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wolfiafuntime · 3 years ago

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Fazbear's Technician I | FNAF X Reader

A fic for FNAF, cause the new Security Breach trailer got me excited :)

This ended up being longer than I expected, so I just split it into two parts. The second part should be up soon!

Word Count: 2,081 Page Number: 6.1 Proofread: No Publishing Date: October 31st, 2021

Key:

(R/N) - Your Roommate's Name

(Y/N) - Your Name

(L/N) - Your Last Name

Layout for the restaurant:

You were silent as (R/N) pulled into the next-to-empty parking lot. And as they pulled to the vehicle to a stop, an excited yet nervous smile came onto your face. Today marked a full year working Freddy Fazbear and Friend's Ultimate Pizzeria - the proud holder of fifty-plus human-behaving animatronics. It was also the proud owner of the world's longest name for a restaurant, but that's a lame thing to be proud of, so you often ignored it. The only reason why you weren't ignoring it tonight was because you survived a full year at Freddy's! The establishment was also known for how almost every employee that worked at night 'quit' after less than a week there. A 'fact' that made sense when the average Joe considered how horribly those employees were paid. Those who lasted more than five to seven days, would either disappear a week later, or suffer from a 'freak accident' after their shift. And no one knew why either of those things happened. But those were all lies that the restaurant's owner, Mister Johnen, told frequently. Lies that you had discovered after your first week there. Although, if you were being honest, you had already suspected something after your third day. And, while you were being honest, you would admit that, after your discovery, Mister Johnen offered to give you a five hundred dollar raise for your silence. Which was a lot, considering that you were still in college. And, if you told the truth to anyone, at any point, Fazbear Entertainment would do everything that they could to make you seem like the lady that sued McDonald's. So, for your greed and pride, you sold your soul to the devil you worked for and kept your mouth shut. That, and were no other jobs in the area, so Freddy's was kinda your only option. "(Y/N)!" (R/N) shouted, making you jump. "Gah! Don't do that." You exclaimed, giving (R/N) a wide-eyed glare. "I can and will," (R/N) replied. "Especially when I've been trying to get your attention for the past minute." "Oh," "Yeah, 'oh'. Now, will you please get out? I've got people to pick up." "Right, sorry," You apologized. After unbuckling your seatbelt, you made sure that you had your phone and keys before opening the passenger door and climbing out. You placed your hand on the outside of the door, but before you closed it, you ducked down and gave (R/N) a quick goodbye. "I wish you a good night, filled with nice to tolerable clients, and no car crashes." Your smirked when an upset look washed over your friend's face. "Excuse you, that bastar--" Standing up straight, you slammed the door shut on their face and started walking towards the only other car in the parking lot. It was in surprisingly good shape, meaning that someone had probably driven the new Night Guard here. You felt a pang of sadness hit you. The Night Guards' loved ones would always try and come to you, ask you about what their child or sibling or significant other or best friend acted like the night they disappeared. You always gave an honest description. Shaking your head, you pulled out your phone, and clocked in online. A minute later, you were repocketing your phone, and finishing your journey, you saw a man wearing climb out of the driver's seat and lock the door behind him. You felt your sorrow lighten when you saw that he was wearing the same uniform as you. It was less likely for a loved one to search you out, now. Not by too much, but by enough that you didn't feel depressed. "Hello." You greeted, taking a stop a few feet away from him. "Hey," The boy greeted back, turning to you with a small smile. "I'm Max Zaqurski, the new Night Guard." "It's nice to meet you, Max," You replied, holding out a hand for him to shake. "I'm (Y/N) (L/N), I make sure that the Animatronics and arcade machines are always in perfect condition." "Cool," Max admitted, following you as you started walking towards the restaurant. "Uh... Don't we have to wait for the manager?" "Johnen? No. He gave me the keys to the restaurant, that way he can go home earlier and spend some time with his wife and kids." You

explained, already at the FFFUP's door by the time you finished your sentence. Grabbing your keys, you grabbed the one that would let you into Fazbear's most recent pizzeria. It was easy to find it, considering that it had a Freddy head connected to the blade. Opening the door, you waited for Max to enter before reversing what you did. And as soon as you turned the bolt, your wristwatch went off, notifying you that your job had officially started. And, despite the fact that it had been nine months since the animatronics stopped hunting you, you felt adrenaline start to course through you. "It's twelve o'clock. Our jobs have officially started... Which means a few things." You announced, turning off the alarm. "What things?" Max asked as you gave him your work face. "Thing one: The animatronics are awake during the night. They behave the same way during the day - that means they get more and more active as the week progresses. Thing two: The animatronics have a glitch that only occurs at night, which makes them mistake unfamiliar people for endoskeletons. Now, this wouldn't be such a problem, if it weren't for the fact that Freddy's has a rule that no endoskeleton can be seen outside of the storage room without their 'suit' on. Meaning that if they find you, they'll forcibly drag you to the storage room. However, there are a few Animatronics who don't suffer from this glitch, and there's a way to combat the ones that do." A blaring horn sounded throughout the room, causing both you and Max to jump. With fearful expressions, you both looked at the nearby counter, which had a smiling Helpy standing on it. Instantly, Max scrambled behind you. "Gosh darn it, Helpy! I told you not to blow the air horn when I'm in the room!" You yelled scoldingly. The tiny bear simply tossed the air horn behind him, before using both of his hands to lift up the spare Freddy head beside him. You let out a tense sigh at the sight, and your shoulders dropped. "Thank you, Helpy." You said, walking over to the plastic bear and giving him a pat on the head, which made Helpy's smile widen. You then took the spare Freddy head from his tiny hands and turned back towards Max. "Now, as I was saying: There's a way to combat the glitch. If you put this helmet on, you'll look like a normal animatronic, and will be left alone by almost every 'bot in the building. Unfortunately, the Foxys' and Marionettes' are immune to this, but there are ways to combat that, too. Just trigger an epilepsy episode for the Foxys', and make sure the Marionettes' always have music playing. Got it?" You asked, walking up to Max and handing him the head. "Got it," Max replied, shakily taking the head from you. "Good. Now, there are two more things we have to touch on before I can let you get to work, both of which are law-related. Thing four: You legally have to help me clean the arcade and dining areas, and also help me get every trash bag and bring it here. Once our shift is over, we're gonna take them all to the dumpsters at the side of the building." "I didn't sign up for this!" Max exclaimed, an angry look coming onto his face. "Did you sign the contract?" You asked. "Yes--" "Then you signed up for it. Also, don't worry about having to put new trash bags in. You can if you want to, but the dayshift employees mainly handle that. Finally, I legally have to tell you about thing five: if you get hurt, or anything of yours gets broken, whether it be a bone or your phone - heh, that rhymed, you cannot sue Fazbear Entertainment. And if you go missing or die in some sort of accident, which is really likely, probably because we're not far from a college, then Fazbear Entertainment will file the proper report within ninety days. But they'll only do that if it didn't happen on the property, or if everything nearby your accident has been thoroughly cleaned, bleached, or replaced... Oh, and thing six - which I completely forgot to tell you about: If you damage one of the Animatronics, your pay will be docked according to how much it cost to repair the

dam-AAH!" You jumped again when Helpy blew the air horn yet again. "Gosh, you are so quiet! I didn't even hear you go get that!" You exclaimed, glaring at the tiny bear. All Helpy did in reply was hold out a clipboard, which had a page full of things you needed to complete before the end of the night. Wordlessly, you took it from him, and began to read over your list of tasks. Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, along with their Toy and Funtime counterparts, all had to be examined and cleaned before the end of the night. Lefty's 'only eye' fell out and broke in the middle of the day, so you needed to not only replace that, but also fasten whatever allowed it to drop in the first place. The right Fazbear's Racetrack in the arcade needed a new steering wheel. And finally, the stage lights on stage three needed to be replaced, as one was flickering. Why did you have to do so much on your one-year anniversary? A quiet grumble left your mouth at the thought, and you quickly turned and started making your way towards the storage room. But Max stopped you before you could leave the entry room. "W-Wait a minute, you can't just leave!" Max exclaimed, his voice filled with fear. When you turned to look at him, you saw that his expression was fearful as well. "I have to get to work, Max." You said, ignoring the rising guilt in your stomach. "But what if an Animatronic sees me?!" "Then put on the mask. Although, you might start to suffocate if you keep it on for too long, so be careful." You warned. "That doesn't help me! That just makes things worse!" "Max," You started, making your way towards him. Once you reached him you placed a hand on his shoulder, and looked him straight in the eyes. "As of today, I've been working here for a year. And I've only gotten hurt mildly, and that's was only a handful of times during my first few months here." "S-So I'm gonna be okay?" Max asked. "Yes," You said, maintaining eye contact. Part of you knew you were lying, while the other part of you thought you were being honest. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have twelve things to do today... Well, actually eleven, because I just remembered I have to make an announcement. Helpy, can you please get everyone in Dining Area One, one hour before Funtime Foxy's show nightly show starts?" You asked, turning to the white and purple bear. He nodded his head, hopped off the counter, and began trotting towards the first dining room. Presumably to fulfill your request. "How come that's the only animatronic that came in here? It's been, like, ten minutes since the animatronics should have activated." Max asked, his voice soft. "Oh, Helply's one of only five animatronics are allowed in here. Well, technically seven, but three of them are not only very low-tech, but they usually stick together." You explained. You then started making your way to the storage room once more, and you made sure to tell Max that he could find you there. As you made your way there, you passed Nightmare Chica and gave her a small wave. She returned it and gave you a broken 'hello'. You then went to give a wave to Toy Chica, but a frightened scream from Max made you jump. Almost all heads turned towards the entry room, and you instantly spotted Nightmare Chica bent down and standing in the doorway. "I forgot to tell him about the Halloween bots," You gasped in realization, and you could hear an amused laugh come from Bonnie.

#FNAF #Five Nights at Freddys #FNAF Pizzeria Simulator #FNAF 4 #FNAF 2 #FNAF Sister Location #Sister Location #Helpy #X Reader #Reader Insert #X OC #OC Insert #Original Character #FNAF X Reader #Fazbear's Technician

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thimbil · 3 years ago

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Having some thoughts about the references and inspirations used for the Bad Batch’s designs.

So Boba Fett is my absolute favorite character and Temeura Morrison was perfect casting. I went to see the 2008 TCW movie in theaters because I was so excited to see him again, even if he was animated. You can imagine my disappointment. Whoever was on screen was not Temeura Morrison. You could sort of see a resemblance if you squinted and didn’t think too hard about it. They replaced Temeura with Racially Ambiguous G.I. Joe. If I didn’t know better and someone told me the animated clones are space Italians from the moon of New Jersey I would buy it. One Million Brothers Pizzeria and Italian Bistro. Not that there’s something wrong with being space Italian, I just don’t think it’s the right choice for the Fetts. The design got slightly improved by season 7 but it still bugs the hell out of me.

I did eventually get into the show later and (of course) got invested in the clones. Unfortunately, they were largely sidelined by the Jedi storylines. Out of the two new main characters created for TCW, Ahsoka definitely got more development and focus than Rex. When they announced The Bad Batch, I was excited to see a show specifically devoted to the clones… at least that’s what it said on the tin. We have all seen what lurks beneath those stylish helmets.

Jango Fett, you are NOT the father.

So who is?

Based on interviews with Filoni, it sounds like the Bad Batch was a George Lucas idea. And like all his ideas, it’s super derivative. The original trilogy directly lifted elements from sci fi serials, westerns, and samurai movies, more specifically Kurosawa films like The Hidden Fortress. For The Bad Batch character designs, the influence is obviously American action and adventure movies.

Now let’s get specific. Bad Batch, who’s your daddy?

Hunter

Sylvester Stallone as Rambo in First Blood 1982. That bandana has become an integral part of the iconic action hero look. You see a character wearing one and it’s a visual shorthand for either “this character is a tough guy” like Billy played by Sonny Landham in Predator 1987, or “this character thinks he is/wants to be a tough guy” like Brand played by Josh Brolin in The Goonies 1985 or Edward Frog played by Corey Feldman in The Lost Boys 1987.

Hunter’s model is closest to the original clone base. If you look closely you will see the eyebrows are straighter with a much lower angle to the arch. His nose is also not the same shape as a standard clone like Rex, including a narrower bridge. It’s certainly not Temeura Morrison’s nose. Remember what I said about space Italians? It didn’t take much to push the existing clone design to resemble an specific Italian man instead of a specific Māori man. The 23&Me came back, and Hunter inherited more than the bandana from Sylvester.

Crosshair

The long narrow nose, the sharp cheekbones, the scowl. That’s no clone, that’s just animated Clint Eastwood. Not even Young and Hot Clint Eastwood from Rawhide 1959-1965. With that hair, I’m talking Gran Torino 2008. The man of few words schtick and family friendly toothpick in lieu of cigar are pure Eastwood as The Man With No Name from Sergio Leone’s spaghetti westerns A Fist Full of Dollars 1964, For a Few Dollars More 1965, and The Good the Bad and the Ugly 1966.

In a way, this is full circle because the actor Jeremy Bulloch took inspiration from Clint Eastwood for his performance as Boba Fett in ESB.

Wrecker

In an interview Filoni lists the Hulk as an (obvious) inspiration for Wrecker. Ever seen the old Hulk tv show from 1978? Well take a look at the actor who played him, Lou Ferrigno. Would you look at that. Even has his papa’s nose.

You could make the argument that Wrecker was influenced by The Rock, an appropriately buff ‘n bald Polynesian (Samoan, not Maori) man. But look at him next his Fast and Furious costar Vin Diesel and tell me which one resembles Wrecker’s character model more.

Tech

Tech is a little trickier for me to place. If he has a more direct inspiration it must be something I haven’t seen. That said, his hairline is very Bruce Willis as John McClane in Die Hard 1988. His quippiness and large glasses remind me of Shane Black as Hawkins from Predator 1987. In terms of his face, he looks a but like the result of McClane and Hawkins deciding to settle down and start a family. Although, Tech’s biggest contributors are probably just everyone on TV Trope’s list for Smart People Wear Glasses.

And finally,

Echo

Oh Echo. Considering he wasn’t created for the Bad Batch, he probably wasn’t based on a particular character or movie. But if I had to guess, his situation and appearance remind me a lot of Alex Murphy played by Peter Weller in Robocop 1987. However, Robocop explored the Man or Machine Identity Crisis with more nuance, depth, and dignity. Yikes.

The exact tropes and references used in The Bad Batch have been done successfully with characters who aren’t even human. Gizmo from Gremlins 2: The New Batch 1990 had a brief stint with the Rambo bandana. I could have picked any number of characters for Defining Feature Is Glasses but here is the most cursed version of Simon of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Suffer as I have. Marc Antony with his beloved Pussyfoot from Looney Tunes has the same tough guy with a soft center vibe as Wrecker and his Lula (also a kind of cat). Hell, in the same show we have Cad Bane sharing Cowboy Clint Eastwood with Crosshair. I actually think Bane makes a better Eastwood which is wild considering Crosshair has Eastwood’s entire face and Bane is blue.

So we’ve established you don’t need your characters to look exactly like their inspirations to match their vibe. So why go through the trouble and cost of creating completely new character designs instead of recycling and altering assets they already had on hand? Just slap on a bandana, toothpick, goggles, and make Wrecker bigger than the others while he does a Hulk pose and you’re done. Based on the general reaction to Howzer it would have been a low effort slam dunk crowd pleaser.

But they didn’t do that.

So here’s the thing. I like the tropes used in The Bad Batch. I am a fan of action adventure movies from the 80s-90s, the sillier the better. I am part of the Bad Batch’s target audience. Considering what I know about Disney and Lucasfilm, I went in with low expectations. I genuinely don’t hate the idea of seeing references to these actors and media in The Bad Batch. I don’t think basing these characters on tropes was a bad idea. If anything it’s a solid starting point for building the characters.

The trouble is nothing got built on the foundation. The plot is directionless, the pacing is wacky, and the characters have nearly no emotional depth or defining character arcs. They just sort of exist without reacting much while the story happens around them. But I can excuse all of that. You don’t stay a fan of Star Wars as long as I have not being able to cherrypick and fill in the gaps. This show has a deeper issue that shouldn’t be ignored.

Why do the animated clones bear at best only a passing resemblance to their live action actor? In interviews, Filoni wouldn’t shut up but the technological advancements in the animation for season 7. So if they are updating things, why not try to make the clones a closer match to their source material? Why did they have to look like completely different people in The Bad Batch to be “unique”? Looking like Temeura Morrison would have no bearing on their special abilities and TCW proved you can have identical looking characters and still have them be distinct. In fact, that’s a powerful theme and the source of tragedy for the clones’ narrative overall.

Here’s Filoni’s early concept art of Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, and Hunter. (Interesting but irrelevant: Wrecker seems to have a cog tattoo similar to Jesse’s instead of a scar. Wouldn’t it have been funny if they kept that so when they met in season 7 one if them could say something like “Hey we’re twins!” That’s a little clone humor. Just for you guys 😘)

None of these drawings look like the clones in TCW, much less Temeura Morrison. Let’s be generous. Maybe Filoni struggles with drawing a real person’s likeness, as many people do. But he had to hand this off to other artists down the line whose job specifically involves making a stylized character resemble their actor. Yet the final designs missed the mark almost as much as this initial concept. Starting to seem as if the clones looking more like Temeura Morrison was never even on the table. It wasn’t a lack of creativity, skill or technical limitations on the part of the creative team. I don’t think there is an innocent explanation. They went out of their way to make the final product exactly how we got it.

This goes beyond homage. They could have made the same pop culture references and character tropes without completely stripping Temeura Morrison from the role he originated. It was a very purposeful choice to replace him with more immediately familiar actors from established franchises and films. It wouldn’t shock me if Filoni, Lucas, and anyone else calling the shots didn’t even think hard or care enough about the decision to immediately recognize a problem. And I don’t think they believed anyone else would either. At least no one whose opinion they cared about. Those faces are comfortingly familiar and proven bankable. They are what we’re all used to seeing after all. They’re white.

Lack of imagination, bad intentions, or simple ignorance doesn’t really matter in the end. The result is the same. Call it what it is. They replaced a man of color with a bunch of white guys. That’s by the book garden variety run of the mill whitewashing. There’s no debate worth having about it. For a fanbase that loves to nitpick things like whether or not it’s in character for Han to shoot first or Jeans Guy in the Mandalorian, we sure are quick to find excuses for clones who look nothing like their template. Why is that? If you don’t see the problem, congratulations. Your ass is showing. Pull your jeans up.

#star wars #the bad batch #unwhitewashtbb #wrecker #crosshair #tech #hunter #echo

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cjsinkythoughts · 4 years ago

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Erased From the Stars: Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 4254

Series Warnings: Toxic Relationships, Cheating, Physical Abuse, Underage Drinking, Drug Use (marijuana), Motor Vehicle Accident, Cursing

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Sex, Cocky Bucky, Nervous Bucky, Bucky Bucky

A/N: I actually have ideas for this story, so I’m cranking it out! I definitely wasn’t expecting to post today, but here we are! This chapter has a lot of dialogue and some of Reader’s thoughts, but not much action, yet. We’re kind of still getting in the roll of things, it still being the first week of college and all that. We do get to meet Bucky, though! Next chapter we’ll meet mostly everyone else, and there will be more things happening other than classes and work. I kinda feel like I’m rushing these first few chapters, so I’m sorry about that, but it’s mostly introductions and setting up the story and I’m the type of person who likes writing the climax and only the climax. So this is steady growth for me.

I do want to point out the series warnings, just in case! I don’t want anyone feeling uncomfortable or being triggered while reading this so please take those seriously as it will happen later on in the story! Thank you!

Once again, this isn’t beta’d so please excuse any mistakes! Thank you for reading and please enjoy!

Erased From the Stars Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts’ Masterlist

You woke up in a much better mood on Tuesday, having gotten more sleep than the previous night, especially considering how tired you were when you got home past midnight from working at Shield. You crashed as soon as your head hit the pillow.

You took your time getting ready and eating breakfast, saying bye to Christine and the kids, leaving first that time since your Public Speaking class started before Kayla’s preschool did.

Which you were late to.

Of course as soon as you let your guard down, thinking you’d be fine since your first day was fine, you weren’t fine.

Fortunately, you were only a few minutes late and didn’t miss anything, since today would be another day of going over rules and course requirements for the two new classes you had.

Public Speaking was the worst. You’re older - and only - sister, Kimberly, convinced you to take the class after saying it was one of her favorites. Of course, you forgot that you and Kim were very different people. For starting at 9:05, it was too early of a class, especially when the whole point was, you know, public speaking. You hadn’t done anything yet, but one glance at the plans your professor had for the semester and you were dreading it already.

Your next class was a US History lecture, which started fifteen minutes after Public Speaking. You were again late because you severely underestimated how far the buildings were and your professor let you out a bit later than you anticipated.

You practically threw all your stuff into your bag the moment he dismissed you and sprinted out.

Arriving, you tried slipping in as silently as possible, but the door slammed shut, rather loudly, making you cringe. You felt yourself heat up as several pairs of eyes snapped towards you, but luckily the professor, Coulson you remembered, was just gathering papers and hadn’t started yet. Ignoring your peers - none of whom you knew and you weren’t sure if that made it worse or not - you shuffled over to the nearest empty seat a few rows down and to the right. You were surprised and extremely grateful to find it was an aisle seat.

Pulling out your laptop, you huffed when it wouldn’t turn on. You hadn’t used it in your previous class, meaning it was dead before, but you could’ve sworn you plugged it in last night. Whatever. You were fine with pen and paper.

“Aw shit.” You resisted the urge to smack your head on the table as you dug through your bag. Seriously?! You forgot to pack a pen?! That couldn’t have been your only pen, right?!

This is why you were anxious. Next morning, you swore you’d get up early and triple check to make sure you had everything.

You quietly threw your bag to the ground and slumped in your seat, your arms crossed. That meant you couldn’t even doodle! You had to sit there for over an hour and listen to this guy talk about another syllabus. Joy.

Suddenly, something hit you in the back of your head. You rubbed where it hit and looked down at your feet, eyebrows knitting together at the scrunched up ball of paper sitting there. “Psst.” Another hit to the head made you whip around, glaring at the culprit.

“What?” You hissed before faltering. Damn. Now that was one hell of a specimen.

Steel blue eyes crinkled at the corner as pink lips pulled up into an entertained grin, pearly whites on display. Sharp jawline covered with light scruff. Fluffy chestnut hair styled with the perfect amount of gel fell a little past his ears, with a single pesky strand falling in his eyes. The white shirt he was wearing was loose with a low collar, a leather jacket thrown over it. You could see the combat boots from underneath the table. He was a pretty boy, yeah, but you hung out with (*cough cough* dated) enough guys dressed like him in high school to know his game.

“Need a pen?” He offered in a whisper, holding up the said object.

“Uhm…yes?”

He smirked, leaning forwards in his chair, closer to you. “I’ll let you have it on one condition.” You raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Just a name, babygirl. Yours, specifically.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing around the room to see if you were disturbing anybody. Not seeing anyone paying attention to you two, you turned back to him. “Y/N.”

“Bucky.” He introduced himself, reaching over to shake your hand. You took it, a bit hesitant, blinking when you felt something fall into your palm once he pulled back. The pen.

“I, uh, thanks.”

He winked at you, leaning back in his chair, hands linked behind his head. “No problem, doll.”

You turned back to the lecture, holding in your scoff at his pet name, hating the fact that it nearly made you smile. He was definitely a fuckboy and you told yourself before college that you wouldn’t play around with them anymore.

So you tuned him out of your mind for the rest of the lecture and, thank God, you had to rush out of class once it ended because you had to work in half an hour, not even letting the blue eyed pretty boy say a word in your direction.

You worked for the rest of the day, Russo’s for lunch, a few hours break to look over school stuff and have dinner with your family, before Shield from 9 to 1. It was fine. Long, but nothing you weren’t used to already. You really enjoyed both your jobs and you got lucky with your bosses.

Joe and Anthony were brothers who took over Russo’s for their parents. The pizzeria had been in their family for generations, and they gladly took on the tradition. They had kids of their own and dealt with their school, so they were very understanding - almost parental - to you.

Phillips had started Shield after retiring from the Army, wanting to settle down with a place to drink, smoke, and play poker with his buddies. He was stern, but that was to be expected. He always told you, “you can take the man out of the Army, but you can’t take the Army out of the man.” Despite him being strict, though, he was reasonable, and had taken a liken to you since the moment you stepped foot in the bar.

And not only did you like your jobs, the money wasn’t too bad either.

But, despite that, you were still human, and having two back-to-back college classes and then working two jobs for over eight hours was draining.

You made sure everything was ready for the next day before you left for Shield, that way you could just get home, change, and sleep. Tuesday might’ve been a rough starting day, but you’d learn for Thursday, and Wednesday’s morning was definitely better.

Peter even texted you his coffee order, telling you he’d probably be late. You chuckled to yourself when you got the text at breakfast. You totally called it.

In his defense, he really was running late, and you could tell just by looking at him. One shoe untied, hair messy like he just rolled out of bed, sweater haphazardly thrown on like it was an afterthought, which it probably was.

“You,” he puffed, sinking into his chair and taking the coffee cup you held out. “Are my savior and I’ll love you until the end of time.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “And you, my friend, are so much more chaotic than I thought. What’d you do? Stay up until three last night?”

He shrugged, shooting you an innocent smile while his cheeks turned red. “I got caught up binge watching Clone Wars.”

“Of course you did. Here’s the notes you missed so far.”

He gave you an adoring smile. “Did I tell you I love you?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sap. Hurry and copy them down so I don’t miss anything.”

********************

It was when you were checking your things Wednesday night when you realized you had an extra pen. It took you a moment to remember the blue eyed pretty boy from Coulson’s History lecture, but when you did you groaned.

Your dating record in high school was pretty bad. Not that you would really call it dating. But Whitney was right when she said it was you wanting attention. It wasn’t easy being the middle of seven. But you dealt with it and now that you were across the country from your family - who you loved but Jesus Christ did you need a break - you didn’t need to act out to seek attention.

You were an adult. Meaning you wouldn’t goof off with guys like that anymore. Meaning you didn’t even want to talk to guys like that anymore.

Meaning you were severely regretting taking his stupid pen.

Maybe he wouldn’t notice if you didn’t give it back. Yeah. Maybe you could just ignore him and he won’t even remember that he let you borrow it.

Those were your hopes as you walked into your US History lecture, taking the seat you had on Tuesday.

“On time today? Glad to see we’re learning.” And there go your hopes, crashing straight into the floor, shattering into millions of tiny pieces. Going for ‘not interested’, you quirked an eyebrow, twisting your head as a bag landed on the table next to your open laptop, a body falling into the seat beside you. The leather jacket was replaced with a denim one, his black button up tighter around his chest than Tuesday’s white t-shirt. “And you charged your computer! Very nice, doll.”

You shrugged, going back to your doodling. “Time management’s always been a bit of an issue for me.”

“Ah. Gotchu, gotchu. I’ve got a pal like that too. A couple of them, actually.” He chuckled. “Is that why you high-tailed outta here Tuesday?”

“I’ve got work right after this class.” You answered shortly.

He leaned his elbow on the table, his legs spread as he turned fully to, a slight smirk on his face. “I haven’t seen you ‘round campus before. You new here? A freshman? You don’t look like it.”

You hummed. “Maybe. It’s a big campus.”

“Which you don’t live on.”

Frowning at the question that he said more like a statement, you moved your head back to him. “I don’t?”

He shook his head, setting his cheek in his palm. “Nope. I know everyone who lives on campus.”

A bit distracted due to Professor Coulson just walking in and announcing the lesson for the day, you hummed and shut your notebook and set up a page on your laptop for notes. “Everyone, huh?”

He nodded with a click of his tongue. “I get around.”

There it was. “Oh? A party animal?”

“I wouldn’t say that. My friends and I are just outgoing. We enjoy life.”

“Enjoy life or enjoy getting into girl’s pants?”

He hissed, shaking his hand like he burned it. “Ouch, doll. That stung. For your information, quite a few people in my group are goin’ steady. And we’re of mixed genders and sexualities. It’s not always girls’ pants.”

You raised an eyebrow, turning to him while still trying to pay attention. “For you or your group.”

“Does it matter?” He shrugged. “Would it bother you if I did fuck guys? ‘Cause I have experimented and it’s not half bad.”

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’, shaking your head. “You do you, pal. Or…do whoever you want to. Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to-”

He nodded. “Right, right. Yeah. Sorry. Just…listen. I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m not gonna force you to do anything, you know. Yeah, sure, I’ve seen a few beds around campus, but I’ve got female friends who I don’t sleep with. What if I just wanna be friends with you, huh doll?”

“Just friends?”

“Yup.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Okay. How many of these so-called female friends you don’t sleep with single?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “The list gets smaller, but yeah.”

“How about single straight female friends?”

He paused at that, eyebrows scrunched up. After a moment you clicked your tongue with a slight smirk, facing your computer and typing the notes Coulson was writing on the projector. “Hold on, hold on. Yes, I’ve got a few of them. Listen, babygirl, you’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be.”

You scoffed. “Don’t call me ‘babygirl’ and we’ll see where that gets you.”

“Okay, okay. That’s fair. What? Don’t you believe that guys and girls can be friends with nothing between ‘em?”

“Yeah, I do. Just not guys like you.”

He frowned, eyes narrowing. “Well that’s not fair. You don’t even know me!”

“Mister Barnes.” Bucky winced at the teacher’s annoyed shout, before throwing Coulson a dashing grin.

“Hey, Phil! How was your summer, man? You still goin’ out with that cellist?”

The professor raised his eyebrows, unamused. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

“Oh yeah! Thanks for the reminder, Phil!” Bucky stood up and cleared his throat. “Yo! First football game of the season is next Friday! It’s gonna be a blast! Watch out for number 41! Handsome devil’s gonna score the winning touchdown! Avengers assemble, am I right?!”

Coulson gave him an unamused look as the room cheered, making you laugh behind your hand. Bucky fell back into his seat, shooting you a wink as Coulson calmed down the room.

“You’re a football player?”

“Fullback, yes ma’am. Co-captain of the team, in fact.” He smugly leaned his seat onto the back two legs, setting his feet up on the desk.

Unbelievable. Why were you always attracted to these idiots? A player in both senses of the word. “There it is.”

He blinked, his chair falling forwards with a ‘thud’ that made Coulson shot him a warning glare. Bucky smiled innocently, before shifting his chair so he was turned towards you again, the smile turning upside down. “There what is?”

“That cocky, conceited air you fill the room with. Attention is what you live for. I should’ve guessed you were a jock too. I’m surprised you’re not wearing a letterman jacket or something just to make sure everyone knows who you are.”

His frown deepened. “Look, doll. I dunno what you think you know about me, or what you’ve heard-”

“I’ve never heard about you before you lent me a pen Tuesday. Which I appreciate and here it is back, by the way. But I know your type. I’ve been down that road. So excuse me for trying not to make the same mistake twice.”

He stared at the pen you set down by his bag, before his gaze flitted back to you, but you wouldn’t meet those pretty eyes of his. “Fine. Sue me for trying to get to know the new girl.”

“This is a mainly freshman class. Half the girls in here are new.”

“Yeah, but they’re chattering away with the posse they’ve already discovered.” He nodded over across the room. Your eyes scanned the lecture hall to find that he was right. Most girls were giggling and whispering to each other, no doubt freshman straight from high school. The others were most likely maturing sophomores. “And, hey, if you want extra reassurance I’m not trying to get you in my bed; I don’t fuck with freshman. Nothing against you or anything, just…straight outta high school and all that? Not really my jam.”

You eyed him, before shrugging and looking down to make sure you got the notes Coulson was starting to talk about. “Yeah, well, too bad I’m not straight out of high school, then.”

He tilted his head, an eyebrow raising in curiosity. “So you’re not a freshman. I didn’t think you were.”

“No, I am. But I took a year break between high school and college. But if you didn’t think I was a freshman, that reassurance doesn’t really work, now does it.” He opened his mouth to defend himself, but you continued, not wanting excuses. “What about you? You’re definitely not a freshman.”

“Nah. I’m a junior. I studied abroad for a semester last year and there were mishaps my freshman year, so I’ve got a few classes to make up. My friend had this class last year, so I just took all his notes. Coulson never changes his lectures. Pretty sure he doesn’t even change the tests.” You hummed, pretending you were barely listening when you really heard every word loud and clear. Bucky huffed, reaching out to grab your wrist gently, making you stop typing and look up to meet his eyes. “Can we start over? Please. I don’t know what type of guys you used to know or whatever and, yeah, I’ll admit I started the conversation like an idiot, but I promise I’m not that bad.”

Pursing your lips, you scanned his features, taking in the pleading eyes and the pouty lips. Clearing your throat, you took your hands off the keyboard, straightened a bit, and turned to him, holding out your hand, your full name falling from your lips.

The beam he gave you had you severely doubting your initial thoughts about him, his larger, calloused hand taking your eagerly. “James Barnes. Everyone calls me Bucky.”

You nodded, before starting to type again. “What are you studying?”

“Mechanical engineering.”

You paused, not expecting that answer. Maybe you were wrong - majorly wrong. “Really?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Technology’s always interested me and I like fixing cars and stuff; I work at an auto shop actually. I dunno what I’m gonna do with it yet, but it feels like a step in the right direction, ya know?”

“I’m afraid not.” You shook your head. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He chuckled, drumming his fingers against the table. “That’s alright, doll. I don’t think anyone does. They just think they do.”

“That’s…very true, actually.”

He grinned, running a hand through his hair again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I told you: I’m not an idiot all the time. I swear.” That made you laugh.

Bucky talked to you throughout the rest of the class, never going above a whisper as he babbled about his other classes and how one of his friends, Sam, tripped down the stairs that morning. You were almost annoyed at him, but he was a very good conversationalist and he wasn’t distracting you too badly. There weren’t any awkward pauses while he stumbled around for something to talk about and if he wasn’t talking, it was a comfortable silence filled with Coulson’s voice, pen scribbling on paper, and the clicking of computer keys. He never pushed you for responses, either, only asking a couple questions, like where you worked and what other classes you had.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you.” He said a few minutes before class was over. “I’m just bored.”

“No. You’re fine.” Honestly, besides a few flirty comments and that pet name ‘doll’ popping up here and there, he wasn’t as bad as you were thinking.

He went quiet for a moment before clearing his throat, almost nervously. Your forehead creased as you snuck a glance at him. He licked his lips, a hand combing through his locks, scratching the back of his head. You wondered why he did that so often.

“So, uh, there’s this cabin in the woods by the lake about half an hour away…” His eyes widened at the weird look you shot him. “Oh fuck, that sounds so bad. No, no. It’s not - I’m not a serial killer or anything. My friend owns it. Well, technically his dad does, but it’s his. Anyways, he always throws a party the first weekend of a new semester. On Saturday. Noon to midnight. If you’d wanna come.”

You quirked an eyebrow, packing up your stuff as Coulson dismissed class early. “You’re asking me to go to your friend’s cabin in the woods-?”

He shook his head with a little laugh. “It sounds so sketchy. I promise it’s legit, though. Honest. You can ask anyone. It’s Tony Stark’s party. He holds one every-”

“You’re friends with Tony Stark?”

He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. We’re in the same circle. I know how it sounds, but-”

“I’m working.” You cut him off, finding it amusing how he rambled. Who knew a fuckboy could get so nervous about asking a girl to a party. “But if you give me the address I’ll see if I can get some time off.”

“That’d be awesome. Yeah, yeah. Here.” He quickly grabbed the post-it note you handed to him and scribbled the address down. “It’d be really cool if you could make it.”

“I’ll try. Cross my heart.” You smiled, taking the paper from him. “I do have to go, though-”

“Oh right. Yeah. Work. I’ll see you this weekend, then. Maybe.” He grinned.

You bit your lip, nodding. “Maybe.”

As he started walking out, you looked down to grab your bag, the pen left on the table catching your attention. “Hey!” You called after him, making him turn around, walking backwards with that grin still on his lips. You lifted the writing utensil to show him. “Your pen!”

He shook his head. “Keep it! I don’t take notes in this class anyways!” He shot you a wink, before spinning on his heel, his hands in his pockets, whistling some random tune, without a care in the world.

**********************

“There she is! So?! How’s school been?! I wanna know!”

You grinned at Whitney as she bounced in, looking at you excitedly while going to wash her hands. “You’re working early today. It’s only 3.”

She shrugged. “They wanted me in before dinner rush tonight. Don’t dodge the question!”

“It’s been fine. I’ve met a couple people, doodled a few things, ignored syllabus talk - the usual.”

She sniggered, moving her eyebrows. “Any cute guys so far?” You thought back to your History lecture and Bucky, who confused the hell out of you. Whitney’s squeal pulled you out of your thoughts. “That’s a yes! Tell me about him immediately!”

“It’s not a ‘yes’. There’s nothing to tell.”

“But he is hot, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips pulled up at the corners. “He’s…very easy on the eyes.”

Whitney gave an excited squeak, quickly drying her hands and putting on gloves before sliding up to you. “So? Tell me all about him.”

“Nothing to tell.”

“Bull.” She called out. “What’s his name?”

You huffed, focusing on the pizza you were making. “Bucky.”

She tried it out on her tongue before nodding. “Cute, cute. How old is he?”

“He’s a junior, so I’m guessing 20. Maybe 21 if his birthday was in the past week.”

Whitney hounded on you for every detail of your conversation, which you told her with some exception, leaving out the pen and some of the random stuff he told you. “So he’s a fuckboy?”

“Oh yeah. No doubt.”

“But he’s a charming fuckboy?”

“Mhmm.”

“And he’s not a dick?”

“So far.”

“So…he’s your type.”

You scoffed, giving her a look. “I don’t have a ‘type’.”

She gave you a bemused expression back. “Honey, it’s not a secret you like the charismatic guys that every girl swoons over. You just don’t swoon over them and that’s what makes you different.”

You scowled. “I don’t swoon over them because they don’t deserve my effort. And no. I don’t have a thing for them. I just…tend to get their attention more than other guys.”

“Because you don’t swoon over them.”

“Whitney-”

“Okay, okay. What happened next?”

You shrugged. “Nothing. He just sorta…talked the entire class. He did invite me to a party on Saturday though-”

“Oh my God! You have to go! College parties are the best! You’ll have so much fun!” She stopped to give you a serious look, pointing a finger towards you. “You’re going, right?”

“I dunno. Maybe. I’ve got to ask Phillips if I can get time off and I-I dunno if I even want to go.”

Whitney groaned, throwing her hands in the air and letting her head fall back. “This is the first party of your college life! There shouldn’t be any doubt!”

“Apparently Tony Stark is the one throwing it-”

“Are you fucking - you can’t not go!”

You snickered, Whitney’s persistence amusing you. “Again. It depends on Phillips. We’ll see. I promise.”

“At least tell me you got this guy’s number.”

“Nope.”

Whitney glared at you. “You are the absolute worst person to try getting drama out of, you know that? You’re not interested at all in this guy?”

You shrugged, turning to throw the pizza in. “Maybe. I wanna try out this whole friend thing first. Tommy’s the first real guy friend I’ve had since middle school and that’s mostly because he’s gay and we barely even talk outside work. I’ve never just…let myself take a break from dating before.”

A sigh came from the other girl, who reluctantly nodded. “That’s good, actually. Take a mental break. I respect that. But please, for the love of God, please try to have fun.”

You smirked, nodding. “I’ve told you, Whit. I know how to have fun. Don’t worry; if I do go to that party, I’ll have enough for both of us.”

“Yes! I have to live college through you now, so it’s your responsibility!”

You mockingly saluted. “I won’t let you down, babe.”

64 notes · View notes

huearmy · 4 years ago

Text

Life is Beautiful - I

Summary: You are a glass half full person, your life motto is "Life is too short to... Insert something and anything here". During your whole life you wanted something more, and even not knowing what it is, you put yourself to find out and get it, experiencing everything brilliant that the world offers - within the measure of what is safe, of course. The curious thing is that your way of living ended up rousing the interest of two vampires. One who sees beauty in everything and loves to exist, currently working with suicide prevention; and another one who no longer sees grace in things, in that boring immortality that never ends, and only complains about the Netflix catalog all the time.

Pairing: Jimin x reader / Taehyung x reader.

Genre: fluff, angst, future smut (very soft, ok?)...

Words: 7509.

Rating: +18

Warnings: As much as my writing is soft and light, and as these are not the main topic of the story, treated in a non-descriptive way, there are sensitive themes from the beginning of the first chapter to the end of the fic that can trigger sensitive people, like depression, suicide, addictions in general - Jimin literally works at a suicide prevention center here. SO PLEASE! Read responsibly, my intention when dealing with topics like this is always 1) dealing with them in myself, as a way of putting out part of my own healing process 2) generating identification in other people, so they can go through the difficult time a little less alone. THIS IS A STORY THAT SEES THE WORLD WITH POSITIVITY.

Chapter II Chapter III .

After some centuries of not living, all vampires go through a kind of midlife crisis in which everything loses its grace and eternity becomes endless boredom. Nothing new happens, humans are born, sometimes they are relevant to world history, they become vampire food or they die dull. Vampires do not need to sleep or use the bathroom, nor to feed more than once a month, so the days are long, and often lonely, which leads many of them to stand still without moving, looking at nothing until their thirst quits, forcing them to go after a pulsating neck. Many go through this phase as serial killers, with killing as their only source of pleasure, others prefer to hibernate in some dark place or tomb, because false death is more interesting than false life. Some never get past the phase.

Jimin is not like that. With almost a thousand years of existence he is totally in love with life. Every day when the sun rises and the sunlight forces him to stay indoors so as not to burst into flames, he spends his hours with a smile on his face, engaging in small banal hobbies, such as gardening or online courses at distance - after almost a decade of doing this, Jimin already has fifty-two certificates in different areas, and he is pretty pride of it. When night comes and he can go out and see the world it’s even more interesting, because humans ’nightlife isn’t as hectic as daytime, so those who live in those dark hours are different. There are those who do wrong things and commit crimes, those who have double lives or who keep secrets, there are people working to protect and save, like doctors and police, there are night guards and twenty-four hours convenience store attendants, groups of friends who spend the night partying until dawn, and those who feel lonely in their empty apartments unable to sleep... And this is the part that he likes the most: people.

He likes to meet random people in the empty metro, buy a drink for a girl who doesn't take her eyes off him and then dance with her, strike up a conversation with a homeless man under a marquee because he knows the guy must be lonely. Watching and learning about other lives keeps him alive, more than the blood he needs to drink.

He likes to get temporary jobs to have some human experience. He has worked in pizzerias, both in the kitchen - he was not very good, so he was put in the dishwasher - both in deliveries, and at a gas station, as a hotel receptionist... But now it looks like he found a job he wants to stay in, so much that it has been a year and he has not yet resigned. Perhaps Jimin has found his calling.

"It's okay... You are not alone, I'm here and I'll stay until you feel good again." He said with his sweet, angelical voice. "Can you get away from the sharp objects? Please?"

The voice on the other end of the line sounded like just a choked whisper, before the answer came, fast, heavy breathing filled the air.

"No... I can't..." The female sobbed.

"Can you tell me why?" Jimin's voice was calm. "I... my legs are numb... I can't... stand up." Her breathing was erratic and desperate.

"Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance to be sent to you?" He used his most reassuring voice possible.

"No!" She started to cry even harder. "I don't want no one... to see me... like this." Jimin bite the inside of his cheek, thinking, maybe she just wasn't able to get up because of the anxiety attack, but she also didn't say she wasn't hurt.

Regardless of the case, he needed to make the girl trust him in order to help her.

"What is your name?" He smiled, hopping she would listen to it in his voice. "... Ana" She whispered. "Nice to meet you, Ana. Do you remember my name? I told you at the beginning of the call."

One moment of silence.

"Jimin." She said with little certainty.

"Exactly, good job. Hi, Ana." "Hi, Jimin." Despite the crying voice, she was no longer sobbing.

"Ana, can you recall the last thing you did that made you feel safe? Secure?" A sigh reached Jimin's ears. As he waited for an answer his hands moved over a sheet of paper, he was drawing a beautiful face of a girl with crayons, without paying much attention, but getting a beautiful result.

"No." She said at last.

"I know you can, Ana. No need to rush. Breath." She thought some more, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Almost a full minute passed, the two of them silent on the call. Jimin did not press for an answer.

"I was watching Friends... with my cat." "Your cat?" Jimin smiled more spontaneously now, noticing in her voice an oscillation of affection when saying the word cat. "Talk more about your cat."

"His name is Sushi, he's fat, full of himself, and loving. He likes children, food and sleeping. I recently bought him a cute collar, it looks like a pink bow tie." She almost laughed.

"Wow...He is a lucky cat." Suddenly she started to cry again, sobbing so hard that Jimin hardly understood what she was saying.

"He ran away and hasn't come back yet... He's never been away from home so long... He's all I have, there's no one else... I don't want to live... alone." "Is it just you and Sushi?" Jimin spoke more forcefully for her to hear over the sobs.

"Yes." She choked. "I can't get up... It hurts so much. I'm so-sorry..."

"Ana, do you need an ambulance to be sent to you?" He tried again. Silence.

"Yes." "So I will stay with you until they come to help you. You are not alone."

Jimin was a vampire in love with live, eager to live each day as if it were the most precious gift, so working in the Center of Valuing Life and Preventing Suicide was perfect. He considers himself an expert in convincing anyone that life is beautiful when he has the opportunity to say everything he thinks about. And not letting people feel alone is one of his favorite hobbies.

After all, eternity can be quite lonely, he knows how it is.

________________________________________________________________

That call is over. Jimin was searching for missing cat posts on social media. In the silent office room it was just him and three other people working, each at their separated personal table. Perhaps due to the nature of the work, or due to the late hours of the night, nobody spoke loudly or made a lot of noise when doing things, even when talking to each other, everything is always very restrained, calm.

Jimin's eyes followed the clock hands on the wall above the door. It was almost one in the morning, actually, to be exact, twelve minutes to go, so in two minutes, you would punctually enter that door with your heavy backpack full of books, of someone who just left college on the other side of the city, and after stopping at a twenty-four hours fast food to get a well-deserved burger spent an hour on a subway trip. He could already hear your footsteps down the hall, the characteristic sound of the rubber on the soles of your boots and your bunch of keys stuck in the handle of your backpack tinkling. He heard you putting your stuff in your closet and hanging your coat on the rack in the next room, and a smile formed on Jimin's face. When the hand on the clock struck ten to one and you opened the door trying not to make any noise so as not to disturb anyone's call, Jimin pretended not to notice you entering, not taking his eyes off the computer screen full of images of cute cats. You straightened up and held firmly the pair of coffee cups in your hands till the knots turned white, looking straight at him - in fact, from the moment you walked through the door you were already expecting to see Jimin sitting at his table, as always, and since then you haven't looked away. Walking in light steps - that he could hear by the way - to him who had his back to you, you tried to control the butterflies in your stomach, happy he wasn't in a call right now.

"Jimin?" You called softly, close to his ear, but not that close. Yet. Jimin contained a smile and turned around as if you had taken him by surprise. "Hey, Y/N, didn't see you there". As usual, his direct look made your heart race and you gave a nervous laugh before getting along with his flirty tone. "I bought you coffee." You handed him one of the cups. "To take the night shift a little better."

"Thanks, sweetheart."

You are the other reason Jimin didn't quit this job yet. A few weeks ago, when he was working long enough to decide to leave and go for the next adventure, you started working at the night shift, and right away you caught Jimin's attention, even though at first you didn't talk with him that much - in fact you only talked to the women on the team, and avoided the men. More than once he found himself paying attention to your emergency calls, how you talk, being positive without being suffocating for those in pain ... how you love life. After a while you started doing the same thing, a little less easily, since you don't have a vampire audition, but it was enough for you to acquire a platonic crush on Jimin, which resulted in you opening up, and you two start talking here and there. Now almost whenever you have time or money left over - college life is poor life - you bring him coffee. Jimin doesn't actually drink coffee at all, and he doesn't feel sleepy either, but he thinks it's cute that you worry for him. You see each other three to four times a week, depending on the schedule of work, and he is always eager to see you. Flirting is exciting, and he hasn't done that in a while... Like two centuries, and how it was done back there was quite different. Other times indeed.

"Did you lose your cat?" You asked, confused.

"Oh, no, I didn't." He closed the page with the photo of a white and gray cat wearing a pink bow tie.. "One friend of mine lost her cat, Sushi." "Poor thing. I hope she finds Sushi soon..." You slightly pouted.

"Me too. I'll help her." Jimin said, and the butterflies in your stomach thought it was beautiful.

Something on his desk caught your attention, a colorful draw of said cat made with crayon. Before Jimin could stop you - he was distracted by hearing your heart beat faster because of him - you picked up the stack of papers to get a closer look.

"And you drew him! How beautiful... I didn't know you were so talented." "Thank you. My friend who taught me, he is much better than me..." Jimin simply answered.

You moved on to the next sheet, where another sketch of the cat in different colors made your eyes shine. "So he must be awesome. Look at this!" Jimin was happy to be praised by you, the pink of your cheeks when speaking was a beautiful sign for him, but then he remembered what was the next drawing in your hands, and before you could see it, he cleared his throat and took them back, keeping them in the drawer. It was a drawing of a girl's pretty face. Your face. "They are not quite ready yet..." He pretended modesty.

"Oh, sorry. If you need help, just tell me. I can hang up posters or something. About finding the lost cat, I mean." You volunteered, and then looked around. "I better get to work before someone scolds me."

You went to your desk, across his, and your eyes met a few more times before as you sat down and turned on your computer. Jimin's phone rang and he forced himself to look away from your face, someone else needed him now. "Good night, my name is Jimin and you called the Life Valuation Center. Can I help?" He spoke, his voice welcome and full of affection. ________________________________________________________________

Jimin's shift ends before yours, just before three in the morning he puts things away and leaves the table ready for the person who will use the next shift, but he won't leave, even if everyone thinks so. Instead he goes to the roof to look at the stars and wait for you to leave - not that you know he is waiting for you. He was listening to a random playlist on spotify, stretching his body to the beat just because it feels good, thinking about nothing specific, just existing and feeling good about it.

The night breeze brought his scent to him, looking down from the parapet, he could see you leaving the building, with your scarf well wrapped around your neck, covering half of your face to protect you from the cold air. He doesn't understand you... It's beautiful that you want to help people who are going through a difficult time, and you've commented before that the night shift matches your other schedules, and that you like to stay up at night. However, he thinks you should consider it's not worth it. It's so late and empty when you go home, it's dangerous for a human woman, and as much as he knows that you have a pocketknife in your pocket, Jimin thinks it's silly of you. Usually he wouldn't think much about it, but it's you, and he is fond of you, he can't just do nothing about it. So even if you don't know it, he accompanies you home every night to make sure you are safe. He is only satisfied and goes home when he hears you enter your room. Sometimes he stays a little longer, sitting on the emergency stairs outside your building, listening to you walking up and down in your room, doing whatever, instead of going to sleep soon.

That's kind of creepy. He knows. But he is a vampire, he is already creepy in essence. But of course he would never watch you sleep, for exemple, this is a stalker limit that he does not intend to cross.

"Okay." He sighed as he heard you getting into bed. "I have one hour and a half before the sun rises... Let's find that cat." __________________________________________

You were awake for a couple of hours already, currently packing your books at the end of a lecture, really needing sugar to feel prepared before the last class of the day, and excited that instead of going to the study group you are a part of, you will take an experimental dance class and it's your day off, which means that instead of staying up until dawn working, you can stay up until dawn studying, and maybe sleep a little earlier. Life is too short to not take all the free trial classes available just because your schedule is already full and totally demanding. Anyways you are dead tired, wishing your body doesn't need to sleep... Since you started to work on the Life Valuation Center all your sleeping schedule went down the drain. At first your plan was to work the night shift only at the beginning, and then change your hours, but for some reason you always liked to stay up all night, also the movement of calls in this period is bigger and more specific, which helps in your internship report, and of course, in the day shift there is no Jimin... You've settled in, and now after months of this crazy, fickle routine, your body is feeling the side effects.

"Three of this rainbow donuts please." You asked at the college cafe. One because you want, two because one is not enough, three because you are greedy. Life is too short not to overeat your current favorite sugar source. You sigh to yourself, taking a seat along your friends. Your mantra for life is life is too short to...insert anything here, experimenting and doing things that you never imagined before and that your mother probably wouldn't approve a hundred percent is what moves you. Basically nothing scares you, since childhood you were courageous and fearless. You subject yourself to almost anything, within the measures of what is safe, to have good stories to tell. The world is too big to be content with just having good grades to graduate and have a good job. What you want is much more... so much more that you don't even know what... But it’s not just because you don’t know yet that you’ll stand still without going after it to find out.

"Hey, Y/N, what are you gonna do on the weekend?" Your friend, Becca, asked comfortably within her girlfriend's embrace. As usual, whenever you see the two of them together being all lovey dovey, you feel a twinge of pride in your heart, because you were responsible for them to start dating in the first place. Although your romantic life is not very interesting, without serious or successful relationships, you are a great cupid.

"For the very first time in months... I don't know. I didn't plan anything, maybe something will show up, if not I'm just going to sleep. Why?" You smiled your happy smile of eating what you like.

"Pool party. You need to get a tan, you look like a vampire with that pale, tired face of yours."

You laughed because it's true, since you started changing the day for the night, your skin has acquired a not healthy tone that you are not used to. You've been missing the sun a little.

"First of all, I'm too cute to be a vampire. Second, yeah I'll think about it, I have a new bikini I haven't worn yet that makes my breasts look stunning." One of your friends that was sitting by your side put his arm over your shoulder. "I changed my mind, I'm going to this party." He loudly said. The girls in the group didn't laugh at all. "Shut up, Mike." You playfully pushed him. ________________________________________________________________

This was the second night that Jimin was looking for the cat, Sushi. It was not difficult to find out the address of it’s owner, since he had to activate an ambulance for her, and with that he started looking for the animal in her neighborhood. Passing through the empty streets at night after his work shift, he could see the girl's tracks leaving "missing" posters with a picture of a kitten wearing a pink bow tie, on lampposts and bus stops. At first Jimin thought it was going to be easy, with his keen vampire senses, but all he found were stray cats that weren't Sushi. The second night of searching was already ending, the sun was rising, threatening to make him explode into ashes if he didn't come home soon, and no clue as to where to look the next night he had.

Before getting into the car and driving home, Jimin took one last look at the slightly open curtains in the girl's room, Ana, just to make sure she was okay. She had been discharged from the hospital that afternoon and was now sleeping on the couch, probably medicated. Jimin didn't want to leave her alone, but he couldn't just walk into her apartment and offer help, for now all he could do was find a way to find the cat. ________________________________________________________________ Jimin lives in an old pretty house in the wealthiest part of the city, it isn't a mansion, but it is big and expensive enough to impress anyone who sees it, privileges of centuries of saved money. It's a cliché, but vampires dress in designer clothes, ride luxury cars and live in expensive mansions, houses, apartments, and Jimin is no exception.

From one of the main rooms, behind a heavy curtain, hidden in the gloom, was another vampire, watching the street with intent, expressionless eyes. When Jimin's car turned the corner and up the wide street lined with huge trees, the vampire got uneasy, his beautiful restless hands worrying the hem of his sleeves. He was anxious and angry, if his heart was still beating it would be racing. The garage door opened and the car entered, disappearing from view, in the next second the vampire was no longer in the room but in front of the door leading to the garage, waiting in the empty, dark hall. The knob turned the door slightly opened, Jimin with his head down did not seem to notice the presence of the other before being attacked.

"AH!" Jimin screamed as long arms embraced his neck. If it wasn't for the wall behind him he would have fallen, yet he had no escape, with a body much larger than his overpowering him. "Taehyungie!"

"You are late! Is the second day in a row you get home after sunrise! Are you trying to die?" Taehyung said, and didn't let Jimin go just yet. "It's okay. I was careful, I just had to do a few things before I came home. Look, there's not even smoke coming out of me." Jimin ran his hands over Tae's back, making him relax. The other stepped back a little, taking his face in his big hands.

"You could have sent a message. I asked you to let me know if you were going to be late again, Jiminie..." Tae pouted, still distressed. "And why do your clothes smell like garbage? Take it off."

Even feeling deprived of affection, Taehyung walked away looking disgusted, covering his nose with two fingers. Jimin obeyed, taking off his sneakers, jacket and jeans, following Taehyung through the corridor to the laundry room, where he put everything in a basket to wash later, and also exchanged the shirt for a clean one too. "I went into some alleys today, looking for a cat. That's why." Jimin explained, feeling much more comfortable in not smelling bad.

"And where's it? I don't think Tannie will like to share the house with a cat..." "Where is what?" Jimin was confused. Tae crossed his arms.

"The cat?"

"Oh no!" Jimin laughed, reaching for Tae to take him by the shoulders. "I wasn't looking for a cat to bring home, as much as I would love one as a pet... It's the cat of a girl I met, and is very sad to have lost it..."

"I got it..." Taehyung mumbled.

Jimin was just helping someone. Again. And Taehyung couldn't say exactly why it bothers him so much every time, but it does, he feels distressed, almost as if the world around him collapsed, and it makes him think he's being overdramatic. Live an eternity when you can't even put your feelings out in moments of frustration. Damn, it is conflicting... If vampires could cry, he would. But never that he would let Jimin discover that he feels that way.

It was Jimin's turn to take Tae's face in his little hands.

"You are so skinny. When was the last time you fed?" Taehyung didn't answer.

"You don't even remember, right?" Jimin's eyes went worried. "Did you see that I brought some O- packs for you? I left it in the fridge."

"No, I didn't." A shy smile spread across Tae's face. O- is his favorite blood type, but because it is a not so common type, and humans need transplantation, it's not always that Jimin brings it to him, usually opting for his second favorite flavor or other one available.

Jimin has been trying to cheer his friend up with little treats. It has been a difficult phase, in which he thinks Tae is going through the vampiric midlife crisis. He hasn't been out of the house for almost two decades and does nothing without a little external motivation, even the simplest things like eating. So Jimin tries to bring the best blood types to fill the fridge, signed all available streaming platforms, updates Taehyung's video game consoles as soon as a new model comes out, tries to get him interested in new hobbies - which never works but he doesn't give up - and he even adopted a puppy so that Tae would never be alone.

"Come." Jimin pulled him by the hand to their modern practically untouched kitchen, opened the fridge and picked two packs of blood, the dark liquid shining at the cold light. “In my room or yours?"

"Yours."

The two of them got to Jimin's room, followed by the sound of four paws scraping the polished wooden floor, Yeontan chasing them closely. Jimin pulled the covers off the clean bed, on which he rarely lies down, so they could get more comfortable. Tae laid on his back, against the pile of smooth pillows, carefully opening a packet of blood to not spill a single drop, and put a stainless steel straw in the opening. Jimin turned on the TV, put the dog in the bed, and cuddled Tae's side, with his head on his chest.

"What show have you been watching?" Jimin asked.

"None. I've been looking for something interesting in this shit for days and I can't find anything." Tae took a sip of his blood with a pout.

Jimin chuckled. "I'm choosing then."

A moment of silence followed, in which the only sound was of Tae drinking the rest of his first pack, and then opening another one.

"I think I need to shower..." Jimin commented.

Taehyung's arm that was around Jimin tightened. "Not now. Later." Jimin laughed, thinking it was cute. An idea crossed his mind, another small treat.

"Do you want to bath with me instead?" He looked up to Tae.

Tae hold tightened even more.

"Not now. Later. Now we cuddle."

As if agreeing, Yeontan climbed over the two vampires, finding a comfortable place to lie down and join the cuddle pile.

"Ok."

________________________________________________________________

Tonight you didn't have time to talk to Jimin when you arrived at work, he was on a call, and it seemed really serious. You didn't have the money to buy extra coffee even for yourself, so you hadn't an excuse to pass quietly by his desk to leave a post-it written "Hi :)". In those circumstances, you went straight to your desk to work, to do your best to be a good listener.

To your surprise, making your heart melt and your breath hold at the bottom of the throat, you saw at the top of your computer screen a post-it with a "Hi, sweetheart." written on it, and another one with a "Look in the fridge.". After working with him for that time, regularly doing some paperwork like filling out documentation and such things, you could say for sure that this was Jimin's handwriting, besides, only he calls you sweetheart.

You checked the clock on the wall with an eager look and a silly smile. As you always arrive ten minutes early, there was time to go to the break room quickly, and look inside the fridge before starting to work. And so you did. The break room was nothing more than a small table with a few chairs, a small couch, a sink, an old coffee machine, a microwave and the refrigerator, all in a tight space lit by white lights that leave the place a little impersonal. None of your co-workers were there, as usual. You crossed the small room to the fridge and opened it trying not to make a noise, more out of habit than necessity.

The interior was very empty, with some forgotten lunchboxes, but that didn't interest you. Your goal was right in the middle. A big cup of iced coffee, from a franchise that you don't usually buy from because you find it a little too expensive for your student budget, with your name written on a post-it on top of it.

"Y/N, I wanted to be me treating you today. Hope you like it."

That coffee was as cold as Jimin's fingertips when touching yours, but it warmed your heart. Sometimes you question yourself if it's healthy how head over heels you are for this guy, for so little.

Back at your desk, now with your iced coffee, you wrote a post-it and pasted it on the back of your computer screen, where Jimin could see it. "Thanks :)" Then you started to work. Other people needed you now. ________________________________________________________________ On your fifteen minutes break time, you were leaving the restroom, passing a moisturizing hand cream - because you swear that the soap in this place dries out your skin, and god forbid you from harsh hands -, the sound of the break room's door opening made you lift your eyes from the floor. It was Jimin. He don't take breaks, it's not like he needs it, he doesn't get tired, but he didn't get the chance to talk to you today yet, so as soon he saw you stretching in your chair, indicating that you would soon get up to go to the bathroom - yes, he learned your routine and mannerisms - he discreetly left the room to meet you by coincidence in the hall afterwards.

"Hi, Y/N. Did you like the coffee?" He charmly smiled at you, he was eager to ask it to you, to find out if he made the right choice of flavor, or if he made a bad mistake and you hated it - he couldn't help thinking about that possibility. Anyway, he was looking forward to your approval.

The truth is that you were so stunned by his caring that it didn't matter what the flavor was.

"Actually, yes. I love vanilla flavored things. It's basic but it makes me happy." You fixed your hair, pulling it behind your ears. Jimin could tell by your smile and your heated face that you aren't lying.

"Nice. I wanted to make you happy." He approached you, more than is suitable for the work environment, and it made you nervous, and of course he noticed. But it was okay, if someone came close he would hear and walk away before they could see you, too bad he couldn't tell you that.

"Mission completed successfully." You said, without looking away from his eyes - no matter how much part of you shouted at you to do it, your heart felt like it was going to explode. Well, your heart has a limit, so you changed the subject. "Did your friend find her cat?" Sadness took over Jimin's eyes.

"Unfortunately not. I've been looking for him for two days and nothing, I swear I think I've looked in every street, alley and trash can. I don't want to think like that, but I think Sushi is no longer with us." He sighed, clearly frustrated. You had the impulse to rub his forearms to comfort him, it was the very first time you really touched him. "If he is a cat that wasn't accustomed to getting out, and didn't know how to walk on the street, it is possible that something bad happened... But! He's a cat, if he used to go out often, he might have some other house, other owners, and that's why he hasn't come back yet." You optimistically said.

A smile spread in Jimin's face.

"That makes sense! She told me something like 'He's never been away from home for so long', there's hope then. And you also gave me an idea. Thank you, Y/N." He pulled you into a hug, and you thought you could die.

"You welcome." You said against his chest, deciding not to waste the opportunity to return the hug. ________________________________________________________________ The day was perfect for a vampire walk in the daytime. Cloudy and rainy. No deadly sunbeams and an excuse to use an umbrella without calling attention to it. After the tip you gave, Jimin looked in the right place after accompanying you home that night, and in less than an hour he was outside the window of two children's rooms, in a ground floor apartment, looking inside, and sleeping between the feet of one of the children was the cat, he wasn't with his bow tie but there was no mistake, Jimin was sure. Even without being able to enter - vampiric rules, you only can get in somebody's house if invited, or else you explode as if you were under sunlight - Jimin could smell cat all over the house, and the windows all had anti-escape screens, which indicated that it was a family of cat people.

Jimin would need to come back to pick the cat during the day, knock on the front door and politely ask. That's why heavy weather is perfect. With a dark couture coat, covering all from his neck to the back of his hands, to his knees, a design hat and sunglasses, and last but nos least, a big umbrella, he approached the lower middle class apartment complex. Without hesitation he raised his hand and knocked. Some seconds passed by, sound of kids running inside and a voice of a famale scolding them muffled by the closed door, and then a little girl, maybe six-year-old, appeared in Jimin's field of vision, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen after all.

"Hello." Jimin smiled. "Are your parents home?"

She smiled at him, but shook her head negatively.

"Jo, who is it?" An older girl opened the door wider and faced Jimin with a frown that fell apart when she saw his smile. Great, a teenager, he thought. "What do you want?"

"Sorry to bother, I really wanted to talk to an adult, but..." Jimin lifted his phone, the screen showing Sushi's missed post. "I saw my friend's cat on your window."

The older girl narrowed her eyes as she looked at the photo, but before she could answer, the little girl she called Jo before ran away.

"No!" She screamed, disappearing inside the apartment, and then slamming a door somewhere.

"Sorry for that, please wait a minute." The teenager closed the door on his face, and he could hear her shouting and scolding the girl little inside. He was starting to lose his patience. Jimin doesn't like to be ignored at all. Should he knock again and use his mind control powers to get the cat? He was pondering the idea when the door opened again, the two girls were still loudly arguing inside, and this time it was a small boy who must be the middle sibling in front of him.

"Hi, grandma said to tell you to come in." He mumbled.

"So you are letting me get in your house?" Jimin asked with a satisfied grin.

"Yeah... follow me." The boy was avoiding eye contact, being shy. Jimin thought he was adorable.

Jimin followed the boy to a tiny living room, where an old woman was sitting in front of the TV. The girls were now silent, but clearly wanting to argue some more, and the small one was with Sushi in her arms. Jimin sighed, he likes children, a lot, even though he doesn't live with many, but he likes them even more when they're not having a tantrum.

"Hello. Please, take a seat." The old lady pointed to the old couch. The vampire obliged, and almost immediately a fat orange cat jumped into his lap. In this small room alone he could see three more of them. "So, why do you want to steal one of my babies?" Steal? Jimin was slightly offended, he already explained himself, but the chaotic situation created a misunderstanding. "I'm not here to steal nothing, ma'am." He showed his cellphone again. "One of your cats is Sushi, my friend's cat."

"That's not his name!" The little girl shouted tapping a foot on the floor in anger. Jimin just raised his eyebrows at her, making her swallow hard. But he is in control of the situation, so Jimin smiled to remain pleasant.

"Of course it is. Just watch, little one." He reached out to call the cat. "Come here, Sushi." Even though the cat didn't know Jimin to trust him - and these people don't need to know that - cats are creatures of the night, strongly attached to magic and protection in the dark hours, and in the hierarchy of the night they obeyed vampires. The only things that cats respect more than vampires are witches and their own owners whom they protect. As Jimin expected, Sushi jumped off the girl's tight hold and went over to him.

"Good boy. Ana is missing you like hell." Jimin scratched behind his ears. Before someone else could say anything, he proceeded. "When he got lost he was using a pink bow tie." The old lady was still with Jimin cellphone in her hand, and he could see she was convinced he know the cat, but wasn't intending on letting him leave with him yet.

"I'm seeing it in the post, but there was no tie when we got him." She replied. "You just didn't see it, ma'am." Jimin was tired of this conversation, it was being a lot less nice than he imagined on his way there. When he looked to the little girl to talk to her, his eyes were intense and powerful, and his voice was full of authority. "Go get the tie where you hid it, little one."

Mesmerized by Jimin's power, the girl didn't even blink or say anything as she obeyed, turned around and ran to one of the rooms. Jimin doesn't use hypnosis very often but he has fun every time. She got back with it and handed it to him.

"Thanks." He removed the effect and the little girl blinked a few times before understanding what happened.

The old lady was clearly angry with the girl, but it wasn't Jimin's business. "Well I think that's all. We are going now." Jimin got up from the couch.

"Wait!" The teenager snapped. "Jo lied about the bow to keep the cat, and that's bad, but she already loves him! You can't just take him away!"

Jimin was almost on the door.

"Of course I can. Besides, it's not because what she did is bad, young lady. It's because my friend loves him, actually this cat is Ana's family. No one should live alone, right?"

"Right!" The old lady got up too. "I'll get you to the door, tell our friend we are sorry."

"I will. Thank you." ________________________________________________________________

"You found the cat!" Tae sniffed the back of Jimin's neck. "Where is it?"

Jimin was putting the clothes he was using to wash, to remove the smell of cat and the places he passed by. And to get comfortable, as is his habit when he gets home, he just stayed in his underwear and t-shirt.

"I already gave him back to his owner." In the next second Jimin was dropping himself on the leather couch.

"And how was it? Did she thank you with tears in her eyes?" Tae leaned over the back of the sofa with his chin in his hands.

Jimin chuckled, Taehyung's thirst for drama is funny, and he's always been like that. And at least that doesn't seem to have changed...

"Well... She cried a lot when she found him in the window. She looked really happy!" Jimin sang. He was really happy too. He helped someone to find their smile again, even if it is a little bit, it made him really proud of himself, a warm feeling in his chest telling him it was the right thing to do, and that he should do it again if he gets the opportunity. Taehyung's expression changed, suddenly he was disinterested.

"You didn't even talk to her? Just left the cat there for her to find?"

"Well, yeah." Jimin threw his hair back. "I couldn't risk she recognizing my voice and thinking I was stalking her. Scaring her was not the goal, Tae, quite the contrary..."

Taehyung stared at him in silence for what felt a whole minute - maybe it really was, vampires perceive time differently. "You are not a secret superhero, Jimin. You are a vampire." Said that he got back to his room.

Jimin doesn't understand. These outbursts and mood swings leave him confused. And it's not like he hasn't already tried to talk. This... This he doesn't recognize in Taehyung. It hurt his feelings and at same time he feels it is partially his faut. "I can be both if I want to!" He exclaimed.

No answer. To find somebody who would be happy for him and understand the euphoria he felt for saving a little bit that girl he went through his contact list. A lot of vampire names - a lot is maybe an exaggeration, since he doesn't have many friends at all - who wouldn't be rude, but wouldn't understand, and also some former human colleagues from past jobs with whom he hasn't spoken in a long time and maybe should erase the number... And you. Of course you are the obvious choice. You had sympathy for the case from the beginning, even offered to help. And if it weren't for you he wouldn't have succeeded...

Jimin: hey sweetheart Jimin: I found sushi! Jimin: thanks to you btw He sent the messages, hoping it wouldn't be strange. It wasn't the first time you two texted before, but it was just an exchange of memes and silly flirt... without compromise talk. And what he wanted this time was different. You took too long to answer, and he wondered if you were in class and if he was bothering you. He wanted everything but to mess it up with you right now. Maybe he should've checked your class schedule for the week to make sure he texted you when he was sure you were free. But he was so eager to talk to someone... with you. He gave up waiting and went after doing something productive. Crochet dolls. He was doing a mini Taehyung, with red eyes and little cute fangs - an apology for later, neither of them like fighting with each other, even if you can't call that earlier thing a fight- when his cell phone started to crazily vibrate and beep.

You: OMG! You: thts amazing! You: sorry i didn't aswr before You: I was taking a nap hehe You: anyways You: i'm so happy u found him You: [image.jpg] You: ur friend must be even happier :) You: what do u mean thanx to me? You: sorry i spammed u :( Jimin can't handle you. You are too cute. You literally sent him a photo of you with an enormous smile, cheering, to show him your reaction. And you were with your hair all messed and the puffy face of someone who just woke up. Precious. Jimin: no problem, sweetheart Jimin: you said to look in other owners' houses. basically. I found him with a old cat lady with three grandchildren Jimin: you are looking cute btw You: OwO You: i'm looking like shit Jimin You: BUT thats awesome You: if it was me id be crying til my eyes fall You weren't even there with him, in person, and you were putting a smile on his face. How dare you say you look like shit when you have those perfect cute cheeks? So alive...

Jimin: EXACTLY. that's why I wanted to find him so much. Jimin: and because you helped me, I want to reward you Jimin: i know you don't work today. me neither. do you want to go out for coffee in a nice place? You took too long to answer again, and that's because your heart is exploding and knees trembling while you stare at your cell phone screen, standing midway in your kitchen. You: u dont need to. i did nothing. This time Jimin took too long to answer. He was making a decision. To be more straightforward. More honest. Until now he was dictating a slow pace for your flirting, because for him romance is like that. But what if he tries to speed things up a bit? Or if he lets you command? How would things be?

Jimin: Y/N, respect my excuse to ask you out.

He knew what your answer would be. Even so, he felt anxious, hearing a non-existent heartbeat in his ear, while the three dots indicated that you were typing.

You: ok. what time do you come to pick me?

Tag List: @angrygardenerr @depressed-dude20 @milktaetae95 @tangledsparkles @wlalsrkfla @minikolima @wrecklesseuphoria

If you want me to add you to the list let me know, and please let comments :)

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ask-the-music-man · 4 years ago

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(Nobody asked for this, but continuing on Ben’s mini saga with Centi haha Not much of a writer, so excuse if it a bit clunky and stuff

Also description of panic attack at the end so heads upp)

After many long and silent nights in the pizzeria, Ben had taken to tinkering with leftover animatronic parts, now filling the usually silent office with metallic clanks and tings. They weren't really sure what they were doing, not having much experience with robotics, but it was interesting to see how things fit together and worked.

Or didn't work, as Ben often simply guessed what went together. But it still passed the time, and the mechanics even encouraged Ben to keep practicing. The head mechanic, Flora, was probably the most excited to see the young guard having an interest in her line of work. She'd actually surprised Ben a few weeks back with a box of parts, explaining they found an old mini animatronic that was scrapped from another location, and saying Ben could tinker with it as much as they liked. Though it was hard to tell Ben's emotions a lot of the time, a signed 'thank you' and a slight nod, told Flora they appreciated the gesture. During the weeks, Ben had made some progress on the animatronic, putting together an arm - or perhaps leg? - guessing it was some sort of mammal, with the small claws and paw pads. They had looked through all the parts to see was it could have been, but it appeared the head was severely damaged, smashed in with a blunt object, so they'd just have to wait until they'd finished to find out.

The 'silent hours' had approached the pizzeria, but Ben was far too engrossed in fixing some components of their new project to notice the time. The monitor's continuous hum as background noise to their focus, only occasionally breaking it to get another stick of pocky, after they sucked the chocolate coating off and eaten the biscuit part. The could have been there for minutes or hours, as a crackling sound from the monitor finally pulled them out of their hyper-focus. Ben had to blink a few times, squinting to the screen as a large - almost ghostly - black blob quivered in the main room by the ballpit. They stared blankly for a moment, considering they'd been so focused, they'd forgotten their medication and this was a mild hallucination, but upon checking, they had their medication as normal. After two more check of wiping the screen and taking a photo on their phone, Ben grew concerned. Either the camera was glitching or something was in the pizzeria. Something big. Ben didn't like the idea of something that size getting inside without their knowledge, so they scrolled through their phone's contacts, beginning a video call with the pizzeria's technician, Markus. It took a moment for him to pick up, but considering the time, he was probably asleep. "...Hello..? Ben..?" Markus' voice slurred from the speaker as he looked bleary into the camera, "What's up, it's like... Nearly four AM..." Ben leaned their phone against their coffee mug, signing with both hands, 'You did say call anytime.' Markus made an amused snort, sitting up in his bed, "Yeah, I guess you got me there." He gave a lopsided smile, and pushed the mess of hair from his face, before speaking again. "Is there a problem? You usually don't call just to talk." Ben nodded curtly. turning the phone to the monitor, which continued to show the static black mass. 'I think camera three is glitching.' Markus had to squint a bit before putting his glasses on, and looking again. "Huh. That's not a glitch I've ever seen before... Is it on any of the others?" Doing a quick check of the other cameras, Ben signed a 'no', pausing before adding 'I haven't checked out the room, but it looks more like a glitch than anything real.' "Yeah, it does seem like it." Markus hummed, "It's still probably worth a check. It'll take a few for me to get down there and all." Ben nodded again, agreeing with him, but not completely thrilled about having to look. Especially if there was something, and it was as big as it appears on camera. "Hey, it'll be fine." Markus chimed in again, noticing Ben's lack of signing and the slight glazing washing over their expression, "There's no traffic at four AM, I'll be there before you know it." After another hesitant pause, Ben nodded once more. 'Alright.' Markus once again promised to be as fast as he could be, and the two said their goodbyes, leaving Ben in silence once more.

It wasn't that Ben was scared. Who was not scared of what was unknown to them. But something about the situation made the guard anxious. It just felt incredibly off. The addition of them requiring their cane today also didn't help, making them slower and unable to defend themselves if there was a threat... But there couldn't possibly be anything. The alarms would have sounded at a break-in. They would have noticed. No more hesitation, they told themselves. Getting to their feet with the help of their cane, Ben picked up the flashlight and started down the halls. They carefully observed all the doors and vents, noting nothing out of place nor anyone out of their rooms. As they continued to the main room, the off feeling got worse. A quiet tinny ringing sound entered their head, brushing it off as their tinnitus, before it quickly got louder and more intense with each step they took. Becoming almost monstrous cries in their ears, They felt their body tense and impossibly heavy, as if gravity wanted to suddenly yank them downwards. Teeth grinding against themselves and their legs becoming shaky, holding onto their cane tighter and tighter. Ben mentally chided themselves. Why did now have to be the time for a panic attack. There was nothing there. They had to do their job. As they finally approached the seemingly endless hallway to the main room, the body tremors and ringing sounds became far too much for the guard, slumping against the wall as they dropped both flashlight and cane. In a last ditch effort, Ben weakly clawed along the wall, as least hoping to see inside the main room. But it was ultimately a futile attempt as their body shut down completely, dropping to the floor as they were overwhelmed by an unknown force. Unaware of the nightmare that was just a few steps away.

#Security Guard Ben (OC)#and ft new human OCs yayyy #Technician Markus Kiplings (OC)#Head Mechanic Flora Tolbert (OC)#also technically Centi is there but also not really #but for story purposes #Nightmare Music Man #I know writing doesn't get much traction as art but lemme know if you wanna see more maybe?#it's fun to write sometimes

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we-want-mini-mini · 4 years ago

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I’m currently listening to like, old FNAF songs because nostalgia and they’re fuckin’ bops y’all don’t @ me.

Anyways, because of this, I new prompt/oneshot came to mind. The Batfam somehow end up being kidnapped and they enter a version (of the version) of the first (or whichever game) FNAF game.

Like, say that the creator of the game was a Robotics engineer who had hopes of creating a game. So, they create this horror game, and get hella into it, so much so they wrote books, created a sort of real life version of it (miniature tho) and etc etc. Then the Dev presents the game to another branch of the company they work at and it gets shut down. They get laughed at and everything being told that the game would never succeed and etc etc. And adding onto the Developer’s tragic backstory is that they got back stabbed and got their designs stolen by a coworker and got fired for whatever reason.

Anyways, the Developer not only got humiliated, got their work stolen but they even got fired from their dream job. Resentment breeds and then they cronstructe a real life version of the game(s) they created. They went so far as to stay as close to their games lore (in FNAF the animatronics were possessed by kids, same thing applies here). So, this Creator got jilted, back stabbed and humiliated and went a bit crazy and killed a couple kids who “possessed” the animatronics (the kids could actually possess the animatronics or not, up to y’all, but let’s say in this prompt/oneshot, that they did).

Anyways, let’s say Red Hood heard about five kids from Crime Alley that went missing in the exact same location at different dates. This catches his eye and he researches it some more. The more he researches the more he finds out. For one, more then ten kids went missing at this one location (which is this kids pizzeria party hall). Jason, whose known to protect kids, especially if they’re from Crime Alley or are street kids. But, he finds these series of suspected kidnappings/disappearance of these kids really particular. Something is off and he wants to investigate it.

Switch to Red Robin’s POV were he’s out on patrol and finds crates full of various mechanical/robotic parts. He’s, rightfully so, confused as all hell and tries to investigate were the fuck these robotic parts are being shipped and who shipped them. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find anything of substance as whoever ordered these hid their tracks very well. He takes a couple of the parts to analyze back at the Batcave/the Nest. He opens a couple more crates but finds other shit, like painting equipment, marble titles, plaster and other shit that is usually used when someone is renovating a place. They all have the same markings and the like and RR is confused but starts to suspect that one of the Rogues might be up to something. He also has a theory that this might be the work of a new, and upcoming Rogue as the stuff he found doesn’t fit any of their current Rogues MO but he doesn’t ignore the possibility this might be one of their other Rogues work.

Then we switch to Batman’s POV where he was working a different case but then notices something. He notices that someone is skimming money (a fuck load of money) off of this one companies branch and no ones noticed as its covered up pretty well (but Batman caught some minor, but significant inconsistencies). He tried to track the money transcations as he’s worried one of the Rogues might be planning something or something akin to that. The more he digs, the less he can find because everything leads back to shell companies and to stuff that doesn’t exist. The trail is covered up pretty well but this is Batman, he’s the worlds greatest Detective so he manages to find out that the money is being used to buy... paint, titles, chairs, and various other household renovating items? He’s a bit confused but then thinks that this might be Mad Hatter but when he looks into all the stuff that’s being bought, it doesn’t fit Mad Hatters Wonderland Aesthetic/MO. Still, he keeps on eye on the transactions.

Cut to Nightwing & Robin out in Blüdhaven. They’re out on biweekly patrol together. It’s a rather slow night but Robin and Nightwing are having fun (and bonding ofc!). Then, at one point, when the duo stop a mugging, the lady that they saved made an offhand comment about some kids going missing. Robin’s instinct goes off and he asks the woman whats she’s talking about. The woman explains that some street kids she knew from her job at a youth center just stopped coming. She chalks it’s up to her paranoia but she thinks they might have been nabbed. Nightwing cuts in and offers to walk the woman home which they do. Robin is thinking back on the woman’s comment about a few “missing” street kids. He tries to rationalize it as these kids probably just leaving or ending up in a Dention Center but he can’t help but think about it. He remembers something RH said about street kids going missing at this one specific place. He can’t stop thinking about throughout the rest of his and Nightwings patrol. Nightwing notices that Robin isn’t very focused so he asks what wrong. Robin dances around the topic but eventually does tell Nightwing what’s on his mind.

“That woman we saved earlier said something that stuck with me.”

Nightwing raises his eyebrow. “What did she say that stuck with you?” Nightwing knew that trusting ones gut instinct is important. There’s a reason why something’s that might send alarms off. He just hoped Damian could trust those instincts.

“She offhandedly remarked about missing kids. She told us that some kids she knew from the youth center she worked at haven’t showed up in three months. I remembered, earlier something that Red Hood said about streets kids going missing from a specific location, all at varying times.”

Nightwing is a bit surprised, but he’s heard Jason talk about the case. He makes a note to investigate the missing kids in here and compare notes with Jason afterwards. He has a feeling that the missing kids in ‘Haven might be related to the one in Gotham (considering street kids are the ones going missing. That stuck out to him). He reassures Robin that he’ll investigate it, and Robin replies that he wants in. Dick sighs but let’s him (it’s be a great bonding experience! No matter how morbid in retrospect...).

Batgirl (Stephanie!) is out on patrol with Red Robin when they talk about any recent activity they’ve seen. Red Robin makes an offhand comment about how he found crates filled with house renovating shit but he couldn’t trace them back to anyone. Batgirl stops, as she remembered when two weeks back she was at the Harbor and found crates filled with tech and... house renovating stuff. Batgirl then asks Red Robin for the serial number that the crates had, he’s but confused but tells her. Batgirl then realizes, those weird ass crates she found and she couldn’t trace back were the same one Red Robin were investigating. She tells him this, and tells him that she found were one of the crates were being hauled off to. They both decide to cut patrol short (it was almost finished either way, but tonight was uncharacteristically quiet). They both head off to Red Robin’s Nest. They both exchange info about the weird ass crates and theories. Batgirl thinks that this might be the work of a new up and coming Rogue as everything she found in the crates doesn’t suit any of their current Rogues MO. Tim agrees with her, but can’t find anyone that could be their new Rogue.

Now with everyone having different cases, which are all interlocked together let’s get into...

Five Nights At Genni’s

Ft. The Batfam, the Developer, FNAF Case Fic AU, fuck canon because everyone is on pretty good terms, Lots of Dead Kids (👀), And Scary Ass Probably Possessed Animatronics!

COMING SOON!

because I’m to lazy to continue on with the prompt/oneshot but I’ll finish it don’t worry lol

Now, if anyone wants to write a whole ass AU case fix stemming from this prompt/oneshot, go ahead! I’d honestly love to read the Batfam try and piece together the FNAF lore, while within the game itself, while trying to figure who tf is doing all this shit. It’s perfect for like, writing a great case fic, an exploration of the Batfam’s relationship and the Batfam themselves. But, it doesn’t have to be serious! Like, if y’all don’t want to write the part about several dead kids and want to write a semi crack fic centered around the Batfam being within the FNAF games then go for it!

Anyone who sees this, tag your fav Batfam writer! Because I haven’t found when fics where the Batfam ever interact with the FNAF games (whether them as actual games or something like what I wrote above). I’d love to see their takes on this prompt!

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chalantness · 5 years ago

Text

fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (2/6)

Rating: M Word Count: ~10,400 (part two) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: mafia au. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is.

Read On: [ ao3 ]

A/N: I'm really, really hoping it won't take 2.5 weeks for me to get every single chapter done, so keep your fingers crossed for me because my inspiration and I will need as much luck as we can get!

“So how come I’m the only one that hasn’t met your new boyfriend?”

Peter peels a pepperoni slice off of his pizza and pops it into his mouth, grinning, and Natasha feels the corners of her lips twitching into a smirk as she shakes her head at him. Somehow, she’s not surprised. It’s hardly the first time that her cousin has dragged her to this particular little pizzeria in the city, and it’s been a bit longer than she realized since they’ve hung out as just the two of them, so getting his text about wanting to have dinner with her wasn’t something in itself that was particularly suspicious.

The cheeky grin that’s been on his face all night, however, definitely is. He may be a sweet kid – sweeter than any of them – but he’s still very much a Stark.

“Is that why you’ve been showing up even later than usual for Sunday dinner?” Peter goes on, his grin getting wider as his eyes glint, and Natasha can’t help but smirk.

“Since when were you such a gossip?” she asks, crumpling her napkin and tossing it at his face.

Peter wrinkles his nose at her for a second and then laughs, reaching across their small table to poke at her shoulder. “Come on, Nat,” he says, and honestly, she’s not quite sure if he’ll appreciate her calling him cute now that he’s sixteen, so she presses her lips together to keep from doing so. “How come I have to hear about this from Tony?”

She breathes out a laugh. Well, that certainly explains it. Peter is always curious about what’s going on in her life, and, as with everyone else in the Families, he usually knows who she spends her days with because she rarely wants to see anyone else. It’s far too complicated to get involved with someone who’s not part of this life somehow, whether it’s a simple friendship or something romantic—so, other than a few casual nights with a perfect stranger every so often, she tries not to mingle all that much. But it was never something she gave a second thought about until Steve Rogers came into the picture and she’d begun to see how much of an adjustment he has to make in his mind to things she’d simply grown up knowing. Still, he’s pretty damn good at adapting. It’s easy to see that he’s someone that’s meant to lead and he really doesn’t need her advice to do it.

He doesn’t really need to see her almost every other day, either, but she’s not exactly complaining.

“If a boyfriend existed, there’s no way the family would’ve kept quiet about it for long,” she points out, one eyebrow arched.

“Yeah, that’s true. Guess that’s why you and Steve Rogers were all anyone could talk about before dinner the other night.” His grin widens. “Which you would’ve known if you showed up on time, but I can see you were busy making friends, right?”

She can’t help it; she laughs. “Clearly you’ve been spending too much time with Tony.”

Peter shrugs, picking his pizza up and taking another bite. “To be fair, I think they’d be talking about Steve Rogers even if you weren’t suddenly spending all this time with him,” he says, and Natasha nods at this. That’s certainly true. It seems that Steve is all anyone in the underworld can talk about, and she knows it’s not simply because he’s a new face. They have dozens of men doing their dirty work, dozens of associates passing in and out of their world. Some of them end up being trouble, but most of them slip under the radar, carry out their orders and take their cuts, not drawing any attention—and in this lifestyle, that’s definitely preferable to drawing the wrong kind of attention.

It’s different with Steve, though, because he’s not some soldier that made his way in. He’s a variable none of them could have ever predicted, and, maybe for the first time ever, the Families have to play it safe. At least for now.

“That may be true, but I’m still trying to figure out why you want to talk about him, too, considering you’re barely involved in the Family business.”

Peter glances down with a chuckle. “What, that means I can’t be curious about my cousin’s life?”

“Curious, or worried?” Natasha asks, and he meets her gaze, his smile fading a little at the edges as he shrugs his shoulders again, almost sheepish now. “Peter.”

“Well, yeah,” he admits. “I mean, I’m always worried about everyone, even just a little bit. And maybe a little bit more now that—”

“I have a new friend?” Natasha guesses. He stays quiet, simply blinking back at her. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear about him.”

“I know,” Peter promises, and she can tell that he means it. “It’s not what they’re saying. It’s just that there’s all this talk, and then there’s you, and no one’s worried, really, but they’re—they don’t want you to get caught up in anything for no reason. And Tony’s… not exactly understanding why Uncle Howard wants you so involved.”

Natasha doesn’t quite understand it, either, but it’s not something she’s about to get into right now, and especially not with Peter. He may not be all that involved in this life like the rest of them are, but he’s not oblivious, and she’s not going to give him another reason to worry by telling him that she’s there to keep an eye out on Steve. Between people like Hela and Anton running their mouths, and all of the busted deliveries starting to become a pattern, it’s clear that something is stirring up between the Families—but after her talk with Steve that first night they’d met, Natasha is starting to think that maybe all of this tension would’ve built even if Joseph Rogers had never gone missing.

Because Steve had made a good point. Hela has always been outspoken, has always found a reason to argue about something, which meant no one really dwelled on the fact that her attitude toward Joseph Rogers in particular had gotten more aggressive recently. It’s how she’s always been, so why would anyone think twice about it?

It’s a rather clever cover, and one that Hela could make good use of if she ever needs to.

Maybe she does.

“Uncle Howard has a reason, and a good one,” Natasha tells Peter, reaching over to ruffle his hair, and he bats her hand away with a laugh just as her phone vibrates on the table. She picks it up, swiping to open the text—and, not for the first time, she’s glad she’s got one hell of a poker face as she feels Peter’s curious gaze on her.

“Is that Aunt May?” Peter asks, and Natasha glances up to find him checking his own phone, muttering something under his breath. “Have we really been here that long?”

Thank fuck. Natasha hardly believes in miracles, but this is as good of one as any. “You’re with me, kid. I hardly think Aunt May will be that upset,” Natasha points out, typing a reply to Steve—On my way—before slipping her phone into her purse. “But it’s probably time I get you home, anyway.”

... ...

Something happened with Wanda. Meet at your place.

He’s picking up dinner when he gets the text, and he doesn’t really know what the hell to focus on first—why Bucky is texting him about his sister, or what the hell happened to Wanda in the first place—but it’s almost instinctive, the way he texts Natasha right after telling Bucky that he’ll be right there. He thinks about sending Clint a text, too, but thinks better of it. Clint will want to know if something’s wrong, especially if it’s about Wanda, but Steve wants to know what the hell is even happening before interrupting the guy’s night with his wife and kids. Natasha is already on her way; if things aren’t serious enough to need Clint right away, too, then filling him in can wait until the morning.

And, fuck, it better not be anything serious. He thinks he’s done a pretty damn good job of being strategic, toeing the line to keep the peace.

It’d be a damn shame for all of that to go waste because some idiot decided to come after Wanda and Pietro.

“Buck?” Steve asks, all but slamming the door behind him as soon as he’s inside and tossing the takeout onto the table. “Wanda?”

“I’m alright, Steve.” His sister’s voice is as soft and soothing as always, and Steve feels a little bit of the tightness in his chest ease just at the sound of it as he rounds the corner into the living room. She’s offers a small smile from where she’s sitting on the couch, but beside her, Bucky stands with his arms crossed and his jaw tight. Rarely does the guy ever let something get to him, so the dark look in his eyes puts Steve back on edge, especially when he catches sight of the bandage wrapped around Wanda’s arm.

“Drive-by,” Bucky answers before Steve can even get the question out, and Steve feels his entire body go cold.

“What?”

“I was near it,” Wanda insists, starting to stand, but Steve gently nudges her back down as he sits in front of her on the coffee table. He takes her hands in his, eyes passing over her to check for anything out of place, but other than the bandaging, she’s untouched. Steve swallows, reaching up to touch the edge of it on her arm, and she gently cups her hand over his and gives it a little squeeze. “I got pushed up against a building when everyone scattered,” she explains, “but I didn’t get hit. It wasn’t meant for me.”

“You don’t know that.” Bucky’s voice is firm and clearly pissed, though Steve can tell that the harsh edge of it isn’t directed at his sister.

“Did you catch them?”

Bucky shakes his head once, exhaling a sharp breath. “We were tailing a suspect nearby and my partner went after them but they got away. And I jumped out of my car when I recognized your sister, so I didn’t get a good look at it myself.”

“I got a glimpse,” Wanda says softly, her voice almost as hesitant as her expression. “It looked like an Asgard driver.”

Steve jerks back a little, turning to Bucky. “That’s what the other detective said,” his best friend confirms with a nod. “It looked pretty damn close to one of the ones we have under their file, but no one caught the license plate. We’re going to look into security cameras to see if we can verify that way, but for now, we can’t say for sure.” His eyes flick back to Wanda’s, and Steve watches his sister lift her chin stubbornly, something passing between them before Bucky adds, “We should take her to the hospital, Steve.”

Steve’s gaze snaps back onto Wanda’s, but her eyes are still locked on Bucky’s, flaring with annoyance. “It’s not necessary,” she insists.

“I cleaned your scrape but you still hit your pretty hard when you got shoved aside,” Bucky fires back.

“You said it yourself, you didn’t think I had a concussion,” Wanda argues, though her voice is a little bit softer now as she glances at Steve. He rubs his lips together, bringing a hand up gently to her head, and both she and Bucky stay quiet as he feels around for any kind of bump or bruise. She seems fine, but it’s not as if Steve’s a doctor.

“You checked her yourself?” he asks Bucky.

“I did, but that doesn’t change the fact that she should get looked at, just to be safe.”

A few months ago, that would’ve been Steve’s first instinct, too. It still is, if he’s being honest; he’d been pretty damn tempted to tell Bucky to take Wanda to the hospital himself if he thought it was necessary, but the fact that they were waiting for him in his brownstone instead meant that Wanda must have insisted on it herself, and Bucky must have deemed her well enough to actually comply with it, even if he was obviously against the choice. As much as the bandage wrapped around Wanda’s arm makes Steve want to put a hole through the wall, he trusts Bucky’s assessment that she wasn’t concussed just as much as he trusts Wanda’s judgment to avoid going to the ER.

Because hospitals will mean questions, and questions will mean unnecessary attention. The less people involved, the better.

“It won’t be safe if you take her in, I can promise you that.”

Steve twists around in time to see Pietro practically bolt into the room, tossing his keys onto the coffee table Steve is still sitting on. As he fusses over their sister, Steve stands, meeting Natasha’s gaze as she follows Pietro’s frantic path into the living room. Steve is a hell of a lot calmer now than he was just a few minutes ago, bursting into the brownstone in almost the exact same manner as his brother, but there’s something about Natasha’s presence that eases even more of the tightness in his chest. The fact that she voiced the same conclusion that he’d come to in his head reassures him in the same way Wanda’s insistence of not needing a hospital had, despite his own doubts.

“How is a hospital not safe?” Bucky asks, the edge back in his voice as he glances from Natasha to Steve and back down to Wanda.

Pietro is sitting beside her on the couch now, between her and Bucky as he casts a narrowed gaze up at him. “The less attention on us, the better.”

There’s an edge to Pietro’s voice, too, and it makes Steve let out a sharp exhale as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Natasha comes up beside him, meeting his gaze as she sets her purse down on the coffee table. She arches an eyebrow, her question as clear as day in her eyes, and he shakes his head; he’s not going to pretend that Bucky and Pietro aren’t something to be worried about, too, but they’re rather low on the list, all things considered. They’re far from done with tonight’s incident, but he’s just really fucking glad that Wanda is okay, and it’ll be a hell of a lot easier to think now that he’s seen it for himself that she’s fine.

Natasha gives him a small, knowing sort of smile, nodding as if she’d heard his thoughts. He wouldn’t be surprised if she did, somehow.

“Easy, Pietro,” Natasha says, her voice light, almost teasing, as she glances at the twins for a moment before shifting her gaze to Bucky. “He did just help your sister out.”

Pietro’s jaw ticks as he turns away, but then he catches Wanda watching him, a soft smile touching her lips, and he exhales a breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders as he does so. He smooths a hand over her hair, drawing her close to brush a kiss to her forehead.

Steve knows his brother well enough to not expect much else than this, at least for the moment. But, as he catches Bucky staring down at the twins, some of his own apprehension ebbing as Wanda leans into Pietro’s shoulder, Steve thinks that this might just be good enough for his best friend, too.

Fuck. Steve wipes a hand down his face. He’s not quite sure if he’s exhausted or if he’s more awake than before, but he sure as hell doesn’t have much of an appetite anymore. He glances back at where he’d practically thrown down his takeout order in his rush inside and exhales a breath, walking over to check inside. At least he’d gone with noodles and vegetables instead of soup, or else it’d be all over the bag by now. He picks it up and heads back over to the others, and Pietro pops up from the couch to take the bag from him before Steve has to ask. “Try to eat something, alright?” he tells Wanda, and she nods, letting him pull her up. “I want you two to stay the night.”

Wanda gives him a soft smile, not even a little bit surprised by the request. “Okay,” she replies, leaning in as he kisses her forehead, too. “I’ll make you a cup of tea?” He nods, and then she turns to Natasha, her smile brightening a little. “Should I make you a cup, too?”

“I’d love one.” Natasha reaches over, tucking some of Wanda’s hair behind her ear, and the gesture makes Steve smile, too.

Wanda turns toward Bucky. “Would you like one as well?”

Steve watches his best friend as his expression shifts into something gentle, gentler than Steve has seen him in a while. “Sounds good,” he tells her, cracking a soft grin. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” she replies quietly, and the tone of her voice makes something heavy settle in Steve’s stomach once more as he watches her and Pietro head into the kitchen.

She could’ve been hurt tonight, seriously fucking hurt, and there’s a pretty decent chance that it would’ve have even been an accident.

“So, I’m assuming we’ve entertained the thought that tonight wasn’t a coincidence?” Natasha asks, seeming to pull the words from Steve’s mind once again as he turns to meet her gaze. He’s a little too pissed by the idea to actually answer, so he simply nods, clenching his jaw. She hums softly. “What did happen, exactly?”

Right. He hadn’t even known what to tell her when he asked her to come, but she must have gotten some of it from Pietro when they bumped into each other on their way in. And no, Steve doesn’t have to ask to know that Wanda had told their brother herself. Chances are, Pietro felt off the moment it all went down, and Wanda probably called him while Bucky was driving them over here. The two of them have always been attuned to each other like that, and Steve doesn’t even think it’s a twin thing; it’s just their thing.

“There was a drive-by and Wanda was close when shots were fired,” Steve tells her, gaze shifting to Bucky, and Natasha’s eyes follow, too. “Really fucking close, apparently.”

Bucky nods, glancing between the two of them. His eyes linger longer on Natasha, though, and Steve remembers belatedly that this is technically their first meeting, even though every cop in the city already knows who she is already. In fact, they all probably know about him now, too.

“Wanda says she wasn’t the target, but I’ve got a pretty damn good gut feeling that’s not the case,” he tells Natasha. “She also thinks the car was from the Asgards.”

Natasha turns to Steve, not an ounce of surprise in her expression. Steve doesn’t doubt that they’re thinking of the same person, but she still says, “Hela,” as she gives Bucky another glance, and he nods. Bucky knows who Hela is for the same reasons he knew who Natasha was before she’d walked into the room, and he and Sam were the reasons Steve already had an idea of who the Families were before he’d been dragged in with them himself. “Did you find anything out?” Natasha asks quietly, turning back to Steve.

He casts a glance toward the kitchen. He doubts they can hear the three of them from so far away, but Steve keeps his voice low just in case.

“Not a damn thing,” he mutters. “Other than the reports and files he keeps on hand for all of the businesses, Dad doesn’t even have something I can look through.”

Which had been pretty fucking suspicious, if Steve is being honest. He never noticed how very little things had been in his dad’s place and in all of his offices until Steve had a reason to go looking. There are photos everywhere, dictionaries and historical books and trinkets that Steve doubts his father had even picked out for himself; but not a single document of importance, nothing outside of business reports and financial statements for all of the legitimate businesses under their name. His laptops were no different, but Steve was less surprised by this. Clint is big on not leaving a digital trail because computer forensics can recover just about anything, so his dad likely had the same attitude.

He realizes his father was a cautious guy and for a lot of good reasons, but the fact that he has nothing personal to be found other than a few framed photographs is a red flag if Steve’s ever saw one.

Even Natasha looks a little alarmed by this, and he has yet to see her genuinely confused until this moment. “Nothing?”

Steve shakes his head, and Bucky chimes in with, “Sam’s still going through the last hard drive, but it’s been nothing but programs for payroll and schedules and shit.”

Natasha rubs her lips together, gaze flitting to the kitchen before catching Steve’s stare again. “Maybe the twins might know where to look?”

Steve nods, considering this. He practically tore up the floorboards in every building his dad owned, but Wanda and Pietro could still know of a place to look that he doesn’t. He also hasn’t had a chance to check either of their apartments, and even though he doubts it, there could be something there they don’t even know of.

The high whistle of the tea kettle on the stove starts to fill the air, and with it, Steve lets out an exhale, feeling far more tired than he realized. Natasha seems to share the sentiment, too, because she cracks a wry smile. “To be continued,” she says, heading for the kitchen, and Steve shares a weary glance with Bucky before they both follow.

... ...

The only other ones in the family that have a habit of running later than Natasha are Tony and Uncle Howard, so she isn’t surprised that she gets a text from her uncle to just let herself into his office to wait for him. These meetings are never all that consistent, but they happen often enough that Natasha can usually expect a text every other week. Her uncle has a rule of not talking about work at their Sunday dinners, so the two of them meet up over lunch instead so she can catch him up on anything he wants to know about. But mostly it’s just an excuse for her Uncle Howard to pull her away to catch up (with my favorite niece, he’ll say, and she’ll roll her eyes because she’s his only niece).

They’re having lunch at one of their bars this time, so she has the bartender make her a martini before she lets herself into the office.

Most of her Uncle Howard’s offices look exactly like this one, all dark wood and leather and low lighting, and it almost always makes her smirk because it really does look like something straight out of The Godfather. Instead of oil painting, though, the wall behind his desk is covered with photographs of their family in mismatched frames, artfully arranged and almost taking up almost every space from the floor to the ceiling. As much of a hard ass that her uncle can be, he’s always been pretty damn sentimental, too.

Natasha perches herself on the desk, sipping on her martini as she takes in a shot of their family at a park. Peter is barely even one in the photo, and it must’ve been sometime before his parents’ accidents, because her Uncle Richard and Aunt Mary are there, beaming at the camera with Baby Peter cuddled between them.

God, Peter looks so much like them. He’s one of those kids that’s such a good mix of their parents that he looks like the spitting image of whichever parent he happens to be with at the time. Aunt Maria said that Tony had been the same way until he’d grown up to look exactly like Uncle Howard. The Stark brothers just have strong genes in general because Natasha has always looked a lot more like her father and even her uncle than her own mother, and Morgan already looks more like Tony than she looks like Pepper.

She turns to the photo beside it of her Uncle Howard and Joseph Rogers, feeling something tug at her chest as she stares back at Joseph’s laughing face.

Natasha had been genuinely surprised when Steve said that he couldn’t find anything personal that belonged to his father, other than the photos he keeps in his home and in his offices. As much of a hard ass Joseph Rogers tended to be when it came to the Family business, he’d always struck her as the sentimental type, just like her Uncle Howard.

She’d known it wouldn’t be as simple as stumbling upon a journal entry or an email of something incriminating about Hela, but she didn’t think Steve would turn up entirely empty, either. She knows that he wouldn’t have half-heartedly rummaged through a few drawers, either; that he probably stopped short of pulling up the bricks and the floors to find something, anything, to work with. Because Natasha knows, as meticulous and wary as her uncle is, if she’d torn apart his offices and dismantled all of his bookshelves and his desks, she’d find something. Her uncle doesn’t like to throw anything away, but he knows not leave just anything lying around, either, and she’s willing to bet that Joseph Rogers had been the same way—which could mean that maybe Joseph did have something hidden once upon a time, but maybe he’d had the forethought to rid of it.

Maybe he thought it would be necessary.

... ...

“How’s she doing now?” Sam asks, passing over one of the coffees he’s just paid for from the cart parked near the entrance of the park.

Steve shrugs as they fall into step on the path. There’re already a few dozen early morning joggers, but other than that, the place is pretty much empty. “She’s fine,” Steve answers, because that’s definitely the truth. Wanda doesn’t seem all that shaken up from the drive-by the other night, and though part of him hadn’t expected her to be too freaked out—she’s likely seen a hell of a lot more shit than he has—he’s also a little worried that she’s not. Even Pietro still hasn’t seemed to shake it off, though that may be for the same reason that Steve hasn’t shaken it off, either. He hates that Wanda had been hurt at all, even if it’s literally just a scrape, because it could’ve been a lot worse.

And it could’ve been intentional, too. Just the thought alone has his chest tightening, just a little.

“Hasn’t been left alone ever since, huh?” Sam asks, his lips quirking at the corners, and Steve breathes out a laugh.

“Not a damn chance.” If she’s annoyed that she’s practically under his or Pietro or Clint’s thumb, she’s graciously pretending not to be.

“Buck thinks it wasn’t a coincidence,” Sam says, and Steve just nods, because yeah, he remembers Bucky saying as much that night, too. They haven’t had a chance to talk about it since then, though, because they haven’t seen each other in person, and it’s definitely not something to risk alluding to in a text. “Any truth to that?”

“Probably more than I can get my hands on.” Steve takes a gulp of the coffee, relishing in its almost scalding temperature. “What about you? You think it could be true?”

Sam tilts his head, blows out slow a breath as he glances around, though no one is even close to being within earshot. “Let’s just say, if it’d been me at the scene instead of Bucky, I’d probably still have the same hunch.” Steve hums, not at all surprised. That’d been his initial thoughts, too, even before Wanda said that she thought she recognized the car. “I doubt it was random, but it’ll take a while to figure out everyone that was at the scene, let alone which ones could have a reason for someone to shoot them up.”

“Other than my sister?”

Sam lets out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, pretty much.” He glances at Steve. “Not to be an ass, but if it was meant for her, would we have a motive to work on?”

It’s not a question. Not really, anyway, because Steve knows by the tone in his voice that his best friend already knows his answer.

Steve just nods, taking another gulp of coffee, and Sam nods, too, seeming to know to leave it at that. If the drive-by was meant for Wanda, there’s a slim chance that it could be personal, because of something she’d done or maybe failed to do. Steve really fucking doubts that possibility, though.

The theory that it was meant to put pressure on Steve is a better one to work with, but even then, there’s still one big hole to it: Wanda is part of the Family and has been since birth. Even if someone was pissed off and impulsive enough to try and squeeze Steve out, why would they use Wanda to do it when that would mean everyone else in the Family would want their body at the bottom of the Hudson for it? It’s a shitty plan at best, but if someone was pretty damn confident that they wouldn’t get caught, it doesn’t rule out the chance of it being true, either. Then of course, there’s still a decent possibility that this isn’t about hurting Wanda or even trying to get to Steve, either.

Just because Joseph Rogers is missing doesn’t mean the drive-by couldn’t have anything to do with him. Their father is pretty well-respected—or, at the very least, well-feared—by almost everyone in the underworld, but for those that hate him?

His disappearance is a great opportunity for them to make their move, and chances are they’d settle with taking their grudge out on his kids instead.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Sam mutters the words under his breath, but Steve still catches them, pulling him from his thoughts as he looks at his friend and then follows his gaze down the path onto—

Natasha.

She’s still pretty far down the path from them, but he recognizes her in an instant, even though he’s never seen her in something so casual before. She’s dressed to run in leggings and a windbreaker, her hair twisted into a braid and off to one side, and technically, he shouldn’t be surprised; he remembers her mentioning that she went for a jog most mornings, but considering they’re a decent ways away from her part of the city, he wouldn’t have anticipated bumping into her here. When he spots Maria Hill next to her, though, it makes more sense. Most of his meetings with Nick Fury are over on this side of Manhattan, so it’s not a stretch to think that Maria would live over here, too.

Despite his thoughts just a moment ago, a smirk tugs at his lips. Well, that certainly explains Sam’s reaction.

He’s been playing cat and mouse with Maria Hill for as long as Steve can remember him being a cop. Even if they didn’t know a thing about any of the Families, he would’ve heard of Maria considering how often her work as a private investigator causes her to cross paths with Sam’s investigations.

(And, yeah, Steve gets that it’s pretty damn ironic that a mafia princess works as private investigator; that’s always been part of the reason she and Sam butt heads.)

Natasha glances up just as she and Maria turn onto the same stretch of path, heading toward him and Sam, and if Steve was closer, he knows he’d see her eyelashes flutter as she takes him in; her only tell when she’s surprised, and he’s sure as hell a little proud of himself for being able to pick that up considering she’s got a damn good poker face.

The corner of her lip quirks in a smile just as Maria looks up, too, her eyes narrowing onto Sam, and both Steve and Natasha chuckle at their friends in the same second. He doesn’t doubt that Natasha’s gotten a play-by-play on their run-ins from Maria the same way he and Bucky have gotten them from Sam.

“Hey,” Natasha greets, her voice slightly breathless as she and Maria come to a stop in front of them, and Steve feels his smile widen at the glint of amusement in her eyes.

“Hey.” His gaze shifts onto Maria, not all that surprised to find her expression nonchalant. They’ve only met once before this, but he’s met with Nick several times by now and it’s easy to see where she’d get her straight expressions from. “Good run?”

“Nothing special,” she replies, turning to Sam and holding his stare even as she adds, “Who’s this guy?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Not a morning person, I take it, Hill?”

“That’s a rather personal question to ask, don’t you think, stranger?” she retorts dryly, not waiting for a response as she twists open her water bottle to take a gulp.

Natasha shakes her head, turning back to Steve as her amusement shifts into a thoughtful expression. “I’m glad we bumped into you,” she tells her, her voice softer now, and when she asks, “any news?” he already knows exactly what she’s referring to, so he shakes his head. “I’m not surprised,” she admits, frustration flitting across her expression as if on his behalf. She seems genuinely annoyed by this and it almost makes him smile. “Is there really no other place worth looking? Maybe one he hasn’t been to in years?”

This makes Steve pause, turning to Sam, and the guy’s face shifts in understanding. “Your mom’s place?” Sam guesses, and Steve nods, turning back to Natasha.

“I was barely seven or eight when we moved out of there,” he explains to her and Maria. “The whole apartment complex has been abandoned for a few years now, but I don’t know if it’s been torn down or bought out by now. Plus, I know for a fact I’ve never seen him there since we didn’t even meet until I was in high school.”

“It still could be worth a look,” Natasha points out, and Maria nods in agreement when Natasha looks over at her. Even Sam seems to tilt his head, considering this.

“I’ll head over there tomorrow, then.”

Natasha hums. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll meet you at your restaurant at noon and then we’ll drive over.”

The tone of her voice makes it sound like an offer, though Steve can tell by the quirk of her lips that it’s not exactly up for negotiation. Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches Maria and Sam smirking, but he ignores them as Natasha blinks up at him, her green eyes glinting again as she holds his gaze from under her long eyelashes.

And really, what can he do other than nod? They both know he was just going to ask her to come along, anyway.

... ...

“So, a little bird told me that you have a date tomorrow.”

Natasha smirks as she steps out of the hallway to find Tony in her kitchen, his back to her as he leans in to rummage in her fridge. He doesn’t have a copy of her key, but considering he was the one to program the Stark Industries security system that her building uses, she’s never surprised when he lets himself in, nor is she surprised when he helps himself to her food. She doesn’t have much of it, anyway. She usually dines out or orders in, so chances are that anything he finds was put there by him to begin with.

“Well,” he adds, a container of blueberries in hand as he shuts the fridge and spins around to face her. “Those exact words weren’t used, but I read between the lines.”

“I think that’s considered rewriting the lines,” she retorts, wrinkling her nose as he pops the lid open and tosses a blueberry into his mouth. “You’re supposed to rinse first.”

He gives her a look. “Hardly the most dangerous thing I’ve done, dear cousin.” Natasha shrugs a shoulder. Fair enough. “I see you didn’t deny my statement.”

“If you’re asking if I’m seeing Steve tomorrow, then your answer is yes,” she replies, sitting down on the stool opposite of where he’s leaning against the kitchen island. “And if you’re going to play twenty questions with me for Uncle Howard’s benefit, or more so for your own amusement, you’re buying dinner this time.”

He rolls his eyes as she opens a drawer by her hip and grabs the stack of takeout menus inside, tossing them onto the counter. “I’m always the one buying dinner,” he argues.

“That’s because you’re always the one being nosy.”

He cracks a grin, popping another blueberry into his mouth. “How else am I supposed to figure out what’s going on in your life?” He glances back down at the menus for a moment before sliding one for one of their favorite sushi places back over to her. “I know my dad asked you to keep an eye on him, be his friend all that,” he goes on, and Natasha glances up to meet his gaze as she gathers the menus into a stack once more. “But just because he wants to dig up skeletons doesn’t mean you have to join him.”

She pauses, tilting her head at her cousin. “You’re worried.” It’s a question and an observation at the same time, and she knows she’s right when Tony glances away. Her thoughts flit back to her conversation with Peter just a few nights ago, about Tony not seeing eye to eye with his father on Natasha’s role in all of this.

It’s not as if she hadn’t taken Peter’s words to heart, but maybe it still wasn’t enough. Maybe she should’ve read between the lines, too.

“Joseph Rogers went missing,” Tony says slowly, his voice softer now, and he sets the blueberries down as he leans in a little closer. “So, yeah, I’m going to worry, especially if you start pulling on all of these threads with Steve. Sometimes—” He stops himself suddenly, something flickering in his eyes too quickly for her to catch before he’s glancing away again. “Sometimes it’s okay to let things play out on their own. I mean, the truth comes out sooner or later, doesn’t it?” He meets her eyes. “Is it really worth the risk?”

Natasha simply blinks back at him. For the first time in what feels like forever, she doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what to think.

Tony stands a moment later, though, and waves a hand vaguely at the takeout menu. “Let’s skip on the spicy tuna tonight, alright? I don’t think my stomach can handle the drama,” he tells her, and then turns and walks toward the hallway bathroom without giving her a chance to respond.

Which means that, at least for tonight, this conversation is over.

... ...

He can’t remember the last time he was in his old neighborhood, but it had to have been almost a decade ago, if not more. He doesn’t remember much from when he and his mom lived here, but he doesn’t think it’s a stretch to assume the place didn’t look that much better back then than it does now. It’s not falling apart, exactly, but it definitely feels as if no one’s been in the building for a few years. Still, it’s not in a completely shitty area, and the entire plot of land that building takes up is a decent size, especially for New York. Steve doesn’t know a damn thing when it comes to buying and owning properties, but it’s hard to believe that people have let this place just sit here all these years.

Today, though, he hopes this works in his favor. If there is anything in their old apartment, he might actually have a chance at finding it.

“Does it bring back memories?”

Steve turns to Natasha beside him in his passenger seat, a small smile playing at her lips, her eyes bright with curiosity, and he breathes out a chuckle. “Not really,” he admits. He wonders if he should feel some kind of guilt, knowing his mother must’ve worked her ass off when they lived here and yet, he doesn’t really remember any of it.

What he remembers is the nicer, newer apartment right next to the Manhattan Bridge that they’d moved into when they’d left this place. He remembers the private school he’d attended and the five-star restaurant his mother managed, and he remembers having his pick at colleges because tuition wasn’t something to worry about. He may not have been at the very top of the social class, but he sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to relate to what his life would’ve been like if they stayed here, either. Back then, he hadn’t known his father owned the building they moved into and owned the entire chain of restaurants his mother worked for. He hadn’t known his mother had refused to take money tied to the Families until his father convinced her to do it—not for herself, but for Steve. His mother wanted to give him the world, and she could do that with his father’s help.

“I doubt we would’ve even ended up in a place like this if Mom had let my father help from the start,” he adds after a moment, his voice quiet and a little rough.

Natasha nods, her gaze shifting back onto the old apartment complex. “When we found out about you, I wondered how anyone could’ve ever convinced Joseph to cut ties with his son, especially one that was also his firstborn. He adored Wanda and Pietro, so why keep you hidden?”

He breathes out a chuckle. “I wondered that, too. There’s a decent age gap between me and the twins, which meant that, for almost a decade, I would’ve been his only heir. So why let my mother take me away in the first place? And why insist on getting involved after Wanda and Pietro were born, when he had a reason to cut ties completely?” He shakes his head, and he knows Natasha catches the gesture, even though her stare is still trained forward. “All I could come up with is that my mother asked, so he listened.”

Steve turns toward Natasha in the same moment she looks at him. “Who would’ve thought that Joseph Rogers was such an old romantic?”

“He had to have been to win my mother over in the first place,” Steve says, and Natasha hums softly, her eyes twinkling. “Do you really think we’ll find something here?”

She rubs her lips together and he tries not to get distracted by the motion. “Yeah, I do,” she admits. For a moment, he’s almost certain that she’s going to say more. He can see it in her eyes that she’s thinking more, but then she blinks and whatever the thought is, it’s gone. “Are you ready?”

He chuckles again. “Not a chance in hell, but let’s go,” he says, relishing in the soft laugh that follows as they open their doors.

He locks the car once they’re both out, and then Natasha falls into step behind him as he makes his way up one of the outer staircases and onto the third floor, following the rusted numbers nailed to the doors until he finds the one Clint had dug up under Sarah Rogers. It’s not locked when he goes to turn the knob, but considering how long this place has just been sitting here, Steve isn’t all that surprised. It may be quiet right now, but he doesn’t doubt that people come in and out of the building for shelter at night.

And honestly, he thought maybe being inside would jog something in his head. He was young when they left, but not so young to not remember anything at all, even vaguely.

But as he steps into the small living room and even smaller kitchen, all he sees is an old, empty apartment. He can’t imagine his mother even having to see this place, let alone live in it for eight years. It’s not as if she’d been extravagant with the money his father gave them when they moved out of here, either, but still.

He doesn’t really know what he feels about it, about being here—but Natasha seems to sense what little unease it’s stirring up, because she places a hand on his arm, just above his elbow, and he turns to find her peering up at him. But there isn’t pity in her eyes; just that same, simple curiosity.

He gives her a small smile, nodding once, and she pulls her hand away as she walks further into the kitchen and starts pulling open the cabinets.

Steve follows her lead, stepping into the tiny bathroom and yanking the shower curtain back, pulling open the cabinets under the sink and even lifting the lid to the tank of the toilet. But he’s not surprised to come up empty.

Natasha doesn’t seem to have had any luck in the kitchen, either, because she’s pushing open the door to the bedroom when he walks out of the bathroom. For a fleeting second, he almost has the urge to tug her back; just because the place seems empty doesn’t mean someone might not be squatting in here, even this high up.

But he doesn’t doubt that she can handle damn near anything thrown at her, and also, he’s right behind her if anything happens.

The bedroom is just about as small and empty as the rest of the apartment, and there’s nothing in the closet when Natasha opens it, but she steps inside, anyway, running her hand against the wall as she does a small spin around the tiny space. The top half of the drywall is plain and exposed, the paint chipped and faded, but the bottom half is lined with wood panels. It seems like it was just meant for some attempt at adding a bit of contrast to the simple apartment—he’d seen the same wood paneling on an accent wall in the bathroom—but, as she runs her hands over it, applying a gentle pressure every few inches, she hits a spot that makes her pause. She glances over her shoulder at him.

Then she pushes harder and the panel shifts, then slides out of place, and Natasha gently pulls it back.

Vaguely, he’s aware of chiming filling the air—a call, he realizes a second later, when Natasha pulls her phone out of her pocket—but he’s too focused on the locked metal box that’d been hidden behind the panel to even flinch at the sudden noise.

Son of a bitch. There was something here this whole time.

“Tony?” Natasha says into her phone as Steve gently picks up the box. He crouches down, peering into the tiny cove to see if something else could’ve been hidden behind the box in there, but it’s empty. He straightens back up, giving the box a gentle shake, and he hears something shift inside. “Okay, okay. I’ll be right there.”

Steve turns to Natasha as she hangs up, alarm tugging at his chest when he sees her expression.

“Someone put a car through the front of the club,” she says, and Steve jerks back in surprise. “We’ve got to go.”

... ...

She’s not surprised that she’s the last of the family to make it to Uncle Howard’s place in Manhattan since she and Steve were coming from pretty deep into Brooklyn, and, despite the obvious tension in the room, the fact that everyone eyes her and Steve almost makes her want to laugh. Almost. She thinks there are more pressing things to be concerned with than the fact that she’d been with Steve, something that everyone had to have already known about considering Tony had brought it up, but whatever. She contemplated asking Steve simply to drop her off, and if he’d had somewhere to be, she wouldn’t have minded. But, for some reason, she feels better knowing he’s with her.

Even though he likely knows even less of what’s happening than she does, there’s something about his presence that’s comforting.

The closest to the foyer are her parents, and something odd tugs at Natasha’s chest when her mother comes over to touch her hair gently, eyes sweeping over Natasha as if assessing that she’s okay. Even if they didn’t know she’d been with Steve, they would’ve at least known by her location on her phone that she hadn’t been near the club when the crash happened. Incidents like this have definitely happened before, even if they hadn’t been quite as aggressive, yet Natasha has never seen her mother look so worried.

“Thank you for bringing my daughter here.” Natasha’s father holds a hand out to Steve, which Steve shakes firmly as he nods. “Pardon our interruption.”

Steve glances at Natasha as he shakes his head, then meets her father’s eyes again. “Family is always worth an interruption,” he replies, and Natasha swears she sees her father’s expression cracks with a smirk. Then Steve turns to Natasha, touching her back gently. “I should get going.”

“No, stay,” Natasha’s mother tells him, and Natasha raises her eyebrows a little, surprised. Her mother smiles. “You’re Family now.”

“I agree,” Uncle Howard chimes in, offering Steve a smile as he walks up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Considering your establishments have been hit, too, we should try comparing notes.”

Natasha watches as some look of understanding passes between them, and then Uncle Howard drops his hand as Steve nods.

“Or maybe we should just ask his cop friends,” a voice chimes, and, for a fleeting moment, Natasha’s entire body tenses the way it always does whenever Anton speaks. She smooths her expression out before she turns to where Anton is leaning back in one of the leather armchairs in the living room, Ivan hovering over his shoulder and not at all attempting to be subtle about his clear contempt of Steve being invited. His father, however, almost seems pleased. “They’d probably know all about this, wouldn’t they?”

Natasha feels Steve’s fingers flex where they’re still placed against her back, but, out of the corner of her eye, his expression doesn’t even shift.

Before Steve can respond, though, her Uncle Howard does it for him. “I’m sure they’d love to hear from you, too, considering you and Ivan were the ones at the scene.”

Anton flinches ever so slightly as Ivan sits up straighter, his jaw clenching. Natasha has to press her lips together to fight off a smirk.

She turns to look at Steve as they follow her parents and Uncle Howard into the living room, and she feels his thumb against her back, moving in a small, almost soothing sort of stroke, and her lips tug into a smile as she turns away.

... ...

He doesn’t realize how late it’s gotten until the door to his office opens and Pietro sticks his head through, smirking when he sees Steve. “Why am I not surprised?” his brother asks, stepping all the way inside and kicking the door shut behind him, and Steve breathes out a chuckle as Pietro sets two pizza boxes down on top of all the paper Steve has scattered across the desk. Pietro flashes his teeth in a grin. “Our sister is having dinner with Clint and Laura and the kids, so it looks like it’s my turn to make sure you’re fed.”

Steve offers a wry smile. “Tell me that you at least used one of my accounts to pay for these.”

“Always,” Pietro replies, and Steve laughs, setting his laptop aside as Pietro drags a chair closer to the desk. Rather than sitting down, though, he walks over to the mini bar in the corner, grabbing two bottles of wine and two glasses before walking back over. “A glass of prosecco for your pesto pie,” he says, handing over one of the bottles and one of the glasses, “and a nice merlot for my pepperoni.” Steve laughs, pours his drink as Pietro does, too, and then flips one of the boxes open. “We don’t leave until you finish.”

Steve arches an eyebrow. “Finish the pizza or finish the wine?”

“Whichever comes first, which most likely be the wine, considering the look on your face before I got here,” Pietro says, waving a hand vaguely at his own face as if in emphasis before taking a gulp of his own wine. “This doesn’t have anything to do with your little field trip with Nat today, does it?”

Steve exhales a breath as he leans back in his chair. “Honestly, I haven’t had a chance to think about it after what happened at their club,” he admits, which seems like it should be ridiculous, all things considered, but his thoughts had been elsewhere by the time he left Howard’s. He offered to drop Natasha back at her place, but her parents wanted to do take her themselves and Steve wasn’t about to argue. Someone had driven a car into the establishment that their daughter manages, and whoever had done it had done so in broad daylight, too. This fact clearly bothered them, and as reluctant as he’d been to leave Nat, he could only imagine what Edward and Melina must’ve felt.

Because it’s clear that this wasn’t just some drunken accident. It felt intentional, but whether it was intended for all of the Starks or for Natasha, specifically, was unclear.

“They have any ideas who it could’ve been?” Pietro asks. Steve shakes his head, and his brother doesn’t look surprised.

There are a lot of people in this city that could have it out for the Starks, just like there are a hell of a lot of people that could have it out for their family, too. That’s why it’s been so damn hard to figure out if all the busted operations are as random as they seem.

Steve has a hard time believing that they are, but honestly, he doesn’t want to get into that again. He does have something else he thinks they should talk about, though.

“We found something, by the way,” Steve says, and Pietro pauses as he’s pulling off a slice of pizza, eyebrows raised. “There was a box hidden in the drywall.”

“Well, shit,” Pietro says, more to himself than to Steve, and his eyebrows furrow. “I’m guessing you haven’t opened it yet?”

Steve’s mouth hitches in another wry smirk. “Not yet. Natasha got the call from Tony right after, so I’ve been a little distracted ever since.”

“Makes sense,” Pietro says with a nod, picking up his slice of pizza and taking a bite. Despite everything, Steve smiles; for as nosy as Pietro can sometimes be, his brother doesn’t ever ask more than he thinks Steve is willing to tell, or maybe he just trusts that Steve will fill him in on his own, whenever he’s ready. And even when Pietro does prod for answers, it never feels like he’s backing you into a corner. It’s comforting, honestly, and maybe that’s why he’s pretty damn good at getting someone to open up.

Steve takes a gulp of his wine, considering his words before asking, “Do you think Dad had something worth hiding in a condemned building?”

Pietro grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did,” he admits. “I can’t think of anything off the top of my head, but…”

He trails off with a shrug, and Steve exhales a laugh, because, yeah.

Joseph Rogers has been running the streets of New York for decades. He likely has more than just one or two secrets worth locking in a box.

“You want me and Wanda there when you open it?”

Steve takes another gulp of wine, finally pulling out a slice of his own pizza. “It’s your choice. I’d never keep you away if you want to be involved, but since you asked, I think you should let me take care of it for now,” he admits. “It could be nothing, but if it is something, I’d rather my ass be the only one on the line if I could help it.”

This time, Pietro’s eyes are glinting when his grin widens. “It’s fucking scary how much you sound like our old man,” he says, and Steve lets out a laugh, clinking his wine against his brother’s when Pietro lifts up his glass.

... ...

Natasha is always aware of her surroundings (she has to be, considering she’s got a rather infamous face) but maybe even more so ever since the incident at the club. From her table in the corner, she has a perfect view of the doors of the coffeehouse, so she spots Wanda the moment the girl walks in. It doesn’t take her long to see Natasha, too, as her gaze instinctively sweeps across the room, and Natasha finds herself letting out a soft laugh when Wanda’s smile brightens, wiggling her fingers at Natasha in a wave. She places her order at the counter, dropping her change in the tip jar, and Natasha pulls her purse off of the other chair and onto her lap so Wanda can join her at the table.

“I was hoping I’d get to see you today,” Wanda tells her, and Natasha simply smiles because, honestly, she’s not surprised.

Word has always travelled around fast among the Families, but especially when incidents like yesterday occur. Though, considering the mess of cop cars and police tape that must’ve been posted around the club, it’d be hard not to know about it right away. She and Steve were still at her Uncle Howard’s when Wanda texted to check on her.

“Well, here I am,” Natasha quips, and though Wanda lets out a giggle, the concern is still clear as day in her eyes. Natasha reaches over, tucks some of the girl’s long hair behind her ear. “I’m alright,” she says simply, and, after a moment of holding her stare, Wanda’s body eases with a nod. “What about you?”

It's been a few days since the drive-by, but still. It happened just earlier this week, and the fact that two accidents occurred so close together is just…

It hardly seems like a coincidence, but for now, all she can justify her thought with is intuition, and she knows she’s going to need something more concrete to convince the rest of the Family that this may not be as simple as they want it to be.

“I feel like you do, I would think,” Wanda admits, giving her a small, knowing sort of smile and a shrug.

Natasha exhales a laugh; yeah, that sounds about right. “I’d imagine that you have more eyes on you, though,” she points out, because she knows Steve, and she knows Pietro and Clint, too. “In fact, I’m surprised you don’t have someone hovering over your shoulder right now.”

Wanda’s eyes twinkle, her smile widening. “Oh, I do,” she says, and Natasha follows the girl’s gaze out the glass and onto the car across the street.

A cop car, to be specific. It’s one of the newer ones that almost seem like it’s meant to be undercover—the ones that are all black, with sleek lights and far subtler decals that blend into the color pretty damn well— but it is a cop car, nonetheless. Natasha feels confused (and maybe a little bit wary, too) for a moment, but her gaze shifts back onto Wanda’s face before the girl has turned away, catching her calm, bright expression—and then Natasha feels her lips tug into a smirk as she realizes who must be in that car.

Bucky.

“Well, isn’t this a rather ironic development?” Natasha muses, and Wanda turns to look at her. “Quite an unusual choice in bodyguard for a mafia princess, don’t you think?”

Her cheeks brighten in a light blush even as she shakes her head. “It was probably just Steve’s doing,” she tells Natasha. “I think Steve could tell that all of their hovering was getting to be a little much. At least this way, I’d have a little more breathing room.”

“I doubt anyone would set up their little sister with a handsome man ready to be her knight in shining armor,” Natasha counters.

“Nat,” Wanda laughs.

“Don’t worry, you know I’m good at keeping secrets.” Natasha stands, setting her purse down on her chair. “I’ll even give you some private time to ogle him while I run to the restroom,” she adds with a wink, and Wanda laughs again with another shake of her head as Natasha walks over to the bathroom on the opposite side of the café.

There’s another small table in the corner by the bathrooms, one that Natasha had noticed a blonde woman sitting at when she first walked in, so she’s not surprised to see an emptied mug of coffee still on the table with a receipt half-tucked under it.

What does surprise her, though, is the signature swirled at the bottom of the receipt:

Sarah Rogers.

#romanogers #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #chanty writes #mafia 'verse

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dreaming-gamer · 4 years ago

Text

DMC Week Day 4: Food – Dante & V

Warnings: None, gen, no shipping.

V found it odd to be the first one back at Devil May Cry after today’s hunt and find it actually… pretty clean? No papers nor books were scattered around the desk, it was all neatly stacked upon the surface, right beside Dante’s photo of his mother. There was even a fresh scent in the air, as if the windows had been recently opened. And the old pizza boxes thrown away, finally.

“Huuuh, it’s like someone threw a magic spell over this place!” Griffon said, fascinated as he flew off to Dante’s desk.

“I certainly doubt it was Dante..” V admitted, setting down himself to sit at the sofa. “Since it is now looking rather presentable… let it stay like that.” He added, green eyes following his familiar who was stepping all over the desk with his talons.

“Oh ho, I found something!” Griffon snickered. “EH? ‘Cleaning’s coming out of your cut, take me shopping pronto!’ signed by some Patty. Dante have enemies in the human world too huh?”

“In any case, it is his private matter. Leave it be.” To V’s ears, it didn’t sound like a threat, but to the older Devil Hunter, the prospect of shopping might be. At least to his wallet…

If anything, V found it interesting that Dante might have friends that were outside of the devil hunting business. So far, all people that V knew of from Dante’s immediate vicinity were involved in the circle of fighting the demons, but of course, Dante had spent many years among humans. He was bound to have at least made some other connections.

V lowered himself down onto the old leather couch, feeling it dip under him just as the doors to the shop opened up anew.

“Well well, didn’t expect to not be the first.” Dante grinned upon seeing them, Griffon swooping over to the couch and his master.

“Hehe, maybe yer getting old.” The avian snickered, earning himself a grin from the seasoned hunter.

“Oh yeah?” Dante said in amusement, stepping towards the old jukebox and giving the power on button a tap. “Wanna see this old man bust some moves?” Energetic rock music started up in the speakers and Griffon shrieked.

“Once was enough!”

V smirked to himself, Dante’s dance at that time had been unexpected certainly but somehow so very Dante that it had been amusing to watch. Who else would have started to dance like Michael Jackson, on the inside of a demonic tree that tried to send mankind to its doom?

“So, everything went fine?” Dante asked, checking his desk and noticing the paper Griffon had almost flown away with. His fingers stopped just over its paper surface, his shoulders rising slightly in a huff, but V could not see his expression.

“No complaints, it was only a few strays.” V replied, taking out his book. Strays or not from the horde, Sin Scissors could still pose quite the threat to unarmed civilian targets.

“Yeah, we fried ‘em up good! Now, who’s that chick that’s got it out for ya money?” Griffon snickered, hovering over Dante’s shoulder.

“Just a friend. Who’s angry at me for ditching a certain party.” Dante huffed in amusement, pulling his arms back and puffing his chest out in a stretching motion. “For a job well done by both of us, how about we order some pizza? The power’s on, the water’s running. We deserve a treat.”

And yet you have just received another bill? V thought, softly closing his book on the page of the Proverbs of Hell. Dante and money did not seem to walk hand-in-hand. The summoner’s stomach did feel a tad empty after the long day however, so the offer of food seemed tempting. Despite the small detail…

“I have yet to try pizza. I suppose I could give it a try.”

Dante’s eyes locked onto V, his arms still locked in a stretch as his lips seemed to twitch into a surprised smile. As if the thought of there existing a man that had not tried out the delicacy of pizza, in his own shop, was hard to believe for Dante, the man who regularly fought creatures that most people would not believe existed.

“Then it’s high time you have a taste.” Dante grinned, walking around his desk and pulled a drawer open, extracting a folded paper and offering it to Griffon, who was still hovering around the desk.

“What am I, a messenger bird?!” Despite his annoyed tone, Griffon snatched it out of the air, flapping his wings over to the couch, handing the menu to V. The paper was printed with bold red and black letters, the logo a cartoony pizza baker just taking a freshly baked pizza out of the oven, whistling as he worked. Given a little more detailed, one could probably make the pizza baker look like Dante. V wondered if they were truly so happy while doing their job, he imagined it involved some stress, though different from the one he regularly faced as a Devil Hunter.

Carefully, he opened up the menu, the spine where the simple menu folded in two lacked color and the edges looked faded, telling him that Dante had had this menu for quite some time. It was however already damaged now, three poking holes through it from Griffon’s talons.

It contained no pictures, only rows upon rows of text and though V had much love for the written word, his admitted lack of experience with this cuisine did not make him much wiser as to what to choose. The amount of toppings and combinations were actually staggering. Could there truly be such variations to it?

Should he ask for a recommendation…? V swatted away the thought, how hard could this be? A flutter of wings suddenly descended on his shoulder, Griffon peeking on the menu with all of his golden eyes.

“Just grab one with everything V! Might put some meat on yer skinny bones!” His noisy familiar stated. “And everything you don’t want, I’ll eat!”

“You don’t even need food.” V pointed out with a small smirk playing on his lips. “But I suppose that can be arranged.”

“Oh no, you’re gonna learn that pizza leftovers are the best there is!” Dante pointed out. “And take a pizza without olives, that’s my one condition!”

Well, that did limit his options somewhat… which V certainly didn’t, despite the fact that he wouldn’t mind trying olives. In fact, there were a lot of foods he wouldn’t mind trying out, at least once. He was however surprised, since he had thought no matter the toppings of a pizza, Dante would appreciate it.

“Or you take one with, just to see his face!” Griffon lowered his voice, the will to cause some mischief very prominent in his summoner’s ear. V couldn’t help but smirk, the thought was entertaining yes, but if he was going to be treated then he didn’t wish to step on toes.

“I’ll keep it simple.” He concluded, asking for simply pineapples on his pizza. Sweets was something that V had found himself enjoying more and more and pineapple was quite a lovely fruit. Though peaches might still be his favorite that option was not available, making him wonder if it was not considered a good topping.

Dante nodded appreciatively.

“Interesting first choice. I’m more for that touch of pepperoni myself.” Just as his hand moved for the old phone on his desk, the doors flew open to show off a gang of pizza box carrying hunters. The smell of melted cheese, tomato sauce and baked bread was suddenly so prominent that the shop smelled like a pizzeria.

“Oh good, you’re here! Grab the pizzacutter!” Lady ordered, carrying three stacked boxes and setting them down on the desk.

“My, what a delivery! I’m touched you’re treating me.” The veteran Devil Hunter declared, heading for the kitchen.

“We put it on your tab.” Trish stated, grinning as if it was obvious, adding to Lady’s stack of boxes, earning a laugh from Dante.

“Should I be concerned you have a tab at a pizza place?” Nero wondered aloud, putting down the, in his opinion, needlessly expensive bottles of soda the girls had decided they should get as well.

“Yo V, dinnertime!” Nico grinned. “Nobody knew what yer favorite toppings were, so we got ya a plain one and ya can just try a slice from everybody!”

“Now we’re talking!” His avian familiar declared, flapping over their heads and checking the contents as boxes were opened up, pizzas cut into suitable triangles and passed around on napkins or plates. V opted for a plate, surprised at how many slices were put upon it, from all the others. From Nico’s pizza with banana and curry, to Nero’s with cheese-stuffed crust and some extra sauce on the side, to Lady’s with fresh tomatoes, salad and prosciutto, to Trish and Dante’s pepperoni pizzas, he tried a slice of them all. His hand felt dusty from holding the slices while eating, a feeling he did not enjoy but all the different toppings he got to try did make up for it and he found himself to enjoy a surprising amount of them, despite how long the stringy cheese could turn, making a bite treacherously close to messy . After Lady’s pizza though, the pepperoni, while different, made it feel a bit lackluster.

“Compared to the rest, this is not… not as flavorful as I expected. Not to mention, the edges are a little burnt, ruining the visual appeal and no doubt, the taste at the edges.” He admitted to Dante after finishing his first bite. First of all, there weren’t even a lot of slices of pepperoni on it. Griffon happily snatched the rest of the slice to himself, exclaiming ‘finally’!

V observed, eyebrows furrowing at the veteran Devil Hunter as his commentary was met with a hearty chuckle.

“I don’t see what I said that might be so… amusing?” V tried, waiting for the outburst to subside.

“Nothing. Just thinking this might be the birth of a pizza nerd.” Dante clapped V’s back with some force, making the summoner frown, he had only stated an analysis.. Oh.

“Certainly not. That said, yours did not have as much pepperoni as I expected.” V smirked.

“Yeah, they were being stingy this time, doesn’t happen often. But it makes each bite of it the more satisfying.” Dante grinned.

V had not expected his smirk to soften to a smile, nor expected himself to agree. Relaxing times like these were not frequent, but that made each time even better.

“And don’t worry, next time, we’ll get that pineapple pizza.” Dante promised, the grin never leaving his face.

“Very well.” V secretly hoped that wouldn’t come too soon. Tasty it might have been, but he felt full enough on cheese, tomato sauce and bread to last at least a month without it.

#dmcweek #dmcweek2020 #devil may cry fanfiction #devil may cry v #devil may cry dante #day 4 #my writing #dmc5 v #dmc5 dante

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unmanageable-day · 5 years ago

Text

By your side : intermezzo

How the cold summer started getting warmer

previously ➺ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | intermezzo 01 - 02 | 06

Who doesn't know the only Korean-American guy in the office, the tallest, the super hard-working, and the one and only Mark Lee's brother from another mother? Contrary to his giant figure which made other people feel intimidated, everyone would say John Seo was the kindest, the sweetest, and the most warm-hearted person. Of course, you knew that. Your girl friends were friends with him too. While you only considered him as merely a colleague. You had worked with him several times for collaborative projects in either fashion industry, editorial or just some new stuff he wanted to try out. Eventually you made some friends with his buddies; Mark, Taeyong and Doyoung for instance since you met them much more often outside work. Johnny himself? You'd consider him not even more than an acquaintance in professional world.

"Have you heard? This weekend we're going to have a get-together for all departments," Yeri informed excitedly.

"Yeoreum, you will come, right?" Sooyoung, as excited as well, asked.

You shrugged and sighed. "If I don't have to work overtime, I might consider going."

"What are you talking about? We don't have that much work." Yeri got you. Working overtime had been always your reason not going to any kind of party and get-together unless it was a company dinner.

"Come on. It will be fun," Wendy convinced you.

The girls succeeded making you end your work quite soon on the big day of the get-together everyone but you had been waiting for. The company reserved a pretty fancy private room and let the employees choose their own seats instead of arranging them by departments. Sooyoung who arrived earlier had secured the seat for you girls, which happened to be on the same table with Johnny, Mark and the other boys.

"Summer noona, I'm glad to see you here." Mark cheerfully greeted you, followed by Yuta, Taeyong, and Doyoung who were pretty much closer with you than any other acquaintances. Beside Doyoung seated the big guy, no other than your professional colleague, Johnny Seo.

"Summer, you remember Johnny," Taeyong said.

"Yeah, we worked together for some projects." You bowed your head to him, and he did the same.

It was a non-formal occasion yet you wore your professional smile and attitude. Whereas the others, including the managers and top bosses were pretty much casual. You spent almost your whole time there being quiet, or just listening to the girls and the guys sharing stories about this and that. Without you knowing, since you literally were minding your own world, Johnny had been observing you in the most subtle way possible.

Being acquaintance as he was, Johnny had no idea who you were except your name and your position in the company. In his opinion, you did your job well. You were agile, creative, able to manage multiple tasks, yet remained to be sane. He realized one thing, that when it came to personal relationship, it seemed like you were a different person. Sometimes he did wonder how Mark and Taeyong could befriend you—or at least gained the title of more than acquaintance—when he was the one you had worked with the most compared to his best dudes. Also, he noticed that your circle of friends were not big, especially in terms of number. So he just concluded that you were the 'quality over quantity' type—which was a good thing, although Johnny himself was the total opposite since he was a social butterfly.

"Now that I think of it, don't you feel it? Like, there is this weird atmosphere around us," Mark suddenly said.

"Probably it's because some of us are not friends. Yet." Yeri grinned, her eyes giving signs to Mark and Sooyoung.

"Who?" Taeyong bluntly asked.

"Yeoreum and Johnny!" Yeri cheered.

"For real though, they were, kind of awkward," Mark added.

You denied it, quickly waving your hand and faking a friendly laugh.

ㅡ 🐯

"Is this Yeoreum girl always like this?" Johnny tried to sound as cool as possible asking Mark about you. He continued speaking added with his hands gesture, which was showing that he was trying to find good words. "Like, she exudes icy image or something. Like, she doesn't look as warm as her name. Summer literally just started yet it feels cold around her, but not cold cold, more like cool cold, you know what I mean? Wait, I don't mean it in a bad way."

Mark chuckled. "Are you saying you're interested in Summer noona?"

"No." That was the quickest answer he ever gave. Mark would tell that Johnny was totally in denial. Especially after how you very politely 'rejected' him when he showed his intention to be friends, to be more than acquaintance at work, by saying 'we're good'. Now, which part of you and him being merely acquaintances that is 'good', if whenever you two meet randomly at office, the only word you say is 'hi'?

At least being friends would do no harm. Even better; he could hang out with fhe guys, plus you and the girls comfortably. Not more than that, for the time being. But who knows it just made him more curious about you.

"You know I could set you up with her. I'll talk to Yeri and Wendy noona."

Johnny responded, saying "Yeah, yeah, do as you please." as if he didn't care. Deep down inside, his heart was racing like never before. As a social butterfly, he always liked meeting new people, making new friends. But why did this one make his heart flutter?

Since then, Mark would excitedly arrange some scenarios to do with Yeri's help. These would include mostly lunch together. Baby steps, Mark would say. Yeri suggested that moving too fast would make you uncomfortable. Unfortunately this effort took forever as you still didn't talk much with Johnny. He tried and he always brought the best of himself, yet you just sort of shut him away.

"She hates me," Johnny stated, sipping his remaining ice americano in frustration in the lounge room with Mark and Taeyong.

"No, she doesn't." Mark tried to boost the big boy's mood.

"How did you guys make friends with her?"

Taeyong shrugged. "We shared similar preferences, I guess? For food, at least." Soon, Taeyong started to give Johnny a short list of 'the similar preferences' of food. Coffee was a big no-no. Sweets were like heaven. Spicy food was so-so, kind of okay and tolerable.

Johnny made a face. "That's a lot and very detailed information. Thank you very much, Mr. Lee."

ㅡ 🐯

"Yeoreum, don't be so hard on Johnny." Yeri used her cuteness to 'scold' you because of your too-honest personality towards Johnny.

"I'm not."

The blond girl sighed. "At least try to respond with friendlier manner when he talks to you. Don't treat him like an acquaintance."

"He is an acquaintance." You emphasized your words.

"Yes, and so is Mark. But Mark is also a friend, who is more than just a colleague."

To you, even the words coming out from Yeri's mouth didn't make any sense. Mark did not befriend you in a snap of a finger. He actively asked you this and that, always paid attention to little details. Also he would always come to you first in every chance he got. And he could keep the personal space in the most professional way that you didn't feel disturbed. Later your favoritism grew bigger towards this boy.

"I know where you're going, Yeri. You know it's not easy for me to start mutual relationship. Let alone people like him. They will get bored with me, like, right away."

"Mark isn't."

Again. The non-sense. "You can't compare people like that. Johnny is not Mark, and Mark is not Johnny."

"I understand your point. Johnny can be a bit... overwhelming." Finally Wendy spoke up. She had been actively listening to you and Yeri bickering. Sometimes she was amazed at how persuasive Yeri was, and at how stubborn you were. Although this time, she actually agreed with you. Wendy would offer her life to be your shield if something bad happens. As she understood your concern, she didn't want you to push yourself for something you might regret later.

"But, Yeoreum, you never know if you don't give it a try." Yeri and her non-stop effort to encourage you.

— 🐯

"Yeoreum, we're having lunch at the pasta house nearby. Join us." Yeri linked her arm with yours as she practically dragged you even before you said something. She made you sit on the edge with Johnny across you. There were always pros and cons at the same time about being in a group and you sitting on the edge. Being the furthest from center would mean getting the least attention, and the least you had to join the group conversation since you couldn't hear and be heard very well. As for today, having Johnny Seo sitting right in front of you suddenly increased your desire to sit in the middle, beside Taeyong and Doyoung. Unfortunately, seated next to you, Yeri was against it even before you asked for it.

"Do you like pasta?" Johnny initiated conversation.

"Occasionally."

"Tomato sauce or cream sauce? In 1, 2, 3..." he suddenly played a game.

And the weirdest thing was you fell for it. You said cream, whereas Johnny said tomato.

He cooed cheerfully, probably feeling proud of himself that you actually played along.

"How about pizza?" he asked again when a pan of pizza was delivered to your table. "Pineapple or no pineapple? In 1,2, 3..."

"I don't even eat pineapple," you firmly stated, making Johnny, a true lover of pineapple on top of pizza, gasp dramatically. Unconsciously, you chuckled at his reaction. "I don't think fruits go well with bread, tomato sauce, pepperoni and cheese," you explained yourself with the most serious expression, as if you were arguing for an important position in a project.

"I think I will have to take you the greatest pizzeria in Korea, or maybe in the whole world, so you will know the beauty of pineapple as pizza toppings."

You were not sure how to respond that. Shrugging while wiggling slowly your eyebrows, you started to eat whatever available before your eyes. "Yeah, whatever."

Johnny grinned. "I'll take that as a yes."

Starting from there, Johnny's journey to get to know you better had officially begun. You could no longer avoid him because he was persistent, in the nicest way possible. He would always try to liven the mood up by throwing jokes and laughing at anything that could be laughed at. Mostly it was anything Mark did. It was almost never only the two of you. Probably this was the main reason you eventually felt comfortable with him around. The cold appearance you used to wear slowly changed and you started to be more welcoming to Johnny. He was succeeded in making himself a part of your daily life. At the office and during lunch time, at least. You were not sure though whether he was a friend now.

Soon, came the day when he thought he was ready to explore how it would be outside the office life.

On a fine summer day, Johnny gathered his courage to prepare the most cheesy event to confess. This big guy actually came to the office wearing a Frozen-themed costume when it wasn't even Halloween. He also got his buddies to dress too. Even looking from a far, you got the secondhand embarrassment and honestly you just wanted to run away the moment you heard your name called several times. Unfortunately, Mark and Yeri ran to you pulling you closer to stand before Johnny who was ready with his big smile and some flowers in his hands.

"I think I like you, Song Yeoreum. You are not like the other girls. You are different. You are cold and mysterious like an ice princess that you maybe the best to play the role of Elsa. And it makes me want to be Olaf for you. If you let me, I'd like to explore this great feeling with you, to figure things between you and me as a person. Not an acquaintance, not a colleague, and obviously not just a friend."

You stared at him, genuinely surprised. You scanned around to find your friends cheering on him.

"We are almost like the north and south pole. That's how different we are. But looking at the bright side, I think it would be an amusing journey to be with you. Just like Olaf who gets his own summer from Elsa, would you, ice princess, be my summer?"

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct au #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct johnny #johnny imagines #johnny fluff #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #nct drabbles #nct soft hours #post by yourblinkies

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trashyswitch · 5 years ago

Text

The Superior Security Guard

Mike Schmidt and Jeremy Bond over the fact that both of them worked part-time for a week, at a Pizzeria run by Freddy Fazbear Entertainment.

I was inspired by a friend to try branching away from the Afton's this time. So, I spent around 3 hours looking up other FNAF characters' statistics and stuff...

Let's just say: The Five Night's at Freddy's Franchise is even MORE CONFUSING THAN EVER!

But, I can't change that. So, I'm choosing to take advantage of a Fanon headcannon! (Mike and Jeremy are best friends)

DISCLAIMER: A bit of mild language.

Jeremy and Mike met each other during Jeremy's work week at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. When Jeremy was leaving Wednesday morning at 6AM, Jeremy had walked out the door to find a man standing outside, staring at the new pizzeria joint. Recognizing the security outfit from his own experience, Mike asked Jeremy about the job and brought up his own experiences. So, instead of sleeping the day away (Which was his original plan), Jeremy invited Mike to go buy a soda with him.

Before they knew it, they became quick friends.

Over the years, they leaned on each other to mentally deal with their weird, and eventually quite terrifying, job experiences. When the company was hit with missing/murder charges, Jeremy and Mike talked each other through the terrifying nightmare, that was child murderers in animatronic costumes/children being stuffed in the animatronic robots. Once in a while, to cope with the experiences and make light of it, they would make silly jokes while they talked.

One day, Jeremy and Mike were walking around Mike's neighborhood, each holding a take-out cup of coffee. It was somewhat peaceful just walking on the sidewalks, listening to the spring birds singing and watching them fly from tree to tree.

"Hey Mike?" Jeremy called calmly.

"Yeah?" Jeremy replied.

"Which animatronic was your favorite when you were younger?" Mike asked.

Jeremy chuckled. "You seriously don't remember? I've told you so many times! It was Chica." Jeremy replied.

"Why though?" Mike asked.

"I don't know. I like yellow, and Chica's a yellow chicken. Plus, she's the one that holds the cute, pink cupcake!" Jeremy explained.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that cupcake. I think it was actually named something...something that started with a C. Carly?" Mike attempted.

"Maybe?...No, Carl! That was its name! Carl!" Jeremy replied. "Oh! and the other reason I liked Chica, was because she was the only girl animatronic." Jeremy explained.

Mike laughed at the last remark. "Chica wasn't the only girl. There was Bonnie-"

"Bonnie was a male! He just...had a lot of 'robot make-up'." Jeremy replied, making quotation marks with his fingers. "Bonnie, playing his bright red electric guitar, looking like a drag queen back then." Jeremy joked, playing the air guitar to add to the humor.

"Wait, really? I don't really remember that part." Mike reacted.

"I'm just over-exaggerating a little bit." Jeremy mentioned.

"Alright...Since Chica was the only girl animatronic, did that influence your decision on which robot was deemed your favorite?" Mike asked.

Jeremy's eyes widened. He looked away quickly, as to not raise suspicion. "...What are you implying if it did?" Jeremy asked.

"Oh nothing." Mike replied, shutting his mouth with a smug look.

"You know what? No! We're having this conversation! What were you suggesting?" Jeremy asked.

"Oh I don't know...Have you heard of the term...'Furry' before?" Mike hinted.

Jeremy's jaw dropped. How DARE he?!

"Dude!" Jeremy yelled, lightly pushing him with a smile on his face. "What is wrong with you! I am NOT a furry! And I am CERTAINLY not in love with those creepy, toy-looking robots." Jeremy argued.

"Okay, okay. I believe you." Mike said, still wearing his smug look. Jeremy narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Something tells me you don't..." Jeremy suspected.

Mike raised his eyebrows. "Are you suggesting I SHOULDN'T believe you?" Mike asked.

"Wha-NO, I'M saying that your freaking eyebrows were telling me a different story!" Jeremy reacted.

"Oh...were they now?" Mike asked in a smug voice, before making waves with both his eyebrows.

Jeremy chuckled in both amusement and frustration. "Do you want a punch to the face?" Jeremy warned.

"Oh please!" Mike exclaimed, pinching Jeremy's bicep muscles with his right arm. "Where's the muscle? I don't feel any muscle." Mike joked.

"I may not have arm muscles, but I can skill kick your ass!" Jeremy shot back.

"How? You kinda need arms, in order to do any sort of fighting..." Mike mentioned.

"How about this: Let's stick a pin into this conversation, and open it back up when we get to your house. Alright?" Jeremy suggested.

Mike rolled his eyes with a smile, but nodded in agreement. "Okay. The conversation's been pinned." Mike replied.

The boys decided to take a side road, to head back to Mike's house. After another 10 minutes or so of walking, they finally arrived back to Mike's house. Mike and Jeremy walked up the driveway, and up the stairs to the door. Mike pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. After removing the key and opening it up, both men walked into the house and closed the door behind them. Unbeknownst to Mike, Jeremy had already been spending the 10 minute walk trying to come up with a plan. By the time they reached the house, Jeremy was ready.

"Okay. I'm pulling the pin out. Let's figure out who can beat the other in a match." Mike decided.

Jeremy walked towards each other. They cracked their knuckles as they stood, getting ready to fight each other. In the background, energetic music played to intensify the moment. Both men readied themselves, and waited for the countdown.

2! Both men clicked the 2 button...

GO!

And, they're off! Both men managed to get the extra boost, and were zooming down the raceway. The selected track for this game, was Luigi Circuit. Though Mike managed to completely miss the question mark power ups, Jeremy successfully got a power up! On the top left side of Jeremy's screen, the cube spun, revealing all the power ups he could get. He ended up getting a banana!

"Aw, come on! Banana's suck! Whatever." Jeremy commented, before clicking the button to get Luigi to throw the banana.

As you probably would've guessed by now: The boys were playing Mario Kart Wii for their competition! Whoever got at least 2 wins against their opponent, was deemed the winner.

"What?! Bowser, get outta here!" Jeremy shouted at the CPU who just passed him.

Mike (King Boo) quickly began to catch up, thanks to the speed boosts littered all over the track. Mike passed baby daily, Wario and Birdo, quickly putting him in 4th place.

Soon, both men passed the finish line again. Lap 2! Both men managed to get a power up each, this time! Mike got a shrinking power up, while Jeremy got a red shell!

Mike activated his power up almost immediately.

"Hey! Who made everyone small?!" Jeremy asked. Suddenly, as if the game was deliberately answering his question, a large King Boo drove past the tiny Luigi.

"Aww! Look at the wittle tiny Luigi." Mike teased.

Jeremy smirked and waited for his character to grow bigger again. Once his character grew back to his normal size, Luigi threw the red shell at King Boo.

"Suck on that, Mike!" Jeremy yelled.

"Ha! Says the character with the ghost vacuum." Mike replied with a smug face.

"I- HEY!" Jeremy yelled, elbowing Mike in the arm.

"Oh, you wanna play THAT game, huh?" Mike asked, elbowing Jeremy back.

"Yeah! Fight me bro!" Jeremy yelled.

Mike shrugged his shoulders. "You asked for it..." Mike replied before tackling the man down.

"Mike! Get off me! OHOHOW! YOUR ELBOWS ARE JABBING INTO ME!" Jeremy shouted, attempting to push Mike off him.

As Jeremy tried to push at him, Jeremy accidentally squeezed his side while he was pushing against it with his hand. This caused a sudden jolt and a short spurt of laughter to leave his mouth. Jeremy paused his actions for a split second, and looked at Mike with a smug, suspicious glare. "What are you laughing at? Is squishing me considered funny to you?" Jeremy asked.

"Kinda, yeah. Your body is just so tiny and squish-able!" Mike teased, squeezing Jeremy's side.

"Dohohon't you eheven tryhyhy tihihicklihihing me, you bahahahastahahard!" Jeremy warned through his giggles, before giving Mike a few squeezes and pokes back.

"AAAAH! Nohohohoho! Quihihit thahahat! Dohohon't yohohohou eheheven ahahahattempt ihihit! I am much bigger, and stronger than you. I could RUIN YOU-" Mike warned. Unfortunately for Mike, Jeremy moved his fingers up to his bottom ribs, and began tweaking and digging into them. "AAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AAAH! NO! JEREMY! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Mike bursted out, falling beside his friend.

"I think you keep on forgetting what tiny people are capable of. I can climb all over you and destroy you!" Jeremy mentioned as he jumped onto his best friend to dig his fingers into the farthest side of Mike's ribs.

"DAHAHAHAHAMIHIHIHIT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Mike shouted, pausing his squirming to just let out all the laughter in his lungs. Jeremy's smile began to grow wider as he tickled him. Jeremy just adored Mike's laugh! It was so bubbly and fun to hear. There had been times in his life where Mike would laugh out loud for a good 5 minutes, and Jeremy would just be over the moon to hear his laugh. It was really contagious, and usually made Jeremy laugh along with him. When they first met, Jeremy would use as many stupid or funny jokes on him, just to hear Mike's laugh. It was kind of silly in a way. Is it normal to appreciate a person's laugh that much? Or is it weird? Jeremy wasn't really sure. So, the best thing Jeremy decided to do with it, was to just enjoy the laughter for as long as it lasted. Jeremy had drifted off into a daydream amidst the fight. He was so deep into the trance, that he didn't even realize what was going on in front of him!

Meanwhile, Mike had decided to take advantage of Jeremy's dreamy state, to tickle him back.

Suddenly, Jeremy knocked himself out of dreamland with his own bout of laughter! By the time Jeremy found out what was going on, Jeremy was giggling and laughing under Mike's wiggly fingers.

"Hehehehehehehe! Mihihihike! Cohohohome ohohohon!" Jeremy giggled.

"What do you mean 'come on'? You were the one who lost his concentration in the middle of beating me! I'm just getting my revenge now." Mike teased.

"Ihihihi dihihidn't mehehehehean tohohoho!" Jeremy mentioned.

"Well obviously, you didn't. I don't think you could've controlled it! But, I'm still gonna make you regret it." Mike replied with a wink.

Mike shoved his hands into Jeremy's armpits next. Jeremy gasped and squealed before rolling into a fit full of laughter. "NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEHEHEHEASE! IHIT'S TOHOHO MUHUHUHUCH! HAHAHAHAHAHA!" Jeremy shouted.

"Hahaha! This is awesome! Now, how would you feel if I just..." Mike asked, drifting off as he lifted Jeremy's arm above his head.

"Nonononono! Don't you even TRY TO DOTHATPLE-EEEEEAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHOHOHOHOHO!" Jeremy screamed.

Mike jumped and retreated his hands out of pure panic. "I'm not killing you! I swear, I'm not killing you!" Mike reacted, putting his hands up in arrest.

"Yohohohou wehehere clohohohose..." Jeremy warned.

"Oh really? Well, now I wanna tickle you more." Mike reacted before shoving his fingers into Jeremy's armpits again.

"WAHAHAHAHAIT! NO! MIKE PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!" Jeremy shouted.

"Please? Please what? Please tickle you more? Gladly!" Mike replied smugly as he lifted Jeremy's arm up and wiggled his fingers on Jeremy's exposed armpit.

"MIKE! PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOHOHOHOU! DOHOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Jeremy shouted before dissolving into endless hysterical laughter.

Mike began to giggle along with Jeremy. He was enjoying this way too much...But, who cares? Mike certainly didn't! He liked bringing Jeremy down to just a puddle of laughter. Normally, that involved a really good story. Today though, it was achieved through simple play-fighting.

After another minute of tickling his armpits, Mike brought his hands down to his sides again, to let him breath more. Jeremy happily took in as much air as he could, and allowed himself to still giggle through the tickly squeezes on his sides. It was a more comfortable laughing pace. It felt better to laugh lightly, than to laugh hysterically.

So, Jeremy decided to get Mike laughing as well. Jeremy ran his fingers around Mike's sides for a bit. When he felt curious, Jeremy reached his hand under Mike's shirt and discovered something new: Mike's pretty ticklish on his belly! Specifically, his belly button! Jeremy gladly took advantage of it, and listened to Mike's inner music, that was his laughter.

"Hehehehehehehe! Dohohohon't yohohohou dahahahare! Yohohou'll rehehehegrehehet ihihit...GAHAHAHAHAHA! JEHEHEREMY NOHOHOHOHO!" Mike laughed joyfully.

Jeremy's smirk began to widen, as he swirled his finger inside Mike's belly button. "Is someone a little ticky-ticky-ticky-ticklish?" Jeremy teased.

Mike's face almost immediately began to glow a red hue. "SHUHUHUT UHUHUHUHUP!" Mike spat.

Jeremy gasped. "Is Mike a little flustered? Is Mikey-Wikey getting flustered from the ticky-ticky's on his belly button?" Jeremy teased, treating him like a toddler.

Mike was slowly going insane. Teasing his belly button?! Talking to him like a TODDLER?! UH...NO THANK YOU! MIKE IS AN ADULT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

"Quihihihit teheheheasihihing mehehehe! Ihihi'm nahahahat a chihihihihild!" Mike shot back at Jeremy. Before Jeremy could do anything else, Mike had grabbed Jeremy's upper arms and pulled him down onto Mike's lap! Mike sat up and flipped Jeremy over onto his back, before experimentally digging his fingers into Jeremy's ribs.

"NAHAHAHAHAHA! OHOHOHOH, YOHOHOHOHOU SUHUHUHUHUCK SOHOHOHOHO BAHAHAHAHAD!" Jeremy shouted.

"Wow! You're entire upper body is ticklish! And not just a little ticklish, but SUPER ticklish! We'd better make sure no animatronics find out about this." Mike suggested.

"WHAHAHAHAHAT?! WHAHAHAT AHAHARE YOHOHOU TAHAHAHAHALKIHIHING ABOHOHOHOUT?!" Jeremy asked through his hysterical laughter.

"Didn't you hear? The animatronics are able to scan kids and make comments on certain objects and decorations now. For example: the patterns on your shirt!" Mike explained, poking the stomach underneath Jeremy's shirt.

Jeremy's eyes visibly widened, as he bit his lip.

"One of them might scan your body up and down, up and down, up and down..." Mike teased, pointing his index finger at Jeremy as he raised and lowered it to imitate the scanning. "-And they may find out some pretty interesting information:" Mike added as he lowered his hand down to Jeremy's stomach. Next, Mike focused his eyes on a specific tickle spot before lifting his head up and leaning his head in towards Jeremy's head.

"Mr. Security Guard?" Mike asked, in a silly Freddy voice that somewhat resembled Goofy's voice. "You have some very sensitive spots on your body. Are you ticklish?" Mike (Freddy) asked. Despite the small bits of nervous panic going through Jeremy's head, his body began betraying him by instinctively making him smile and giggle like a complete goof. So, Mike began poking, squeezing, and wiggling his fingers on Jeremy's stomach, ribs, and sides.

"DOHOHOHOHON'T! IHIHIHIT'S NAHAHAHAT FUHUHUHUNNY! IHIHIHIHIT'S CREHEHEHEHEHEPPY!" Jeremy yelled back.

Mike smirked and resorted to his Freddy Fazbear voice again. "Don't worry! I'm not gonna kill ya. I'm just gonna tickle you a little!" Mike replied as he skittered his fingers higher up on Jeremy's ribs. "What's that saying again?...Oh yeah! Coochy-Coochy-Coo!" Mike teased in his Freddy voice.

Next, Mike left his right hand at his ribs, and brought his left hand down to his belly again. Jeremy's laughter turned into cackles rather quickly. "Hey kids! Look! This security guard is very ticklish!" Mike (Freddy) exclaimed. "Next thing you know, children are gonna come running over and cheer excitedly as they watch a security guard get tickled!" Mike reenacted. "They'll giggle at the security guard stuck in Freddy's tickle trap, and they'll even give their own little pokes as well!" Mike reenacted further, adding in little pokes everywhere he could reach to add to the silliness. "It will be such a giggly mess, that someone may have to turn the machine off!" Mike added.

Immediately after that part, Mike stopped his fingers and pulled them away from him. Jeremy just flopped himself onto the floor, breathing in as much air as he could.

Jeremy was just about done for. He couldn't even IMAGINE such an embarrassing thought! "Next thing you know: You're getting laid off by your supervisor for 'being too ticklish'. Like you can control that, of course..." Mike concluded. Jeremy rolled his eyes, but giggled at the silly conclusion.

"Shuhuhut uhuhup...Yohohou wohohouldn't behe ahahahable to suhurvihihihive either..." Jeremy replied.

"Mm...Maybe not...Maybe yes, though..." Mike replied.

Mike only continued to giggle as he laid there on the ground. Looking around the room, Jeremy couldn't help but notice the flashing Wii remotes. Looking up at the TV, Jeremy noticed that the TV was still on! The Race statistics were playing on the screen as well! Jeremy looked down the list of places, and looked at the statistics on the bottom:

[11th | Luigi | DNF | +0 | 0pts]

[12th | King Boo| DNF | +0 | 0pts]

Well...So much for THAT challenge...

#ticklefic #switch!jeremy #switch!mike #fnaf

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lucastheunlucky · 5 years ago

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latched secret || blanche&luke

Location: Yum!Pizzeria Date/Time: 5/27/20 @harlowhaunted Summary: Blanche takes a lunch at the pizzeria but finds it being cleaned and worked on. Luke gives her pizza anyway (cause this is canon we know it) and they become acquainted over ghost vibes after realizing they share a few of the same friends.

Yum!Pizzeria had been operating okay without him thanks to his wonderful neighbor Mrs. Lee and Orion. But the seventy year old woman really should be retired now, and Luke felt in debt to her for keeping the place open while he healed up. Luke walked into the shop today, leaving the door open to air it out. They were technically closed today, and he had a few people in there today cleaning the place out and deep cleaning every inch of the shop. His left arm was no longer bandaged but stitched up in thick staples and coated in medicine to keep infection out. Lucas was getting a little bit of his mobility back to his fingers, the tendon and nerves were having a hard time connecting even with his accelerated healing. It would be okay though. He was able to hold things now, and that was progress. Luke was sitting at a bench while staff cleaned the place, paperwork spread out as he organized his accounts, and looked over the business expenses while he was gone to be sure everything lined up.

Exhaustion clung to her as she shuffled into Yum!Pizzeria on her lunch break. The paperwork she had been working on for Mercy was left abandoned, waiting for her when Blanche would come back after she had found something to eat. At least she was being good - at least she was remembering to be a person and to eat and to go to work and to just have some semblance of normalcy. Or, as normal as everything could be. The paranoia that the fucking hunter would come back to finish the job on Nell had never left, and Winn was still being a dramatic ass motherfucker and she hadn’t heard from him either. But, as Blanche slid into the pizza joint, she resolved to not think about any of that for the next 54 minutes she had. “Hey, sorry, are you guys not open?” Blanche realized she had been zoning out and things didn’t exactly look up to snuff. She rubbed her neck sheepishly. “I wasn’t paying attentio - uh?” Blanche frowned. The hairs on the back of he neck were standing up and - oh shit. She ripped her eyes off the man on the bench, looking around for the ghost. Come on, where the hell was it?

“Mhm?” He lifted his gaze from the paperwork, the place clearly in disarray with the chairs up on the tables and people cleaning, if definitely wasn’t open, but the beast could only smile at the other woman. “Technically no,” he said, and nodded to his staff to move towards the kitchen so the cleaning wasn’t so noisy. It had been a help to hire a few more people this week and with group inside to get it clean and redorated, new parts getting replaced or upgraded, Luke was excited to see the changes. The Pizza shop needed to stay for a little bit longer, just until he knew what was going on with Gotch. “But, come here, sit down--” he gestured in, sitting on one of the tables was stacks of pizza’s everyone had been munching on while working. “Take a break, you look tired-- plates are here.” He slid one over.

“Oh shit,” Blanche said sheepishly. If there was a ghost here, then she absolutely did not want to be here. And she definitely didn’t want to be that asshole customer that came in on closed business days. Except he was shoving a pizza box towards her, telling her to grab a plate while the cleaning crew drifted off into the kitchen and they were alone. Blanche frowned, and realized now that her ghost senses were stronger when she got near the man. Fuck. Was he possessed? Blanche had frozen slightly, unsure what she wanted to do. Well, she knew what she wanted to do, and that was turn, run, and never show her face back here out of embarrassment, and maybe call Rebecca or Cassie to come deal with it. But it didn’t quite feel like he was possessed, and she wished she hadn’t dipped on Rebecca’s lesson. “Are you sure?” Blanche finally said, resigned. “Um, I’m sorry I came in while you guys were cleaning, I just - I’ve been a little out of it.” She gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Um, I’m Blanche, by the way.”

“You do look tired. I get that, we’re closed temporarily this week cause I’m healing up from an injury and taking the time to revamp things a little bit,” Luke tilted his head at the name. Having received multiple texts from Noah about a Blanche deal with a missing Winn. Did Winston or Ariana also say her name? He couldn’t remember well. “Eat up your fill, there are a few different ones in there, new flavors too, so you will get a sneak peak at some new menu ideas. Highly classified.” He joked, and quickly typed a few things down, and then closed up the laptop and leaned back. He actually needed a break himself, he’s been at it for hours, his back creaked from going the other direction. “Hey, can I ask if you know a Noah? He’s trying to be a vet?-- I just feel like I’ve heard about a Blanche in the grapevine of my friends, and you sorta fit the profile. I’m Lucas.”

“Oh, I’m glad you’re healing up!” Blanche smiled slightly, before doing as she was told and grabbing a slice of pizza. She was too tired to refuse food right about now, and she was admittedly more and more curious about the ghostly presence around the man. She examined Lucas closely as she say down on a bench. He knew Noah? Her eyebrows knit together in concern for just a moment - what had Noah said? Did Ariana or Noah spill what she was to someone? Or did Lucas know Winn. Blanche supposed that she didn’t rightly care if people knew that she could see ghosts anymore, even if there was still a swirl of anxiety in her at the thought of it. She was just too tired to keep the secrecy up. The bad excuses, everything. So finally, she said, “Yeah, I know Noah.” After considering another moment, taking a bite of her pizza and swallowing, she rested her plate in her lap. “Does that mean you know what happened with Winn Woods?” Blanche asked.

“Ah, it’s nice to meet you then,” Lucas said with a friendly vibe. He hadn’t known if it was her, but relief was easily seen on his face that it wasn’t going to be awkward. “Know what happened? Not entirely— no details, Noah is just mad right now and yelling at me through text so I’m trying to keep a neutral front to it. However, I’m glad you’re fine. It’s the only reason I heard your name, everyone seemed worried about you between the yelling.” Luke got up and pulled out some sodas and a water bottle from the customer fridge and set some down near her to pick what she liked. “I don’t know anything about you though. Just a name. You know how friend circles are. Do you work close by?”

Blanche almost laughed at Lucas when he mentioned that Noah was yelling over text. “He seemed to keep from yelling at me, but he thinks I’m a big ol’ idiot,” she said, gratefully taking the bottle of water with a quieter thank you. “And he’s not wrong, mind you. Winn and I both made stupid decisions, I just… I needed to blow off some steam, you know,” Blanche shrugged, giving him a small smile. She didn’t elaborate. He either knew what Winn was or he didn’t, and now that she thought more about it, she didn’t think Noah would shoot his mouth off about the details. “Yeah I work at Valfrey Investigation Services. I’m the apprentice there,” she explained. “I came into work today and decided to actually take my lunch break.” The feeling hit her again, and she faltered slightly. Shit. “Hey, uh, can I ask you a weird question? You don’t happen to, uh, believe in ghosts, do you?”

Lucas really understood the sheer need to blow off steam and how rationality could be a little fuzzy with it. Wolves were sturdy and Lucas always worried about hurting others on the football field when he was younger because of it. But the loss of control— well. Luke wanted to understand that bit more. “Winn means well. I feel like all his intentions are usually close to being good, but I just met him a few weeks ago so it’s just first impressions from my end. He was there for me though, when I was in a low spot. I don’t want to come at him over it. It wasn’t on purpose, he should say sorry though.” Lucas commented, but noticed her falter. “Eat, eat.” He said a little worried, taking it as being hungry or exhausted. “Sure— of course. Lots of things exist in the world. Why?”

Blanche waved it off. “Winn’s a good person, but a bit of a bonehead. Clearly I’m not much better. It was both our faults. I’m just a little pissed he ran off, but…” Blanche sighed slightly, shrugging. “He’ll be back. We can deal with it then.” And maybe, hopefully, things will have calmed down by then. With Bea and Nell and Luce… She took a bite out of the pizza when he encouraged her to eat, trying to figure out the best way to put this. Shit, she needed Granny. Then again, Granny was always pushy and in people’s faces. She didn’t give a shit if people believed her or not, just like she didn’t give a shit now about what people thought of her. “I - At the risk of sounding insane,” Blanche said, looking at him apologetically. “I, uh…” Well if he was friends with Winn, then he probably knew about the wolf thing. Blanche decided then to take a risk. “Can see them. And feel them. And I think there’s one... “ Blanche winced. Possession wasn’t the right word, it didn’t look or feel like that. At least, she was pretty sure it didn’t feel like that. “Here.” Blanche finished lamely. She fidgeted anxiously. “Are you feeling okay?” Blanche asked.

Lucas tilted his head in that puppy dog way that he never could work out of his instinct while she talked. “See them? That might be quite the burden, huh?” Lucas’ brows wrinkled a little bit. He wasn’t overly familiar with ghosts, usually one to fight beasts or monsters that gave him a decent fight. His mind briefly touched on the face he saw sometimes, the young girls, but he had always taken that as trauma with Gotch. When she asked if he was feeling okay, and the almost sweet, concerned delivery Lucas huffed an honest laugh. After weeks of wolves yelling at him, and worrying over him in their aggressive, all in love way, that was the nicest way anyone asked about him. “I’m never quite okay, so you think one is here? Or one with me? I’ll be honest,” he bit the inside of his mouth a little. “I’ve sometimes seen something just in the corner of my eye.”

Quite the burden. Blanche almost laughed at him, but quickly controlled herself by taking a big swig of her water. Burden was definitely a word for it. She was feeling overly negative today, too, so she could have added on isolating, life-ruining, pain-in-the-ass, relationship-ending, bullshit. But she didn’t. Because that was her being dramatic, and neither of them needed dramatics today. Instead, Blanche shrugged like it didn’t matter. “It could be worse,” Blanche said, giving him a strained smile. Never quite okay. She related to that, but she was curious. She wasn’t used to being believed so easily, thought there was the possibility that he was only entertaining her. “Something like that,” Blanche replied with a frown. “I don’t… see anything. Which is unusual, but I definitely feel something. Do you - Uh, do you experience black outs?” Blanche asked, almost apologetically. It would at least rule out possession. “Lost time? Waking up in places where you’ve never been before, confused? What sort of things have you seen out of the corner of your eye? Or even just when you’re really tired, and think you see something there and it goes away in a blink.”

“No, no blackouts,” Lucas wasn’t entertaining her at all. One to believe usually anything that sounded a bit strange, but also, he was a kind person and didn’t need to make someone feel bad for telling him something about themself. Kinda like Regan and her need to keep sending dead animals to people. A bad feeling was surfacing while she inquired more, and he realized, while he’s always been depressed and suffered with dissociation since he was a teenager because of Gotch, he didn’t always have these extra bits. Maybe it all wasn’t his head being hard on him. “Hmm, alright. I’ll be honest with you, okay? Since you are being forthcoming,” he offered a smile, trying to make sure she wasn’t over concerned about his feelings towards it. “But I have heard whispers sometimes, they tell me to walk away? To just keep going, and going. Sometimes it will catch me while I’m on a roof, and something in my head tells me to walk off the edge. Or travel down a road until I die. I, honestly, just assume I’m having a bad moment mentally. I’m not the best sometimes with stuff? So I just laid down or whatever,” he thought about it more. “The only thing I have seen is sometimes when I’m in a particularly bad state-- I see a little girl just in the edge of my vision. You think that it’s not always been me? Like, maybe something else is there?”

Blanche listened to Luke closely. There was something in her that had woken up - an old anxiety that wanted to rear its ugly head. How nervous this shit made her. Talking about the dead so easily was supposed to be something that Granny was good at, it was never supposed to just be her thing… Except, it was her thing. This was what she had been born with, and she spent too long trying to convince herself to ignore it or hide it. None of that was going to work now. She could do it with Bea and she could do it with Lucas, and she didn’t have to think too hard about it. Well, probably. She frowned slightly as Lucas told her what these voices were whispering to him, and she tried to nod encouragingly. “A little girl?” Blanche asked, pressing her lips together in a thin line. Could a spirit of a little girl do that? In horror media, Blanche was pretty sure little girls were often projected as bad spirits or demons, mostly because they were creepy and had that horrible high pitched laugh. It could be a malicious spirit, but Blanche wasn’t sure. She just knew that she could feel it, and the longer she explored that feeling, the more she didn’t like it. “I believe you,” Blanche assured him, quickly. “That must be really hard. I’m so sorry,” She wondered if a spirit could really be whispering those intrusive thoughts to him. She considered a moment. “I know a couple exorcists who know more about this kind of thing than I do. Would you mind if I spoke with them? About this situation and tell them what you told me? So I can see if I can help you?”

Lucas nodded to her inquiry about the little girl. At least, that was how he kinda saw her when he saw her, which was difficult being that it was just out of sight. “It’s not, well. It is hard, thank you. But I’ve got practice in that department. Maybe, if this is what’s been making me feel so hopeless-- I’d very much like some help. So, of course. You may ask whomever.” Lucas reassured, and was grateful for it. He wanted to explain that it was challenging to separate the intrusive thoughts from his own bad ones, but Blanche seemed serious, and Lucas would take it as such. “Here,” he pulled one of his business cards out for the pizzeria, and wrote his number down. “Just so you know. I’m not exactly out in the world. I’m in hiding, a little, no--- a lot. So, do me the smallest favors and keep my name close. Especially lately, with--” he waved his arm a little. “The person who did this is, well. Yeh. Still out there.

Blanche listened to his explanation, eyes flicking up to the scar on his head. More questions were on the tip of her tongue, but she refrained. Lucas was in hiding from someone that hurt him. It was a somber reminder of everything that had happened - with Nell and Bea. People could get hurt, whether it was supernaturally motivated or not. “I’ll keep your name close to me. I promise. I understand how important it is to keep people’s safety close,” Blanche said grimly. She nodded, gently taking the business card from him as she stood, since she had finished a slice of pizza, and it was probably time she should get back to work anyhow. But she did pause, grabbing a pen from her purse to write her own number on a napkin, sliding it over to him. “That’s my number too. You let me know if anything else pops up, you can text me whenever or call me or find me online, okay? And leet me know if you see anything so I can ... Figure out what’s going on. Okay?”

Lucas nodded. “Okay, thanks-- and it was really nice meeting you. Putting a face to your name and everything.” He smiled, and politely stood up when she did and accepted the number.

#x: blanche #x: latched secret

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jaspitch · 4 years ago

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Five Nightguards At Freddy’s

September's Archives- Archive 2

Tonight was no different than most other nights. Show up to take over the last half of the week for whoever was there originally. Thank God Mike called in sick. Despite September practically hating Mike, he didn't want him to get killed. That was plain and simple. The only one who could die and be fine was William, but that's besides the point.

September stepped out of his car with a groan. Last night a friend of his had coaxed him into going to a party and he was feeling the final drag of a hangover kick in. Brushing a thick lock of hair behind his ear, the tall man started walking towards the large red double doors. Somebody was standing there, and on further inspection, September let out a mental groan. It was fucking Justin. Since when did he do Day Shifts? Or locking up?

Eventually he stopped as Justin looked up from his phone. "Hi, Grumps! Aren't ya happy to see me?" Justin threw an arm around September's neck with a laugh. "Just give me the damn keys," The other man stated, rolling his eyes. "Hey, what's up with the deeper voice? Are you going through pubery?"

With that, September shoved his cousin away. He turned and glared at him, "People don't go through puberty twice, dumb-fuck." With that, he snatched the keys away and started for the back entrance, which was by far easier to unlock and lock. Of course, September finally locking up would depend on him surviving another night of Hell. After doing said process, a sigh of relief flowed through his body. The lights were still on, but he only had a few minutes to get into the office before they turned off.

He walked towards the office, running his hand through his thick, fluffy hair. That reminded him of Storm, who always loved to pet his “silky locks.” Honestly, just because he used Old Spice didn’t give the girl a right to be treating him like a dog. Upon reaching the office, September grumbled before almost tripping over something. The man looked down to see a bottle of what looked to be Pepsi-Cola and he kicked it into the hallway. Why the hell did they even have a damn janitor? He never did his job.

Unlocking the drawer with the tablet in it, an even more anoyed groan left the male. Why in the name of God was the fucking tablet not charging in the drawer? The clock chimed right on time, which just panicked the usually calm man. He looked around for about twenty minutes, in a cold sweat, before finding the tablet, some sort of sauce smeared on it, and almost completely dead. Well, fuck that. If some people can’t do their jobs, why should he?

September ran down the hallway, right to Henry’s office, and found it locked. There wasn’t any animatronics roaming and ready to maime him just yet, thank the Lord. He used his pocket knife to pick the lock because that skill was definately needed to survive here in this hell-hole. Placing the tablet on the dark oak desk, September relocked the door and sat down next to the device, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. This was, by far, the worst night ever. A hangover, having to run around the pizzeria, not being able to find the tablet, and then the tablet being dead.

Tomorrow he was dead ass asking for a raise. If he didn’t get one, he would be moving to Loisianna to go be a District Attorney. Of course he wouldn’t actually do that, seeing as how he couldn’t leave Storm here by herelf. Actually, rewind, Storm here with Michael Fucking Schmidt. His hatred flared up immediately. The slacker was such a nuiscance. One moment he’d be cursing the living life out of someone and the the next he’d be flirting with Storm. Weird, considering Storm was playing matchmaker and was trying to get her friend Doll to give it a go at him.

The mere thought of Storm and Mike together rose some sort of anxious feeling in September’s chest. Alongside bile in his throat. He could imagine it now.

“Hey, September! September! Guess what?!”

“What, Storm?”

“I’m pregnant! And getting married!”

“What!? Who are you marrying?”

“Mike! I’m gonna marry Mike!”

Yeah, that’d never happen. He wouldn’t let it. A large bang burst the young man from his thoughts. The door was being hit multiple times, as if someone, or more like something knew he was in there. After a few minutes of this, September relaxed. The door is way too solid for that. Just as he though this, the door exploded off the hinges and went flying right past him. There, in his beautiful purple glory, was Bonnie. The large rabbit’s eye were pupil sized with black floating around them. Not unusual to see, but definately odd. He locked eyes with September before the man threw the tablet at him.

Bolting to the side door, September opened it to be met with the hallway to the bathrooms. He ran down it, Bonnie on his trail. Side swiping a chair in hopes to trip the damned robot up, he nearly ran straight into Freddy, who was coming out of the girl’s bathroom. Ew, what the Hell? Weirdo! Was all he thought before being picked up by his collar and being screeched at. The mere force of the yell startled September and must have overdone his nerves, because within seconds, he was fast asleep.

It seemed to be decades before he awoke, but when he did, some sort of smell almost impuriated his nostrils. What. The. fuck. Was. That. Smell? It smelt like rusted iron..... That’s what blood usually tasted like and smelt liked, isn’t it? Slowly opening his amber orbs, fear immediately set in. Oh God, Oh God. His legs and middle torse were almost completely filed and stuffed into some sort of suit. It looked to be like one of Freddy’s so it wasn’t tight fitting, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t indeed some rods and wires sticking into mainly his legs. September tried to slowly inch his left leg to the right and a jolt of pain flashed through him.

He looked up, his vision blurry at first. Then he caught note of Chica spazzing out in front of him, Bonnie and Freddy walking away, and Foxy peaking in before shutting the door. Chica turned and looked down, meeting eyes with September. Her beak was fixed and not hanging off to the side oddly enough. “Se..ptemvar.” She groaned, her voice cracking and making a high pitched squeak. “Sep..tem..bar. Do vu rec..on..ide mee...eee?” W h a t? Narrowing his eyes, the male tried to move back a bit, only a small portion of pain filing through his legs. “Fucking bird, just go join your damn friends!” He yelped, hoping that whatever had stopped the others from completely stuffing him would be the same for the chicken.

“But.. I... em... su..cie.” Chica squeaked again and the mascot’s head twitched. “Su-cie?” It took a second, but the name registered. Suzie was a girl September had known when he first moved here. She was eight and he fiffteen upon meeting. September had been hired to babysit the girl before she died, they would always play games. She made him feel like he could be himself- funny and outgoing. Even a bit silly. That was then, of course. By the time sixteen rolled around, he was cold and a bit narcassistic. “Suzie?” He asked, narrowing his eyes.

Chica smiled and let out some weird “AhrGhGhgahG” sound before leaning down and starting to slowly take the suit’s pieces off. Her movements were jerky and robotic, but nonetheless helpful. And painful. After an hour or so, September was sitting by the chicken, rapping bandages around his legs. Chica was staring at him, watching his every movement. This probably explained why she had never shown up at the door but once, and when they met in the hallway after a power outage, she would just stand and stare at him.

“Okay, done. So, Chica, let me get this right. You’re suddenly not wanting to kill me because I’m well, me. However, the others aren’t going to kill me either because you said so. And this only goes for me when Suzie is in control because she knows me. Also, this further enhances my knowledge that this place is hella haunted?” Chica nodded, which made him drop his eyelids half way and give her a ‘really, bitch?’ look. He wanted to play another yes and no game. That would be how they would talk from now on. “Okay, yes or no, somebody killed you and stuffed you in the suit?” She nodded.

“That somebody works here but you don’t know who, you just know it’s not me because you already know me?” Chica gave a nod, making her head squeak. “You can’t determine genders, can you?” For a second, he thought she was going to shake her head, meaning she couldn’t, but she then nodded. “Wait, so what gender killed you?” That was when everything clicked into place: she shrugged saying she had no idea. Somebody didn’t just kill these kids, they dressed up as a character and killed them. Holy crap, Storm would love to know that. Love to know she could try and talk to them so she could survive and find out who did this. That, besides Mike, was their main mission all along. However, this also just furthern intesified his thoughts that he couldn’t trust anyone.

“I have a few ideas on who it might be. Let’s see, William, because he’s a fucking creep and I wouldn’t put it past him. Scott, because he’s so damn jumpy. Malayn, because he’s a sadist, and maybe Mike because I don’t know if he’s completely sane or not.” As soon as the list was done, Chica blinked oddly. She closed one eye before the other before suddenly bolting out the door. Narrowing his eyebrows, September was about to follow her before the bell rang. Damn, he just barely survived tonight. William was waiting by the entrance, seemingly arguing with Scott. Scott noticed September approaching before abruptly shutting his mouth. “Hello, ladies. Need these?” He dropped the keys on William’s head, turning to look at a concerned Scott.

Through his peripheral vison, he noted William untangling the keys from his hair and settling them in his pocket. “What hapened to your legs? And your uniform?” September shrugged, “Y’know just got dragged into the back room and nearly killed. The usual.” William snickered at his sarcasm, but he really wasn’t joking. “Holy crap! Are you okay? We can take you to a doctor!” He seemed to be about to have a nervous breakdown so September just waved him off. “I’m fine, woman. You need to get off your period.” With that, he walked towards his Falcon(It’s a ‘67 Ford if you didn’t know that. Most people don’t know much about older cars :’) ) and drove himself home. After falling asleep on the couch due to intense lazines, September decided to take a shower, change, renew his bandages, and call Storm. They had a lot to talk about.

September’s Archive Ends Here

#FNAF Archives1 #FNAF Archives 2

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beckzorz · 6 years ago

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Pizza Night (one-shot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Words: 1967 Summary: What makes this pizza night different from all other pizza nights? A/N: Happy holidays ;-) Something of a companion piece to Snowed In (thematically, anyway). Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.

The third Sunday of every month is pizza night at the compound. Tony gets pizza delivered straight from the city, usually from a different place every month, for absolutely everyone—janitors, Avengers, programmers, medics, doctors, physical therapists…

And you.

Pizza night is one of your favorite traditions here. It’s less classy than the cocktail party-type get-togethers that Tony likes to throw; no mixed drinks, just water, soda, and beer for those inclined. And yes, you do like getting dressed up once in a while, but there’s effort involved, and your job is enough work, thank you very much.

Unwinding without expectations is nice.

Also, pizza.

—

“Hi Paul!” You slide into the passenger seat of your neighbor’s car and tuck your shopping bag between your feet. “Thanks so much for the ride.”

“No problem,” Paul says. He pulls away from the curb and drives towards the compound. “It’s literally five houses out of my way.”

“Yes, but still.” It’s cloudy but warm, so you open the window and let your hand dangle, catching the wind between your fingers. “How’s it feel to have tax season over?”

Paul groans in relief. “Oh my god, like freedom herself came and blessed me with those lottery days off last week.”

You laugh. Most accountants are dull as the grave, but Paul’s pretty funny, all things considered.

“What’s in the bag?” he asks.

“Oh…” You shift a little in your seat. “Just some stuff for tonight.”

“Fun,” he says.

“Mm.”

Your noncommittal answer doesn’t lead to a reply, and Paul turns on NPR. All Things Considered is good as far as radio shows go, but tonight your mind is wandering.

Pizza night’s going to be a little different this time around, and the thought of standing out makes your heart squeeze painfully. You’ve only been at this job long enough to take part in five, maybe six pizza nights, and you’re just starting to feel comfortable enough to make some waves. A suggestion for implementing a new project, a few more personal effects by your desk… It’s all gone well, but tonight?

You’re not sure.

It’s another fifteen minutes before you and Paul flash your security badges to the gate guard. There’s already a bunch of cars in the front lot—no surprise; the compound runs 24/7. Paul squeezes into a spot between two SUVs, and you suck in your breath to slip out of the car with your bag.

The second you walk into the right building, your mouth starts to water. You can smell it all—the bakery smell of the crust, the gooey cheese, the garlic. Even the tang of pepperoni, which you don’t eat.

It smells like a greasy pizzeria, replete with checkered tables and silvery napkin holders and rotating countertop displays with slices waiting to be shucked onto paper plates. It smells like a hole-in-the-wall with a gruff chef whose mouth would give Gordon Ramsay a run for his money. It smells like the kind of place you don’t wear white to.

It smells like heaven.

“Fuck,” you mutter, and Paul chuckles beside you.

“Eager, huh?”

“Not exactly.” You shift your bag to your other hand and try to keep your breathing steady.

Paul gives you a funny look, but he doesn’t push as you both climb up the lobby stairs to the lounge. He nods at you and makes a beeline straight for the buffet table. You don’t follow quite yet.

You pause by the top of the stairs as you take it all in. Maybe it’s a little cliché, but you still can’t quite believe your luck. How many people can say they work with superheros? Eat pizza with superheros? Sure, some of them are away right now—it’s Easter today, after all—but there are still plenty here tonight. Steve Rogers, of course, and his cute friend Bucky Barnes. Natasha Romanoff, Vision, Wanda Maximoff. Plenty of people.

Someone bumps into you, and you tighten your grip on your bag and make your way to the kitchen. It’s commercial-sized, with an oven the size of a closet full of oozing pizzas waiting to replace the ones on the buffet. You pause in front of it, gazing longingly at the rotating rack of pies, before one of the outside waitstaff ushers you aside.

You snag a plate from a cabinet and a spoon from a drawer. With a heavy heart, you open your shopping bag. Out comes a box, a bag of shredded mozzarella, a glass jar of marinara sauce. You carefully spread the sauce and sprinkle the cheese. Sixty-six seconds in the microwave, and you sigh as you pull the warm plate out.

“What’s that?”

You jump out of your skin. Natasha Romanoff is at your elbow, eyeing your plate curiously.

“Oh, uh, hi, Natasha.” You shift your weight, cheeks hot. “It’s matzah pizza.”

“Oh right,” Natasha says. “It’s Passover, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” You force a smile and squeeze by her to get back to the lounge, but she sticks to you.

“Isn’t all this—” she gestures to the pizza buffet as you pass by— “awfully tempting?”

You snort. “Of course! And it’s only day two.”

“Eight days?”

“Outside of Israel, yup.”

“And no bread?”

“No bread, no cake, no pasta—well, no normal pasta, anyway—no cereal, no oatmeal, no beer, no cookies,” you rattle off. “And I’m sure I’m missing something.”

Natasha puts a hand on your arm and leads to the couch she usually shares with some of the other Avengers. You sit down, head swimming with surprise. You usually hang out with coworkers from your department, not… the department.

Still, you do your best to smile at Steve, who’s next to you.

“How are—oh,” he says. He blinks at your pizza, then looks back at you with a sympathetic wince. “You’re brave.”

“I would go with masochistic before brave,” you reply. You take a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment before you pull yourself together. A bite of matzah pizza does nothing to resolve the craving for real pizza. “This is hell.”

Steve chuckles. “So why’d you come?”

“Yeah, seriously,” Natasha chimes in. She’s perched on the arm of the couch beside you, a half-eaten slice of pizza folded in her hand.

“Eh, pizza night’s my favorite thing we have here,” you say. “It’s nice to hang out without having to think about work, you know?”

“Fair enough.”

“Bucky,” Natasha says suddenly, amusement dripping from her tone, “you look like a fish.”

You turn to look up at Bucky. His eyes are glued to your plate. To your pizza. He snaps his mouth shut and swallows, glancing down at his own plate. He’s got two big pieces of pepperoni pizza, one piled on top of the other.

“Something wrong, Buck?” Steve asks.

“No,” Bucky says, but you don’t buy it for a second.

Based on their raised eyebrows, neither do Natasha and Steve. Bucky nudges Steve’s leg with his boot, and Steve shifts over as much as he can.

Bucky sits down next to you, his thigh pressed against yours. He discards his pizza on the coffee table and sits back, still looking at your plate. Your mouth suddenly goes dry, pizza smell be damned. So close to Bucky, you’ve caught whiff of something a million times more intoxicating. He smells intoxicating, all heady and exhilarating and distinctively unique.

Greasy pizzeria as heaven?

No, heaven is sitting next to Bucky Barnes, his solid thigh against yours and his hand brushing your arm from where it’s slung on the back of the couch.

“You know,” he says, voice small and almost faraway, “the missions used to come to the front for Passover.”

You blink. Bucky is still looking at the matzah pizza on your plate.

“The front? You mean, during World War II?” you ask.

“Yeah.” His eyes flit to yours, his lips quirking up just enough to set your heart beating a little faster. “Those seders were the best part of the year.”

You gape. It can’t be attractive, but—Bucky Barnes is Jewish? Like you? It’s impossible.

“I don’t remember any,” Steve says. “What about ‘44?”

“Eh, by the time you came along, we had other things to do,” Bucky tells Steve, but he’s still facing you. He lowers his voice, ducks his head a little as his gaze tightens on yours. “Can I—did you bring that?”

You nod, thoroughly speechless.

“Can I have one?”

“Just one?” Natasha teases. You huff a little, half amused, half offended on Bucky’s behalf, but he’s rolling his eyes fondly.

“Of course,” you tell him. You force yourself up from the couch, left thigh cold from the loss of his leg pressed against yours. Is your face as warm as it feels? Can they all see? “Be right back.”

But Bucky jumps to his feet before you can make your escape. “You gotta show me how,” he says. He puts a hand on the small of your back and guides you through the crowd to the kitchen, greeting some of the waitstaff by name.

You’re not just speechless now; you’re breathless. His hand on your back, with just a thin shirt between his metal hand and your skin. His rich baritone, the gentle smile you can see out of the corner of your eye if you turn your head just a little.

Out comes the matzah, the sauce, the cheese. Bucky grabs a fresh plate and watches with careful focus as you assemble a matzah pizza for him.

“Can I do more cheese?” he asks.

“Eh, you could, but if you do too much it gets soggy.”

“Fair.”

You stand side-by-side in front of the microwave as you punch in sixty-six seconds. The microwave comes on with a whoosh.

“So,” Bucky says. “I didn’t know you were Jewish.”

Your lips twitch. “Bucky, I don’t think we’ve exchanged more than half a dozen words before tonight.” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he purses his lips in reluctant agreement. “But I didn’t know you were. And we learned about you all in school!”

“Well, my mom was. We didn’t practice or anything.” He tucks his hair behind his ear. “Not like you.”

“Everyone does it differently,” you say. “It’s all about what works for you.”

The microwave beeps, and Bucky pulls the plate out. “I haven’t really thought about it in ages,” he says. “But…” He smiles at you, eyes crinkling. “Maybe it’s time to see what works for me now that things have changed.”

“Hear hear!” You grin back. Never mind the heat in your cheeks—Bucky is smiling. At you. Who cares if you’re blushing? “No time like the present.”

“Amen,” he says. He lifts the plate close to his face and tries a bite of matzah pizza. His expression is thoughtful by the time he swallows. “I mean, it’s not as good as the stuff out there usually is, but it’s not bad.”

“I’ll be honest, I’m going to eat a whole pizza next month,” you tell him.

“Next month?” Bucky asks through another bite.

“Next pizza night,” you clarify.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing on his pale neck. “How long is Passover? Eight days, right?”

“Yeah…?” You tilt your head, confused.

“Forget next month. We can go for some proper pizza next Sunday. I mean—if you want?”

Bucky’s blue eyes are wide, hopeful as he looks at you. You can’t help smiling. Pizza to end Passover is an old family tradition, one you thought you’d miss out on now that you’re living so far from home. But it’s like Bucky said.

Time to see what works, now that things have changed.

“I want,” you say, and he grins back, smile as bright as the moon.

“To pizza night,” he says, lifting his matzah pizza in a toast.

You bump elbows with him, heart soaring. “To pizza night.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier imagine #becca writes #jewish bucky barnes

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lovesick-dick · 5 years ago

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happy BIRTHDAAAAY MY DARLIIIIING

So you’ve made a mistake. So what! Mistakes happen to everyone! And yeah, some are worse than others, you muse to yourself as you dash along the rotted, dust-filled aisles of the old pizzeria– you do think this one might be at the top of your personal list, although you can hardly spare the brainpower to consider it in-depth right now, considering the catastrophic crashing sounds that are echoing behind you from a rapidly-shortening distance. “God– fuck, shit–” you wheeze, taking a hard corner around an arcade machine and towards a long stretch of hallway, your muscles aching and your lungs burning. You still can’t quite believe what’s chasing you, but you can definitely hear it, calling out after you in a deceptively smooth voice that doesn’t sound so much as lightly winded. “Come on now, don’t be like that!” you hear out of the darkness behind you, “Can’t a guy just get a look at you?” And, no, you think to yourself, he may not. “Stop it!” you bark back over your shoulder, your senseless panic leaving you with few options– you only glance back for just a second, but that second of faltered concentration is all the thing turns out to need. You hear the horrible squeaking, creaking sound of old mechanical parts being forced to move at speed; and then you’re rugby-tackled to the floor by 200 pounds of velvet-covered steel and you slam into the carpet so hard it knocks the breath completely out of you. You gasp, a weak, painful sound, and as a heavy padded paw comes down on the side of your head, pinning you to the floor, you note distractedly that the carpet is damp and slightly sticky underneath your cheek. Gross. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” the thing breathes above the nape of your neck, “That’d be an awful waste. Do you even know– do you have any idea how long I have been alone in here? Wasting away?” You don’t, naturally, but you’re much too scared to say so. You lie there in silence instead, quivering with fear, your heart thundering in your ears, and wait for your attacker to finish the job it started. Not the way you’d ever wanted to go; mauled to death by a goddamn possessed Chuck E. Cheese mascot. You wait. And wait. And the pain doesn’t come. Death doesn’t come. You can hear the massive rabbit shifting above you, hear the alarming strain of whatever rusted metal parts make up its internal mechanisms, but it doesn’t bite you, or break your neck, or whatever you’d been expecting…and eventually, in fact, that paw on the side of your face pulls back a little. “If you run again,” the rabbit warns you, in a low, cool voice that is almost posh, “Then I really will kill you. I don’t want that. You don’t want that. So let’s make the right choice here, and make nice like civilized folks. So hi! I’m– Springtrap.” “Hi,” you reply breathlessly on autopilot. That seems to please the creature somewhat, as that paw on your head finally withdraws all the way, but that great weight still hovers over you like the specter of Death, and you’re not nearly dumb enough to disregard its very blatant warning. Or, his warning. It sounds like a he, anyway, and thinking of him as such helps to humanize him just a little, so you can cling to the hope that he might still be reasoned with. “What’s your name?” “Ben…” “Lovely. Great! Sit up, Ben, I want to see you.” It’s not as if you have a choice. You push yourself up on shaking arms, moving slowly so you don’t spook– what was his name? Springtrap?– and he helpfully eases off of you enough to give you room to sit up. You rub your stinging cheek and look back at your captor as bravely as you can muster. He’s huge. He was big the first time you’d glimpsed him, and he was big when he’d been chasing you, but now, up close, he seems enormous. He’s more than twice your weight in rusted old metal and broken wires, and although his fur seems to have started out as velvet, some time way back in the past, it has since grown threadbare, matted, and gone somewhat to rot. His steel teeth are huge and blunt in his mouth, and the eyes of his…costume burn hollowly with an empty white light. He’s falling apart. There are gaps and chunks missing out of him, exposed wires that seem thankfully dead, half of one ear gone completely– and underneath the prevailing smell of dust and mildew that pervades this place, you can catch from him the lingering scent of old decay. Suitably Halloween-y, your traumatized brain decides. “Hello there.” he says softly. You don’t know if he even has eyelids, but you wish he would blink. “Hi,” you repeat, meekly. …You don’t know what to say. What can you say, in a situation like this? “–Please don’t hurt me,” you eventually blurt out, holding your hands out to him palms-forward, in a gesture of supplication, “I didn’t know anyone was in here, I’m so sorry, I never would have bothered you if I’d known–” Springtrap rocks forward on his haunches like a kangaroo, and your words turn to ash in your mouth. You cut yourself off and flinch away. “I already said I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, and this time he sounds exasperated, a little miffed. His voice gets rougher and more gravelly as he continues on, and you realize that he had been slinging his voice low and soft on purpose, likely to disarm you. Now he’s sounding more like he looks, “I’m glad you came in! I’ve been so alone…so lonely. Come here– don’t run,” he says, and you flinch again as those massive padded paws come forward to cup your face. He’s surprisingly gentle, for how big he is. Each paw seems big enough to crush your head, but all he does is hold you there, your chin in his hands as he leans forward and wedges his big worn-down snout into the join of your neck and shoulder. You jolt and nearly yelp, but you don’t pull away, and so he doesn’t bite you. Instead, he pushes his button nose against your skin, almost hard enough to be uncomfortable, and…sniffs you. Great, gusty, whuffling sniffs, like a big dog, right at your pulse point. It makes all the hair on your body stand on end, even as it makes your cheeks burn strangely. “What are you– doing?” you whisper, wanting to wriggle away but knowing better than to try. You can feel his plastic whiskers bristling underneath your chin. He doesn’t answer. At least, not with words. Another few snuffles against your skin, his paws squeezing your face, your eyes half-closed in fear; and then he goes and moans, and your eyes snap open in shock as you finally wrench your head away to look at him. You cover your neck where he’d been nuzzling in mortification. He looks back at you with those big dead white eyes and you know you’re in trouble. “What–” He pounces. He snaps into motion so fast it’s frightening, going from a complete standstill to a lion-like lunge– his bulk slams into your chest and sends you sprawling again, skidding out onto your back on the carpet, and then his paws come down on your legs with a steely power behind them where they clutch onto you just above your knees, and he yanks your legs open wide. You don’t have the time for more than an offended yipe before he raises your lower half up completely off the floor and shoves his snout right down between your legs, his nose against the zipper of your jeans. “Get– stop– no! Get off!” you exclaim, writhing and kicking and trying to find a way to get purchase enough to shove his head away, but he ignores you like he’s suddenly gone deaf to the world and takes a few more deep breaths of your scent, his mouth hanging open and those blunt, crushing teeth scarcely an inch from a place you do not want them to be. Your face burns, and you can tell you’re flushing all the way from your cheeks to the tips of your ears. Springtrap nudges his muzzle in against you, rubbing, almost nuzzling with a worrying force, and although it certainly doesn’t hurt, his intentions are still very, very clear. “I need this,” you hear– feel– him mutter. You make a little moaning sound in fright (not all fright, shamefully, but with all the adrenaline pumping through your body, what could you really do?), but you can feel his nose grinding along the clothed length of your slit, bumping against your dick, and a tingle starts to build at the base of your spine until he releases you suddenly and yanks you upright by the collar of your shirt. You spend one dizzy moment just trying to get your balance back, and then his paws come down on the backs of your shoulders and push you down so fast you nearly sprawl again. You catch yourself on your hands and knees, and realize his intentions as soon as something smooth and rubbery brushes against the tip of your nose. He’s got a fucking dick. Or, well, of sorts; you’ve owned enough sex toys to recognize a dildo when you see one, and although it’s attached to his pelvis, jutting out of a little fabric slit in his costume, it’s still definitely silicone, and it’s cool and springy when he nudges it against your lip. “Help me out here, help a fella out,” he urges you, and one of his hands slides over to the back of your head before he starts to push again, the lack of room for argument making something shameful and sticky-hot curl low in your belly. “I need this. Open up.” You open your mouth. Again, it’s not like you have a choice. And yes, while you’re not exactly leaping at the chance to suck this monster off, you’re hardly fighting him as hard as you could be either. …It’s not like anyone has to know. You let him slide his silicone dick past your lips and into your mouth, and then immediately have to fight not to choke as his hips buck on what seems to be reflex and a gusty moan drags itself up out of his throat. You swallow around him and try to pull back a little. “Good boy,” he sighs, his awful eyes rolling in his head as he gives you absolutely no time to adjust before starting to rock his hips, “Good boy, good boy. It’s been so LONG– I’m usually more, mmh, of a gentleman,” he continues, and you get the distinct feeling that that is a lie. It’s not important, anyway, when you’re bracing your hands on his hips and trying to push him back to give you a little room to breathe. It doesn’t work. He doesn’t back off. He moves relatively slowly, grinding his dick back and forth along your tongue, but for what he lacks in pace he makes up for in sheer size, and with each roll of his hips he pushes himself a little farther down into your throat, an insistent nudging that makes your eyes begin to water. It’s only taken seconds, and you’re already in way over your head. You hate that you like it. You like it kind of an awful lot. Inch after inch of silicone presses down your throat, his body creaking as he rocks against you, your heart pounding as you try to steal breaths when you can, and Springtrap musses your hair and tries to pull with big clumsy paws while he pants like he’s running a marathon. Evidently, he wasn’t lying about how long it’s been. It takes some time, and it takes some doing, but eventually he manages to manhandle you all the way down to length of his cock, eight or so inches of him rutting into your throat, and he only stops pushing once your lips are brushing the swell of what can only be some kind of knot. You choke a little and drool down the length of him, tears burning your eyes, and Springtrap makes a satisfied sound in his chest and then lets you slide back a little, giving you a chance to catch a few breaths before he starts to move your head up and down on him again. If you had the breath to manage a moan, you probably would have– it’s mortifying, it’s probably sickening, but the way this creature is treating you like some kind of helpless toy is making you wet in a way that you’re sure is going to soak through your boxers, and you can’t help but wiggle your hips to try and alleviate that pressure a little bit. Springtrap huffs and puffs and picks up speed until he’s finally fucking your throat full-out, and all you can do is make broken little sounds and hope he doesn’t try to wedge that fist-sized knot of his into your mouth too. You’re not sure how long he keeps you like that. There’s no clock, there’s no way to tell the time, and you can’t even look up; all you have is his whining and grunting and the endless thrusting that makes your jaw ache from being held open so wide. Your drool dampens the fur at his crotch, and your own arousal makes your boxers stick to you uncomfortably. When he eventually, finally releases you, he does so with as little warning as he had started with, and all but pulls you off of him to push you back to the floor, leaving you to cough and wipe the tears from your face while he lifts your legs into the air again. “Enough foreplay,” he growls, and this time his voice is scary, a hollow metal roar that makes you want to cover your ears. His expression is an ever-static smile, and you can’t tell how roughly he intends to treat you. You don’t even spare the time to worry or care. Your hands fly down again, but this time, instead of pushing against him to get away, you fumble for your button and zipper and tug your jeans open for him, much to what appears to be his surprise. “Oh, fuck me,” you whine through gritted teeth as you try to kick your pants off, and you watch his one good ear perk straight up into the air like an exclamation point while the ragged half of the other can only wobble to the side. Big, soft paws help to pull your pants away, and Springtrap leers down at you like he’s seeing you in a brand-new light. He looks almost wondering. “Really?” he asks, cocking his enormous head to the side. He sounds like he’s smiling, and as you tug your boxers down and throw the sticky fabric to the side, his pleasure only seems to grow. “Well, Benny boy! I gotta say, you’re not what I expected! Am I not the only one who’s been so lonely? –Oh, look at you. You’re soaked!” he praises you. You’re too wound-up to actively take the time to bask in that praise, but you do mentally file it away for future use. A lot of future use. “Springs– uh, Springtrap,” you mutter, your head feeling a bit fuzzy as you wiggle free of his paws just long enough to shuffle over to him, “Please– fuck, I’m so–” “Needy? Slutty? Desperate?” he teases you, but eagerly helps you along as you clamber up onto him and push him into a sitting position against the wall. You only moan an affirmative, and that makes him laugh, a charmless sound like an old swing set creaking. His paws slide down to cup your ass and dig into your cheeks. “I like you, Ben,” he says roughly, “I like you very much.” To be honest, you think the sentiment might be kind of returned. “Please,” you say again, positioned splay-legged on his lap with his cock jutting up between the two of you, strangely warm and still slick with your drool, “Give it to me hard.” And that’s playing with fire, you think, as he lifts you up like you weigh absolutely nothing and positions you to nudge the head of his cock against your soaking wet pussy– but then he slides his tip along you, finds your entrance and dips in, and then, oh, then all thoughts fly out of your head as his paws shudder where they hold you and he drops you down with a grunt. You distantly hear someone making a sound, a pitiful, broken keening sound, and only realize it’s you once it gets loud enough to make an echo in the empty hall. Just like before, he didn’t waste time or ease into it. He’d literally dropped you down onto him, letting gravity do his work, and so his entire length forces itself into you and stretches you achingly wide all at once as you come down on him with a wet smack against the bulge of his knot (that, at least, remains outside you for now). “Aahh! Ahh, aahh, gghh– fuck!” you gasp, your eyes screwing shut tight and your mouth falling open as you’re forced down on him, your fingers digging into his matted fur and your pussy squeezing down on him as you attempt to adjust to his size. It almost hurts, so suddenly, almost but not quite, and the ache of the stretch is heavenly, makes you arch your back and drop your head against his chest as he moans long and loud in your ear. “Fucking– shit, shit you’re tight!” he exclaims, that posh accent all but lost under the heat in his voice. He bounces you a little, getting used to the feeling of you taking his length like a perfect little sleeve, and each tiny jolt makes you squeak and squeal into his fur with the sensation. “Springtrap!” “Ohh, say it again!” he breathes against your temple, his head craned low. He starts to lift and rock you, careful enough, at least, to work you open a little before he starts to really move, but you can feel the way his cock throbs inside you like he’s something actually alive, and it makes you squirm in his grasp with the need to get railed. There is no breath in his chest, but he makes sounds like he’s panting. “Springtrap, Springtrap,” you repeat, no longer as scared of him as you probably should be as you roll your hips and feel his girth stretch you out in all the right ways, “Don’t tease, I need– please–” Pitiful? Yes, absolutely? Slutty? Indubitably. You’re begging the monster that accosted you to fuck you within an inch of your life, and you don’t feel the least bit sorry about it, not when he bounces you again and his knot pushes smack up against your dick in a way that makes your toes curl. He’s already bigger than any of your toys, and the practical promise of that extra bulge stretching you open even further destroys what little patience you had for adjusting in the first place. “Say it,” you hear him grunt, his legs shifting so he can brace his feet flat against the floor. He trembles slightly with the effort of keeping still, his paws kneading at your ass, but he holds out for the allure of making you beg for it– which, to be honest, you probably would have done anyway. So you beg. You beg him to fuck you, to fuck you hard, to use you like a toy and knot your tight cunt and make you cry from it– and if the ragged, needless inhale he gives in response is any indication, he’s exactly as incensed about it as you are. There’s just no time to gloat before his self-control snaps like a frayed thread and he moves to wrap his arms around you in a crushing hug as he finally starts to thrust up into you, at an instant feverish pace that makes your whole body jolt in his lap. And yes, yes, god, that’s what you’d wanted. That’s what you needed; the furious whack of his hips against yours, rutting his fat cock into you over and over again with zero regard for pacing or care. He treats you like some kind of fucktoy, exactly as you’d asked, and his snarl is a strange, tinny animal sound as he fucks you open on him, your cunt squeezing hard on him in a way that would betray your pleasure even if your bouncing voice didn’t. “You’re such a slut, Benny boy,” you hear him mutter, with transparent glee, “A dripping, needy slut! Do you let– rrrghn– all the monsters fuck you this way? You take it like you do!” And that should mortify you, that should make you angry, but all those crude words actually do is make you whimper into his shoulder and try to push your hips down to meet him, thrust for thrust. That in no way escapes his notice. “Holy shit,” he chuckles, his voice rising up high and giddy, “You like that? Huh? You like it when I’m mean?” He throbs hard inside you, evidently as much into teasing you as you are into taking it, and he slows down to swivel his hips in a circle until he finds a spot that makes you cry out loud, your breath hitching as heat coils tight in your belly. “Go on, say it. Admit that you’re a cockslut,” he demands, grinding hard against that sweet spot until you claw and writhe, and you break down with something like a sob as you obediently beg into his fur. “I’m– I’m a cockslut! I’m a needy cockslut– Springtrap! I need– hah, fuck, fuckfuck please I need your– knot–” “Beautiful,” he moans, low and slow beneath your begging. “Gooood boy, Benny. You’re so– tight– here, take it, take it,” he grunts, releasing you from his crushing embrace to grab your thighs and spread you wider, his eyes heavily lidded as he lifts you up again and drops you hard onto him. He keeps you held open like that as he ruts up into you, his knot an insistent pressure that pushes against your tight pussy, and you squirm, whimpering, as each rough slap of his hips opens you up just a little more, closer and closer to taking it. You’re nearly drooling at this point from the hard, thumping rhythm, fitfully grinding yourself down in an attempt to help him along, and your neglected dick aches to be touched, if you could muster the brainpower to remember how to move your arms. Springtrap keeps up the pace, the mechanisms that make up his body creaking alarmingly, and then he slams you down one final time and holds you there, splayed out on him, as he humps and grinds in harsh little movements, until, with a slow, aaaching stretch– The swell of his knot finally slides into you with a squelch and a pop, and the fat bulge of it forces your cunt open wider than you’ve ever felt in your life, every single inch of you stuffed full of throbbing cock and locked into place around it. Springtrap makes a single, harsh bark of sound, and you wrap your arms around his neck and cling on for dear life as your orgasm hangs on that very edge of breaking. It’s so big, your legs are shaking, tears brimming in your eyes for the second time that night, and you bounce mindlessly against him to no avail, desperately trying to push yourself over. You’re not sure he’s budging so much as an inch. “Springs, Springs, Springs, Springtrap!” you babble, pleading for him to help you cum, and you’re not sure if it’s just reflex or something else that drives him to actually take in your cries and fumble to assist you. One of his paws slides down to your lower back, holding you steady, and the other wedges itself between the two of you to feel for where you’re locked together with clumsy digits, wet velvet prodding your dripping pussy. He manages to find your dick by the way you whimper when he slides over it, and then he makes a sound that’s so satisfied it’s almost a purr as he takes mercy on you and grinds down on it hard, in quick little circles. “Cum on it,” he orders you breathlessly, moving his hips like he wants to thrust even though he can’t– and the addition of his soft paw pad on your dick is all it takes to send you over the edge, with a fire-light building of tension that tenses every muscle in your body as it breaks. You wail when you cum around his knot, so stretched out that your cunt can do little more than twitch around its girth as he pulses inside of you. The silky-soft clench of you around his cock must feel just as good for Springtrap, too, because his foot thumps twice, hard, as you squeeze down on him, yanking at his short fur with your pleasure– and then his cock throbs, once, twice, and he’s chasing you off that edge with a surprisingly weak moan of his own. His cum is cool when it splashes into you, deep into your stuffed pussy with nowhere else to go, and distantly you can feel your body twitching as he spurts into you, your orgasm kindled and further drawn out by the pulsing sensation. You keep on cumming, and cumming, whimpering pathetically with each fitful clench around him… And by the time you’ve continued on over to the edge of overstimulated, by the time he finally stops, you can look down at yourself through teary eyes and see the slight bulge in your belly made by the creampie he’s just given you. Holy…fucking…shit. Buzzing with the pleasure and bone-deep exhaustion of afterglow, you stay slumped against Springtrap for indeterminate minutes, shivering, and listen to him mutter nonsense against the crook of your neck while his knot slowly goes down. It’s only when he finally shifts enough to pull himself out of you that you finally stir again, whimpering as he pops out of you with a wet squelch and a flood of cum gushes out of your over-sensitive pussy. It’s a bizarre, glowing green where it drools out of you and onto Springtrap’s lap and the carpet below, and you blink blearily at it for a few moments before collapsing back against him again, too satisfied and sleepy to bother with anything else. You don’t know if you’d even be able to walk after that. You definitely don’t have the energy to find out. You feel like you’ve actually been fucked stupid. “I…needed that,” you hear Springtrap breathe, his paws rubbing down your back, brushing through your hair, and you muster the energy to sleepily nod and smile against his chest in agreement, dozily petting his fur. This turned out as an excellent Halloween after all.

#BABE HOLY *SHIT*#**JESUS CHRIST HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY TO ME**#AAAAAAAAAAAAH THIS IS SO GOOD #WORDS CANNOT EXPLAIN HOW FUCKING FFLUSTERED I AM RIGHT NOW AAAAAAH #submission

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