The rosiness of his skin and the low cut of his white shirt, showing a bit of his beautiful chest, were evidence enough of last night’s events. The top of his curly head made his hair look yellow like a field of wheat promising a bountiful harvest, seeming more blonde than auburn or reddish at that moment.

“Good morning, Stella, my beautiful wife,” he greeted.

I smiled warmly at him, and I let those words- a phrase I had not spoken in over a year-form out of me like flowers blooming from their seeds in the ground.

“Good morning, my husband.”

We took walks, played cards, read aloud stories and poetry, ate sweets, and made love all that week. By the time it was over, he gathered my things and we took the carriage back. He helped me step out and walked me back into the little room.

“I’ll start moving the children in. I know they’re all good ones, but I hope they like me, I hope they see me as a father already…” he fretted.

“They will, Harry. Don’t worry about it- just give James some chocolate and let Joanna read her books and they won’t mind you in the least.” I advised.

He smiled. I couldn’t imagine suddenly becoming a parent of three children who were not your own. But from the shine in his eyes, I could tell he saw them already as his own blood. It would take time and figuring something out, but we would all be a family again like normal. We sat on the bed and held hands for a bit.

“I’ll about your collection of blue things. I’ll talk to your brother and may even write over to Aldwinter. I’ll insist they send it back here, my love,” Harry promised.

His gloved hand cupped my cheek and I leaned into it.

“My dear, you’re almost there. I can tell… Stay strong.” He wished.

“I’ll try to be…” I sighed.

“You always are.” He assured me. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ I was in the last phase. I was eager to not only sit for my air baths but to move. I was prescribed long walks with the other patients at my level. They also instructed us in certain exercises to do outside and to be out in the sun whenever possible and then to rest in bed.

Harry visited every week, bringing the children. We all talked so much, I would hardly notice the hours passing. James’s face would be smiling as he recounted the quips that his stepfather gave him. Joanna and John would both have books in their arms that he had given to them to read on the train. They loved living with him and had already enrolled in schools in London. Harry would recount whatever play it was he saw last and then he’d kiss me on the lips before I went back to my ward.

All through summer I watched the greenery bend with the wind and the rumble of the tree. My dresses were lighter and in blue, no longer was I a widow sweltering in her black weeds. Cool breezes kissed me, and I found I could walk around the gardens and grounds longer and longer.

Finally, finally, those blessed words arrived at me. I heard them in that August of 1894.

“Mrs. Cavaradossi- your symptoms are now mild enough that you may go home…” the doctor announced with a smile through his white whiskers.

“I’m cured?” I asked, gripping the arms of my seat. The words spun in my head, making me dizzy for a second.

“There is no cure. I don’t know if there will be one so soon. I don’t think you will be back as normal or in full health as you were before. You will always be weak and cough out a little blood. You may relapse and must return. It’s very likely you will live with this for the rest of your life. But you have gained some strength and health back, and you can re-enter society, Mrs. Cavaradossi.”

He wiped his glasses and put them back on. Yet his brown eyes were focused on me.

“I say in the meantime, you still eat healthily, consider moving to the countryside, rest plenty, and exercise as much as you can,” he advised.

Smiling, blinking tears, I took his hand. I could have kissed it.

“Thank you, doctor.” .

Joyous letters and telegrams were sent out in a heartbeat. Harry said he would meet me there and help me travel back to his home in London. So many of my fellow patients congratulated me. Elvira made me promise to write to her and visit and I said I would. A few nurses cried as I put on my white kerchief over my hair, my cream-colored vest covered with flowers sewn on it, and one of my favorite old blue dresses. I wasn’t a patient in a nightgown or a widow in black. I felt like myself.

There was a knock on the door, and it was Harry in his traveling hat and jacket.

“Hello Stella, are you ready to see your home?” he asked.

“Then take me there, my love,” I answered.

I gathered what belongings I had left and he carried the bags with him. I said goodbye to each and every person I was able to. The sun was bright and the sky was full of large, white, puffy clouds as we walked out and stepped into the cab. It was a beautiful trip to watch from the window together- both the cab and then the train to London.

Once we got there, to that beautiful white and grey brick house full of windows with laced white shades and green bushes, he opened the gate for me, practically skipped to the door, and knocked a few times.

“Jojo! Jimmy! Johnny! Guess who’s here!” he announced.

The dog began to bark and there was the familiar cry of “mama!" My own children ran down the hall, the dog at their heels. I noticed John had even gathered a few blue flowers in a blue vase that he handed to me as a welcoming gift.

“Please, everyone- let me hold all of you!” I cried, overcome with happiness.

I stretched out my arms and hugged all three of them, and then me. I felt those three little heads and the softening of their limbs. Harry even embraced himself over us, so we were nothing but a circle of warmth.

Harry then took my hand.

“Here, come see our room- there’s something for you up in our room!” he encouraged.

He took me by the hand and led me there. He glanced at the other children and winked at them.

“It’s a surprise!” Joanna announced. She placed her hands over my eyes so I could no longer see as Harry led me forward. Slowly, we all walked.

“Alright…now open!” he announced.

Joanna removed her hands, and I gasped in the room.

My old blue collection in its entirety was sent over and all organized. Every pillow, pebble, and plate- even all of my journals filled with flowers, my hand mirror, and sewing threads. Even the ones left behind in Aldwinter.

“Oh, Harry, you did it! Oh, thank you!” I gasped.

“And we helped as well!” John remembered, cutting in.

“Of course!” I replied, reaching for an arm around him to kiss the top of his head.

The bed was the softest, warmest bed I had ever laid on. Far more comfortable than the hospital mattress I had to become accustomed to when I Sat there to catch my breath.

At a dinner of chicken, roast potatoes, and fresh, green salad, my children boasted of the various attractions in London that there were. Joanna especially loved the museums to see around town, John the park where he could bike around, and James of course had a fondness for all the sweet shops he could choose from. And how their new Stepfather promised to take all of them to see a play next week. All was laughter and joy.

“I shall tell you-On Saturday, who would like to join your papa to see work? Maybe one of you could become a banker when you’re old enough.” Harry suggested.

“You know I don’t want to be a banker, Papa!” Joanna refused, as she cut up her chicken with a knife and fork.

“And you don’t have to if you don’t want to, Joanna” Harry replied kindly.

“I’d like to see it, please!” John said quietly.

“Then Saturday, we’ll see it, son,” Harry replied.

We all went to church as a family. Though a shock ran through me to see a figure in familiar white robes at the main chapel again, when I looked up, it was a kindly old man with spectacles and a bald head with a shaven face. I still gripped Harry’s arm, hardly letting it go. And he let me. Though he could not recite any of the creeds or prayers to save his life and I had to speak first, his own monotone whispers right after me. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ A month later, when I woke up from that soft bed, I saw that my husband was gone. When I went downstairs to see the housekeeper, she explained that there was a robbery at the bank and some families were in trouble. Harry had rushed over to see what could be done. He would be back later.

As I sat to dinner, I then received a telegram from Harry. Another disaster struck. His brother’s house caught on fire. It seemed that though their home and property were destroyed, and the family safe, the brother himself was injured and had to be rushed. He sent telegrams for three days as he managed the crises. At least I could be there to look after the children and assure them all was well. And I felt in my stomach that he was honest. He was at the bank, with his brother’s family, and at the hospital. Once it was assured that his brother and the families affected by these disasters were safe, he’d return.

But as I laid down to bed on the third night, I had another dream of my first husband. And I shall do my best to be honest, despite the indelicacies of the content of the dream. I understand that those reading this are far blunter and less embarrassed about openly discussing sexual acts than I was raised to be.

In the dream, I saw him in the water. I saw his bare back, but I knew it was him. William. He was swimming naked in the sea, the secret hobby he confided in me early in our marriage. His head emerged from the waters- the curls wet and clinging to him. He then stopped swimming and paused, wading in the water where the tides were low for his feet to touch the ground. He stood there for a while.

He was… pleasuring himself in the water. And I heard a name on his lips in between grunts of his self-pleasure. A name escaping his smooth, baritone voice. Not my name, her name. Her, her, her.

With a startle, I woke up at once. My breathing quickened. I felt clammy. All was dark, yet I felt something on the bed next to me. A weight, a presence. I checked the wallpaper- in Aldwinter, it was a light blue wallpaper with a pattern of white, rounded crosses all over it. Here, it was a creamy, white background with some plants with green stems and leaves where blue blossoms opened up all over our four walls. I wasn’t back in that small Essex town- I was in London!

I turned around and my blood was cold, and a terrified gasp came out when I saw who was lying down next to me.

It was William’s face! I’d know that beard anywhere- I saw his face and he was asleep next to me! The cheekbones, the high forehead, and the large nose. I felt panic surge through my veins. Oh God, he was back! Back from the dead! I let out a scream. The face woke up. A groggy voice started to rumble from the face.

“What, Stella-“

I slapped his face as hard as I could and leaped out of the bed, retreating to a corner. My hands fumbled around and felt for anything I could use as a shield.

“Will! Will! Why do you haunt me? Forgive me, Will! I had no other choice! Will, I’m so sorry! Haunt me no more! Leave me- we are done, Will! I don’t want you back- I’m so sorry! Please! Have mercy!” I begged.

The bearded face jumped out of bed. My eyes darted down to observe his clothes.

I dreaded seeing the dark blue sweater my first husband enjoyed wearing or the black suit and pants with the tiny speck of white at his neck, the clothes he died in. I saw neither. The bearded face wore a white nightshirt with a jaguar stitched over the breast. None of Wiliam's nightshirts had that!

“Stella, I’m not Will! It’s me! Harold! Harry!” the face spoke.

I paused and then realized…it was indeed Harry. Only in the past few days, the light scruff he had grown become a beard.

"You have quite a good hand- I might need to see a doctor!" he mused as he rubbed the reddened cheek from my attack.

“Oh, Harry…oh thank God, it’s you…I was terrified…I thought you were…you were…” I whimpered, slowly sinking to the floor.

There was a rush of footsteps and the door burst open to show Joanna.

“Mama, what’s wrong??” she cried, looking around in her nightgown with braids draping down, it whipped as her head turned around to look at the scene.

She turned to see her bearded Stepfather and froze. Her face went stark white and beneath her nightgown, her legs were shaking.

“Papa!?...Papa?! I thought you…you…”

“Everyone, I’m not William! He’s dead as a doornail! I just grew a beard, that’s all! And it scared your mother, Jo!” he appeased, his hands up.

“But…but with it, you just look like…look like…” she mumbled in awe.

She let out a huge sigh of relief. She helped me up. Then she hugged me tight, and I smoothed her head. I saw quiet tears in her eyes.

“It’s alright, we were both only scared…” I comforted.

Even Harry stepped forward to make it a hug between all of us. I felt my daughter relax.

“It’s all right. The place isn’t haunted, everything’s fine, Jojo.” He assured her.

He kissed the top of her head and she left. Once the door was closed, and there was none of my children in need of comfort, I turned to him.

“I’m so sorry…I…I was spooked…” I apologized.

“Stella, I should be the sorry one…I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It was an accident, Harry!” I insisted.

I went forward and this time leaned against him, and he embraced me, letting me cry into his chest.

“You look like him, Harry…remember? Where is that photo I have of him…here, there’s this journal.”

I went to one journal where I kept a photo of William. It was on a page with some flowers he gave to me that day when I pressed them. For our whole marriage, William had a beard. He only cut it down to scruff when we were married, but he preferred to not completely cut it off. He would say it made him feel mature, manly, official, and confident. It was a more formal photo from an earlier scene in our marriage, him in his black and white sitting on the chair and me standing up next to him. I showed it to Harry and his eyebrows shot up as he glanced between them and then checked it in the blue hand mirror.

“I see…well, shit- you’re right!” Harry cursed.

“I thought he was back. He was going to punish me. He was going to torture me again…” I confessed.

I then sat down on the chair and lowered my head, tears welling up. I then looked up. It struck me- among my things returned to this house was that safe with the letters inside.

“Their letters are here! The ones in the safe! Please promise me you won’t read what they wrote between them! It was too humiliating!” I begged.

“Alright, I won’t” he replied.

He patted my back.

“You’re safe, Stella…you’re safe, you're with me, nothing will harm you ever again…”

I continued ranting.

“Do you know what I dreamt? I dreamt he was…he was…doing…doing…you know, what men do to themselves when they’re full of lust…”

“Masturbating? It’s a word, Stella, I know what it is.”

“But not over me, for her! He was never satisfied with me. I loved him so much, but he never loved me at all! All that time, all that work, that whole bit of my life for nothing! I wasn’t good enough for him. I wasn’t as good as her. I was going to die so soon and he…he…he…” I mourned.

He held me as I cried into him again, letting it wash over.

“Here…I’ll get you some water and wine. I’ll start a fire- you can sit here and later lay back on the bed…” he said, wiping my tears with his thumb.

He got two glasses with each drink, handing them to me. He rubbed my arm and leaned his head against my neck. I gulped down the water quickly. I turned to look at him and saw a few tears in his eyes. Gentleness, lightness- love.

“Tomorrow, I’ll go to the barbers. I’ll get this shaved off.” He promised.

I began to pick up the wine, nursing it over the dryness of its flavor and how deep red it was. If it wasn’t for the light, it would have seemed black. I got into bed, cupping it around my hand as I slowly finished it. I felt the effects wash over me, relaxing my senses and mind after that great fright. Harry got into bed next to me.

“What are you thinking hard about now?” he asked.

“Harry…I’ve taken a life. A human life. The life of someone I loved and trusted. I said the confession to God after I did it but…do you think God has really forgiven me?” I asked.

“Have you forgiven yourself, Stella?” Harry questioned.

He looked at me with gentle eyes and I looked back at him. I found I could not form any words to reply.

He kissed the top of my head and pulled me to his warm, solid chest. I felt one of his hands running through my hair, like a gentle comb. I let the wine and his embrace seep me into sleep, repeating that prayer silently.

I forgive myself; I forgive myself; I forgive myself.

The next morning, when he returned, Harold was clean-shaven.

“Here, how’s that? Am I handsome, eh?” he asked.

“You’re the most handsome man in England” I agreed. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ I had to visit Edith and her husband, Edgar, for the arrival of their little son. My new nephew was so tiny, but with soft rosy cheeks and filled with the scent of a clean baby on him. He had a large smile that no one, least of all his aunt, could resist.

“Oh, little Eddie’s the sweetest boy!” I said, handing him back to her.

“His father and I couldn’t be happier…I only…I only hope you can be happy again, Stella, I really do…” she wished.

“I think I will be. You won’t hope in vain…” I replied.

Though once I got home and went upstairs, there was silence. It was too quiet, even though the children were at school by now. Even as the housekeeper was bustling about. The door to Harold’s study was closed and normally, he tended to leave it open should anyone ask for him.

When I turned the unlocked door to his study, I saw my husband reading the affair letters between William and the Woman. He had the little safe placed on the desk and wide open. His eyes scrunched to study the pages closely.

[whitesparrows97]

Underdog – Part 1

Pairing: Dog Shifter!Taehyung x Human!Reader/Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Shifter AU/Hybrid AU

Summary: Even though humans and shifters coexist in one world, it’s still a rarity for hybrids to openly show themselves. One evening, when you hit a stray dog with your car, you feel so guilty that you bring him home with you. But you don’t realize until much later that you let a stranger into your house.

Warnings: Angst, being in a car accident 

Word Count: 7.8K

Next

Authors note: Hello, hello! I had this story in my drafts for months now (thanks overthinking me) and I really wanted to get at least the first chapter out before Taehyung’s birthday. I’m not sure how many chapters this story will have, but I’m aiming for around four. I really hope you’ll like this story and this chapter and I’d be happy about every kind of feedback from you guys! Thank you so much for reading! 

. . .

With a gasp you woke up from a dreamless sleep. You were confused for a moment as you let your gaze glide through the dark room and could only make out the outlines of your living room. When you looked outside the window, you realized that it had already become dark.

Crap. 

You only wanted to take a short nap after work before going grocery shopping. Your refrigerator and the cupboards in your kitchen were devastatingly empty. But, as was so often the case, your nap turned into a deep sleep which left you even more exhausted than before.

In the dark, you searched for your cell phone, which you had placed on the small coffee table before falling asleep. When your fingers finally hit the small, square device and enclosed it, you breathed a sigh of relief. But the relief disappeared just as quickly and gave way to the hectic when you saw how late it already was. You had about half an hour before the supermarket would close. By car, it took you about fifteen minutes… maybe ten if you were lucky with the traffic lights.

You closed your eyes again for a short moment and thought about whether it was really worth the stress to rush off. If you were thinking about your bank account, which was already in the red, you knew that you could not afford to order food. You puffed out the air in frustration and got up from the sofa. In record time you put on your shoes and jacket and grabbed your bag before you were in your car a few minutes later. When you stopped at a red light, your fingers drummed a rhythm on the steering wheel while you kept your eyes focused on the light.

Impatient, you honked at the person in front of you when they didn’t start moving as soon as the light turned green. When you made a turn and could see the park, which was only illuminated by the moonlight and the few street lamps, you exhaled with relief. All you had to do was drive past it, take the next right before you–

The suffocated scream got stuck in your throat when you pressed your foot on the brake. Your fingers clutched firmly into the steering wheel and you tried to yank the car to the side, but then you heard the dull thud that shook your car. With screeching tires, your car came to a halt and only the roar of the engine mixed with your loud heartbeat pumping blood through your body filled your ears.

Panic rose inside you as your eyes looked out at the road ahead, hoping to see something in the light of your headlights. You hoped that you had only imagined the small, dark tuft of fur that had run in front of your car. Perhaps a hallucination due to your lack of sleep? Maybe you had also imagined the impact. You were sure you had read about it on the Internet before.

Your cramped fingers hurt when you peeled them off the steering wheel and you noticed how they trembled – you didn’t know whether it was fear or overexertion – when you tried to loosen your seat belt. It took you three attempts until the belt finally rolled back and you were able to get out of the car. Immediately, your legs buckled under you and you had to support yourself against the door. In the cold of the late evening you could see your own breath, but still you were sweating. Hesitantly you tried to look around the fender of the car, hoping to see only the asphalt there. Unfortunately, fate did not seem to be on your side tonight.

You managed to stifle a sob when you saw the dog lying in front of your car. As fast as your shaky legs carried you, you ran to the huddled figure. You scratched your knees open as you let yourself fall next to him, but you hardly felt the pain. He showed no reaction to your presence and kept his eyes firmly shut. You looked up hoping to see his owner coming out of the park. But the path to the park was empty, as were the area around you. You were completely on your own and more than overwhelmed by that.

There was nothing else you could do. Without a second thought, you slid your hands under the dog’s body and grimaced when your knuckles scraped across the asphalt. But the dull pain in your hands was immediately forgotten when the dog whimpered softly. It was as if this sound loosened your rigidity and immediately hot tears streamed down your face. You lifted him up and brought him as fast as possible to your car where you carefully laid him on the back seat. 

“I’m so sorry,” you brought out between sobs before you stroked his fur briefly and took a seat behind the wheel again. You blinked away the tears, even when new ones immediately took their place, and dialed your best friend’s phone number. While it was ringing, you started the car and made your way to the practice. 

“Come on, Hoseok,” you mumbled and bit your lower lip to stop your teeth from clattering. You wiped tears from your face again with the back of your hand as the road in front of you blurred and slowed down. One accident would be more than enough for today. When you heard the familiar crack of the line as Hoseok answered the call, tears of relief mixed in. 

“Y/N? Why are you calling so late–”

“Hobi!” you interrupted him and you could hear the panic in your own voice. “I’m on my way to your practice. I just hit a dog and I don’t know how badly he is hurt. Oh God, he’s not moving and he was just whimpering. I don’t know what to do.” Another sob escaped you. 

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” Hoseok tried to calm you down “I’m going straight to the practice, okay? It’ll be fine, you hear?” When you didn’t answer and suppressed more sobs, Hoseok asked again, “Okay, Y/N?”

You nodded. When you realized he couldn’t see that through the phone, you answered his question and hung up. Worried, you glanced over your shoulder at the brown dog who was still taking shallow breaths and lying motionless on your back seat. “It will be all right,” you repeated Hoseok’s words. Whether you wanted to calm the dog down or yourself, you didn’t know.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

“I came as fast as I could,” Hoseok greeted you and opened the small veterinary practice. It had been his childhood dream to become a veterinarian and unlike many others in that age who had the same dream but dropped it when they’d grown older, his desire only grew stronger. Now, more than twenty years later, not only did he have nearly six years of training behind him, but he even had two employees working under him.

Tonight, however, the practice was empty and dark; hours ago, it had treated its last patient. “Lay him on here,” Hoseok said as he put on a gown and gloves and additionally disinfected his hands. Carefully you laid the dog on the hard table and a chill ran down your spine as you touched the cold metal. Immediately you wanted to pull him right into your arms again. But you knew you were here so Hoseok could help him.

“Let’s see what the little one has,” Hoseok said, more to himself than to you. You watched Hoseok palpate the dog before he pulled up his eyelids with his practiced movements and pointed a flashlight into his eyes. “He doesn’t appear to have a concussion.”

Relieved, you exhaled.

“But he seems to have broken one paw and at least one,” he palpated his torso again, “no, probably two ribs,” Hoseok finished his diagnosis for now. You wanted to throw up, so guilty you felt. “Could you hold him for a moment, just in case he suddenly moves? I’ll get the x-ray.” He looked up at you from the dog and immediately stepped towards you. “Is everything okay? Are you feeling dizzy? You look like you’re gonna faint.”

You shook your head, but which of his questions you denied you didn’t know. The tears that you had had under control ran down your cheeks again. When Hoseok saw this, he bridged the last steps to you and squeezed your shoulders tightly. “We can do this, Y/N. It’s nothing serious, I promise you. Almost daily we have people here who have hit an animal. It happens more often than you think.”

“Okay,” you answered quietly and Hoseok hurried to get the x-ray machine from the next room. Hesitantly, you stepped closer to the metal table and stretched out your hand. The dog’s fur was tattered and you even saw some bald spots where the fur was completely missing. You let Hoseok know as soon as he came back and pulled the device clattering behind him into the room.

“I know, I noticed that too. Seems like he had been living outside for a long time. At least a few months, if not more.” He plugged in the device and immediately the room was filled with the constant whirring of the lamp. “Put this on,” Hoseok said, holding out a dark blue gown. When you reached for it, you were surprised at how heavy it was. “Protects you from the radiation,” Hoseok explained, wearing the same gown and matching gloves. He pressed numerous buttons before he fixed the dog’s legs and started the machine. 

It didn’t take more than ten minutes, but you were so restless that it felt like hours watching the dog lying lifeless in front of you. Hoseok turned the machine off and moved it to the side when the process was complete. Your eyes were still on the dog when he suddenly opened his eyes. Two dark orbs stared at you and you froze in place staring right back at him.

“We were lucky,” Hoseok said, and you flinched as his voice cut loudly through the oppressive silence. “His paw is only sprained, as is one of his ribs. One rib though is broken but this should heal on its own with rest and medication.”

Hoseok reached into a drawer and pulled out a small device that looked like a magnifying glass, but was made entirely of gray plastic. He moved it straight over the dog’s neck and after a few seconds he clicked his tongue in frustration. “He has no chip.”

“What does that mean?” You chewed on your lower lip and tasted the blood as one spot ripped open.

“That he has no owner, or at least we can’t find out who his owner is. The only thing I can do is check to see if a dog has been reported missing.” Hoseok began applying a bandage around the dog’s torso and, when he was finished, pressed a pack of medicine into your hand. “Three times a day, morning, noon, and in the evening. Just mix this into his food.”

Hoseok sat down at the computer and started to enter some data. Confused, you looked at the package in your hand. “What should I do with it?”

“Huh?” Hoseok asked over his shoulder. 

“The medicine, what am I supposed to do with it?” You waved the little package in question in the air for him to see.

Now, Hoseok turned completely around to you. “You’re supposed to give those to him,” he answered, as if it were a matter of course.

“Hobi, I can’t take him home,” you clarified. “I have no experience with dogs. I have no food at home, no basket and no toys. And I have a job, how will that work?”

Hoseok sighed and let his head fall forward. When he looked up again, he had a mischievous smile on his lips. “He is not reported missing. If you don’t take him in, I’ll have to take him to a shelter.”

You didn’t say anything because you knew exactly what Hoseok was talking about.

“And you know what it’s like with animals that are injured. Many people shy away from taking on such an animal because of unexpected costs–”

“Yes, all right,” you interrupted your best friend and a triumphant smile spread across his face. “But I still don’t know how I’m going to manage all this,” you said with concern.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hoseok reassured you and he got up from his chair to approach you. “We have some dog food here and I’m sure I saw a toy somewhere. You can use a couple of blankets and pillows as a bedding, that’s enough for one night. And about work…” He rummaged in one of the many cupboards and took out two cans of dog food, “Didn't you say that you were going to work part-time? You have a big garden, so he can be alone for five hours. He won’t feel the need to run around much for the next few weeks anyway.”

When Hoseok told you all these things, you found it hard to say anything to him. He was right – you had a small, cozy house all to yourself, which you could never fill out alone. The garden was hidden behind the house and fenced in on all sides and you didn’t have to worry in your neighborhood anyway. You also had a secure job that brought you halfway good money… 

With a smile, Hoseok handed you a small toy dog before carrying the real dog to your car. You put the two cans of dog food in the footwell and placed the toy dog right in front of the dog’s nose. Your heart began to beat faster when you watched his nose move and he picked up the scent of what were probably other dogs who had already played with the toy.

“He’s an Australian Kelpie by the way,” Hoseok said as you were about to get into your car. “Very intelligent animals and once he trusts you, very affectionate.”

You nodded. You knew what Hoseok was getting at. 

You knew your best friend long enough to know that he would never forgive you if you took the dog to a shelter. But he didn’t have to worry – you felt way too guilty. You wouldn’t hit an animal and then dump him at the next opportunity in an animal shelter; out of sight, out of mind. You were not like that and you were not raised like that. You had always taken responsibility for your deeds – and also mistakes – and now would be no different. 

Exhausted, you leaned back in your seat when you were on your way home. When you looked in your rear-view mirror and saw only two pointed ears, a little smile was stealing onto your face. But it fell right out of your face a second later as you turned back in shock. Indeed, the dog was no longer lying on the back seat, but had meanwhile sat up and looked at you.

“Hey, you are supposed to rest!” you scolded him as if he could understand what you were saying. “Not that you’re going to hurt yourself even more.” Anything else would have surprised you, but the dog stubbornly continued to sit and look at you. Two dark eyes watching your every move. Each of your facial features as you nervously chewed your lip or slid restlessly back and forth in your seat at a red light.

You were happy when you finally drove up your driveway to the house. “Here we are,” you told him and turned off the engine. You decided to check the damage to your car tomorrow morning before work. You didn’t know whether a visit to the repair shop was financially feasible at the moment. You doubted it when you looked at the dog behind you. It would not be cheap to buy all the necessary things for a dog. But it would be worth it for the fact that the house was no longer as quiet and deserted. 

And slowly, very slowly, your guilt was replaced by another feeling; excitement. 

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

You had to blink a few times to get the sleep out of your eyes and get used to the sun that was shining through your window. For a brief, calm moment, everything was like twenty-four hours ago. Your thoughts had not yet caught up with you and were still hanging on to the confusing dream that slowly sank further and further into oblivion. After a few more seconds, you had completely forgotten what it had been about. 

You stretched and your bones cracked. It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to do some exercise again. But… what would be an even better idea would be a big cup of coffee and a nice breakfast. By nice, you meant a bowl of the cheap cereal that was on sale at the supermarket last week. After your first bite a few days earlier, you could imagine why it had been on sale. It was amazing that cereal could taste like cardboard, but you never stopped learning, right?

You straightened up and let your legs dangle from the bed before you put them on the floor. At least you wanted to, but instead of the cold, hard laminate floor, you stepped on something fluffy and soft.

Immediately you pulled your legs up and leaned forward to look over the edge of the bed. Right. How could you have forgotten that? It really seemed that thirty seconds after waking up you didn’t remember anything. 

You let your gaze glide over the bundle of dark brown fur that had curled up into a ball and had buried its nose almost protectively under its paws. Almost as if he wanted to hide from the world. 

You stretched out your hand slowly. You had such a strong need to let your fingers slide through his fur. But in the middle of your movement you paused when you saw two eyes staring right at you between his paws.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you muttered and pulled your hand back again. He had probably woken up when you almost stepped on him by mistake. You just didn’t seem to have any luck with the little four-legged friend. “Are you hungry?” you asked, hoping that he would forgive you your little mishaps with some food.

Immediately he pulled his head out from under his paws and raised his head. “You hungry?” you repeated and he tilted his head. You assumed that he still knew the word from his former owner and that he recognized it now. “Let’s go,” you said and stood up. You were careful to keep some distance between you and the dog. You didn’t know what he had experienced and if he liked physical proximity. But what you knew was that he was still watching you with a skeptical look.

You put on warm and cozy socks, which were still lying on the floor next to your bed from the previous evening, and made your way to the kitchen. When you took a bowl out of the kitchen cupboard and opened the can of dog food, your eyes fell on the dog, who was standing a few meters away and watching you. “What should I name you? I can no longer call you just dog.”

You went over some names in your head while you filled the food into the bowl. You put it on the floor and prepared your own breakfast. You didn’t have much choice anyway, so you were left with the cardboard flavoured cereal. Sighing, you pressed the button on the coffee machine and breathed in the scent that filled the room. 

As you sipped from your cup, you watched the dog as he hesitantly paced towards the bowl. His nose picked up the smell of food in front of him, then he shook himself and nudged the bowl away from him. Astonished, you put the cup down on the worktop. “Don’t you like your food?”

The dog snorted and looked at you as if it was an impertinence that you even asked such a question. 

“But you must eat something. I promise you, I’ll go shopping later and bring you something better. But for now, this will have to do, I’m sorry,” you explained to him. You knew he didn’t understand you, but you hoped that he could tell by the tone of your voice what you were trying to tell him. 

The dog stared at you for a moment longer before making a sound that sounded almost like a sigh and he reluctantly walked towards the bowl. He sniffed at the indefinable mass once more before he hesitantly started to eat from it.

“Well, there you go,” you whispered and began to choke down your no less appetizing-looking breakfast. “And I’ll bring something for me, too. I swear, I wouldn’t be surprised if the packaging tastes better than the cereal itself,” you whispered in frustration.

When you put your empty bowl in the sink, you noticed that the dog had eaten his food too. He took a few steps back when you approached him to put the bowl away as well. Immediately you felt the lump in your throat and stopped moving. Slowly you let yourself sink into a crouch and carefully extended your hand.

His gaze was fixed on your hand, which was gripping the bowl. Just as slowly you straightened up again. You were already dreading it when you thought of the upcoming walk. How could this work when he hardly let you within a radius of less than one meter? You were surprised that he had even accepted to sleep beside you. But he probably had been too exhausted yesterday and hadn’t had the strength to move the blankets or find another place to sleep.

You supported yourself with your hands on the worktop and looked out the patio door into the garden. You could see even from a distance how the grass was covered with a blanket of fresh morning dew. The fog was still hanging in the treetops of the adjacent forest so early in the morning and it would probably take a few more hours before it disappeared. 

Maybe it would be better if you only let him into the garden? At least there he would have the possibility to keep some distance to you. And that would probably also be better for his injury. Your lips were pressed into a straight line when your gaze fell on the white bandage around his one front paw and his torso. 

You dispelled the guilt that was building up inside you and pushed yourself off the countertop to go to the patio door. “Would you like to get some fresh air?” You flinched at the loud noise the door made when you opened it. But the birds chirping their first songs brought a smile to your face as the sun carefully sent its rays over the trees.

You turned around to the dog, who also had his eyes on the garden. His tail swung slowly from side to side and you grinned. “Go ahead, you can go out,” you encouraged him and stepped aside so that there was enough space between you as he slowly walked towards the door. He looked at you once more before he put one of his paws first on the terrace and then followed with the other three. You watched him briefly as he explored the garden and slowly looked at the various bushes, shrubs and plants. 

Your parents had always been keen on a well-tended garden. Even if it was not the biggest, it certainly offered enough work for one person. A narrow paved path divided the various flower beds from the small green area where you had always splashed in a small inflatable pool as a child. The path led to a garden gate that was built into the fence. This fence surrounded the entire garden, so you didn’t have to worry about unauthorized people entering the property or animals from the adjacent forest suddenly appearing in front of your patio door.

That’s why you checked one last time on the dog before you went into the bathroom. You wouldn’t want to be watched either during your morning business, so you gave him the few minutes of discovery and privacy. You needed the time to get ready before you had to go to the office as well. 

To be honest, you often had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach when you were on your way to work. You knew that these were probably not the best conditions for a healthy working atmosphere and that you might need to find a new job. However, that was easier said than done. The job prospects were rather bad in the small town, which was why you had been more than happy when you found this job right after your graduation. 

Why exactly the job was available was something you experienced first-hand on your first day of work. You had just said introduced yourself to your new colleagues when they had already warned you about your new boss. Phrases like ‘absolute choleric’, ‘lazy bastard’ and other, far more vicious insults had been uttered even before they had told you their own names.

The fact that you had lasted so long at all was probably not very healthy for your overall well-being. But as soon as you had something new in sight, you would be gone faster than the insults of your boss yelled at you would reach you.

Almost automatically, you went back into your bedroom and put on your dark blue pinstripe pants and a plain white blouse. You looked at the crumpled up pile of blankets and pillows that you had made a makeshift bed. With a small smile and absorbed in thought, you loosened the pillows and rearranged the blankets neatly so that no bald spots formed in between and the dog had to sleep on the cold floor. 

You went back into the kitchen and let your gaze wander over the various bushes in the garden and frowned. You leaned forward to catch a glimpse under the leaves of the bushes, but everything seemed quiet and your eyes didn’t notice any movement in the small rectangle.

Immediately your heart beat faster as you stepped onto the terrace and frantically continued to search the garden. “Doggie?” you asked quietly and more to yourself. “Where are you?” you asked louder this time and stepped onto the wet lawn. You felt the panic rising inside you and took quick steps towards the garden gate. You reached for the latch, but the lock was still in place. So it definitely could not have blown open or someone had stolen the dog from the garden.

Almost to tears, you turned back and flinched when the dog suddenly stood in front of you not even a meter away. “There you are!” you exclaimed in relief. You would love to bend down to him and fluff through his fur. But you held yourself back. “I was looking for you, I thought you had disappeared.”

You were almost embarrassed how weepy your voice sounded, although you had held back the tears well until now. Yet you couldn’t deny the pure relief that passed through you as he looked back at you. 

“Shall we go back inside?”

When the both of you were back inside, you looked at your watch and knew that you should leave. You put another bowl of water for the dog, grabbed your bag and kept an eye out for him. This time you found him quickly. All you had to do was take a peek into your bedroom and hold back your laughter.

“Just so we’re clear,” you said gently, “this is my bed and I’m only allowing you to sleep in it today.” 

He didn’t even look up, he just turned to the other side and you saw that as a clear sign to leave him alone and drive to work.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

Five hours later you stepped out of the multi-story office building and could finally breathe again. The atmosphere in the small office, where you were all squeezed together, had once again been almost unbearable. In fact, it was already so bad that you considered a working day successful when your boss had paid no attention to you at all. Most of the time he sat in his own office, which took up a good third of the entire office.

The only thing you liked about your work were your colleagues. You were a sworn team and you allied yourselves against your boss when he went crazy again. It seemed there was something to the saying that a common enemy made you friends. At least you knew that the others were always behind you when your boss yelled at you. You also knew, purely rationally, that it had nothing to do with you as a person, but that it was his fault. But that didn’t make the situations any better when you’d rather hop into your car and drive home after one of his outbursts. 

But then you didn’t even have to show up the next day. 

When you sat down in your car and entered the destination in your cell phone, you had to smile despite everything. At least now you had something to look forward to at home. Someone would be waiting for you; or at least you hoped he would. He still seemed to be rather sceptical about you. But you were sure that this would change with time. 

You pulled into the large parking lot of the shopping mall and already saw the large pet store. You were a bit excited when you took the note out of your bag on which you had written down the essential things you had to buy today. The store was well sorted and fortunately had everything you needed.

You were a bit overwhelmed with the food you had to choose. It felt like there were hundreds of different kinds of food, fish, beef, pork… how were you supposed to know which tasted good and which didn’t?

Your eyes fell on the bottom row of the shelf, in the very corner were a few cans, which were different in color from the others. You rolled your shopping cart to the side and crouched down to read the label on the cans. But you didn’t get a chance to read the label when you heard someone clearing their throat next to you. Immediately you turned your head and looked at the employee.

He moved the glasses that were sitting on his nose and had slipped down a bit back into place and gave you a nervous smile. “Can I help you?”

Surprised, you straightened up again. “Actually, yes, I’m a little overwhelmed, to be honest.”

“I understand,” he replied sympathetically, “hybrids are very complex beings. If you don’t give them the attention they need, they can be very resentful.” He pointed to the cans in front of you and you jumped aside in surprise to make room for him. 

“Wait a minute, you’re talking about a hybrid?” you began wondering. 

The man had taken your position in front of the shelf and grabbed one of the cans from the shelf. “You were in front of the shelf for hybrids, I thought… I thought you had a hybrid.” His smile was gone, what remained was a confused frown.

“Oh no, no,” you made yourself clear and waved your arms wildly in front of your torso, hoping to underline your statement. “He’s an Australian Kelpie, just an ordinary dog.” You threw him a smile, hoping to make the situation a little less awkward.

“Ah, okay,” he said and put the can back in its place, “Then you’re free to choose,” he went on and made a broad arm movement to the rest of the shelf.

“You don���t have much choice for hybrids,” you noted as you glanced again over the countless cans, almost dwarfing the handful of cans for hybrids by comparison. 

The employee sighed, which made you turn your attention back to him. “You don’t know much about hybrids, do you?” Your expression seemed to alarm him because he promptly added, “No offense.”

“None taken, I just didn’t think it was that obvious,” you reassured him and took the can he handed you. 

“This is perfect for Australian Kelpies. Especially for puppies to strengthen their bone structure.”

“Oh, he’s not a puppy anymore. To be honest, I don’t even know how old he is. But he’s definitely full-grown.”

“Oh, I see. You adopted a dog from a shelter. That’s very commendable. Then I recommend this one,” he said and handed you another can. “I also recommend a beef or veal bone, that will keep him busy for a while. And I would supplement the food with a simple but high-quality dry food.”

“Perfect, thank you so much! I just hope he likes the food. This morning he barely wanted to eat. Almost as if he was disgusted.”

“Hm, funny,” he replied, “normally they are very easy to care for and don’t have too high demands on their food. But dogs also have different personalities, maybe you have a little diva at home.”

You laughed and lifted the heavy bag of dry food into the cart. “I hope not.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

One hour and a car packed with groceries for you and your new resident later, you made your way home exhausted. The horrendous amounts of money you spent today you pushed far back and out of your consciousness. If need be, you had a little something put aside that you could fall back on if the money ran out at the end of the month.

“I’m back!” you shouted into the dead quiet house as you closed the door behind you and the purchases took up the entire entrance. You climbed over the dog bed and carried the groceries into the kitchen. You stowed everything in the refrigerator and the cupboards and were just about to go back into the hallway to get the rest when your eyes fell on the sink.

Your eyebrows were drawn together as you looked at the two bowls and the spoon that were on the tray for draining. Had you washed the dishes this morning? You were convinced that you had only put them in the sink. But maybe this process was already so automated in your brain that you hadn’t even noticed it.

Without a second thought, you grabbed the dog bed and dragged it into your bedroom. Your bed was deserted, so you just quickly picked up the blankets and pillows from the floor and put the dog bed in its place instead. You looked at the position for a moment before you pushed it with your foot half a meter away from your bed. You didn’t want to make the same mistake tomorrow morning, if you were still not used to having a dog sharing your room from now on. 

“Where are you?” you shouted as you left the bedroom, looking for the dog in every room on the first floor. The house was not infinitely large, so it couldn’t be that difficult to find him. You paused for a moment and listened if you could hear the paws tripping somewhere, but the house was quiet.

With careful steps you climbed up the stairs. Most of the doors were locked and you actually thought you had closed all the doors. However, one of them was ajar, so that you headed towards it. “You in here, doggie?”

Carefully you pushed the door open and the question popped into your head how he had fitted through the slit. But this thought was displaced by the feeling that spread through you when you took a look into the room behind the door. 

Your father had used this room as an office and you had hardly had the time (and money) to decorate the room the way you wanted it to be. Therefore there was only a simple desk in the room, numerous shelves that you had more or less filled with your things and documents, an easel with a blank canvas on it and your mother’s old piano that she had left you when she moved out. As a child, you had taken lessons twice a week, but hadn’t played in ages now.

Right in front of this dusty piano the dog stood on his hind legs. His front paws he had supported on the cushion of the seat. “What are you doing there?” you asked laughing and the dog’s head moved around to you. He must have pulled the seat out because you were sure you had never pulled it out from under the piano. 

You crouched down and hesitantly stretched out your hands. To your surprise, he pushed himself off the chair and slowly came towards you. He stopped just before you and you waited a moment longer to see if he changed his mind and backed out. But he still stood in front of you and looked at you waiting. Slowly you approached one hand to his nose and held it out to him so he could sniff it. 

But he ducked away from your hand and came another step closer so that his nose almost touched your upper body when he looked up at you. “Do you want me to pet you?” you asked, your voice no more than a whisper for fear he might shy away from the sound. Of course, no answer came back, so you let your hand, which was still hovering in the air, sink slowly. Gently your fingers came into contact with the fur on his back. You knew that once you had washed him, his fur would soften. Right now it was still ruffled and dirty from the weather outside. Who knew how long the poor guy was out there on his own…

You moved your hand up and down his back for a few more seconds before you slowly straightened up so as not to frighten him. “Shall we go outside?”

Immediately, his head rushed to you and a blink of an eye later he started jumping up and down. You had to laugh. “Not so fast, not that you hurt yourself,” you warned him, but by then he was already on his way to the stairs. You only heard his paws on the wood and hurried after him. When you came downstairs, his nose was already halfway into the shopping bags that contained the cans of his dog food. With a smile, you grabbed the harness from a bag to which you attached the leash. 

You were relieved that the time alone had apparently done him good and that he had warmed up a little with you in the meantime. This would make things a lot easier if you tried to put the harness on him. You called him to you and were amazed at how well he obeyed you. Whoever his former owners had been, they must have raised him well. Without resistance, he had the harness put on.

You too became a little more courageous and stroked his chin. “I have thought of a name for you in the meantime, too,” you said and he tilted his head. “There was once a children’s series about a bear who got into trouble from time to time. You also look like you like to make some trouble.” He turned his head to the other side, as if to say: Me and trouble? Never.

“Anyway, you remind me of a bear, and grizzly didn’t quite fit. So how about Paddington?”

The dog in front of you almost snorted contemptuously and your smile disappeared. You had thought about it the whole time at work and found the name fitting. “Don’t you like Paddington?” Another snort, this time followed by a shake of his whole body. “Okay, okay, all right,” you said thoughtfully. “But you look like a slightly undersized bear and I think you like Winnie the Pooh even less.” This time the dog showed no reaction at all, just stared at you from his almost black eyes. “I’m just kidding, Baby Bear,” you reassured him and immediately his head shot up. “Oh, you like that nickname?” He took a step forward and licked your hand. “But it’s just a nickname, we still have to think of a real name. But it can wait.”

You straightened up with the leash in your hand and grabbed your keys. You both left the house through the patio door and went through the garden gate towards the adjacent forest. As a small child, you had often been afraid of the dark pines and large deciduous trees, which filtered much of the daylight with their canopy of leaves. Nowadays you loved the silence that surrounded you as soon as you stepped into the forest. It felt like a different world, all the stress was forgotten for a few minutes and the noise of the city fell silent. Instead, the songs of the birds, the rustling of the leaves in the wind and the sticks cracking under your feet as you stepped on them embraced you. 

And you felt even better now that you had a little four-legged friend by your side. 

You watched him stop here and there to smell plants or pick up a stick to drop it a few meters later when something else caught his attention. Normally at this time, and in general in this part of the forest, you did not meet a soul. That’s why the blood froze in your veins when the dog suddenly stopped as if frozen, so you staggered back a little when the leash was stretched. You didn’t realize that he had stopped, but when you saw his expression, you knew something was wrong.

You didn’t dare to ask what it was. Even if he couldn’t answer, you wanted to draw his attention back to you. Maybe he had just smelled a rabbit or heard a noise in the distance. The fact that he pointed his tail straight back and snarled his teeth did not necessarily mean that something was wrong. Or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. 

You backed off a few steps so that you stood behind him and you half-heartedly pulled the leash to lead him back to the house. When you turned around, you could still see the top of the roof of your house between the trees. When you turned back, you thought you saw a silhouette standing between the trees. Immediately a shiver ran through you and the hairs on your arms stood up.

“Let’s go,” you whispered, that was all you were capable of. Again you pulled on the leash, but this time the dog growled in front of you. Still he had not turned his gaze away from his intended target. But when you looked in the same direction, you couldn’t see more than the small forest path leading into the gloom of the forest. But that changed a second later when a figure stepped out of the bushes. At first you only heard the rustling of the leaves, then you saw the branches being pushed aside as a big grey wolf came towards you.

Instinctively you recoiled, you had the leash so tightly wrapped around you that your fingers hurt. You tried to pull the dog towards you, but he did not move a bit. You thought about running back to the house alone. Maybe you could call Hoseok, but even that wouldn’t help you at this moment. You didn’t want to leave the dog alone with the wolf. Maybe they would get into a fight or he would run away in front of a car of the next speeder.

No. You kept clutching the leash and trying to remember what you had read, how to react when a wolf was facing you. You were sure that the majority had assured you that wolves were so shy that they avoided humans. So why this wolf came closer and closer to you was a mystery to you. You were unsure whether you should continue to stand there as if rooted in the ground or chase him away with loud noises. 

But even if you wanted to make a sound – it did not work. Not even the smallest sound came out of you. You couldn’t even breathe properly when you watched the wolf stop right in front of you. His gaze lay on your dog and the two of them seemed to be having a staring contest. Whether this was a good sign or meant that they would start attacking at any moment, you did not know. But you were sure that you would find out at any moment. 

The wolf gave a deep growl of itself, which went through your marrow and leg and you had to suppress a shiver. Your dog also gave another growl and he took a confident step forward. You were pulled along and gave a choked gasp of fear. This did not go unheard by the two animals in front of you and suddenly the attention of the wolf was on you. 

You dodged his gaze and turned your head to the side, hoping to turn his attention away from you as quickly as possible. You flinched as your dog growled again, this time louder and slowly backed away. You took this as an unspoken invitation to imitate him and to go backwards as well. Step by step you brought more and more distance between you and the wolf, which turned around after a few steps and disappeared back into the forest. 

You ran as fast as your feet carried you back to the house. Startled, you cried out when you almost ran over a rabbit, which hopped back into the bushes. But you had no room in you to feel guilty. Too great was the fear inside you. You could only exhale with relief when you had closed and locked both the garden gate and the patio door behind you. But for the rest of the afternoon and evening you felt as if the inhabitants of the forest were watching you and the tops of the trees gently swaying in the wind were laughing at your naivety.

[sweetpxxches]

The little things in Nevada matter most. (Ch. 1)

Hank/Sanford/Deimos/Reader Fic, baby.

This fic has chapters, so this is the first one! I will link the new chapters as ones go by.

Warnings will be listed here as chapters are made, as of now, Chapter 1 contains:

- Alcohol 

- Mild mentions of gore

- Fluff

This chapter’s just the beginning of finding each other out. This is a lot so heck yeah!

Reader is AFAB and uses gender neutral pronouns. (they/them) ^-^

Chapter list: 1 - ?

It was an early evening in Nevada, you missed the sounds of crickets chirping in the night. But due to the events that happened in this place, there is lack of life that surrounds it. All that is left are demons, clowns, sheriffs, and all that utter nonsense that you question how badly this had to be for a state to become it's new circle of Hell. But at that point, it wasn't really worth thinking too hard on. You instead just think about how at least thankful life was to you to give you friends so your life isn't too lonely. Without Hank, Deimos, Sanford, and 2BDamned, life would of been miserable. Despite what they're here for, the red and black tints of the skies seem blue to you. You were sitting on the edge of a bridge, kicking your legs as you took a sip out of soda can, letting the wind blow passed your hair. But you felt the ground rumble and you swiftly got up to face where it was coming from, and you saw the three familiar figures in a truck. With a sigh of relief, you waved at them and they drove by to you. Sanford poked out at the back of the truck, waving. "Hey, Mercenary! We're heading out to look for some bars around here, you up for that?" You shrugged it off, chugging down the rest of your drink and tossing the can over the bridge. "Sure, why not? Not like I got much better to do. Place has been extra quiet since we've bombed one of those factories earlier." You saw Deimos reached out to you, and you grabbed his arm as he tugged you up between you and Sanford. "Welcome aboard, then!" Deimos laughed, patting your shoulder. You smiled at the two, getting yourself comfortable. You turned your head over to Hank, who looked back and nodded. "Glad to see you in one piece, Merc." He said as he started the engine and began driving off. "Good to see you didn't die again either, Hank." You joked, leaning back. It was almost like things were back to normal, the aura of happiness and the cheerful conversations filled your heart with a sense of serenity. It is a rare occasion just to feel the serenity of friendship. Then again, if you could even consider this as friendship. These three made your heart confused, and so your mind. The more you thought about it, the more it felt like you had decisions to make on the long end. Sanford was the gentle yet mature one in the bunch, his body may be brawns but he was also brains. He didn't take jokes a lot, but sometimes he does choose to have fun with others whenever he can, as well as how caring he is for the group. Sometimes you wonder if he's secretly a major softie who would own rabbits for a living. Then there was Deimos, a cunning and suave guy who most would consider a 'bastard' for how he behaves. Always has a cigarette between his teeth as well as a smug demeanor. You couldn't help but smirk at the times of Deimos trying to show off to you a few times when you first joined the crew, and Hank always telling him to keep his pants on. The one time Deimos even attempted went to failure due to him flexing while trying to shoot with one hand, but his hand got blasted off from a heavy bullet blow, making him shriek and fall over. Although cruel, you laughed at his awful attempt at playing Chad. But despite it all, you still care for the goof. Then there was Hank. Quiet, down to business, but has a rather sadistic side of him. You could say he comes off cold, but there are moments in time where he shows a glint of emotion, most of the time when his bloodlust meets a 'sugar high' to the point he can't control it anymore and lets loose his inner need of murder. You find it intimidating, but also fascinating to see how far he can go. Of course most of the time it leads to him getting brutally killed, but somehow a few days later he always ends up coming back... You remember the first time you saw him get destroyed, a large MAG Agent managed to grab him by the head and ripped him apart, and it made you shriek out to him before Sanford dragged you out the room. But it was days later, you saw him come back as if none of that happened, and you just assumed that's how it will always be when Hank dies. And to no one's surprise, you were right. At that point, you began to care less about him getting killed, sometimes you use his body as a shield whenever he's fallen. Makes you wonder if Hank is even human at all, and is linked to some weird spiritual thing. But those were thoughts to keep to yourself, otherwise it'd make the room awkward, especially to Hank.

Despite it all, these three had their own stories and personalities to show, and you love all three of them.

You dazed off from the conversation between Sanford and Deimos, until you heard Deimos say your name. You blinked awake, looking over. "Huh?" "Hey, the ride's over, we found a place to hang out." Deimos got up and bounced off the truck, reaching over to you. You smiled down at him and jumped right into his arms, leading him to twirl you around and settle you down, making you chuckle. Sanford followed along, stretching his arms out. "Seems like this place is a ghost town right now, wonder why." "We're why, Sanford." Hank retorted, stepping out the truck as he placed two guns in his pocket, in case of anything. "Grunts and agents won't fuck with us, now imagine them fucking with us drunk." He scoffed, walking passed the three of you. You placed your hands behind you back, shrugging. "Oh well, let's hope there's drinks at least." The four of you made way into the bar, a bartender was cleaning an empty glass only to spot the four of you, immediately freezing up in fear. "S-Shit! It's you guys again!" The bartender stood back, keeping a tight grip on the glass in hand, but Hank slammed a hand down on the bar table. "Give us drinks, old man. Or it'll be big time for you." Hank ordered, and without hesitation from the man behind the bar, he simply did as he was told, although shaking in fear from the fact all for of you were present. You eyed him carefully, but sat on a stool twirling around it. "I swear, it gets too boring too quick whenever we have days off." Deimos sighed, sitting on a stool next to you. "You're telling me, this place tends to get quiet quick whenever it doesn't get busy. You think those AAHW Agents are planning something big?" Sanford asked, and saw Hank lean against the table, shrugging. "Hope so. If they're just gonna throw more grunts at our way, I'll consider that a big fuck you from them." He huffed, rolling his shoulder. You leaned on the table. "I dunno, if they retreated this long, it's gotta be something good!" Sanford chuckled, nodding off the statement. "Maybe, maybe... hey, I got an idea, let's all drink 'til something happens!" "Like alcohol poisoning?" You raised a brow at Sanford, and Deimos chuckled under his breath. "Right, right, I'm just saying it's our night, so let's make it worth while." The bartender slid down a few shots for the crew, Sanford took one shot with a quick swig, and raised the empty glass. "Come on, now! Let's do it!" Deimos looked at you and Hank, and the three of you shrugged it off and raised a glass to join with Sanford.

What felt like hours that were only minutes, Hank, Sanford, Deimos, and yourself decided to be reckless. Sanford was a strong one, taking the shots like they were water, while Deimos was making his way to getting on Sanford's level, as for Hank, it was hard to tell if the alcohol hit him at all. But unfortunately, out of this bunch, you were the weakest to alcohol, your mind was buzzing on your eighth shot, seeing the three mercenaries become six, or is it seven? You couldn't tell. But you snapped away when you felt Deimos tugging you over for some kind of sluggish dance. "C'mon, Mercenary! Let's fuck around for a while, will ya?!" He chirped, and you made a groggy 'wait no' as he pulled you around all playful, laughing his ass off. Deep down, you can't wait to kick this guy's ass once things die low. But as of now, everyone was getting tipsy, and who knows what nonsense they'll pull. The only thing you're hoping is Hank won't pull out a gun and shoot around like an idiot. Deep down, you feel like he'll do that. "Deimos, let go of me you idiot!" You shouted over his goofy laughter, but he ended up slipping off and having you two fall on the ground. Hank shook his head, sighing at the sight. "You two shouldn't have alcohol." He snorted, looking over to Sanford who was growing just as buzzed as the other two. It felt like he had to babysit you three, but Hank was personally enjoying the sight of his mercenaries being themselves with no consequences. After a few hours, the rest of the group was smashed. You couldn't tell who you were clinging on, but they were struggling to keep you in their arms. "Shit, what time is it? Is there a place to even hide?" Deimos slurred, wiping alcohol off his mouth. It seems the bartender made his way out before they could even ask for more, which made Deimos growl in frustration. "Dammit! That asshole ditched us!" He raised a fist, but Sanford held his shoulder. "Relax, soldier. We're done for the night. I'm fucking wasted!" He snorted, keeping a firm hold onto you. You looked up at Sanford, noticing you were facing his bare chest, making your eyes widen and have your cheeks flare up.

“Uh...” You blinked.

“Yeah, Merc?” Sanford looked down, noticing your expression. “Shit- you good? You look sick.” He stumbled up and settled you on the table, but you just seem dazed at how nice his body is. Or maybe that’s the alcohol speaking. Unfocused, you grabbed Sanford and Deimos by the shoulders for support. “Maybe we should head back to the hideout we had last time, hardly anyone... goes there.” You paused and blinked at the floor, seeing your feet stumbling. Hank seemed to be the only one capable of keeping his composure, though not really attempting to give anyone a hand at all. “You know what, since I’m not the one who’s fucked up here, I’ll drive everyone back. I figured you three wouldn’t control yourselves, not like I’d be surprised about it.” Hank left out the door, leaving the rest of you to struggle along the way. It was like a difficult obstacle in stepping from point A to point B, Deimos and Sanford pulling you around for support as you all waddled your way to the truck. It was a blur the moment you slumped into the back of the truck, the only thing you could feel was your brain growing an immense fatigue as well as someone keeping your body up. The moment you passed out, you could only feel the nausea upcoming. 

When you woke up, you were welcomed to a face between the bare chest of Sanford, which made you immediately bounce off. But the moment you did, your head pulsed in a sense of pain and confusion, making you hiss under your breath, gripping your forehead. “Son of a bitch...” You muttered, but you saw that Sanford and Deimos were still asleep. Despite them being out cold, you really didn’t expect to have Sanford allowing you to get that handsy with him. Or maybe he wanted you to be comfortable... then again, those were comfortable. But the thoughts went away quick when you felt your head spin, stomach ready to hurl. You went over the edge of the truck, throwing up the excess of what was left in your stomach, the hangover lighting up slightly from the release. You looked over to the edge ahead, seeing a familiar building. It seems that Hank managed to drive everyone home. You really couldn’t help but be thankful that Hank was at least caring enough to drag everyone back. Where Hank was is nowhere to be found, but you can assume he must of went inside without you and the other two. You looked over at Sanford and Deimos, you’re sure they’ll be fine on their own, no one comes here nor interferes in this area. Sluggishly, you rolled out over the edge of the truck, hopping off with a simple thud to the ground. As you dusted off and made way inside, you saw Hank just hanging out on the couch, head held back with a cigarette in his mouth. 

You always found it adorable how he is in his most calm state, you sometimes wish he was like this more often. Though unfortunately, he’s the least likely to contain himself. You could tell he’s still awake, because the moment you shut the door, he spoke. “You’ve finally managed to get up. Head still hurtin’?” You turned over to him, seeing he’s still lazy about. “Yeah, but I’ll get over it. Sanford and Deimos haven’t gotten up yet, but hey, I’m here.” You walked over and sat on a seat beside him, patting his head which only made him grunt at your brave actions. “Remind me to tell you guys when you have one too many, you guys were drinking for hours.” Hank sighed, pulling the cigarette out his mouth, letting the smoke pass his nostrils. “Sorry, I didn’t even catch the time when we even started. Sanford shouldn’t of challenged us... then again, you won anyway.” 

“That’s because I didn’t overdo it. Sanford tends to have too much fun on his free time.” Hank shrugged, “Besides, if I joined in the nonsense no one would be able to take anyone back home. I ain’t risking to crash into a building drunk, won’t be too fun missing my shots.” You could only chuckle, watching him wave his hands about. He wasn’t expressive in face, but his hands were. You wondered if it was a good idea to kill time with him if you would just...

“Hey, Mercenary.” Hank spoke up. “Oh! Yeah?” You blinked back out of thought, looking at him. “I was wondering... couldn’t help but notice how it was kind of cute to see you try and cling onto me earlier when you were drunk.” Your eyes widened in embarrassment, looking away immediately. “G-God! Are you serious?! Fuck I’m sorry, Hank- I really didn’t mean to-” “It’s fine, dear.” Hank waved it off, you can tell there’s a smirk under there. “In fact I didn’t mind you getting handsy.” You puffed your cheeks at him, then giving him a hit in the head, making his shoot up immediately. “Ow- hey!” Hank huffed, rubbing his head. “Bad enough I got my head kicked in everywhere!” You crossed your arms, feeling your cheeks warm from the flustered reaction. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I just don’t like it when you make a fool out of me, you always do that with everyone.” He looked at you, tilting his head lightly. “Now you know it’s not me trying to be a dick to you, Mercenary. I just do it because I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind me teasing you.” It took a moment, then you realized the way he worded it. You said he does it to everyone in the group, so does that mean he does it to ease everyone because he likes them? You blinked, looking at Hank. “Wait, you mean just me, or?”

“I mean everyone, you think I don’t bother Deimos and Sanford?” Hank continued for you, crossing his arms. It seems like dots are being made here, and you weren’t sure how to feel about it. Does he like the three of you the way you like them in return? It made you wonder. But you didn’t want to invade Hank’s personal stuff, you felt like he wasn’t aware of his own emotions. “Huh... Well, I guess I feel a little better about it now. Don’t know what you get out of it, though.” Hank looked over to you when you spoken that, and he looked back at the window, putting his cigarette out on his arm. “Honestly? Don’t know myself either, but it makes me feel a little better knowing it makes you guys get a kick out of my words, hahah.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at him, maybe he is feeling for certain things he wasn’t aware yet. And honestly, you want to help connect these dots for not only himself, but for everyone else. Maybe there is a spark that needs to be set alight, just unsure where to start. But as of now, you just want to enjoy the silence that remains in the room, closing your eyes as you smelled the remaining smoke in the room from Hank’s cigarette.

Maybe this little break for the group isn’t so bad.

[fybillielourd]

I grew up with three parents: a mom, a dad and Princess Leia. I guess Princess Leia was kind of like my stepmom–technically family, but deep down I didn’t really like her. She literally and metaphorically lived on a planet I had never been to. When Leia was around, there wasn’t as much room for my mom–for Carrie. As a child, I couldn’t understand why people loved Leia as much as they did. I didn’t want to watch her movie, I didn’t want to dress up like her, I didn’t even want to talk about her. I just wanted my mom–the one who lived on Earth, not Tatooine. I didn’t watch Star Wars until I was about 6 years old. (And I technically didn’t finish it until I was 9 or 10. I’m sorry! Don’t judge me!) My mom used to love to tell people that every time she tried to put it on, I would cover my ears and yell, “It’s too loud, Mommy! Turn it off!”–or fearfully question, “Is that lady in the TV you?” It wasn’t until middle school that I finally decided to watch it of my own accord–not because I suddenly developed a keen interest in ’70s sci-fi, but because boys started coming up to me and saying they fantasized about my mom. My mom? The lady who wore glitter makeup like it was lotion and didn’t wear a bra to support her much-support-needed DD/F’s? They couldn’t be talking about her! I had to investigate who this person was they were talking about. So I went home and watched the movie I had forever considered too loud and finally figured out what all the fuss was about the lady in the TV. I’d wanted to hate it so I could tell her how lame she was. Like any kid, I didn’t want my mom to be “hot” or “cool”–she was my mom. I was supposed to be the “cool,” “hot” one–not her! But staring at the screen that day, I realized no one is, or ever will be, as hot or as cool as Princess F-cking Leia. (Excuse my language. She’s just that cool!) Later that year, I went to Comic-Con with my mom. It was the first time I realized how widespread and deep people’s love for Leia was, even after so many years. It was surreal: people of all ages from all over the world were dressed up like my mom, the lady who sang me to sleep at night and held me when I was scared. Watching the amount of joy it brought to people when she hugged them or threw glitter in their faces was incredible to witness. People waited in line for hours just to meet her. People had tattoos of her. People named their children after her. People had stories of how Leia saved their lives. It was a side of my mom I had never seen before. And it was magical. I realized then that Leia is more than just a character. She’s a feeling. She is strength. She is grace. She is wit. She is femininity at its finest. She knows what she wants, and she gets it. She doesn’t need anyone to defend her, because she defends herself. And no one could have played her like my mother. Princess Leia is Carrie Fisher. Carrie Fisher is Princess Leia. The two go hand in hand. When I graduated from college, like most folks, I was trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life. I went to school planning to throw music festivals, but always had this little sliver of me that wanted to do what my parents pushed me so hard not to do–act. I was embarrassed to admit I was even slightly interested. So when my mom called me and told me they wanted me to come in to audition for Star Wars, I pretended it wasn’t a big deal–I even laughed at the concept–but inside I couldn’t think of anything that would make me happier. A couple weeks later I went in for my audition. I probably had never been more nervous in my life. I was terrified and most likely made a fool of myself, but I kind of had a great time doing it. I assumed they would never call me, but after that audition, I realized I wanted to give the whole acting thing a shot. I was definitely afraid, but as a wise woman once said, “Stay afraid, but do it anyway … The confidence will follow.” About a month later, they somehow ended up calling. And there I was, on my way to be in motherf-cking Star Wars. Whoa. Growing up, my parents treated film sets like a house full of people with the flu: they kept me away from them at all costs. So on that fateful first day driving up to Pinewood, I was like a doe-eyed child. I couldn’t tell my mom, but little sassy, sarcastic, postcollege me felt like a giddy, grateful middle schooler showing up to a fancy new school. On that first day, my mom and I sat next to each other in the hair and makeup trailer. (Actually, she wasn’t really one for sitting, so she paced up and down and around me, occasionally reapplying her already overapplied glitter makeup and feeding Gary, her French bulldog.) Between glitterings, the hairstylist crafted what was to become General Leia’s hairstyle, then it was on to me: little Lieutenant Connix. Funnily enough, my mom had more to say about my hairstyle than her own. Even though she complained for years about how the iconic Leia buns “further widened my already wide face,” she desperately wanted me to carry on the face-widening family tradition! Some people carry on their family name, some people carry on holiday traditions–I was going to carry on the family hairstyle. So after we tested a few other space-appropriate hairstyles, we decided to embrace the weird galactic nepotism of it all and went with the mini–Leia buns. She stood in the mirror behind me and smiled like we had gotten matching tattoos. Our secret-handshake hairstyle. On the first day of this thing I could now call “work,” I walked into the Resistance Base set for rehearsal and J.J. Abrams, the director, told me where to stand and what to do–basically just press some pretty real-looking fake buttons. But I have to say, just pressing those buttons and observing the rest of the scene was one of the most fun things I had ever done. I had no lines in the scene, but my mom kept checking on me like I was delivering a Shakespearean monologue. “Are you O.K.?” she asked. “Do you need anything?” I scoffed at her maternal questions like a child embarrassed by her mother yelling goodbye too loud in a carpool line: “Mommy, go away! I’m fine. Focus on you, not me!” In the moment, I was humiliated that my mom was moming me on my first day of work, on the Star Wars set, of all places. But now I realize she was just being protective. Sets are extremely intimidating–I was too green at the time to know that–and she assumed I would be scared as hell. But weirdly, I wasn’t. At risk of sounding insane, something about this bizarre new world made me feel right at home. I had found a place with an empty puzzle slot that perfectly matched my weird-shaped puzzle piece. That night, on the long London-traffic-filled ride back from set, she turned to me and smiled. “Bits,” she said. “You know, most people aren’t as comfortable on sets as you were today. Especially on the f-cking Star Wars set, of all places!” (Excuse my language, but that was her language.) “This might be something you should think about doing.” At first I laughed, assuming she was kidding. But she continued to look me straight in the eye with no inkling of irony in sight. My mom was telling me I should act–my mom? The lady who spent my entire life convincing me acting was the last thing I should do? It couldn’t be true. But it was. I haven’t had many moments like this in my life–those aha moments everyone talks about. This was my first real one. My mom wanted me to be an actress. That was when I realized I had to give it a shot. She used to sarcastically quip that she knew all along what a massive hit Star Wars would be. As with most things, she was kidding. She was absolutely and totally beyond shocked by the massive global phenomenon that was the first Star Wars trilogy. It changed her life forever. Then, when it happened again almost 40 years later, she was even more absolutely and totally beyond shocked. It changed her life yet again. But that time, it changed my life too. I thought getting to make one Star Wars movie with her was a once-in-a-lifetime thing; then they asked me to come do the next movie and I got to do my once-in-a-lifetime twice. On our second movie together, I really tried to take a step back and appreciate what I was doing. I couldn’t tell her because she’d think I was lame, but getting to watch her be Leia this time made me feel like the proud mom. Watching the original Star Wars movies as a kid in my mom’s bed, I never imagined the lady in the TV would get older and get back in the TV. And I definitely never imagined we would end up in the TV together. But that’s where we ended up. Two little ladies in the TV together–Leia and little Lieutenant Connix. We wrapped The Last Jedi a little less than six months before she died. I went back to L.A. to film the show I was on, and she stayed in London to film the show she was on. One of the last times we spoke on the phone, she talked about how excited she was that the next movie in the trilogy was going to be Leia’s movie. Her movie. She used to say that in the original movies, she got to be “the only girl in an all-boys fantasy.” But with each new Star Wars movie, the all-boys fantasy started to become a boys-and-girls fantasy. She was no longer a part of a fantasy, but the fantasy herself. Leia was not just a sidekick one of the male leads had on his arm, or a damsel in distress. She was the hero herself. The princess became the general. My mom died on Dec. 27, 2016. Two days after Christmas, four days before New Year’s and about a year before she was supposed to appear in her final Star Wars film. Losing my mom is the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I lost my best friend. My little lady in the TV. My Momby. And I inherited this weird, intimidating thing called her legacy. Suddenly I was in charge of what would come of her books, her movies and a bunch of other overwhelming things. I was now the keeper of Leia. About a year later, J.J. called me into his office to talk about the plans for Leia. We both agreed she was too important to be written off in the classic Star Wars introductory scroll. This last movie was supposed to be Leia’s movie, and we wanted it to remain that, as much as possible. What I hadn’t known–and what J.J. told me that day –was that there was footage of my mom that they had collected over the years that hadn’t made it into the movies, footage that J.J. told me would be enough to write an entire movie around. It was like she had left us a gift that would allow Leia’s story to be completed. I was speechless. (Anyone who knows me knows that doesn’t happen very often.) J.J. asked me if I would want to come back as Lieutenant Connix. I knew it would be one of the most painful, difficult things I would ever do, but I said yes for her–for my mom. For Leia. For everyone Leia means so much to. For everyone Leia gives strength to. For my future kids, so someday they’ll have one more movie to watch that Mommy and Grandma were in together. So they can ask me about the lady–now ladies–in the TV and tell me to turn it down because it’s too loud. I grew up with three parents: a mom, a dad and Princess Leia. Initially, Princess Leia was kind of like my stepmom. Now she’s my guardian angel. And I’m her keeper.

[brat-tamer69]

Dog House

♡ Summary: Your son Eren wants a dog. Your husband Levi is a bit of a hardass. You have to meet them somewhere in between.

♡ Notable Tags: AU, Married, Parenting, Levi x Fem!Reader

♡ Send requests here!

The late day sunshine of spring provided an excellent spotlight for the imaginary stage created by the window. Its opening into the front yard of the house was picturesque; lively green oak trees surrounded the view as their son, Eren, romped around in the healthy grass, giggling at what Y/N could only presume were the images created by his juvenile imagination. A hint of a smile touched her lips as her eyes fell back down to the sink and as she turned the plates over underneath the stream of water. It wouldn’t be long before her husband would be home from work, and the breakfast dishes would be replaced by ones for supper. With that in mind, Y/N began brainstorming what she would make for the next meal, knowing that the often ravenous child playing outside would be responsible for consuming most of it.

“Eren,” she called, coming from around the doorframe to greet her child outside. She knew better than to step fully into the grassy yard though, fully aware of how much the damp footprints perturbed her husband Levi. “What would you like for dinner?”

Eren promptly sat up, his jade eyes wide and glistening at the sole mention of food. “I want– Hmm…” The toddler cut himself off and placed his thumb and forefinger on either side of his chin to emphasize the difficulty in his decision. “Oh, boy! I want cheesy potatoes! And ham! And- And steamed buns! And—”

“Slow down,” she giggled. “I think you’re answering with your empty stomach and not your head. I didn’t hear anything about a single green vegetable in there.”

“Okay,” he relented in a sulk. “We can have leeks...”

“It doesn’t have to be leeks.”

“Alright!” Eren brightened up again. “Then broccoli!”

“You got it.” She smiled at the toddler then wiped her hands on her apron half. But just as she turned to go back inside, she heard his usually chipper voice only murmur to her.

“Momma, can I also have a dog?”

With her back towards Eren and her hand gripping the splintered wood of the door frame, Y/N took advantage of the unique position to hide the anguish on her face. A dog. An adorable companion for Eren to play with during the day. A four-legged sibling. And to his father Levi, a walking manifestation of sentient filth. Probably grounds for divorce, too. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide the disappointment in her appearance as she released a tired sigh from the depths of her body then turned to face her son.

“You want a dog? Did you talk to Dad about it yet?”

Seemingly already aware of the answer to his initial question, Eren’s shoulders fell in dejection and he shook his head. “I don’t wanna ask dad,” he muttered over his protruding lip.

YN’s heart lurched in her chest as she took in the sight of Eren’s dimmed eyes glossing over, his little arms folded as far across his chest as he could manage. It was certainly an effective pout. She knew for a fact that Levi wouldn’t agree to bring a dog into their lives, but she would be damned if she had to be the one to tell her cute baby boy as much.

“Hey,” she said softly, reminding herself to go over the floors later with a rag as she stepped across the yard to chuck him underneath the chin. “Your father lives here, too, you know. And as much as he loves you and wants you to have fun, having a dog here would be a big deal for him.”

“No, it wouldn’t!” Eren cried. “I’d make his food and brush him, and everything!”

Y/N wanted to interject with information about how the dog would be fed, but instead, she filled her cheeks with air to stifle her laughter, watching her son’s impassioned speech and gesticulations. “Still, Eren,” she finally spoke when she composed herself, “that’s a lot of responsibility. You’re gonna have to show Dad you’re responsible enough.”

“Respond-able?” he half-echoed with wide eyes. “How can I do that?”

“Well,” you tsked, “You can start by cleaning up your toys and making your bed.”

Y/N nearly bit her tongue in clashing with her son’s head as he shot up from the grass. But she was more bewildered by the newly determined gleam in his eyes and the way he had one of his tiny fists curled into a tight ball. “I’ll show him, momma!” he proclaimed. “I’ll show him that I can be responding-ble!”

“Responsible!” She had called after him but he was already racing inside the house and toward his bedroom, leaving dewy patterns of his precious little feet along the way.

• • •

Normally, the way Levi’s glower would soften to a more peaceful look upon the sight of her would make Y/N’s heart flutter. But instead, her stomach was performing leaps in anticipation of Eren’s question. It seemed to distract her from her other favorite part about greeting her husband after work. Levi seemed to not have missed her cues of nervousness either as he kissed her chastely on the lips, his hand gripping tighter on the small of her back and his eyes immediately scrutinizing her.

“What?” he both accused and questioned.

“What?”

“I mean, what the hell was that?” Levi’s voice was orotund, as always—deep and luxurious to supplement his charm but intimidating enough to dispel any temptation of dishonesty.

Y/N couldn’t help but to squirm in his hold and avert her eyes to the room down the hall where, no doubt, Eren was rehearsing his speech.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed. “Just- Eren has something he wants to tell you.”

For a moment, Levi’s piercing stare studied hers in a silent shakedown, and the combination of proximity and intimacy of it made her want to march into Eren’s room and reject the idea herself. But still, through Levi’s glare, she could see his curiosity was piqued, and that was much better than the immediate disdain and shutdown she had been expecting.

“Come with me,” Levi demanded, not giving her time to refuse as he strode in the direction of Eren’s bedroom. Y/N could hear Eren mumbling to himself and his little feet padding across the floor as he paced back in forth. However, his pacing stopped just as abruptly as both his parents appeared in the doorway.

It was more than apparent that Eren was unnerved; his eyes shone like emeralds the size of saucers as he gawked at his father. “D-Dad! You’re home!”

“Yes, I got home a minute ago. What is it you wanted to tell me?” Levi asked, gaping at the for-once, decently clean bedroom nearly as much as his son was staring at him.

Y/N’s eyes did a sweep of the room right along with Levi’s. To both of their surprise, the floor was visible. The toy soldiers that would usually litter the floor were hidden away in the chest that Levi told Eren was the soldier’s “base” many times. The duvet on his bed, albeit full of wrinkles, had a neat four-inch fold at the top. Even his shoes were lined up neatly in his closet.

Eren hesitated, clutching a fist to his chest as if to wind him up. “I want a dog!” He practically shouted the admission, his voice trembling and his eyes glittering with tears. “Momma said that I have to prove I’m respond-able and that you live here, too! But I live here and sometimes, I really want a dog so I can take care of it! And if I can clean my room then I can take care of a dog!”

Silence followed Eren’s speech immediately after, and Y/N’s only clue to Levi’s anxiously awaited reply was a quiet “hmph” and how he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Is that so?” he challenged the child in a voice slicked by sarcasm. “And who is going to shovel all the poop in the yard?”

“I- I will?”

Levi frowned. “Wrong.” At this, Eren jumped with a start, preparing himself for the stern lecture that he knew was to follow. “It’ll have to be me. You’re six years old, Eren. This is the first time you’ve picked up your own toys in months and our shovel is taller than you. A dog is an animal—an animal that’s going to track dirt in the house that you also won’t clean. It has no place here.”

The delivery of the words bit into Y/N as much as they did Eren, and she found herself redirecting her attention from her boy’s quivering lower lip to Levi’s shrewd expression. To hint to him that she wouldn’t be supportive of a further verbal lashing, she took hold of his forearm and pressed her fingertips into it as hard as she could manage. It took no time for Levi to recognize the wordless warning. But the warning came too late. Before either of them could react, Eren’s eyelashes were decorated with droplets as tears fell down his cheeks in streams.

Y/N caught a glimpse of Levi’s remorse while he stood frozen in trepidation at the doorway before she brushed past him and into the middle of the room to gather Eren into her arms. He was red in the face, completely deprived of air from the force of his crying. “Oh, honey…” she whispered, stroking his soft brunette hair rhythmically in an effort to lessen the sobs he choked out. “You’re just too little is all. This doesn’t mean you can never have a dog.”

“But—” Levi stammered with a halting hand extended toward Y/N only for her to quickly shut him up.

“It doesn’t,” she said more pointedly. “It just means you have some growing up to do so we can all be sure that the dog will be safe and happy at home.”

Perhaps after a minute of silence from all parties, and a lot contemplation from Eren amid his sniffles, Y/N finally felt as though there was a resolution. For now. As much as she disliked having to correct Levi, she knew that she would have no peace if his brash manner of speaking to Eren didn’t go unchecked. And she made him aware of it too, making sure to contradict the soft kiss she gave Eren’s cheek with the ice cold eye contact she gave her husband on her way to kitchen.

Dinner went as well as she could have hoped by the grace of a higher power. She thought it would be awkward with a moping toddler on one end and her nettled husband on the other. Fortunately, only Levi appeared to be the one moping with Eren having found just as much joy in cheesy potatoes as he previously did in the idea of having a dog. More concerned with her child’s mood, Y/N went on to clean up and help Eren to bed without paying any attention to Levi, somehow resistant to how sweet the scene of him tucking Eren into bed and kissing his forehead was all the way until it was time to address his behavior.

The comment came when Levi had already settled in bed, a small book balanced between his fingers and his brows furrowed in concentration as he undoubtedly tried to ignore his wife’s annoyance.

“Levi,” she began in a chiding tone. “Did you truly have to say all that to him?”

Levi promptly lowered his reading, his unamused eyes now trained on her. “I told him the truth, Y/N. He’s old enough to know it. He doesn’t need you coddling him and sugarcoating things anymore.”

Y/N’s arms folded across her chest in defense. “Coddling? Levi, he’s six. I don’t expect you to coddle him, but you’re his dad! It’s nice for him to know he can come to you for the harsher truths and vice versa without his feelings getting hurt.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed as they met hers. “Feelings are temporary. The truth isn’t. It surrounds us all day and every day whether we like it or not. It stung for a minute but he got over it. And so should you.”

For whatever reason, the passive aggressive request for Y/N to let the issue go was enough to push her over the edge. She could feel her blood heating as it ran through her and rushed to her face, providing just enough adrenaline for her to snatch the book from Levi’s hand before he could use it to shut her down again. Stunned by the brazen move, Levi’s mouth fell slightly open.

“Do you hear yourself?” she scolded him. “You sound like you’re talking to a damned thirty year old monk! This is a toddler we’re talking about—someone that just started losing his baby teeth. And not only that, this toddler is your son!” Y/N paused before continuing, knowing her next words would be treading sensitive territory. “I know the way you were raised! You didn’t get coddled and nice words, and hugs and kisses all the time. But we agreed when we had Eren that that was something you would change. You said you would work hard to give him the childhood that you didn’t have, and I didn’t see that happen tonight.”

Levi’s eyes fell to his lap, completing a face of guilt as he ruminated. For a soundless moment that felt more like hours, Y/N feared she had driven her point so far that it went to a place of no return. Though despite her worries, he soon spoke up, a more relaxed look about him.

“I did, didn’t I?” he mused through somewhat of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And in that promise, I didn’t realize that Eren would be so smart. Didn’t even get to teach the damn boy how to tie his shoes before he beat me to it. I guess holding him to such a high standard just comes too naturally now.”

“He is really smart, isn’t he?” Y/N agreed, easing herself onto the bed and by Levi’s side. Conscious of not overwhelming him with too much physical affection, she settled for leaning her head against his shoulder, and Levi welcomed it by pressing a kiss to her temple. “He’s also a sweetheart, just like his dad. And he looks up to him so much that it hurts him sometimes.”

“I know,” Levi said with a frown in his voice. “I’m going to make sure it doesn’t anymore.”

“I will, too... And I’ll get him a dog.”

“Y/N,” he grumbled.

“What?” she questioned back innocently. “You said he’s really smart. He can figure a dog out!”

“The kid can’t even wash his ass on his own yet and you expect him to clean up after a dog?”

“No, that’s what you’re for.”

Levi scoffed, his eye roll from beside her nearly palpable. “We’ll get him a fish in the morning. Now go to sleep, brat.”

[ectoentity]

Warped Mirror

Decided to write something based vaguely on the “Spork AU” idea. Instead of Episode 1 Danny meeting Episode 50+ Danny, though, I was curious about a Danny who never became Phantom meeting one who had. This first part is just establishing Human!Danny’s world.

I’ll post it to AO3 when I have the rest of it finished.

---

Three kids stood before a giant machine in the shape of a door. It should have been humming along and glowing green, with a great hole to another world in the middle. Instead, it was cold and silent. 

“They spent years working on it,” Danny explained, “and then nothing. Mom and Dad have been moping in their room all day.”

Tucker looked around at the portal and the hodgepodge of computer parts attached to it. “It’s probably a loose wire somewhere. I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

“In the meantime, this would make for an awesome picture,” Sam said with a smile. She held up her polaroid camera. 

“Oh no, you’re not getting me anywhere near that,” Tucker immediately walked away from the portal.

“Come on! When they get this thing working we’ll never be allowed near it. Besides, it’s not like it’s going to do anything right now.”

“Then why don’t you get over there and let one of us take the picture?” Tucker asked.

“Because neither of you know anything about lighting or framing a shot. Please?” When she saw that Tucker was not going to budge, she looked over at Danny with wide, pleading eyes. 

He looked anxiously at the portal. So far none of his parents’ inventions had really worked, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t dangerous. Still, Sam was right. It was pretty cool, and getting a picture with the thing could be a good way to keep a memory.

“Yeah, okay, let me put on a jumpsuit in case there’s a live wire or something.”

Ten minutes later he was suited up in the white-and-black safety jumpsuit his parents had made for him. It wasn’t really a hazardous materials outfit - there was no full hood or respirator, or even goggles. It was made of something that was supposed to repel ectoplasm and certain chemicals that his parents used and was insulated against minor shocks, so it would have to do. 

“Oh, no no. I’m not taking your picture while you’re wearing that,” Sam announced. Danny was about to argue, but she reached over and pulled the sticker of his dad’s face off of the suit. “Now you’re good.”

Danny laughed. “Good thinking, Sam. Wouldn’t want to be immortalized in your photos with that on me.” He walked up to the portal. It was a massive piece of machinery, nearly six feet in diameter and deep enough to fit a car. He paused at the entrance. It was hard to imagine it as anything other than a creepy machine in the basement. If it had worked, it would have opened into a whole other world. 

Tucker, meanwhile, was watching while anxiously tapping a foot. He had expected Danny to give in to Sam’s pleas. He was so predictable and utterly clueless. One of these days they would both realize that they were both desperately crushing on each other and they’d-

There was something plugged into the wall. Tucker wasn’t sure what it was, but he had a bad feeling about it. 

“Hold up!” he shouted. Tucker went over and unplugged the cord from the wall outlet, and checked around for more outlets just in case. When he didn’t find anything else, he called back, “Okay, I think it’s alright now.”

“Good thinking, Tuck,” Danny’s voice echoed in the portal. “Hey, Sam, is this good?”

Sam set up her shot. “Looks great! Just hold there a second.” She counted down before the flash went off. The camera whirred and produced a polaroid. “Lemme take a couple more,” she said before swiftly doing so from slightly different angles. “That should be good!”

Danny started to walk out of the portal. Something caught his foot. He tripped and fell backwards, flailing his arms wildly in hopes that he would catch something. His right hand hit the side of the portal. It stabilized him for a second, but then the wall clicked. Danny stared down at his hand, a chill lancing up his spine. He hadn’t hit the wall. His hand was resting on a button marked “ON.”

“Oh my god,” he blurted.

“Danny? Are you okay?” Sam called. He could hear them both scrambling toward the portal. 

“I’m good! I just tripped!” Danny got out of the portal as fast as he could. “My parents put the on/off buttons on the inside! If Tucker hadn’t unplugged it…” All three teens stared at the portal. Danny could have died, just for tripping over a stupid wire.

Finally Tucker gulped and broke the silence. “Want to see if your parents can get it to work now?”

Danny shook himself out of it. “Yeah! I’ll go ask if they forgot about that.”

They all but ran out of the lab.

---

The Fenton RV sped down the street, ghost alarms blaring. In the back, Danny got his weapons together as quickly as he could with all the jostling and swerving. They’d let Dad drive; time was of the essence.

“A level six!” Jack crowed from the driver’s seat. “Maybe even a seven! How long’s it been since we saw one like that?”

“About four months,” Danny grumbled. He still vividly remembered when the town had been drawn into the Ghost Zone and besieged with an army of skeleton constructs. He was not looking forward to a repeat of that hell. The Fenton Blaster in his hands whined as he attached the power source. 

“We’ll have to be careful, Jack,” Mom cautioned as she always did. “We don’t have the Ecto-Skeleton this time.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t call in the Guys in White?” Danny asked. They might not be the best ghost hunters, but they did have a lot more firepower.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Danny! I’m sure we can take care of this before they even notice something’s happening. Besides, your mom and I are still dealing with the paperwork from the last time they showed up.”

Danny shuddered. He was extremely glad that he didn’t have to deal with that aspect of ghost hunting. 

His dad pulled up to the mall with a loud honk of the horn and squealing tires. Danny and his mom ran out, blasters held at the ready. Dad backed them up with one of the Fenton Bazookas. 

The mall was already evacuated. Some people milled around outside, anxiously talking amongst themselves. In the year and a half since the ghosts had started attacking the town, people had gotten frustratingly complacent about them. The invasion a few months back had shown most people just how dangerous they could be, but a stubborn few always were more concerned with getting good pictures than their own safety. 

“Make way!” Mom shouted. “We’re here to take care of the ghost!” The crowd at least did part for them. A few people shouted at them. Some of it was words of support. A few tried to describe what they had seen - it was green, it was wearing all white, it was terrifying. Only a few made jokes or jeered at the Fentons as they passed. That was annoying, but it was a hell of a lot better than it had been a year ago. 

The deserted mall was an eerie sight. Everyone had left in a hurry, leaving lights on and store music still echoing through empty halls. The Fentons’ footsteps seemed far too loud. The weirdest part was that everything seemed intact. When the technology ghost raided the mall he usually left trails of rubble and discarded packaging everywhere. The box ghost would leave piles of everything that he dumped out of his beloved boxes. Various other ghosts had attacked the mall in the past, and they almost always left signs of their passing. Why was this one different?

“Come out, ghost!” Dad shouted, his voice easily carrying through the empty mall. “Let’s make this quick!”

“Curious.” The voice was quiet, but had the same unnatural echo of all ghosts. Danny held up his blaster, but he couldn’t tell where the voice had come from. Beside him, his mom turned on her miniature Fenton Finder. It beeped alarmingly quickly. 

“Two o’clock!” Mom shouted as she fired. Danny was only a moment slower, trying to fire a little ahead. The blasts didn’t connect with anything. 

“I mean no harm,” the ghost said. Its voice was way too close for comfort. Danny turned to his right and shot where he thought it was, but he still missed. 

“What do you want?” Danny asked. He didn’t really care. No matter what their obsessions were, ghosts only ever wanted to spread chaos and pain. Still, sometimes he could distract them by talking back. 

The ghost appeared in front of them. It was tall, with dark, green-tinged skin and a lighter beard. Its eyes glowed a soft yellow. A white robe and hood covered most of its body, rippling in a nonexistent breeze. 

A green beam from the Fenton Bazooka blasted towards the ghost. Its torso split apart to allow the beam to go through it. Danny grimaced. It was so gross when they did that. He followed his dad’s lead and started shooting the ghost. The ghost blocked all of his and Mom’s shots with a series of small green shields. 

“This is entirely unnecessary,” the ghost huffed. It had the audacity to look bored. 

“Then why not just go back to the Ghost Zone and leave us alone?” Danny shouted, annoyed. He ran off to the side, flanking the ghost. It finally started dodging the ectoblasts. If anything, though, the ghost just looked amused. 

“Oh, I shall. First, though…” The ghost flung its hand out towards Danny. He winced, anticipating the burn of ectoblasts. He took a step back and his foot sank. With a shout, he fell into the glowing green portal that had opened right behind him.

[corpsedaydream]

paint wars part 2

OKAY HERE IT IS! PART TWO TO PAINT WARS

if u haven’t read part one, i’ll link it right here

word count: 3k (yikes it’s a long one)

_______________________________

paint wars part 2

Things had been rough lately.

Real fucking rough.

You missed Corpse so much. You hadn’t spoken to each other since that fight at his apartment and that was fifty-four days ago now, almost two thirds of a season you’d been without him.

“I miss you.” You spoke aloud into the emptiness of your apartment, noting that the time on your phone now said 12:01am. It was officially now day fifty-five without speaking to him.

You swiped away all your notifications on your lock screen, ignoring everything and everyone that was trying to reach you right now so you could look at the person who was ignoring you. You wanted to look at the photo that was still your wallpaper. That first photo you’d ever taken together.

You went to change it on day thirty-eight of not speaking. On night thirty-seven of not speaking you’d gone out with your friends, they’d finally convinced you after a whole month of trying and you got absolutely wasted. So of course you’d called Corpse. But he didn’t answer, not any of the fifteen times you’d called. So that next morning, when you woke up hungover and saw that same lock screen photo and not one response from him, you told yourself you were going to change it. You tried to tell yourself you were angry, but it was just a coping mechanism to ignore the hurt that had been tunnelling through your heart since being without him. You spent an hour scouring tumblr and twitter for some aesthetically pleasing lock screen, but you didn’t save a single one. Nothing could compare to that photo of you and Corpse.

You then started to wonder if he’d listened to any of the voicemails you’d left the night before. You couldn’t remember them exactly, but you knew you definitely left four of them and how badly you wanted to know if the curiosity became too much to bear and he’d listened to them.

And he had.

On night thirty-seven, while you were out drinking, Corpse was in a deep sleep. He hadn’t been sleeping a whole lot lately, so finally, he’d crashed hard that night and slept through the calls you’d made to him. But even though he wasn’t aware of the calls in his sleeping state, you were still present in his dreamland. Every adventure his brain took him on was with you, maybe it was something that kept him asleep, the fact that you were right there in this fantasy. You were talking to him again, he could see your smile, hear your laugh, reach out and grab your hand, he could kiss you again. It was happiness. But then he woke up and he went to reach out for you in his bed, still caught up in the false wonder his dreams had provided him, only to find it was just him and reality slapped him fully awake. You weren’t there with him. You hadn’t been for a number of weeks. He missed you.

On day thirty-eight, when he spotted the missed calls from you on his phone, he cursed himself for being asleep and missing it. But would he had answered had he been awake? He wasn’t sure. So instead, he heard you speak to him for the first time in so long, even if it was through a voicemail you had left in the space of him not answering your calls.

“Oh, fuck- oh my god.”

That was it. That was the first voicemail, there was a lot of background noise but he had heard you so clearly. In your drunken state, you didn’t know what to say, so that’s what you had left with him, until you called back and left another.

"Hi.” You started it simple. He had the phone clutched so tightly in his hand, the device pressed so firmly against his ear, he didn’t want to miss a word. “I- I don’know what to say.” He noticed the slight slur to your words then, you were drunk when you had called. “I’m’a just go.”

You hung up again, but alas, there was another.

“Can I just ask... are you ignoring me?” Your voice was so meek, his chest hurt at the sound of it. He almost went to say no, but this was a one sided conversation, he’d missed the opportunity. “I miss you.” You hung up again, and he had to stop himself from replaying it over and over again to hear you say that you missed him.

But there was one last voice mail.

“I should stop calling, huh?” You sighed and he could picture you with a sad pout, your eyes all droopy with a mix emotion and alcohol. “But, I just want’a talk to you.” You confessed, then he heard another voice call your name in the background before they spoke to you and he listened. “(Y/N)! Here you are, what are you doing? That guys wondering where you are, he’s fucking hot-”

Corpse hung up then, he didn’t want to hear anymore. Jealousy was surging through him as the unwanted images of you with someone else plagued his mind and he threw his phone across his room. Wishing he hadn’t of started listening to those fucking voicemails.

What he didn’t know, though, is how the rest of that last voicemail went.

“I really don’t care.” You’d told your friend at the mention of the guy. Yeah, he was attractive and he was buying you drinks, but you wanted no one except Corpse. “Give me a sec.” You’d told your friend before walking away again, bringing your phone back to your ear to talk to the only person you wanted to talk to right now, even if he wasn’t on the other end of that call. “I hope you didn’t hear that, but if you did, don’t worry it. I’m g’na go home now.” You sighed and looked up at the night sky, there was no shooting star, or really any stars at all because of the light pollution from where you currently were, but you were still wishing that by some magic happenstance, Corpse would pick up his phone and speak to you again. “I wish I was going to yours.”

On day thirty-nine you cried so hard. You thought you had made it past this violently sobbing stage, this was exact state you’d cried yourself to sleep to each night for the first few weeks. Your heart was in so much pain, it was torn apart and you swore only one person had the power to stitch it back together, but he wasn’t there. You hadn’t heard a single thing from him. Were you two still together? Had you broken up? You weren’t even sure. But on day thirty-nine you cried that hard again because Corpse hadn’t responded at all to your calls or voicemails, so you convinced yourself he truly wanted nothing to do with you.

You’d been avoiding searching his name on social media, knowing it would send you into a spiral and you’d overthink every little thing but on day forty-two you’d noticed on twitter that he was playing games live. He wasn’t live himself, but you watched someone’s stream just to hear him again. You cried again doing this, because he was being exceptionally quiet, he wasn’t his normal self, he barely laughed once.

You wished you hadn’t clicked on it. The guilt you felt was already immense, but hearing him so not like himself made you feel even worse for causing all of this. You stopped watching, you couldn’t bear it. You knew you were to blame for all of this, you pushed him too far, you couldn’t believe how stupidly you had acted, you knew better and you did it anyway. The self attacking thoughts kept swirling your mind until you gave yourself a headache.

On day fifty-six of still not talking to each other, you ventured out to the beach with just your best friend. She’d been there for you a lot lately, she also felt bad about that night, but you tried to assured her it was your own fault. She didn’t know Corpse like you did, she didn’t know him at all, that’s why you felt to blame for not stopping the idea before it was too late.

“You should put sunscreen on.” Your best friend told you. You were laying on your towel in the direct sun, enjoying the warmth blasting into your skin, you hadn’t been to the beach in such a long time.

“Yeah.” You answered her, but you knew you weren’t going to. Another time, you would have, you knew the familiar sting of sunburn well and you normally put it on to look after your skin, but you hadn’t really been taking care of yourself too well lately, you just didn’t care enough.

On night fifty-six, you stood in front of your bathroom mirror looking over your body. You’d spent a lot longer at the beach than you realised and now you were burnt so badly and as red as a tomato. “Fuck.” You said out loud, turning and looking over your shoulder to inspect your back, it was just as red. You should’ve worn sunscreen. You left your bathroom to go find your aloe vera plant, only to find that it was dead. “Fuck!” You repeated, the one hope you had to help heal your skin even slightly quickly vanishing. “Oh, fuck. What am I going to do?”

That’s how you found yourself heading towards a 24 hour store to purchase whatever aloe vera cream or gel you could find, you knew it wouldn’t be as good as the plant itself, but you needed something. It was late and you were anxious as you neared the shop, you knew about this place from Corpse, he would often go there at odd hours to get whatever he needed. It was close to his place and you hadn’t driven around this area since that disaster of a night.

You squinted your eyes as you walked in and the harsh fluorescent lights pierced into your eyes after walking in from the night time. You were walking quickly and you told yourself it was because you were embarrassed about your skin being so burnt and you didn’t want anyone to see you like this, but it was really because you were so anxious over the thought of who you could potentially run into in this shop. Your swift steps brought you to the skin care isle and you let your eyes scan the shelves for the aloe vera you so desperately sought out.

“(Y/N)?”

You froze completely and you swore you even felt your heart stop beating. Hearing his voice speak your name again felt like lighting had struck right through you. This couldn’t be real, this had to be your imagination playing some sort of sick joke on you. Slowly, you turned towards the direction his voice had come from and sure enough, there he was. Dressed in all black, a beanie on his head and a mask over the bottom half of his face, your eyes locked with his. There was a pull in your chest, your heart had heard him, too and it wanted so badly to be with him, to be healed by him. You had thought up this scenario a million times over these past fifty-six days, of what would happen had you and him had a run in like this and in every single one you had so much to say, but right now, you were speechless.

Before you had a chance to even try to say anything if you managed to stop being stuck in silence, Corpse spoke again.

“Fucking hell,” He neared you and you sucked in a quick breath at his sudden movement. “Look how burnt you are.” You were wearing tights and an oversized hoodie, so your entire body was covered, but your face was just as burnt and clearly he had noticed. 

This was another aspect that didn’t fit into your scenarios you’d thought up about this moment. You’d imagined you would’ve look amazing. But instead of looking like some beautiful mermaid, you were the same colour as Ariel’s hair from The Little Mermaid. “I know, don’t look at me.” You huffed and dropped your head down, letting your beach waved hair fall around your face.

“You didn’t wear sunscreen?”

“Obviously not.”

“That was silly.”

“I know.”

“Are you sore?”

“Yeah.” It felt so natural to have this back and forth with him. It was brief, but it was enough for your heart to kick back into gear and speed up.

He stayed silent for a prolonged moment so you looked back to his face and his eyes were on your face but it was his turn to glance away then and you took the opportunity to really soak in his side profile. You’d even missed just being able to look at him. 

“Why are you here?” He asked you.

“I need aloe vera and I knew this place would be open.”

“You’re not using your plant?” Butterflies fluttered inside of you that he remembered a simple mundane fact that you preferred the healing touch of the actual plant for sunburn as opposed to what was bought at a store in a bottle.

“It died.”

Corpse suddenly looked back to you and much to your surprise, he laughed.

“Why are you laughing?!”

“How do you kill a succulent?”

“You know I’m not good at gardening and shit like that.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d be able to kill a succulent.” He laughed harder and you started to smile, he was teasing you but it felt so right. And hearing his laughter filled you with a warmth you’d been missing.

“Shut up.” You told him, but you were beginning to laugh too. “It’s hard to keep plants alive.”

“(Y/N), succulents are pretty much impossible to kill.”

“Okay, I get it, I didn’t purposely murder my aloe vera plant.”

“Oh, baby.” The pet name slipped so easily from his lips but it caught you both off guard, so the both of you stopped laughing and your postures stiffened.

Briefly, your eyes met but each of you darted your vision elsewhere. However, neither of you made no effort to move away from one another.

“Sorry.” Corpse said softly.

“It’s okay.” And it was, so okay. You wanted to tell him that hearing him call you baby was all you’d been wanting to hear again over these almost fifty-seven days without him. “I should really get this aloe vera gel on me, though.” You really didn’t want to leave him, but you couldn’t stand in this store forever.

“Are you sunburnt all over?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You sighed

And just as instinctively as the pet name had slipped out, his hands started to move towards the sleeve of your jumper. But he stopped himself when you flinched slightly and he quickly realised what he was doing. “Sorry, can I see?”

“I mean, you can, but I don’t want you to do it because it does really fucking hurt. That’s why I jumped, not because I don’t want you to touch me.” You answered him quickly. “I do want you to touch me- wait, I mean, no.” If your face wasn’t already red from the sunburn, it would have become red then from the blush you could feel forming. And if your skin wasn’t in pain you would have facepalmed yourself. “Sorry.” You apologised then.

“It’s okay.”

Shaking your head, you began to gently slide the sleeve of your big hoodie up.

“Fuck, (Y/N).” Corpse cursed, concern filling him as your skin was practically glowing from the burn it had copped. “You can’t do that to yourself.”

“I know.”

“How long were you at the beach?”

“All day pretty much.”

“You’re that burnt all over?”

“Yeah, I mean, some spots are worse. I think my back and shoulders are probably the worst. They hurt the most.”

He moved to step around you then, disappearing out of your sight as he was now standing behind you. “Can I?”

“Yeah, just be careful.”

And he made sure to keep his movements cautious, he decided on looking from the top, his hands grabbing the neck on the back of your hoodie to pull it back ever so gently so he could inspect. His eyes widened in a combination horror, worry and sympathy. He’d seen you get sunburnt before, but never to this extent. “Oh my fucking god.” The contrast between where the strap of your togs sat over your shoulder, blocking a sliver of your skin from the sun to keep it its natural colour versus the red that was brought from the burn was insane. “It looks like someone has painted you.”

“I mean, I guess the sun did. Just in a really painful way.”

“You’re not planning on going to the beach anytime soon, right?” Corpse carefully released your hoodie then and stepped in front of you once more. Distress was so present on his face, despite most of it being covered. He was so worried about you in this moment.

“Definitely not. The only thing I’m planning on is not going outside in any sunlight until my skin is healed.”

“Living like me.”

“Guess so.”

“My aloe vera plant is alive.” He stated.

“Wow, you’re really just going to flex that right now? Trying to kick me while I’m down.” You joked back, assuming he was teasing you.

“No, I mean...” He trailed off, his eyes struggling to stay on yours as he continued. “You could come over and use it, I know you like the real stuff better and I could help do your back, or wherever you can’t reach.” He was nervous, but he really didn’t have to be.

You could feel it happening, your heart beginning to heal.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Do you want to?”

“Yeah.”

[sunsetinmyvein]

Ran Into Some Complications - Matty Healy

Thank you to the ever lovely @imagine-that-100​ for the request from the prompt list. 

Why did time always seem to go by so slowly when you were stuck waiting by yourself? Was there a reason that seconds seemed to feel like minutes? Was it just mind games or did it literally create some weird kind of wormhole? Probably the former. I checked my phone for what felt like the hundredth time, hoping that I finally had a ‘on my way!’ message sitting there, only to come up empty. Again. So much for meeting at the bar for six - it was already six thirty. I sighed to myself, thanking the bartender as they handed me the cider I had ordered.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing at the bar all by yourself?” I heard a voice call from behind me. I instantly gritted my teeth as I turned to face the source of the sleazy comment. Sure enough, the crooked smile, the greasy, slicked back hair, he looked as shady as he sounded.

“Just waiting for a mate.” I said, trying to diffuse this situation before it started.

“They left you here all alone?” He asked as he slid into the stool next to mine. “Let me buy you a drink.” He added as he tried to flag the bartender down. Ugh. Why.

“No thanks, got one.” I said as I held up my cider. “And they’re on their way.” I dismissed.

“I’ll just keep this stool warm for them, then.” He grinned. I could smell the whiskey on his breath. Gross. This evening was headed in a downward spiral if I didn’t cut this off soon.

“I- you really don’t have to.” I grimaced, my eyes darting around the room to try and spot an easy way out of this. I caught sight of a group of four men walking in, eyeing them hopefully. The one closest to the bar seemed well kept. He had a grey suit jacket on, his straight hair was neatly combed back, he was laughing with his friends. He seemed friendly. He’d do. “Oh, this is him now.”

  I hopped off my stool, stepping in front of the dark-haired man. “What took you so long?” I asked with a warm smile.

He stared at me in bewilderment, “Me?”

“Yeah, you. Come here.” I said with a light laugh, trying to pretend that this wasn’t awkward.

“What? Why?” He asked with a confused frown.

I grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, pulling him down closer to my level to try and not be overhead. “Please just come here.” I said, trying to look as imploring as I possibly could. This was going to look bad on me if he didn’t come with me. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if this guy shrugged me off and I had to walk back over there. He stared at me for a long moment, before turning back to his friend who had stopped to see what was happening.

“I, erm, suppose I’ll be back in a bit?” He said with a shrug.

  Thankfully, this man came willingly with me back towards the bar. And I was even more grateful for him being quite clued on. He took one look between me, and the greasy dude sitting opposite me, to get the hint.

“So sorry, love. Traffic was awful.” He said as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and kissed my cheek. Geez, he was really going all in. I felt my face burning at the unexpected attention. At least it was going to look the part. “Have you already got a drink?”

“Yeah. Do you want one?” I nodded, turning to him. He really was standing awfully close to me. At this proximity I was able to smell the pleasant smell of the aftershave that he had used.

“I’ll just have my usual.” He said with a smirk.

“Uhh…” My eyes widened as I processed his answer. Fuck. Had this guy just agreed to help me to be equally as annoying as the sleazy one? Maybe I’d just made this situation so much worse. I quickly scanned over his appearance. The neat hair, the grey jacket, he seemed like the kind of person to drink a clear drink. “Gin and tonic.” I ordered apprehensively.

“Close enough.” He chuckled under his breath.

  The bartender brought over the extra drink and passed it over to my new found fake date.

“How was work? Did you get that booking sorted out?” He asked casually. God, he was smooth. He was definitely the right person to have grabbed to act like who I was waiting for.

“Yeah! It was a hassle but I got there in the end.” I laughed with a nod, playing along. I was surprised at how easy this felt, to be honest. This guy gave me the vibes of someone that I’d like to have a genuine conversation with, rather than a pretend one. “What about you?” I asked back. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. Taking a quick glance at it, I saw that it was a message from the friend I had been waiting on – saying that they couldn’t make it. Phew. Good thing I had dragged over someone else instead of just waiting.

“The studio was a bit gruelling but that’s nothing new.” He shrugged. Studio? What on earth did this guy do for a living? He must’ve noticed me frowning at his comment, because he just raised an eyebrow like he was challenging me to question it. In taking a good look at him, this guy was a bit of a looker. There were definitely worse people I could’ve grabbed. “But this evening is making up for it.” He added as he took a sip from his glass. Wait. Was he flirting?

  It seemed that whatever this guy was doing worked, because my creepy stalker decided to get up and walk off. I let out a sigh of relief as I looked over at the empty stool.

“Thank god he left.” I huffed.

“He’ll come back.” The dark-haired man shrugged as he slipped into the empty seat. I gave him a questioning look as to how he could know that. “He left his whiskey on the bar.” He added as he gestured towards it.

I nodded in understanding. It was nice at least to have a breather to recompose myself and finally have a sip of my drink. “Thanks for this.” I said after a minute of silence.

“It’s okay.” He replied with what looked like a genuine smile, picking up his gin. “I can think of much worse ways to spend my night.” He added as he eyed me over the rim of his glass.

Now that was definitely flirting. Part of my brain found it ironic to have replaced one guy trying to hit on me with another. But… I didn’t mind so much with this one. “Are you flirting with me?” I accused.

“Are you blushing?” He shot back. The air of confidence surrounding this guy was undeniably attractive.

  Before I had a chance to respond, greasy hair man was back. He frowned at the offender sitting in his stool.

“Do you wan-” He started to say, turning to me. But he was cut off before he could finish whatever he was going to ask.

“I can’t believe that you also listen to them!” My fake date laughed loudly. He fell into these shenanigans far too readily. But I wasn’t about to complain. “Shh… listen…” He said, holding up a hand to quiet us. I stopped talking, trying to listen to whatever he had heard. “That’s the sound of me falling in love with you.” He continued.

I let out an uneasy laugh, trying to shrug off his comment. “I’ve been listening to them for ages.” I responded, trying to keep up with how quickly he was building this story.

“Ah, sorry, mate. Just nice to be together after a long day.” He said with a corny grin as he placed a hand on my knee. I looked down at it for a moment, trying very hard to keep my reactions to his blatant flirting in check. “Matty, by the way.” This guy - Matty, said as he stuck out his hand to sleazy dude. “And you are..?” He asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Leaving.” He answered abruptly as he reached between us and picked up his whiskey, before heading on his way.

“Well… that worked.” I chuckled.

  “Seems I was an effective deterrent.” Matty said with a nod as he took a swig from his glass.

“You did a good job with that.” I agreed. “You were far too good at it, though.”

“Too good?” He asked with a surprised grin. “That doesn’t seem like it should be a problem.”

I shrugged. “Just makes me question how many times girls have roped you into situations like this.”

“Roping me into it? What if I was the one trying to get out of the awkward situation?” He questioned.

“You really get that much unwanted attention?”

“More than you can imagine.”

  We chatted for a bit, actually starting to get to know each other properly now that we didn’t have to play pretend that we already did. It turned out that he was in a band, hence the studio time earlier today. The guys that he had come in with were his band mates, getting a drink after a long day. He had a general sense of charisma and charm about him. The more I talked to him, the more I wanted to keep talking to him. And thankfully the flirting dropped off once there was no longer anyone standing nearby to try and convince. It was easier on my brain to process our conversation without having to also process an attractive man hitting on me. Before I knew it, an hour had passed. I was surprised that he was still hanging around, given that what I had asked of him was done now.

“Did you want get out of here?” Matty eventually offered nonchalantly.

I choked on the cider I had been sipping, trying to recompose my thoughts. “What?” I spluttered.

“He’s still side eyeing you across the bar,” He explained, gesturing towards the other side of the room. He was right, sleazy man was boring holes into the side of my head. “if we leave together then he should get the hint.” Right. That made much more sense than the alternative reason as to why he’d ask that.

  Matty’s plan worked. We were not followed when we stepped outside into the brisk night air and ordered an uber. He sent a message to his friends, letting them know that he had to leave. I felt bad. His night had been forced to end because of me. I told him that it was fine now, that I’d be happy to head home by myself and he could go back inside to his friends. But he insisted that he make sure I get home safe. The sentiment was pretty heart-warming, to be honest. I doubt I could’ve picked a better guy to help me in such a shitty situation. Once we were settled in the back of the car, I could finally breathe a bit easier. It was nice to not feel like I was being shadowed.

“Sorry for ruining your night.” I apologised.

“Ah, you didn’t ruin it.” He said with a dismissive hand wave. “I dread the thought about what might’ve happened if I hadn’t shown up.” He continued, staring out the window pensively, before he seemed to knock himself out of whatever train of thought he had been on. “But good thing I was.” He said as he turned back to me with a bright grin.

“Well, thank you.” I nodded. “You were good company, for a fake date.” I chuckled, nudging his side playfully.

“Well… I wouldn’t mind taking you out to a bar again as a not fake date.” He offered, running a hand through his hair. He… what? My brain took a second to comprehend what he was suggesting. “If you’d let me.” He quickly added.

My thoughts kicked into gear as I realised that he thought I might decline. “Yeah. Yeah! That sounds like a good idea.” I agreed.

“I assure you, I’m a much better real date than fake date.”

[ivyglow]

Jealousy in a cliff | Frederik Andersen

A/n: I decided to mix both requests because that’s how my imagination wanted to lol -jk. It’s my first time writing smut in here, so I hope everything is ok, but you guys can always tell me if there’s anything wrong. Hope you like it! <3 ALSO, A huge shout out to @sebs-aston​ for proofreading this piece! (You’re amazing, Liv!) 

Request:  67 with freddie Andersen please!! Smut  Could you do 18 with Freddie Andersen? Maybe angst and smut? 18. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission” 67. “hey have you seen my- Oh.”

Word count: 2k

Warnings: pretty much just language, angst and smut (tight riding). 

Summary: you and freddie are best friends, at least before you move in together and that friendship become something more. 

Usually, when people talk about sharing an apartment with a male friend, they picture messy clothes around, a very unkept home, and some headaches involved. However, that wasn’t yours and Freddie’s case, and sometimes you like to think that maybe -just maybe- that’s why things started to escalate past the strong friendship you two had. He wasn’t messy, he knew how to cook, he liked to listen to you talk about your Ph.D. degree, and he knew you since you were six. That alone gave him hundreds of points ahead because he was familiar with your personality, he was able to recognize when you were sad or happy or excited. 

You considered living by yourself when you first got the opportunity to continue your master’s in Toronto, but you liked to be around people, and living alone would feel lonely considering the amount of work you had to put up with, and add to that, it was expensive living in the heart of the city. So, as soon as you told Freddie where you were going -he was the first to know- he suggested you move in with him, and damn he knew exactly the arguments to convince you. 

Four months into living together and he was also able to convince you of the friends with benefits arrangement, and let’s face it, it wasn’t that hard to get you on this train. Frederik was handsome, experienced, and older,  to be honest, you always had a crush on him. 

It was now eight months of living together, which means four months of being more than his friend, and even though you liked how things were working, you couldn’t help but wish for more than his friend with benefits and you hated how secretive things were. Needless to say, you also couldn’t figure out the best way to discuss the subject, and that’s how you two ended up fighting last week (the cherry on top of the cake being him not inviting you as his plus one to a Leafs’ event). 

You’re in your room getting ready for the night because William was cute enough to invite you as his plus one. Taking a long look in the mirror to analyze your reflection, you sighed, the blue satin dress was the perfect fit, and the long cut from the top of your tights to your foot showed just the necessary amount to feed imaginations, you just needed to fix your hair, but somehow things did not feel quite right. 

You’re trying to pinpoint what’s wrong, if it’s about your situation with Fred or if it’s really something about your looks when he enters the room unannounced, “Hey, have you seen my- Oh”. His voice dies down on his throat when he looks at you and you feel a shiver runs down your body with the way he’s scanning you. 

“Hi,” you breathe out.

“Where are you going?” he looks taken aback and you hold back a sight.

“The same place as you,” you answer simply, and he raises his eyebrows, confusion written all over his face before you explain. “William invited me as his plus one.” 

“And you’re going?” now he seems upset. 

“Yeah?” you knew why he was upset, it wasn’t only the fact that you were going with another guy who happens to be his teammate, it was because the said guy also had a thing for you and was not even a bit concerned about hiding it. Since you and Freddie were nothing more than good childhood friends to everyone, Nylander did not see a problem hitting on you. 

“You know he likes you…” 

“And so does Mitch, Auston, Jimmy…” you start pointing out, trying to seem unbothered. 

“It’s different and you know,” Freddie crosses his arms in front of his body, the jacket of his suit clinging to his muscles. 

“We’re friends, there’s nothing wrong about it.”

“You’re not going with him.”

You turn from the mirror to face him, his jaw clenched. You hold your ground with a defiant look, “I didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, a whisper yells that if in a different situation would leave your legs shaking. “It’s not like that. I’m sorry, it’s…” words seem hard for him to find, his silence does the same for you. Why couldn’t he see their relationship as what it was: a relationship. Or at least put more effort into reading you. 

“Then tell me how it is,” you say turning back to the mirror only to realize you were now ready, things would never seem one hundred percent right while you kept that situation on hold with your best friend, so you just grabbed your handbag along with your lipstick and left.

You uber to William’s house, trying not to overthink during the whole fifteen minutes ride. William was your friend, but not close enough so you could talk about Fred with him, and to be honest, the way you two handled things no friend seemed close enough to know about your complexity. When you got there Nylander was almost ready, asking for your advice on which tie to wear and you happily helped him out before you two finally left. 

The night rolled on with you mingling around, talking, laughing, and drinking. It wasn’t weird or anything since you already knew almost everyone, it actually felt good to distract your mind for a while with nice and friendly people. William eventually left and you talked a little more before excusing yourself to go to the bathroom. 

The corridor was empty and you enjoyed the click of your heels until you reached the door and got in, but before you could close it, a foot got stuck in the way. 

“Andersen, this is not the time to talk,” you hiss at him, but he seemed unbothered and determined. It was a five seconds stare contest before he got inside too and closed the door, locking it right after. “I mean it, we will talk at home…” you started. His big eyes staring at you knowingly almost made you wobble. 

“Who says I wanna talk?” he inquired and you felt your mouth go dry with the closeness and the faint idea that crossed your mind. An idea that clearly crossed his too.

“Listen, Frederik, I’m really not in the mood for games. Can you just be honest with me? What the fuck is going on with us? Why don’t you just-” your question was interrupted by his mouth in yours. You saw when his right hand left the whisky glass he was holding on the bathroom counter and his left one brought your body closer. His mouth was a mix of alcohol and with a hint of mint, they were cold and soft against your lips you let your tongue be guided. 

Now his right hand is on your shoulders, calloused and hot, playing with the strings of the dress before bringing it down to your elbow exposing one of your breasts to him. That’s the moment when he finally disconnects your lips, just seconds to be able to appreciate your body, the way it curves and bends towards him, how your sensitive nipples are already pointing to him. He licks his lips before kissing your shoulder, it’s soft, the complete opposite of the previous kiss, and the mix of feelings makes you whimper. You wanted him, wanted his mouth on you, his hands on you, but you also wanted more, you wanted the aggressive sex and the strong orgasms. 

“I missed having you close,” he confesses before trailing kisses from your collarbone to your neck and cheeks. You gasped, “Me too.” 

It’s seconds before your lips are connected again, and he moves one of his big tights between your legs. You almost moan at the feeling, he flexes it again when he feels your body’s response. 

“That doesn’t change the fact that we need to have a serious talk about our relationship,” you say when he lets go of your mouth to kneel in front of you. The vision of the mop of hair and strong legs in front of you almost made you dazed. 

“I’m counting on it, baby,” he remarks before his fingers find their way inside your dress. Freddie hooks his fingers to your panties before bringing them down to your ankles. You step aside and he puts the piece of lingerie inside his dress pants’ pocket. “But for now let me make you feel good.” 

Then his tights are between your legs again and this time the friction is more intimate, you whimper. “Freddie!” 

“I’m sorry for being such an asshole to you,” he whispers holding your butt and starting to guide your movements. It’s slow and steady and sexy and all you want to do is let your body go down the spiral that’s starting in the pitch of your bellybutton.

Freddie’s mouth finds your neck, the sweet spot just down your earlobe. He sucks and bites, before kissing it and the friction of his beard makes you want to jump too. Every touch of his, the sweet nothings he starts to say to your ear, his nose, and the way his breath is heavy against your skin.

You’re wet and he can feel it through the fabric of his pants. 

He keeps kissing you while guiding your body, at this point your clit is aching for relief and you move one of your hands to your breasts, pinching one nipple lightly. He sees the action and squeezes your butt tighter. With your eyes closed, you let yourself be guided closer to the cliff, drinking from every touch and sensation, he’s hard against you, he’s whispering and praising you and your body, and you can’t help but believe everything, to feel pretty and hot, and good, just like Freddie says. 

You also can’t help but agree that he’s the only one, no shame in that. 

“I love you,” he mumbles lowering his kisses until he is face to face with your breasts, your back arched to give him full access, one of his hands sprawled to keep you safe from falling. You gasped once you felt his cold mouth biting your nipple, tugging it to him, he kissed and savored like it was his last meal and your pussy clenched. 

He was getting you there.

“It’s messing your dress pants,” you protest when you thought the wetness was too much.

He chuckled so low while rubbing himself into you with more force, “Yeah, and I want you to cum on it.” 

Oh, there it was! 

The cliff.

The fall.

So close.

You could feel it twisting and tugging.

The cold in your stomach, the way your foot almost curled on the heels. 

“C’mon, baby, let it go.” 

You hold on to his large shoulders, bringing his body closer and hugging him while rubbing yourself more against his tight. Your forehead is rested against his solid chest and it’s less than a minute before he whispers something dirty into your ear and you’re coming right on his leg. The hot and white liquid strains his pants and some of it runs down your legs. He guides you and keeps rocking your body against his until you’re able to push him because the sensation it’s too breathtaking.

“You’re so hot when you cum,” he grins bringing his mouth to yours again. 

The two of you spend some minutes there just kissing while you recover from your high and when you do, you start to clean yourself and grasp with the view of Freddie’s dress pants.

“How are you gonna cover that when we go back to the party?” you almost say something about his disheveled ginger hair too, but choose not to. 

He arches his eyebrows, “who says we’re going back to the party?” 

“Oh-” you blurted. 

“We’re going home, I’m not done with my apologies yet.” And just like that, you feel the knot on your stomach again, the view of the cliff there and the sensation that you would fall over and over again that night, but it was ok since he was there to get you and guide you through it.