#man walking through the streets at night just to let a bomb in his neighbor mailbox. completely normal and unsuspicious

[sfiltron]

I'm playing Stardew Valley and Kent just send me a fucking big bomb through the mail 😭

[k8fics]

Ruined Legacy

My Way to Freedom

summary: Based off “My Way” by Frank Sinatra; Joel & Ellie find a curled up woman in a farmhouse with a freshly dead guy outside — Episode 1 of the ‘Ruined Tragedy’

rating: R - just reader’s backstory & character building (my bad), some joel splattered in there tho, she cannot catch a break, abusive/toxic relationship (not joel), murder, brutally killings, dead parents, captivity (kinda? idk man), thoughts of suicide, cussing, hopefully that’s all

And now the end is near

And so I face the final curtain

I still remember how my mother woke me up that night; tears streamed down her face, and her entire body shook. How she frantically grabbed my hand, pulled me towards the basement door, sat me down on the cold ground, and told me to wait down there while she received a call for help from my father.

I still remember how I stared at the small window, covered by the dusty curtain. How the lights from the outside world showed through the glass, the orange hues, the flashes of car lights, the shadows of people’s feet running away.

I still remember waking up down there. This time, my parents were with me, arguing over each other. My mother paced with her arms flailing out, my father leaning on the concrete wall with his arms crossed.

“We can’t just leave! You heard the TV, we’re instructed to stay inside!” She yelled.

“And you saw what’s out there. We have to get out of here, who knows if they’ll start bombing again.” He said calmly. She only sighed in response, stopping and looking directly at me.

I stayed silent, still acting like I’m asleep. But she could tell I was awake. Mom always could tell. She walked over to me, with a smile. Although, the smile was fake. I could tell she was scared.

She put her hands on my face, I leaned into her. “Hey, baby... We gotta go, let’s start packing.” She said, pulling me up.

As I walked to my room, and she walked to hers, I looked out the window. Your neighbor’s house still burning from the night before, the ground covered in blood and ash. The world has gone to complete shit.

My friend, I’ll say it clear

I’ll state my chase of which I’m certain

“Who the fuck are you?”

Your thoughts were interrupted by a gravelly voice. You looked up to see a girl and a man. You glanced around to see you were in the same room you had been stewing in for the past day.

You opened your mouth to speak, lips cracked from the lack of moisture. “..I stay here.” You stated, not in the most cohesive terms though.

The man still had his gun pointed at you, looking at you and then at your surroundings. “So why is there a freshly dead guy on your porch?” It was like he was a detective investigating you. Although, a detective’s attitude would be less intimidating than his.

“I killed him.”

I’ve lived a life that’s full

I travelled each and every highway

And more, much more than this

I did it my way

My father was always a survivalist. He taught me how to make a fire out of sticks, how to hunt — even when I was begging him not to make me shoot an innocent creature, — and, starting last year, how to defend myself.

He said something about ‘it was better to be prepared and nothing happen than to be unprepared and have something happen.’ I guess he was right, at least we’re prepared. Though, I don’t think he expected his 16-year-old daughter to be using these skills so soon.

After the first month of walking through decaying neighborhoods, buildings, and streets, I was put on map duty. I didn’t mind it, it helped me think. I didn’t want to think about who and what was lost, how all my friends were gone, how my life and future were ruined.

Regrets I’ve had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exception

The walking was the worst part, and although the pain in my feet was unbearable, the pain of walking away from the only life I’ve ever known hurt more. I wished I could have told that guy in my 3rd period I liked him, I wished I told my friends I loved them more, and I wished I could be with them without my parents grieving my death.

I wish I didn’t have to kill. Even though it was only a few, it kept me up at night. I would close my eyes and only see their bloodied faces. I would fall asleep and see them beside me.

I tried so hard to not let it get to me. I had to do it. If not for them, it would’ve been me. Maybe it would’ve been me.

I planned each chartered course

Each careful step along the byway

And more, much more than this

I did it my way

My parents met Tim as they were going on a supply run while we were stationed at an old house. He had been staying in the overgrown convenient store tending to his wounds when they came in.

Dad said the man didn’t even put his gun up just kept his hands above his hands. Mom said he showed them a bunch of supplies that hadn’t expired. They said he was a good man.

I had just planned our next ‘trip’ when they brought him. He was pushy and, honestly, very arrogant. Even if he didn’t show it around my parents. He wasn’t ugly, but I had no attraction toward him.

“I guess he’s just not my type.” I told my mom when she asked why I didn’t ‘give him a chance.’

She laughed at my response, “Well honey, just give him a chance. It’s been 6 years since you went on a date-“

Before she could speak further I interrupted her, “Yeah Mom, 6 years since the world went to shit. I don’t need some guy to protect me, you know? I have you guys for that.”

And she laughed. God, I missed her laugh.

Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew

It had only been a few months since Tim joined us. I could see something was wrong with him. His eyebrows were always furrowed like he was trying to figure out the hardest math problem. His jaw clenched when my dad talked to him, sometimes I thought he was going to hit him.

To my dismay, he was much pushier. He would constantly want to be around me, he would always go with me on my runs, and, worst of all, he would not stop asking me out.

After the tenth time that week, I had enough. “Where would you take me out to, Tim? What? The woods? The old diner down the street that’s infested with the infected? Oh! Or do you want to go to the shed by the creek where the clickers are?” I said, no yelled.

His face changed completely. The cocky smile contorted into the same expression that scared me throughout these months. “You’re going to regret saying that.” That’s all he said before walking towards his place of residency for the time being.

Later that night, I woke up to several grunts and pleas. As I tried to move my hands up to rub my face, I realized that my body had been attached to a rope wrapped around a tree. I looked around at my surroundings, I was outside in an open area in the woods. In front of me were my parents in the same predicament as myself.

I called for them. They didn’t respond, both of them looking off to the side. I turned my head as much as I could to see what they were looking at. To my shock, it was Tim standing there. Leaned up on a tree, axe in hand. When I called for him instead, that’s when all three of them turned to look at me.

My mom looked like she had been crying for hours. My father looked furious, a face I hadn’t seen in a long time, his face was bruised and bloody. His right eye was swollen shut and his nose bleeding. Tim looked the opposite, he was clean like he had taken a shower moments before, although, his knuckles were bleeding, and his face. God, he looked ecstatic.

He walked over to me, his axe still gripped tightly in his hand. He looked down at me before placing a hand on my face. I flinched, his face looked like it did that afternoon prior.

“You should’ve just except my fucking date. Now, look at what you made me do.” He said.

I shook my head, “Please... My sorry, please don’t do this.” I pled, but all he did was walk over to my parents.

I scream at him for what felt like an eternity but his back still faced me. He only looked at me when he got in the face of my mother. When I looked into his eyes, I knew he wasn’t going to stop, no matter what I did.

I watched him kill them both with the axe. I couldn’t protect them. I could only cry. The most undeserving deaths. Just for what? A date?

He came over to me quickly after killing them both. I had stared at their corpses for so long that I hadn’t noticed him cutting the rope. I ran to them as soon as I was free. Not long after, he came after me.

But through it all when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all and I stood tall

And did it my way

I remember when Tim took me from my home. The way he would talk about my parents was like they were some problem in my life. How I didn’t need them, I was too old anyways. It felt like he was jealous of it all, that I had my family and he didn’t. I found sympathy in him, in a way.

‘Maybe it’s the Stockholm Syndrome kicking in.’ I would think. But then again, he murdered my parents because I wouldn’t date him. Who the fuck does that.

One time I brought it up to him, which landed me on the ground with a hard punch in the face. I didn’t talk for the rest of our travel.

One year later, he found a farmhouse. It was impressive, basically taken out of a Hallmark movie. Though my impression of it changed when I got to the children’s rooms, it didn’t take long for him to start commenting about how we should ‘fill them up.’ Fucking disgusting.

I’ve loved, I’ve laughed, and cried

I’ve had my fill, my share of losing

After 13 years of being here, I learned to live — or survive as I like to call it — with him. Sure, I tried to escape a few times, but it never worked out in my favor.

The first time I left, I was gone for a week. I lived in the woods, trying to find some haven which was harder than it looked, considering I didn’t have any access to a map or any weapons. Tim confiscated everything on me the day we left my parents’ rotting bodies.

He found me curled up behind a tree, facing a creek. Fighting him never worked. No amount of self-defense could ever get him down without a weapon. He was bigger than me, and when a stick didn’t work, I gave up.

All the escapes after had been futile, he had set up traps in the woods close to the house, knowing I couldn’t walk on the trail without him seeing me on his day-night searches.

He wanted me to be a stay-at-home-whatever-the-fuck. So fucking be it. I won’t lie, I played the part as much as I could. Whatever would get him to leave me alone. It didn’t work sometimes, but it did for the most part.

So I “loved” him. If love is making him food, cleaning his messes, cleaning his clothes, and letting him hug me.

I laughed at his stupid jokes that I had heard a million times before this shit show.

I cried at night when I had to share a bed with him. Feeling guilty that I couldn’t do anything about this predicament, that I couldn’t find a single sharp thing that could kill him or myself.

And now, as tears subside

I find it all so amusing

He left early that day, earlier than usual. When I woke up he was gone, only leaving a note saying he had gone on another supply run. I scoffed as if we don’t have enough.

I barely know where he goes these days, you would think after all these years, he had found every single store or house, but I guess not.

As I walked to the kitchen, I noticed something abnormal on the table designated for Tim’s backpack. It was a fucking knife.

‘He must’ve left it there when he was searching through it.’ I thought. “Dumbass.” That was all I said before quickly grabbing the handle and pocketing it.

Soon after I was done making eggs — still don’t know where he gets the eggs from, he could’ve at least told me that — he came back. I gave him a short greeting before putting the two plates on the table and sitting down. He sat down next to me, both of us not uttering a single word. It was nice, the silence.

I got up as soon as I was done, cleaning off my plate. Before I could leave, I was entrapped by his arms, pulling me into his chest. I scowl, still not used to touching the horrendous man.

“I love you.” He said. “I-“ Before he could speak any further, I reached behind me and stabbed him the first place I could reach, his left shoulder.

He released me and stumbled away, giving me time to run to the door. As soon as I unlocked and opened the door, I was pushed to the ground, landing on my back onto the dirt in the front yard. Tim was on top of me, panting heavily, his blood and spit dripping down onto my face. I struggled with him as his hands tried to find a way to my neck.

My hands faltered for a millisecond, allowing him to wrap his hands around my neck. I fought with him once more, arms and legs flailing, trying to get him off of me. My attempts were futile. The harder I fought, the harder he gripped my neck.

He smiled menacingly when he saw me losing strength, “You spoiled fucking bitch. After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you're fucking repaying me? Stabbing me with my knife?” He screamed in my face, as I sobbed and kicked.

I accepted my fate, me dying in the hands of the man that has made my life miserable, at least he would leave me alone now. “I should’ve killed you right in front of your mama and daddy.” He said.

Something snapped in me. Sure, maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was the hatred I consumed for him for years. But I like to think my parents wanted me to avenge their deaths.

To think I did all that

And may I say, not in a shy way

Oh no, oh no, not me

I did it my way

As soon as my right hand felt the unfamiliar, cold object, I quickly grabbed it and hit him once in the head with as much force as I could gain. He was on the ground instantaneously. I got up on her feet taking a few breaths before pulling myself into a defensive position. My hands up and set on the metal pipe securely, eyes focused on the battered man’s wheezing form.

To my surprise, he stayed on the ground, back facing me as he groaned in pain. I stepped closer and kicked him in his backside. “Fucking look at me, you coward.” I snarled, “Look at what you fucking did to me!” I screamed at him, kicking him once more.

This time he decided to look at me. Eyes moving towards me away from the afternoon sky, “Please, Y/N. Don’t do this to me, baby.” He pled with me. And for a second, I thought about letting him go, but I knew that wouldn’t stop him from trying to find me. This had to end.

I took one step towards his battered body before speaking, “I fucking trusted you. My parents trusted you, and you murdered them like it was nothing! You wanted me to think it was nothing!” I screamed, letting out every single emotion I had felt throughout these years. “I have hated you ever since that night. You didn’t fucking save me! You’re a murdering waste of space.” I admitted.

“I saved you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his statement. “You didn’t save me. You ruined me.” I said, before hitting him again. I repeated myself once more before hitting him again for good measure.

For what is a man, what has he got?

If not himself, then he has naught

When I was done, the man was unrecognizable. His face caved in, bruises showed through the cracks of his clothes, and dirt covered most of his backside. I looked at the body for what felt like an eternity.

I didn’t drop the pipe in her hand until she made herself back inside the house. Closing the door behind me, walking to the kitchen where I once was. I picked up the knife that Tim had pulled out of his arm, placing it in my back pocket.

I looked around the house, an eery silence following me. As glad as I was that he was gone, the loneliness crept behind me. Not that I’d miss that ugly son of a bitch anyways.

My hands darted to the bags that he had left when he departed, quickly going up to them and ripping them open. There wasn’t much for me, Tim was quite a hoarder. He collected unnecessary things. The bag was no different, besides the cans of food and water bottles, the rest was unneeded random objects. Multiple different pans, silverware, and cups. Clothes that would neither fit him nor myself.

I glanced at his backpack that was left on the table, I aggressively grabbed it and looked through it. For whatever reason, he never let me look through it. Something about him sharing everything with me and he deserved privacy. It was laughable considering that he would do monthly checks of the house looking for secret hiding places where I would put my plans of escape.

I completely emptied the bag, object sprawling all over the ground. I rummaged through them, I stopped when I found a piece of jewelry. “Fucking bastard.” I cursed. It was my mom’s, she said one day, it would be mine. Some kind of generation gift I guess.

When I looked further, I found more of my things from so long ago. It was surprising that he kept all these things but wanted me to let go of all of them, even my parents.

I found my old diary, the mp3 player my dad gave me, and a dusty picture of my family that I had kept under my pillow when my parents were still alive. I called him a bunch of insults before picking up what you wanted and packing them into the, once Tim’s, book bag.

Before I started packing my clothes, I passed a mirror and stopped. I inspected myself, my face covered in his blood, my hands still red from the cold pipe outside, and possibly from Tim’s blood.

I rubbed my face, expecting it to come off easily but it had dried faster than I had originally thought. I rubbed more aggressively, eyes tearing up, whispering, “You ruined me.”

To say the things he truly feels

And not the words of one who kneels

The record shows I took the blows

“Tim was a bad man who murdered my parents,” At that the man’s hold on the gun falters, but still stands his ground, “and kidnapped me. I tried to escape, he tried to strangle me, and I killed him with a pipe.” You summarized.

The girl behind the man sighed, “Joel put the gun down, she doesn’t even have a weapon on her.” She tried to convince him.

You made a face, “Actually, there’s a knife in my back pocket.” You said, making them both turn to look at you.

The man, seemingly named Joel, sighed, “Stand up.” You quickly followed his orders. He reached behind you and smoothly grabbed the knife from your pocket, hands brushing over your ass. “Alright, I believe ya. But I saw that guy’s body, I know what you’re capable of. Do you wanna go somewhere else?” He asks, hovering over you for a few seconds after he stopped talking. He took you in before backing away.

“Only if I get to keep the pipe.” You bargained.

Joel scoffed, “Here’s the deal; I’ll keep the pipe safe until we can trust you, 'kay?”

“Deal.”

And did it my way

-

jesus christ this is so long y’all… hopefully grammarly does me justice bc i’m not reading all of this 😭

[drabblecat]

Yandere!Heisenberg x F!Reader Part 1

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: Kidnapping, yandere behavior

This is part one and it is fairly tame, but next chapter and the rest (however many that is) will be very NSFW for sure! Just an idea that I had and needed to set the scene first.

(requests open)

Running a rag across the bar, you cleaned the remaining spills of the night. The pub’s radio crackling in the background as you finished your shift. You couldn’t be too picky after moving to the small town, and jobs were hard to find. There of course were openings as maids and other help in the castle nearby, but that thing gave you the creeps. Not to mention living where you work would be a questionable way to create a work/life balance. Hanging up your apron and placing it on the hook you made your way to the door.

“Have a nice night newbie!” The pub owner’s burly voice called to you from the back, finishing up the dishes from the last of the dinner rush. He was a nice man, no wife or kids, but to be honest was a caring enough person to be a father figure. Like hell you’d ever admit that. Besides the town drunks you had yet to meet a truly miserable person here. The people that did cause a scene were often thrown out and you never happened to run into them again. Perhaps in such a small town everyone knows everyone, and reputation has to be maintained.

Checking your watch, it was almost one in the morning. Nothing is open right now, but hopefully you could pick up fresh bread tomorrow morning. You told the baker about always having a hard time shopping and they were nice enough to allow you to ask them to set your order aside. Snow boots padded softly on the snowy stone path, just the light of nearby houses lighting the way. People said it was dangerous to walk around at night alone, but you never came to any harm. You carried a knife hidden in an inner pocket of your coat, but you only even brought that with you being worried about any of the wildlife you might encounter. The reason everyone was so scared to walk alone at night was supposedly to horrible howls they all heard. All things considered that was reasonable. The village was near large patches of wilderness for hunting, and having wolfs, bears, and other creatures is normal. You wouldn’t call any of those animals ‘horrendous beasts’, but drunks at the bar trying to scare you might.

Reaching your door finally you pulled the large metal key out of your pocket. As nice as the old style door looked, the key was a pain in the ass to carry around constantly. Your house wasn’t much, but it fit your needs. First thing you did was place your watch and keys in the bowl by the entryway. It was always easier to follow that habit than to be constantly looking for where you put it. Deciding that a bath was just the right thing for your aching feet, you went to run the bath. After filling the clawfoot tub just enough and topping it all off with a lavender bath bomb, you put your towel on the rack. As you gently lowered yourself down, the warmth of the water melted away your soreness. It was moments like this you loved, nothing to do but let yourself get lost in thought. You worked nights mostly, so there was no need to set an early alarm.

A good amount of time had passed when you heard a small bang coming from the kitchen. Alarmed you got out of the bath, quickly patted yourself off, and wrapped a towel around yourself. You didn’t see anything right away, but after looking closer your watch was now on the floor. Picking it up you looked it over, the glass was fine, but the leather strap had a few scratches near the end. Must have been those damn mice! They have been such a problem lately, it must have been those little thieves for sure. Last week it was your homemade cookies, a few days ago they had completely shredded a thank you card one of the locals had given you. Honestly, if you weren’t on such a tight budget as it was you’d consider getting the biggest cat you can possibly adopt.

A shudder ran down your dripping wet body as a gust of cool night air came through to interrupt your internal rant. Looking to the shutters they were once again open and flapping in the wind. You would blame their inability to latch on the mice too, but you knew it was just your reluctance to call a handy man and actually get it fixed. Realizing you were in nothing but a towel, you made haste to shut them, if the neighbors were going to get to see anything they should at least pay.

“Go off to a quaint village they said. It’ll be a relaxing life, they said…” grumbling you headed towards the bedroom to finally get some sleep. Slipping on a nightgown that went down just to your knees and tucking yourself into bed, you drifted slowly off to sleep. A distant howl barely audible echoed in the night.

You awoke with a start, eyes slamming open as screams filled the air. You got out of bed as quick as you could. Stumbling into the kitchen and slipping on your boots and coat before opening the door to see what the hell was going on. Immediately you were met with the sight of your neighbor’s neck being torn by a horrendous zombie-werewolf type creature that only barely resembled a man. You were told briefly of the place to go should some emergency happen. Without having time to think about it, your feet were already running towards the supposed safe spot. Bodies littered the street as you ran, the baker, the old woman… you stopped in your tracks. Although torn he was still recognizable, it was your boss, the one man who was kind enough to give you a position so you could get your new life started. Judging by his uniform he hadn’t even made it home after closing.

Before even coming to terms with this revelation, your leg was tugged out from under you. Falling onto the stone path you instinctively grabbed the knife stashed in your coat and stabbed the creature directly in its eyes several times. The creature stood, grabbing its face as it became blinded. Taking the opportunity, you booked it out of there. The house was now in your line of sight, the main gates wide open. With a sudden gust the gates slammed shut, a chain like a snake wrapped its way around sealing it shut. Still, you had to try, pulling on the gates with all your might but to no avail. Tears ran down your face as you fell to your knees. Not even the freezing snow on your bare skin could snap you out of this nightmare.

“Too bad, you almost made it! But don’t worry hun, I’ll take care of you now.” A deep voice came from above you. Slowly you tilted your head and were met with one of the town lords you had heard about, Heisenberg. Just as you had registered his face, the chain on the fence shot out and wrapped around your neck. Desperately your hands flew to your neck, helplessly clawing at the metal snake until your vision went blurry and darkness enveloped you.

“Sleep tight sweetheart…”

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

Before opening your eyes, the smell of a garage hit your senses. Judging by what feel alone you could tell you were on a bed of some sort. Slowly you opened your eyes. It was a dimly lit bedroom, the bed you were on was more comparable to a cot and the sheets looked stained. Peering at your leg, you saw it was wrapped in bandages exactly where the beast had grabbed you, and a chain that connected your leg to a bed post.

“Well good morning sunshine! Sleep well? Quite the excitement you had last night huh?” the mattress shifted as the man sat down at the foot of the bed.

“Heisenberg?” Your voice was quite and unsure, still shaken from the memories of the night.

“So you have heard of me, great! And I certainly know you, known you for a while now.”

“What the hell…” you sat up quickly in bed and pushed yourself as far back as you could away from the man. Almost immediately the chain moved, pulling you down the bed. He towered over top of you, hand coming down next to your head. Chuckling he used his other hand to caress your cheek, rough thumb brushing across your lower lip.

“Don’t be trying to run like that, I know this is new and all but what’s the alternative? I send you back out there to get eaten alive? Don’t be foolish, I’m here to take care of you after all.” Looking into his glasses you saw your own face in their reflection, you knew that deep down this was only the beginning of the nightmare.

[yourfangirlfriend]

It’s Nothing Serious

Chapter One

Multi-chapter if enough interest

Rating: E!

Summary: Well, your new neighbor certainly knows how to entertain his guests

It’s not serious

At least, not enough that you’d complain. It’s just sex. And it’s not unbearably loud. Honestly, you’re happy someone is having a good time. Unlike his bedroom (and, from the sound of it, his couch, his kitchen island, his front door), yours has been woefully quiet since you moved in. So, even though it’s annoying, those nights you can’t sleep and you’re staring up at the ceiling as the muffled moans and groans echo through the wall, you have to think:

Good for her.

Maybe it’s not a conventional way to learn your neighbor’s name, but after a week sharing a wall you’re pretty confident it’s Javi. Javier, if the woman he’s entertaining is feeling particularly formal. You’ve never seen him – heard him plenty, sure – but what little glimpses you almost catch are always just as he’s disappearing into his apartment or out the door. You’re not sure what you’d say, anyway – hey, I’m your neighbor, you have quite the voluminous orgasm – so you don’t make an effort to introduce yourself. Besides, if your shared wall is anything to go by, he seems quite busy.

Still, that doesn’t stop you from imagining it. You haven’t had time to meet many men since you moved down to begin your teaching job, and you haven’t made enough friends to go out with and find some. So, your first few months are just you, your hand, and what inspiration leaks through the walls you are increasingly becoming convinced are made of rice paper. You’re not proud of it, but it’s a healthier stress reliever than the cigarettes in your purse or the tequila you keep in your kitchen. Besides, if he was worried about someone listening, he could move his fucking bed. Or at least put a sock or something between the wall and the headboard.

One night though, you’re reckless. It’s been a particularly rough day at the school – how do you tell a bunch of kids some of their classmates died in a bombing? – and you’ve drunk your dinner and smoked dessert. Now you’re on your bed, hand down the front of your trousers, fingering yourself like a virgin trying to break their hymen so prom night won’t be a disaster. Behind you, Javier – well, Javi! tonight – is absolutely wrecking some lucky woman. Luckily, she doesn’t have that breathy baby voice the girl Saturday had, and every sound that came from the two of them was enough for you to lose yourself in the fantasy. It’s probably – well, that and the alcohol, the insane amount of stress and just a general lack of shits to give – why you let out such a loud moan when you finally cum on your fingers, unaware that your vocal contribution was not, as you assumed it would be, covered by the sounds coming from the next room, and instead cut through the rare silence that interspersed your neighbor’s rounds. It's only when you’ve come down from your high that you snap back up with the shattering realization that they definitely heard you.

The shame is multiplied in the morning, when your head is aching you sleep past your alarm. You try to shove it down, along with what little stomach contents you have left, as you pull your work clothes on and rush towards the door, a black heel in your hand as you turn the doorknob and rush outside. You lock the door before bracing against it to put your shoe on, your messy bun flopping forward when you see a pair of blue jeans and shoes standing in front of his own door.

Of course it’s today.

With your shoe secure, you stand back up and make eye contact with the subject of your masturbation sessions for the past three months. You two stand there for a moment, taking the other in. Annoyingly, he is good-looking. You’re somewhat lost in his eyes a bit before you catch yourself, and remember you’ve got fifteen minutes before a class full of eight-year-olds are left in a room with no supervision, scissors, and a very old and anxious pet hamster.

“Good morning, Javier,” you say before you can stop yourself. His eyebrows raise in surprise as you make a b-line for the doors, throwing them open and walking your burning face outside.

Maybe, deep down, you wanted this to happen. You never smoke outside your building, especially not once you got that window seat set up. Still, here you are at 5:30 pm standing outside your apartment complex smoking your second cigarette. You’re not sure if he’s home already, or held up doing whatever he does, but you still feel the desire to try. So you take another long drag and lean your head back, exhaling the puff of smoke into the sky above.

You jump when the door behind you swings open and there he is, his own cigarette caught between his lips. He doesn’t notice you at first, too concentrated on lighting the end. After a few attempts, he sighs and shoves the lighter back into his pocket.

“Need a light?” You ask.

He looks up and regards you for the second time that day. You extend your hand out, offering the cheap red lighter you bought from a corner shop your first night here. He hesitates a moment before reaching out and taking it from you.

You take a drag, considering his profile as he sparks up. You like his nose in particular and the way his dark eyes focus on the simple task at hand. You’re so entranced you visibly snap back when his eyes meet yours, handing back the lighter.

“Thanks,” he says around the cigarette. You wave your wrist before dropping the thing back in your purse. The two of you stand in the silence for a second, watching the empty street before you.

“So, you’re the new neighbor?”

You shrug. “Newish.”

“New to me,” he says. He turns towards you and extends a hand. “What’s your name?”

You mirror him and lean against the handrail by the stairs. “Eloise.”

He chuckles. “Like the kids’ books?”

“Yeah, my mom was the author.” You say with a straight face. His eyebrows shoot up.

“Really?” he asks.

“No. I’m fucking with you,” you bring the cigarette back up to your lips. His stupid, handsome face breaks out into a smile before he turns back to the front.

“Got me.” He brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales again before turning to look at you.

“Thanks for the light, Eloise.”

“Anytime.”

He gives you a nod before he starts down the stairs. You watch him, letting the cigarette in your hand burn and die as your eyes follow him down the block until he disappears around a turn.

You’re not sure if it's unconscious, but you run into him in the mornings a lot more now. Sometimes he’s got his nightly companions with him, but most mornings it’s the two of you rushing out of your respective apartments. It starts with the usual greetings followed by an awkward, silent, shared walk through the doors and down the stairs before unceremoniously parting at their end. Sometimes he holds the door open for you, and you give him a hurried smile and nod as you rush through, your heels click-clacking against the tile before stepping down onto the concrete stairs. You can feel his eyes on your back when you walk down before him those days. It makes your face hot.

Perhaps a week into this routine you notice he’s begun smoking outside more when you return from work. He nods at you, and most evenings you find yourself joining him. As if payback for your early generosity, he always holds out his lighter to spark your cigarette. At first, it's just silent smoking sessions, the two of you standing in the quiet until someone finishes and throws their butt to the ground first. Then the little questions start. That second talk you discover you’re both from Texas – him from Laredo, you from El Paso. He asks if you know some shithead kids he went to school with, and you actually recognize one of the names. When he smiles at that, you find yourself wishing you knew them all.

One Friday when you return, you find him in his usual spot, leaning against the wall in those too tight blue jeans and a stupid pastel button-up– you’ve never seen a man with so many button-ups. You instinctively reach for your pack when he speaks up.

“You want to get a drink, neighbor?”

It’s nothing serious.

It’s just a drink. Or three.

You’re sat across from him, a slowly filling ashtray between the two of you. The conversation has stayed mostly light – how was your day, how was work (he works at the embassy, you’re not sure doing what), want another? It’s perfectly plain, and it almost feels like a drink you’d get with your brother when he finally asks:

“How’d you know my name?”

You almost choke on the sip you were taking. Coughing, you put the glass on the table and ask him to repeat himself, as if you didn’t hear him the first time.

“My name,” he says, and the way his voice emphasizes the word sends a tingle down your spine. “The morning we met.”

You wonder if you’re drunk enough to answer this truthfully. You take a drag of your cigarette.

“You’re smiling,” he says, breaking out into a grin. Underneath the table, you feel his knee hit yours and it’s like a shock across your skin.

“It’s, uh,” you exhale, taking the excuse to look anywhere else but at him. Emboldened by the drink, or maybe it’s just him, he nudges your hand.

“Go on, then.”

“Your, ah, guests.” You laugh.

“My-” he stops, realizing what you’re saying. The two of you hold eye contact for a second before descending into a fit of giggles.

“I, uh,” his hand goes to the back of his neck. “Ha…wow.”

“Hey, you should be proud,” you say. “It sounds like they’re having a great time.” You reach out for his lighter to re-light your cigarette. “Should move that fucking headboard, though. Like a drum major, some nights.”

He watches you as you inhale, running his thumb across his annoyingly puffy, never quite closed lips. You don’t realize you’re staring at them until his knee hits yours once again, jolting you back to the present.

“Maybe my guests could learn some manners from yours,” he says. You shake your head, too drunk to let the compliment lie.

“What guests,” you laugh.

“You know. Your gentleman callers.” He jokes. You roll your eyes and take another sip of your drink.

“Haven’t had a gentleman caller since I moved down here,” you admit. His eyebrows raise and you shoot him a look.

“Oh shut up,”

“I’m just surprised is all,” he says. “You…look like you. I thought you’d be knocking them back with a bat.”

“Flirt,” you chide. You shake your head. “Sadly, no. Only room for one Cassanova on the bottom floor,” you wink at him.

“There was-“ he begins, then closes his mouth. He reaches for his drink.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he smiles. You kick him under the table.

“What,”

“It’s not polite,” he teases you.

“Go on, I’m drunk enough.”

“I heard something…once. First time I realized someone actually lived there.” He laughs, bringing the glass to his lips. “Sounded like fun. Lucky guy.”

You laugh.

“…girl?” he offers, a sly smile playing across his lips.

“You could say that,” you laugh. He holds your gaze for a moment and you burst into giggles under his scrutiny.  “Look, sometimes a girl is lonely and…” you giggle again. You’re definitely drunk. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“No, go on, I’m intrigued,” he says, placing his drink back down and leaning forward. You flick your eyes back up to him.

“I mean…you’d get a bit jealous, wouldn’t you? Some woman next door is having the time of her life-”

“ ‘Time of her life'? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You roll your eyes and swirl your empty drink. “and you’re just…look, it’s been a long….”

Oh god. You do the math and cringe at the duration since the last time you got laid. You shake your head.

“A girl’s got needs. You seem to know all about that.” You laugh.

“Do I?” he asks, his voice noticeably deeper. You look up at him and see how dark his eyes are. His tongue darts out and wets his lips as those same eyes dip down from your face to your chest, your hands, back up to your lips.

“I…” you smile.

…Fuck.

It’s not serious.

It’s not.

It’s just two neighbors, very neighborly, fucking each other absolutely senseless.

You knew this is where it was going when you agreed to drinks. If you hadn’t, you knew the minute he asked you that question.

Do I?

Fuck off.

So when he offered to buy another round, you agreed. When he came back and sat next to you on the bench, you let him. By the end of the fourth drink, his hand was on your thigh, having pushed up your cute pencil skirt, and his mouth was on your ear, whispering the kinds of things he must have used on countless women before you. It worked, though, because after that last drink you were taking the hand he offered and following him out of the bar, down the street, and back into his apartment.

Once he got you inside, he was surprised to see you taking it all in. He came up behind you, his hands slipping around your waist as his mouth nipped at your neck.

“See something interesting?” he asked, annoyed your focus wasn’t solely on him.

“Feels like I’ve been let backstage,” you laugh, turning around and looping your arms around his neck.

“Yeah?” he leans forward and captures your mouth for the first time in a loud, puckering peck. You smile when he pulls away.

“Yeah, you won’t believe what I had to do to the security guard to get back here,” you shake your head.

“I think I can imagine,” he pulls you back into a kiss. His hands trail down your sides, traveling further down until he’s grasping at your ass through your skirt. You let out a sigh and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. You let out a small groan at the intrusion, reaching up and threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. You bite his top lip as his hands glide up to fiddle with the zipper at the back of your skirt. Breaking the kiss, you begin to play with the button at the nape of his neck.

“You have…”

“What?” he breathes. The zipper is down and his hand slips between the fabric, grabbing your bare ass. God, what a good day to wear a thong.

You laugh. “So many button-ups,” you spring the first button free and dip your face down to kiss his neck in a show of appreciation. He lets out a soft moan as you continue to work the buttons free, your hands taking a moment to explore the expanse of skin before moving on to the next. You feel him shimmy your skirt down and you aid him by working your hips until the fabric falls to the floor. As if he’s out of patience, he pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere, his attention back on your lips as he cups your face and brings you in for another deep, searing kiss. And god, what a mouth. It’s plump and plush and so soft.

It takes a lot to break away from them.

“Bed, I think,” you huff. He nods, his hand dropping down to grab your hand and pull you along the empty hallways towards the bedroom – a strange mirror to your own apartment. Once he’s got the door open he pulls you inside until you tumble into him, pressed against his front with a giggle.

“Take this off,” he says, pulling at the hem of your shirt. You let him pull it over your head and drop it to the floor. In a move that’s too practiced, he unclasps your bra and lets it fall with the shirt before cupping your breasts in his big, warm hands. Heat pools between your thighs – god, it really has been long – and you find yourself pushing him back towards the bed. He falls back with a thump, looking up at you expectantly.

You reach up, pulling your hair out of its hold and letting it fall to your shoulders. Holding his gaze, you hook your fingers around the hem of your underwear and pull them down until you can pull one leg out. Tossing them somewhere in the dark, you lower yourself onto him, crawling up his body until you sit astride his hips and begin to unbuckle his belt and fiddle with the zipper. When he springs free, you smile.

“Of course you don’t wear underwear,” you say. He smiles as he sits up, reaching to pull your mouth down to his.

“Just gets in the way,” he says before his lips press against yours again. You reach down and take him in your hand, slowly jerking up and down as he lets out little breathy sighs in your mouth. You increase the pace, enjoying hearing his noises for once before he pulls away from you and sits upon his knees on the bed.

“What-”

“Lay back,” he instructs, pulling the jeans down before falling onto his back and kicking them off. You lower yourself down, watching as he rolls off the bed and stalks towards its end. One hand wraps around your ankle and pulls you down, causing you to squeak in surprise. His hands trace up the insides of your legs, and it’s a beat before you realize what he’s about to do. His lips follow his finger’s trail, leaving open mouth kisses until he’s there and his hot breath on you is enough to make you cum right then and there. You screw your eyes shut as you feel a finger enter you, and despite yourself you let out a small moan. Proud of himself, he pulls back and thrusts back into you before bringing his lips down to wrap around your clit. You buck up against him, which only encourages him to add another finger and swirl his tongue around you.

“Fuck-” you breathe, reaching down to fist the sheet beside you. He pumps into you again and you try your best to keep the moan threatening to escape caught in your throat. He sucks at you, lazily pumping in until you’re too slick and squirming against him, urging him to go faster because you’re so so so close. Devilishly, he licks your length before circling your bundle of nerves with his thumbs, looking up at you as your back arches and your foot kicks out.  

“Keep- keep-”

Then.

Then.

The fucking bastard pulls his hand back.

Absolutely outraged you shoot up to see him standing, sucking his fingers.

“Why did you stop?” You breathe. He smiles as he pulls his hand from his mouth.

“Was wondering why you’re being so quiet,” he laughs. “Thought I wasn’t living up to the hype.”

“You were,” you insist. He smiles as he walks around to his nightstand and pulls the drawer open. You hear the foil packet tear before you can see the glint in the light.

“I think I’ll have to do better,” he says once he’s settled back on the bed. He pulls you astride of him, and you feel the head of his cock press against your entrance. You let out a shaky breath as his hands grip at your hips.

“Don’t be afraid to make noise,” he says, kissing along your jaw. “My neighbor likes to listen.”

“Oh fuck y-” the words turn into a moan as he pushes up into you, stretching you out across him. You let out a fluttering gasp as you take all of him in, so warm and big and good. When he bucks up into you again, you let out a girly, breathy gasp, then again when he rocks your hips back and forth. Before you know it you’re pressing him down into the mattress, righting yourself against the banging headboard as you bounce on top of him, impaling yourself on him and the aching stretch of him inside you. You let out another moan as he brings a hand up and slaps your ass, and you suddenly realize how easy it must have been for these women to lose themselves shamelessly in the noise and feeling.

“Like that,” he says, his own voice deep and breathy. “Just like that, baby.”

You hum as you roll your hips against his, your clit pressed against the wiry hairs that cover his public bone. Without warning, though, you find yourself being knocked onto your side and hauled up on your hands and knees. Before you can say anything, he rocks back into you, causing you to let out another loud gasp as he begins to fuck you from behind. You bite your lip as he plunges in and out of you, the pace is more quick and unforgiving than it had been. The feeling inside you builds and you squeeze your eyes shut, reaching up in between your legs to touch yourself.

“Fuck…fuck,” you head from behind you. You speed your fingers up and he continues to fuck you, your moans coming fast and ragged now. What was happening? You were never particularly loud before, but now-

“I’m going-“ you warn him. He slams back into you as if encouraging you, and you’re just so full of him and that sweet slide of him inside you and your fingers working in small circles. You’re surprised, then, when you feel his hand fall on your shoulder and pull you up onto your knees, his hands groping at your breasts as he bites where your neck meets your shoulder. You let out a groan as he pinches a nipple and fucks up and into you.

“I’m-”

“Cum,” he instructs, and it’s enough. You clench around him, harder than you have in months. You let out a cry as you ride out the spasms, the firmness of him inside you feeling so impossibly good and foreign. He follows not long after, and you feel him pulse inside you as he cums, a little pathetic cry escaping his lips.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, panting and sweaty. After a moment, you feel his hands on your hips relax, and slowly, almost tenderly, he pulls out of you Exhausted, as if he was the only thing keeping you up, you fall forward onto your stomach, letting out a hefty exhale.

Behind you, you hear him shuffle around, take off the condom, and go dispose of it in the kitchen. A minute later you feel his weight on the bed once more next to you, and you turn to look up at him. He’s got two cigarettes in his mouth and lights one after the other. Satisfied they won’t go out, he plucks one from his lips and holds one out to you.

“What a gentleman,” you say, bringing it to your lips. He chuckles and relaxes down next to you.

“What was it you said? I know all about a girl’s needs?”  he sends you an impish look. You roll your eyes.

“One fuck after nine months of celibacy doesn’t make you a god,” you laugh, taking a drag. He shakes his head.

“Give me thirty minutes.”

It’s nothing serious. It’s nothing serious. It’s nothing serious.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 1

Thomas Shelby X Reader

2478 words

Summary: As Thomas Shelby enacts his plans to expand the Peaky Blinders, memories of Somme haunt him. A name he’s never spoken. A story he’s never told. A promise never kept. In desperation he tells a story, but stories only seem to haunt him.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

“I’m assuming you know who I am, Father.” The musty air of a church filters through the screens of a confession box. The air was heavy as if it waited with bated breath for what he might say. Ancient leather creaked beneath him as he shifted his weight, waiting for the reply of an old man who had no obligation to serve him. The change of pace was nice.

A chuckle filtered through from the neighboring box. “Thomas Shelby, I know who you are. I’ve been waiting for you all day, even cleared out my schedule for you.”

Thomas glanced towards the voice, even though they couldn’t see each other, “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or not.”

“It’s only once a year when I get to hear from you. It’s damn near becoming a holiday. Even though you don’t usually talk much.”

The gang leader let out a deep breath. “It’s because most of the time I don’t know what to say. But this time I think...I might have a story for you.”

The reverend’s voice was unsteady as he replied, “I can’t wait to hear it, my son.”

“Don’t get me started on fathers. No, today is the story about a girl who joined the army. And before you ask, no, she wasn’t a nurse.”

“She fought?”

Thomas nodded. His fingers twitched to reach from a cigarette. Something to fidget with that would keep him in the box long enough to get this damn weight off his chest. 

“She died with a gun in her hand at the Battle of Somme. I held her guts as her blood turned dirt to mud. I…” His voice gave out. Can I even say the words?

The reverend's voice startled him, “Was she a part of your company?”

Thomas cleared his throat. “Yes. She’d um...She’d disguised herself as a man and joined. Her brothers were sent to the warfront and she followed.” 

For the next couple of hours Thomas spoke. Each word felt as if it were torn from him. This tale had become the foundation of which he’d built his walls and now he laid it at a strangers feet brick by brick. Only the occasional gasps from the box beside him signaled that anyone was listening. 

“This woman sounds quite extraordinary.”

“Yeah. Yeah she was.” Thomas took a deep breath as he summoned every fiber of courage to continue, “I asked her to marry me.”

A long pause filled the air between them. Thomas’ skin began to crawl as if all the statues that adorned the church were now peering into his soul. He wasn’t a man of God, at least not anymore. He mainly did this to satisfy his Aunt Pol; however, there were times that he couldn’t ignore the feeling of another presence in his life. Whether it was God, Fate or magic he really didn’t know, nor did he care. 

Most of the time. Now he was baring his soul in front of a man who’d claimed to know the ultimate difference between right and wrong, led by some divine being. Thomas didn’t regret much in life. He couldn’t change the past, and he had his plate full with the present. This one moment, along with a handful of others, had scared something inside him. Did he even want to heal?

“Well now, Mr. Shelby, while I’d be honored to perform your nuptials , I cannot in good grace marry you to a corpse.”

Thomas couldn’t stop the wry smile. “I’m not asking you to, Father. I just needed to tell someone.”

He asked, “Is today the anniversary of when she died?”

Thomas didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. 

Instead the reverend continued, “Would you have actually done it?”

“Done what?”

“Marry her.”

“In an instant.” Thomas blinked. He’d spent all these years being unsure of his own intentions that fateful day. But the words had sprung forth from somewhere deep inside him bursting from a locked box where he’d kept them safe for so many years.

The reverend gave a soft chuckle, “If you want forgiveness I would suggest-”

Thomas interrupted him as he finally reached for his cigarette, “Oh, I don’t want forgiveness Father. Never have, never will.” 

“Then what was the point of this?” the reverend stammered. 

Thomas’s voice came out in a low growl, “In case I die tonight, she deserves to be remembered by someone. Might as well be a holy man.” His voice fading into the night as he left to go face his demons.

〜

Grace’s hand slipped against the slick glass she’d been cleaning causing the glass to go flying and shatter against the wall. She silently thanked her lucky stars that Harry was out, but it wouldn’t be long before the missing glass was noticed. She reached for the broom to clean the damned mess when a knock came from the door.

“One moment!” She hurriedly swept up the worst offenders before rushing to the door. 

There waiting for her was the only man who dared knock on the door before open, Thomas Shelby. He took off his hat the moment he came inside and nodded toward her 

Thomas shuffled toward the bar looking for another bottle of whiskey when his foot came down on the rest of the glass Grace had forgotten about. He glanced down, making sure what he heard was in fact glass before casting a tired glance at the new barmaid.

“Trying to kill me already, Ms. Burgess?”

Grace’s heart leapt into her throat making it hard to speak as she rushed over to finish what she’d started, “I...I’m so sorry. I got distracted”

She swept up the remainder of the glass in a frenzy with Thomas standing all too close. So close in fact she could smell his soap beneath the stale cigarette smoke that clung to just about everyone in Birmingham. Once she was done she was grateful for the excuse to put some sort of distance between them. 

In the mirror behind the bar she could see him watching her out of the corner of her eye. Something about the way he stood blended together the stalking of a predator and a tired man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

Thomas’ voice easily filled the entire space leaving little room for Grace to breathe, “Do you know what I do to women who try to kill me?”

Grace steeled herself. If she showed him any weakness he’d walk all over her, just like he did with everyone else. So she spun around in a huff, her arms folded across her chest.

She raised her chin in defiance, “What do you do Mr. Shelby?”

“I take them dancing.” 

Grace blinked slowly trying to wrap her mind around the words she just heard, “Dancing?”

Thomas nodded, closing the distance between them, “Yes. I might even be so inclined to let the lady choose where to go. It seems fair to level the playing field.”

Grace looked around as if the wood itself could tell her if he was joking. There was no smile, no tilt of the head or anything else to break the tension. Is he actually serious?

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t have a dress.”

Thomas let his eyes roam over her. Even he had to admit that Grace had a beauty about her that you didn’t see that often. Yet the thing about her that always drew him closer was her defiance. Not many people told him ‘no’.

He took out his wallet and started counting, “How much does a nice dress cost these days?”

“Are you serious?”

Thomas froze.

Dust assaulted his lungs as bombs threw rock into the air. Heat from a much smaller body curled against him gasping raggedly from breath as her brow furrowed, “Are you serious?”

“Meet me here in five days in your dress. Have a place picked out. “ He practically threw the money at Grace, probably too much. He spun on his heels stalking for the exit. She cried out after him but he didn’t stop.

He needed air. Alcohol buzzed in his veins. It dulled his senses, made the world around him less real but his attempts to bury the memories only made them stronger. Thomas glared at the world around him. Her laughter danced on the wind. A song he’d long forgotten the words to thrummed in his soul. Some tune that they screamed the words to in defiance of all that the Germans had done.

Today the memories were close. A blanket of fear and sorrow pulled close around his heart. Today was going to be a bad day.

〜

Danny "Whiz-Bang" was a tall man, some might call him gargantuan. A fancy word Y/N had used to scare away some drunk soldiers once. Y/N. 

He'd been thinking about her a lot lately. Danny desperately raked the fragmented pieces of his brain. Today was… the day she'd died. A year ago. Or had it been two? He'd have to ask Thomas. 

Last time he'd asked about her the look in Thomas's eyes answered all his questions. He'd gotten it wrong again.

Danny began to hum softly. Their song, an anthem really, that they played almost every night until that last battle. Where had he been while his best friend lay dying in the mud? Again the day played through his mind, the details muddled over the years.

He'd been switched with Freddie so instead of fighting with Y/N to distract the enemy, he'd been down in the tunnels digging. The tunnel had stretched for miles by the time they'd finished and began setting the charges. Vibrations gently shook the tunnel, forcing dirt to rain down into his eyes. 

Nobody even knew they were there until it was too late. The detonation had destroyed the foundation of three turrets, which allowed the British to take back much of the ground they'd already lost.

Music interrupted his thoughts as the same tune he hummed to himself soon filled the street. A busker on the corner stood tall as he played a violin. Wood gleamed in the dimly lit night as hoards of people shuffled past. Rich brown contrasted brilliantly with the general grey dinge of Birmingham. 

Danny couldn't stop the shaking. No one was supposed to know that song except for the 174th yet here it was in his home. He shook his head vigorously, the visions, they must be happening again. Danny began to turn, better he leave for London than have another episode in public. Just as the busker left his sight he heard something he'd never thought he'd hear again.

"Danny? Danny Whiz-Bang is that you?"

He froze. It wasn't real, she was dead.

The music stopped as something tugged on his sleeve. He shouldn't turn around, the ghosts would get him if he did. What would he see this time? A german strangling Thomas? Y/N's head gaping wide open? Or would it be himself?

Whatever was tugging on his arm was insistent. Danny took a deep breath. He couldn't hide forever.

Dirt crunched under his heel as he turned. Smoke left a rancid undertone in the air that filled his lungs. Stone buildings rose into the sky, impossibly tall while still leaning into each other. Roofs sagged under the weight of centuries and rain.

Danny didn't see any of this. The world itself fell away as his eyes landed on a small figure. Her curly mop of hair ended just below his collarbone. Wide tired eyes stared up at him, searching his features for some small hint of recognition. Her clothes weren't that god forsaken uniform or the dress of a lady. Just trousers and coat like any man would wear, fitted to her figure. Her coat was by no means threadbare, but still worn.

"Y/N?"

A smile spread across her lips and it was like watching the sun finally revealing itself after a storm.

Her voice was almost too loud compared to the low buzz of the street, "Hey Danny. It's...it's so nice to see you."

Danny shook his head as he reached up for his cap. Lines appeared on his face, etched deep as he squeezed his eyes shut. The large man hid desperately behind the clump of fabric, praying that he might banish the phantom before he lost control.

“You’re not real. Thomas says that whenever I see you, you’re not real.”  His voice shook as he took a careful step back. 

Y/N’s brow furrowed, “Do you see me often Danny?”

Finally he opened his eyes with unshed tears glinting in the sun, “Almost everyday. I miss you so much but y...you’re dead.” 

Y/N gently reached out and gripped Danny’s hand in hers, “I’m not dead Danny. I was hurt, and they sent me home, but the Reaper hasn’t gotten me yet.”

“Why didn’t you come back?” he demanded.

She looked down, “They found out I was a girl. Kinda hard to hide your tits when you get shot in the stomach.”

Danny slowly lowered his cap, “The MP’s got you?”

Y/N nodded.��

Without warning Danny scooped her up into his arms, violin and all, enveloping her in a rib-breaking hug. Y/N threw her arms around him. He buried his head against her shoulder, his body shaking from laughter.

“Alright, alright put me down before you break me.” She grinned, patting his shoulder. He set her down with a practiced grace, muscle memory from years past taking over.

“We have to tell Thomas you’re back. He was talking about you the other day, and he’d love to see you.” Danny practically bounced with excitement.

Y/N felt her cheeks flood with color. She blamed it on the cold wind, “He still talks about me?”

Danny shrugged smiling sheepishly, “Well, not often. I think it hurts him, too, but he mentioned you the other day. Said he was going to tell the Reverend about you.”

Y/N snorted, “Yeah, Thomas Shelby the devout catholic. Anyways where is he? I’ve been in town a week and haven’t seen hide or tale of him.”

“He’s either down at the pub or the races. He’s got…” Danny’s eyes widened. “We have to go now or we won’t catch him.”

“Go wh-” 

Y/N was cut off as Danny lifted her off her feet and sprinted down the street. She clutched her violin to her chest for dear life as the streets whizzed by. Miraculously Danny hadn’t forgotten to grab her bag in the other hand.

“I can walk just fine you know!” Y/N screamed from beneath his arm.

Danny flashed her a smile. He didn’t do this because he had to. He did it because he missed doing it everyday in the army.

[atruththatyoudeny]

Monthly Reads | October 2020

Happy 28th! I probably sound like a broken record already but I have to say it again: this fandom has an insane amount of talented writers! I am in awe! Every single one of you is my hero! ♥♥♥ Here are all the 23 fics I read and loved this month:

✧ Welcome to The Rivalry | 2tiedships2 | a/b/o - strangers to lovers - enemies to lovers - rivalry - college - 19k “Welcome home!” Niall yelled, clapping his hands in excitement. “Isn’t it great?” Louis looked between Niall and the house, unsure how to respond. “I don’t understand,” Louis finally managed to say. “Aren’t we a little old to be living so close to campus?” Niall scoffed. “You’re only twenty-four for fuck’s sake. There is still plenty of partying left for us to do. What better place than one street over from where a car was set on fire after the Michigan game last year?” “Is there proof of that? Did the car have Michigan plates or something? Is there a photo I can send in a DM to Wolfie?” As if on cue, a Twitter notification popped up on Louis’ Apple watch. He had tweeted again. Or a reverse You’ve Got Mail au inspired by the Ohio State/Michigan rivalry. Featuring duplex neighbors, (kind of) enemies to lovers, and an anonymous Twitter feud between omega Louis and alpha Harry.

✧ Back to Seventeen | crimsontheory | teacher - soccer coach - 26k As a first grade teacher in a small town in Illinois, Harry’s life is pretty simple. He loves his job, is close with his family, and has a best friend he would go to the ends of the earth for. When a new soccer coach starts at the local high school, things start to get a bit more exciting for Harry. Because that coach just happens to be Louis Tomlinson; the guy Harry was unrequitedly in love with in high school. Or the one where Louis moves back to his hometown and Harry realizes he’s still not over his high school crush.

✧ Sigh for Sigh | logogram | historical - a/b/o - regency - miscommunication - pining - marriage of convenience - 11k When his father's sudden illness forces Harry to get married in a hurry, he's delighted that Lord Louis Tomlinson is the one who makes him an offer. Being married to Louis is just as wonderful as he imagined, except for one thing-- they haven't mated yet. Or the one where they're both idiots, Harry's afraid to say what he's thinking, and Louis's just trying to be honorable.

✧ We Can Find a Place to Feel Good | yeah_alright | 1960s - High School - school dances - 8k 14-year-old Harry is ecstatic to finally be old enough to experience the time-honored tradition of school dances. But with each year that passes and each dance he attends, he’s realizing they’re not all he used to hope they’d be. Especially when he can't actually dance with the person he most wants to. Maybe he and Louis can figure out their own ways to keep dancing, anyway.

✧ At Risk, I Fold | clare328 | canon compliant - established relationship - angst - emotional hurt/comfort - miscommunication - anxiety - implied/referenced alcohol abuse - 15k 2015 is a stream of hotel rooms and whisky on the rocks, tired glances and touching hands under tables. It’s the bears and the bees under a rainbow sky, and Harry and Louis have to figure out how to grow up together, instead of apart.

✧ Carry These Feelings | LadyLondonderry | fae Á faires - established relationship - magic - 3k Harry is one of the fae, and has to return to Court once a year to please the Queen. He makes a detour on his way home to Louis. Two weeks and I'll be home.

✧ Hung Up High in the Gallery | lovelarry10 | friends to lovers - slow burn - pining - 14k "Louis, lay still!” Louis sighed loudly, and Harry watched his chest puff out as he inhaled deeply, the breath he let out loudly making Harry’s curls shift. “I am, stop being so fussy. Can I see yet?” “Nope,” Harry remarked, smiling to himself. “I’m doing your chest next. Shit, this is going to look so good, Lou. Your tan and these colours… why haven’t we done this before?” “Because we haven’t been this drunk in a while, and it never occurred to me until tonight?” ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ When Harry’s best friend, Louis, comes to support him at his art show, he decides they need to do some celebrating afterwards. How fast do the lines between friends and lovers get blurred ... or better, get painted?

✧ Love you in the dark | Perzikje | historical - wedding night - arranged marriage - dubious consent - 10k The story of a historical wedding night: in which Louis is quite unaware as to just how clueless his brand new husband is about sex. They try their best to figure it out together.

✧ Victorian Boy | audreyhheart | historical - victorian - royalty - enemies to friends to lovers - slow burn - angst - murder mystery - 101k Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.

✧ the anticipation of knowing you | sweetrevenge | strangers to lovers - neighbors - light angst - 13k Hello Neighbor! Just wanted to let you know that you were having sex so loud and scarily I called our building manager and security officer because I thought you were hurt. P.S. I sent them away when I heard you yell ‘cock’. I’m sorry that I heard that, but I wanted you to know in case they stopped by to check on you or something. Sorry! Your neighbor Louis Tomlinson in apartment #306 After Louis overhears his next door neighbor having sex, he doesn’t really expect anything but awkward hallway encounters to come from it. Instead, he’s surprised to find himself in a whirlwind pen pal relationship with the sweet, albeit loud, baker next door.

✧ We'll Be All Right | dandelionfairies | married couple - accridents - 13k Harry is performing his one night only show in LA but there are four very important people missing.

✧ The Last Song of Your Life | reminiscingintherain | famous/not famous - Rays of Sunhsine - homophobia - 21k As Harry glanced around at all of the faces, he froze as a very familiar pair of blue eyes leapt out at him. A pair of eyes that he hadn’t seen since before the One Direction bomb exploded. A pair of eyes that he never expected to see again. ~~~~ or the famous/not famous AU, with first love, miscommunication, interfering bandmates, and adorable little sisters.

✧ Her | jaerie | a/b/o - trans character - transitioning - dysphoria - anxiety - quarantine - 7k The buttery swipe of a high quality lipstick was almost a sexual experience in and of itself. This time a deep colour with purple undertones which drew out the emphasis of long, dark lashes and perfectly contoured cheekbones. It was a look for loose and styled curls, feeling the classy formal nightclub vibes reflected back from the mirror. The silky plum coloured slip dress would be perfect to debut. The tags still needed to be cut free from the new garment that hung in the closet, but tonight was the night to set it free. When Harry gets home, she can finally be who she wants to be. Letting someone else in always feels like a distant daydream to her... until it suddently isn't.

✧ Loving You's the Antidote | lululawrence | Stylinshaw - a/b/o - touch deprivation - hospitalization - soulmates - polyamory - anxiety - friends to lovers - no smut - 11k Nick and Harry had never been an obvious match. When eighteen-year-old Harry, newly presented as an omega, came home freshly bonded to Nick, a man nine years his elder and a beta no less, Anne had been more than skeptical and Eileen had shared some harsh words of her own. That didn’t deter them, though, and their families soon realised there really was something special about the bondmates that allowed them to work together almost seamlessly. It was only a few months later that Harry started getting sick. Or the one where Harry and Nick have been able to keep Harry's disorder at bay over the course of their relationship, but when they move to London and away from their support system, they find themselves in desperate need of help.

✧ Like A Neon Sign | reminiscingintherain | canon compliant - mentions of death - fluff - 8k Harry had always been perfect to Louis, through every age, through every stage, and in all the important ways, he was proud to have been able to witness the growth that Harry had experienced first-hand.

✧ We Had Everything | lightswoodmagic (sarah_writes) | exes to lovers - getting back together - famous/not famous - 3k “You know Harry’s coming, yeah?” Louis’ fingers twitched, faltering where he was straightening the knot in his tie as he tried to ignore the false nonchalance in Zayn’s voice. He had no idea how he missed the name on the invite list, how he skipped over the initials on the small gifts, didn’t notice the elegant swirl of Harry’s name inked onto an emerald green place card. Or, Louis and Harry fell apart, and Louis' never forgiven himself. He gets a second chance at Zayn and Liam's wedding.

✧ True To Your Heart | reminiscingintherain | Mulan AU - a/b/o - 13k The world was at war with itself. In the small country of Enilenif, in a tiny, often overlooked corner of the world, young Alphas were quickly signing up to fight, desperate to protect their Omegas and their country as Aidem began to attack their borders. A few defiant Omegas tried to enlist as well, but were firmly turned away with disapproving looks by the staff in the office. Harry Styles was one such Omega, sighing heavily as he kicked at a small stone on his walk home.

✧ What the Water Gave Me | larryatendoftheday | fantasy - mermaids - long distance relationship - 29k When a mermaid crawls out of the sea to listen to Harry sing, it changes everything.

✧ it’s hard for me to go home | localopa | angst - breakup - getting back together - 5k don’t call me baby again

✧ The Prince and the Thief | jaerie | Fairy Tale - a/b/o - strangers to lovers - violence - kidnapping - threats of rape/non-con - 19k Harry is an omega prince locked in a tower and Louis is the thief sent to kidnap him. Nothing turns out as planned.

✧ Up On The Shore | wordsnnotes | Eroda AU - magic - epistolary - friends to lovers - childhood friends - emotional/psychological abuse - angst - long-distance relationship - domestic violence - 34k Magic has been outlawed on Eroda ever since President Cowell came into power, and all the magic people had to go live on the island of Stonell. Things are not looking good for Harry when he finds out he's a magician and his abilities seem more and more out of control. Thankfully, his best friend Niall's mother has the idea to put him in touch with Louis, a magician boy living on Stonell. They begin a secret correspondence and drama ensues. Or: Louis hides his feelings under sarcasm, Harry is too sweet for his own sake, everyone is a rebel, the mums are amazing, Harry's dad is a jerk, and I'm struggling to make it understandable without using normal narration.

✧ this town's just an ocean now | louistomlinsons | exes to lovers - friends to lovers - summer romance - miscommunication - childhood friends - light angst - fluff - 31k “I have really great friends. Do you remember Louis? You guys were always hanging out when you were growing up.” Harry remembers Louis. Harry remembers Louis. Suddenly, his throat feels way too dry, despite the ice cream he keeps licking at. He chokes a little on a chocolate chip before saying, “I, uh. I remember Louis.” Her face brightens. “We have dinner every Sunday. He owns the house now. His parents moved further north, and he wanted to stay here, so they just gave it over. Now if you want to worry about someone being lonely, that’s who I worry about.” inspired by watermelon sugar, featuring picnics on the beach and boys being dumb

✧ I Am the Blinking Light | dearmrsawyer | ghosts - shipwreck - 19k There is a legend of a lighthouse far out to sea. It can’t be found on any map, and those who do find it never return. They say a ghost haunts the lighthouse, and you can hear it calling out in loneliness on the ocean waves.

[raysofcrosby]

NOW THAT I FOUND YOU – M. BARZAL

requested: yes | no

warning(s): cursing, slight mentions of sex, but other than that, nothing.

word count: 5,868

authors note: welcome to my new series :) i have no idea how long this is going to last, but i’m pretty excited for it. so, first things first, considering what i have planned for the character of jeremy, i didn’t want to use a real rangers player. so jeremy is a fictional dude on the team. i think that’s it for now, i’m not really sure what else i can think of about this series. so, oh well, enjoy :)

my masterlist | stuff i have planned | who i’ll write for | requests

"I can't take it anymore!" Tito said, storming into the locker room and stomping his way over to his cubby. "I am literally going to take her to the Brooklyn bridge and throw her into the Hudson."

Mat looked up from his skates and over at his best friend as he plopped down into his cubby, huffing, and puffing as he got undressed. He looked over at Anders, who was looking at Brass...the three of them all sharing confused looks at their locker neighbor. "Uh, you okay over there Tito?" Anders asked, looking at Mat for at least the slightest hint as to what he could be rambling on about.

"No clue," Mat mouthed, shrugging his shoulders and looking back down as he continued to tie his skate.

"No, I'm not okay," Tito tossed his sweatshirt into his cubby and stepped out of his joggers. "Does anyone want a newly 22-year-old female college student? Because I have one and I'm not opposed to passing her off before I result to murder."

"I'm pretty sure that is illegal, buddy," Jordan said, walking by and patting him on the shoulder. "Both are, actually. Like, highly illegal."

"Oh, God Tito," Matt said, coming out from the bathrooms. "What are you bitching about now?"

"She ironed my underwear." Tito tugged on his pants over his compression shorts and sighed, shaking his head.

"What?" Mat laughed, reaching behind him and grabbing his compression shirt.

"Y/N...she ironed my underwear," he stood up and turned towards his cubby, pulling a pair of ironed boxers out of the duffle he had carried in with him and turned back towards the guys. "I went to grab a pair this morning and I was greeted with this! They're stiff, feel powdery and quite frankly smell like shit–"

"Are you sure that's the soap and not just your horrible hygiene?" Matt joked, tossing a water bottle at him.

"Manchuk...Matty," Tito smiled, turning in their direction. "How do you two feel about having a live-in nanny? Her cooking skills are subpar unless even worse if the recipe comes off of Pinterest. She consumes more wine than water– but she's great with kids."

"I'm just finding it hard to believe your only problem with Y/N is the fact she ironed your underwear," Jordan said, shaking his head. "What's the catch?"

"Yeah, there's got to be something else that has you considering pre-meditated murder," Matt chimed in with a loud laugh.

"I NEED TO GET LAID, all right?!" Tito yelled, tossing his ironed pair of boxers back into the duffle bag. "I need to have hot, drunken sex with a stranger who lets herself out in the morning! I need to get laid so fucking bad, but I can't do it with my sister in the room across from mine! It's gross."

The locker room was silent as his teammates just stared at him. Mat wanted to laugh at his best friend but didn't want to do it at his expense. Sure, he'd been there a time or two, what young guy in his 20's hasn't. But never had he yelled about it to his teammates in such an exaggerated fashion. "Have you thought about telling her that?" Mat asked, grabbing his practice jersey and sliding it on over his head. "Y/N's pretty reasonable, I'm sure she'd agree to go to a friends or something for the night."

"Oh yeah, let me just go ahead and tell my little sister, 'hey, do you mind getting out of the apartment for the night? I need to get my dick sucked. Thanks, don't tell mom!'" Tito sat down to put on his skates, giving Mat a sarcastic look. "Does that sound good to you, Barzy?"

"I don't know about Barzy, but that sounds great to me," Matt laughed as he tied his pants. "Why is she staying at your place? I thought she was in Uni? Doesn't she have a dorm?"

"Nope, she followed her doucheface of a boyfriend down here and he convinced her to stay in his apartment instead of getting a dorm." He stood up and reached into his locker, grabbing his practice jersey. "Next thing I know, she shows up at my door crying, saying they broke up and she's been at my place ever since."

Mat remembered that night. He and Tito were pre-gaming, finishing off their drinks, and waiting for the uber to arrive. They were coming off of a high, absolutely destroying the Maple Leafs 5-0 and that high followed them home. Everyone on the team was going out– it was a well called for a celebration, even the guys with families at home. Normally, the team would pregame together before taking ubers over to whatever club or bar they decided to take over for the night. But those who did have kids at home wanted to stop at home and say goodnight to their wives and kids before heading out.

They were talking about whether or not they wanted to wait up here for the uber or wait down on the street when a knock barely made noise about Tito's playlist. Mat thought he had heard something but wasn't sure if he had confused it with the bass or not. So, he brushed it off. It wasn't until a small break in the song when the two of them could hear three rapid knocks, followed by the sound of your voice coming from the other side of the door, did they know that you were there.

Mat was closest to the door, so he was the one who walked over and looked through the peephole. He knew it was you just based on the sound of your voice from when you knocked, but, it didn't hurt to be safe and check to see who was at the door– that way Tito couldn't blame him if he let a random into his apartment. He recognized the hoodie you were wearing, it was the Beauvillier Islanders hoodie that Tito had gotten you for your birthday just this past summer. Mat told him it was a stupid gift, but Tito laughed, saying that it was his way of tricking you into finally wearing something in support of him since you had stopped wearing Islanders gear the moment you started dating Jeremy last fall. A Rangers player you had met on a girls' night out in the city. "A mix of interests" as your excuse, and Tito was bothered that his sister wouldn't wear his team's logo anymore– but instead, the logo on their top rival.

It was a mess, but one that Mat never, ever wanted to get involved with.

But there you were, dripping wet from the thunderstorm that had been hovering over the city from the moment he walked into Barclay to play. You had the hood on your head and you were avoiding eye-contact with the door– but he knew it was you. So, he opened the door with no hesitations, barely getting out a simple hi before you brushed by him and darted down the hallway, a door slamming behind you.

Tito, in true fashion, paused his music and stomped after you, mumbling about how you were just going to stroll into his apartment, that he pays for, and slam his doors without even saying hello. Mat remembered laughing, just because the Beauvillier sibling dynamic was an interesting one. He came back a few moments later, shoving his phone into his pocket and walked over to Mat. He said that he couldn't get much out of you but the fact that you and Jeremy had broken up and he needed to pay the cab driver downstairs $40 for driving you from Manhattan.

Tito was a good brother. He could be a huge pain in the ass, sure. You and he had had more than your fair shares of endless, rigorous chirping fights that most of the time, left Mat standing there just looking between the two of you like he was watching a match. But still to this day, Mat could never understand why Tito didn't seem all that bothered about how abruptly you had walked into his apartment. Tito had you and Francis, and more often than not, always brushed you off as one of the guys thanks to your tomboy upbringing. Mat had a sister and she's dated one too many assholes for his liking, so he could spot it from a mile away.

Your face was swollen and red and he was more than positive that you had cried the entire car ride there.

And you've been living at Tito's ever since.

"I'm serious, I need her to leave," Tito was following behind him as they left the locker room to head out to the rink. "And I can't just kick her out."

"You literally just talked about shoving her into the Hudson," Jordan laughed, shaking his head. "I think you can do something as simple as, 'hey, maybe you should find someone to stay with for a while.'"

Tito just rolled his eyes as he stepped out onto the ice, skating beside Matt. "I'm serious Barzy, I think she's driving me insane."

"It was one incident, Tito," Mat said, shaking his head. "Y/N isn't that bad."

"It wasn't just one incident," they cut the corner, Mat pushing himself ahead. "She almost burnt down my kitchen trying to make breakup cupcakes. She's redecorated my bathroom with bath bombs and make-up, she even got rid of my Shrek shower curtain!"

"To be fair, that's your guest bathroom and that Shrek shower curtain was hideous"

"Regardless! She's slowly taking over my entire apartment and turning it into her...her...her stupid lovesick breakup reno project!" He tossed his arms up in the air, letting them fall back down and almost hitting Brass in the head. "Oops, sorry bud!"

Mat laughed as they cut another corner, shaking his head. "Have you ever tried talking to her?"

"No, because then she'd get her puppy eyes all going and I'd feel like even more of a douche for wanting her out." He huffed, shaking his head. "I need an excuse, something to just...get her out for a few weeks until I can find her someplace to stay for the rest of the year. Then plead with her housing office to find her a dorm."

"I don't know what to tell you, man." Mat said, skating ahead.

"I'll come up with something, I'm sure I can cash in a favor somewhere." Tito sighed, as the two of them joined the rest of their team at center ice for stretching.

Mat just laughed, shaking his head at his best friend. Sure, if he was in the same position, it wouldn't exactly be his ideal living situation to have his sister living across the hall– but he definitely wouldn't be as against it. At least, he didn't think so.

~

"I've figured it out."

Mat felt his foot slip against the wet tile and his heart practically jumped out of his chest as the slipping feeling. He held his right arm out, holding himself steady against the tile before ducking his head beneath the shower head, letting the conditioner rinse from his hair. He looked over his shoulder to see Tito standing at the opening of the shower area, freshly showered with a towel wrapped around his waist. "Yeah, can we not talk about this right now?"

"I'm just letting you know, I figured it out." Tito smiled, nodding before walking away from the shower.

Mat shook his head, spitting out some water before turning off the water and grabbing the towel he had hung up just to the right. He wrapped it around his waist, shaking his head as he ran his fingers through his hair to get all of the excess water out. He almost dreaded making his way back towards the locker room. Tito had been pestering him all practice, trying to make him come up with ways he could kick you out.

Fake an insect infestation? No, then he'd have to leave his apartment too.

Figure out a way to get some flooding in her room? But then he'd have to hire someone to clean up all of the water.

Every outrageous idea possible had crossed his mind and Mat had to listen to it for the entire practice. As if the practice itself hadn't been draining on him, listening to him go on and on was even more.  But, he was playing the best friend role, and did say he would help him on one condition– it didn't involve hurting your feelings.

"Great, you're here, now listen–"

"No to the insects. No to an animal break-in and we already decided that pouring water on her stuff and saying a pipe was leaking wouldn't work," Mat said, sitting down in his locker and looking at Tito. "What in the hell could you have come up with now?"

"Remember how I said I could cash in a favor?"

Mat nodded, standing up and grabbing his street clothes as he turned his back to Tito. "Yeah, did you figure it out?"

"I sure did."

Mat stepped into his boxer briefs and dropped the towel as he picked up his joggers. "All right? And who's the poor sucker?" Tito hadn't replied as fast as he had been and Mat would be lying if he said it wasn't a little concerning. He tugged the waistband of his joggers up before turning to see Tito smiling at him. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm looking at the poor sucker who owes me a favor." He had his classic shit-eating smirk on his face, the kind cameras always zoomed in the moment he checked someone hard.

Mat blinked once, twice, three times before the reality set in. His brain was racing through every recent time he spent with Tito, never once remembering an event where he said that he owed him a favor. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You owe me a–"

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you said," Mat put his arms through his sweatshirt, tugging his down and over his head before running his fingers through his hair again. "But I don't know what you're talking about. When did I ever owe you a favor?"

"When I saved your ass that night at Nest when you were picking up the redhead but that hot tinder girl with blue hair you invited showed up." Tito stood up and walked over to Mat, still smiling. "I performed the perfect, switcharoo maneuver so that the redhead never noticed you took tinder girl home."

"You took the redhead home! How is that helping me?" Mat turned towards his locker and grabbed his phone and Gatorade, shaking his head. "Besides, that was two years ago."

"It was a win for both of us! You didn't get totally bitchslapped in the club and I got laid," Tito followed behind him, staying on his heels. "It may have been two years ago, but you still said, 'Tito, man...I owe you one.'"

"I don't–"

Tito cut him off, standing in front of him as they stood in the hall. He crossed his arms, his smile falling from his face. "And now I'm cashing it in. You're helping me get Y/N out of my apartment."

Mat rolled his eyes, resting his hands on his hips. "And how exactly am I supposed to help you with that? You've literally exhausted every plausible option." When Tito didn't come up with a reply, Mat just shook his head and brushed by him.

"I've got an idea bro, I swear," He jogged up behind him as they walked out of the arena to head towards the parking lot. "But, you're probably not going to like it."

As the crisp fall air greeted them, Mat could hear the voice in the back of his head telling him not to entertain Tito. A gut feeling deep inside that this wasn't going to work out– none of Tito's ideas ever worked out. "What is it?"

Tito hesitated, unsure just how his best friend would reply. Sure, he's had plenty of other crazy ideas before– but this one might just be way out there. But he didn't care, he was a young, physical and thriving man in his early 20's– and at this point, he didn't care about logical reasoning. He just desperately needed to get laid. And if that meant brushing his sister off onto his best friend, he'd do it.

"You're going to pretend you're utterly heartbroken from some break up and can't be alone–"

Mat stopped in his tracks, whipping around to Tito with wide eyes. "Dude what the–"

"Y/N is a total empath and when I tell her all about your emotional turmoil and that I don't know how to help, she'll no doubt step in. Then I'll just figure something out to keep her out of my apartment and boom, problem solved."

"Problem not solved!" Mat yelled, waving his hand at Tito. "Your problem literally has about a million plot holes in it!"

Tito closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sighing before opening them and looking at Mat. "I'm going to need you to hear me out before you say no– which, may I remind you, isn't an option anyway."

Mat took a deep breath and sighed, knowing damn well that somewhere down the line, he'd regret this very moment he even gave Tito the chance to explain. Even his initial explanation seemed so fucking stupid that there was no way it could ever work out. But maybe, if he allowed him to explain, he'd realize just how unrealistic his plan was, and just drop the entire idea then man up and tell Y/N to stay with a friend. "Fine," he stopped at his car, unlocking it so Tito could get into the passenger seat. "But you're buying lunch."

~

This was such a bad idea– he knew it would be. From the moment the suggestion left Tito's mouth the first time, Mat knew it wouldn't work. There's no way it could. Hell, even Liana said it was when he called her for advice after his lunch. And as far as common sense goes, he likes to think that Liana has a lot more

Tito's plan stayed the same– Mat was supposed to play brokenhearted and after lunch, the two of them would go over to his apartment, where you would be home from class. Tito would comment on how Mat 'hasn't been the same' and make a joke about how the two of you should just live together in your misery. You, the empath that you were, would take an interest in Mat's "broken heart" and offer to help in any way. Tito, knowing Mat was actually in the middle of turning the third guest bedroom in his apartment into a man-cave/gaming room and how much you love decorating, I.E. his bathroom, would suggest that maybe you could help him with that too.

It wouldn't work, Mat was convinced of that from the moment the entire idea left Tito's mouth. He'd known you almost as long as he knew Tito, meeting you the summer after the 2015 IIHF World U18 Championship. You were only a year younger than them both and for the three weeks that Mat had stayed with your family, he felt like he got to know you pretty well. You guys weren't best friends by any means, but you were definitely good friends. Your friendship growing when you decided to transfer to Fordham and when you weren't hanging out with Jeremy or your classmates, you were with Tito, Mat, and their teammates.

Needless to say, he was confident walking into the apartment knowing that there was no way that you would fall for this horrible excuse. You wouldn't leave your room in Tito's apartment to come and stay with Mat because he was "too brokenhearted to function." But leave it to Tito to think that you would fall for it. He tried not to break character, he really did. But how the hell was he supposed to pretend to be brokenhearted from a failed relationship, when he's never felt that?

He's had relationships before, sure. Break-ups? Absolutely. But none so bad that he felt like he wanted to drink himself into a slumber or just hide under the covers for the rest of time. He had outlets to get out any negative emotion. He had hockey and he had the boxing classes he attended with Tito every now and again. Besides that, he never had strong feelings for someone to the point where he was feeling what you were feeling.

As predicted, you had agreed to go with Tito and Mat over to Mat's apartment to see just what he had to deal with. He felt a twinge of guilt when you started to ask the simple questions:

How are you feeling?

Do you want to talk about it?

What happened?

He and Tito hadn't gotten that far in the plan– creating a backstory, which should have been another sign that this was never going to end well. So, on the ride to his apartment, he just stuck with short answered replies– "fine" "not yet" "it's still too soon." And he wanted nothing more than to smack Tito in the passenger seat, who was trying his damndest not to laugh.

When they got to the apartment hours later, Mat led you to the third guest room, showing you just everything he had. In a corner on tarps, he had three cans of paint, all unopened and a bunch of painting supplies. In the middle of the room, boxed furniture he'd been too lazy to move. He was barely focused on what you were saying when he felt his phone vibrate and saw Tito nodding at him.

Tito: see? i told u. total diy/renovator. you could get free labor out of this.

Mat: one problem there, bud. she doesn't seem too keen to get out of your apartment. all she's done is offer to take me to lunch for the next week to 'talk about my feelings'

Tito: okay? go talk about your feelings.

Mat: I DON'T HAVE ANY FEELINGS

Mat: I DON'T HAVE A RECENT EX-GIRLFRIEND

"Are you two okay?" You asked, almost scaring the two boys. Mat shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket, staring at you with wide eyes. You had an eyebrow raised and looked awfully suspicious of them both.

"Do you guys want dinner?" Tito asked, already heading towards the door. "I can order some pizzas from down the street."

"That's okay," You said, following him towards the door. "I've got this new enchilada recipe I wanted to try and–"

"No!" Tito couldn't be any less obvious that he didn't want you to follow him, his raised voice causing you to step back and look at him in shock. "I uh, I mean...I already ordered them. Barzy and I talked about it...right?"

Mat glared at Tito, wishing deep down that this plan would fail, but knowing that he couldn't leave his best friend out to dry. "Yeah...we did." He turned to you, crossing his arms. "Hope that's okay."

"No, it's fine," you replied, nodding. "Pizza is good."

Tito clapped his hands together and smiled. "Great, I'll be right back!"

He couldn't have run out of the apartment any faster, leaving you and Mat there standing in the middle of the room. This wasn't part of the plan and Mat was pissed. He stared at the door, contemplating telling you about your brother's ulterior motive to all of this– but it wouldn't hurt Tito...it would hurt you. So he decided against it and turned to you, sighing. "We can go wait in the living room for him to come back."

You nodded and followed him out of the guest room, walking down the hallway. "Can I have something to drink?"

"Water? Wine?" He asked, waving you over to the couch as he stopped in the kitchen. "Tequila?" God, how he wanted a drink. At least it might alleviate the headache Tito's antics were causing.

"It's Monday," you laughed, leaning against the back of the couch. "I guess I could go for some wine."

"White or Red?"

"You have both?"

He laughed, turning around and placing two unopened bottles– one of each. "My mom likes red, I like white. It's her leftover bottle from when she was here a two weeks ago."

"I'll take a glass of white, thank you."

He nodded, putting the bottle of red back into the fridge before moving towards his cabinets and opening the drinking glasses– reaching up to the top and grabbing two wine glasses. When he turned back around, he looked over at you, ready to say something, but he stopped.

You were still leaning against the back of his couch, left arm draped across your stomach as the other held onto your phone. You were chewing on the inside of your cheek, your eyes glued to the screen. He normally wouldn't think anything of it, except for the look on your face. Even from where he was standing, he could notice the frown and the way that your eyebrows were burrowed towards each other. He noticed your fingers on your left hand were fidgeting, plucking at your Fordham long sleeve. Everything about you standing there was just...small, quiet– radiating energy that said, 'I don't want anyone to see me.' Which, in all of the years that he knew you, was the complete opposite of who you were.

He couldn't help but wonder what the hell Jeremy did to screw you up this bad.

He poured your glasses, putting the cork back into the bottle, and made his way to you. You were so lost in your phone, that it wasn't until he cleared his throat, that you realized he was standing there.

"Oh," you stood up a little straighter, putting your phone into your front pocket before taking the wine glass from him. "Sorry, I was just..."

"No need," he said, waving you off. "I don't need an explanation." He walked around the couch and sat down, nodding at you to join him.

You sighed, taking a sip of your wine before sitting down beside him, sinking back against the cushion. "So, Tito hasn't tried taking you to a strip club to help you out of your breakup funk?"

Mat laughed, his head leaning back against the cushion. "No, he hasn't," he took a sip of the wine, tilting his head to the side. "I don't think he'd leave if he did."

"He tried to offer to drop me off at that knockoff Magic Mike, two days ago." He looked at you like you had two heads, his mind spinning in circles at just how long Tito has been trying to get you out of his apartment. "It didn't work, it's not my scene."

"Male strippers?"

"Male strippers that aren't the cast of Magic Mike," you joked, laughing softly as you stared down into your wine. "I don't know, I just haven't really been in the mood to do anything besides go to class and sleep."

He wasn't sure how to reply. Even with Liana, he'd never really been that open with talking to her about his relationships or hers. That was a no-touch topic in their siblingship– only ever talking about it, just to say that they were seeing someone new. Never what happened during or after. Not to mention, he was supposed to be like you, heartbroken. He tried to copy your mannerisms– slumped into the couch, relaxed face– he even went as far as to try and tell himself to copy the tone in your voice.

But all he felt was guilt for playing into Tito's scheme and a genuine need to talk to you about what happened. He just didn't know how to go about it.

Your phone rang before he could ask you the dreaded 'how are you feeling' question, and you sighed, digging your phone out of your pocket and putting your wine glass down on the table. "What, Anthony?"

Mat held back his laughter as he took a sip of his wine. One thing was for sure, your attitude towards your brother hadn't changed from pre-breakup. He looked at you, your eyebrows knitted together as you brought your hand up to your forehead, rubbing it. "What do you mean? Is my stuff–" you sighed, closing your eyes. "No, you won't get electrocuted if you–"

He reached out, bumping his elbow against yours and raising an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

You looked at him, shaking your head as you pulled your phone away from your ear. "He forgot his wallet at home and went back to the apartment– I guess something leaked and my bathroom and room are flooded."

Mat had to act like he was surprised, but if anything he was pissed. This was the one scenario that they didn't agree on– simply because it wasn't fucking plausible. "Well have you talked to him? Maybe there's–"

Your head fell back against the cushion and you closed your eyes, sighing. "I didn't leave a faucet on, I didn't even go into my bathroom before we– can you stop interrupting me?"

He could hear Tito rambling on through the other side of the phone, no doubt barely giving you time to talk because he didn't want you to fill in the gaps of his fake story. "Well, where am I supposed to go?"

Mat chewed on his bottom lip, bringing the glass up to his lips as he knew this was when Tito was suggesting that you stay with him. He couldn't look at you because the guilt was taking over. He could tell you were stressed and obviously, Tito hadn't been exaggerating at just how bad you were after the breakup with Jeremy. And if he looked at you any longer, the guilt would swallow him up and he'd cave in and tell you everything.

"No, I'm not asking–" you sighed, taking a few deep breaths and exhaling before speaking again. "Because Anthony, it's rude! "

Mat felt like reaching over and grabbing your phone, ending the plan then and there. But again, he knew that the Beauvillier sibling dynamic was a lot different than any other one. Tito knew when to stop pushing, you were his sister after all. So, he sat next to you, sipping on his wine and waited for you to ask the question they'd been pushing you to do all along.

"Can you just...ask, please?" His eyes went wide the moment he heard the emotion in your whispered reply. "I can't just...move everything, I don't even have everything. It's all at Jer–" you stopped yourself, sitting up and hunching over, resting your head in your free hand. "And he said that's all that was available?"

He kept sneaking looks at you from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge whether or not the emotion in your voice was leading to tears. He brought his phone out of his jacket, opening to type a message to Tito.

"Fine, I'll...I'll just ask," he froze as you turned to him, holding your phone away from your ear. "Hey Mat?"

He placed his phone face down and away from your sight of vision you couldn't see that he was about to send a text to Tito. "Yeah?" Yikes, that wasn't casual enough. "What's up?" Better.

You were holding back tears and for the first time, he could see the dark circles beneath your eyes, still peaking out from whatever make-up you had put on that morning. Yeah, this plan wasn't good– this on was definitely a punch in the gut. "Do you think I could stay here? I don't have much and I–"

"Yeah, no," he cleared his throat. "No, I mean yeah...you can. I've got the guest bedroom."

You nodded, looking away from him and brought the phone back up to your ear. "There, happy?"

Oh, you have no idea how happy Tito was, was all that Mat could think as he brought his phone back out. "Can I at least come and get some stuff to– Yeah...okay. Yeah, see you."

You hung up the phone and your head fell back against the cushion, eyes closed. Mat looked at you, wondering whether or not he should dare to see if you were okay. He started to reach a hand out to nudge your arm when his phone vibrated.

Tito: IT WORKED! I'M FREE!

Tito: well...at least for the next week i am. i’ll need to figure out another excuse for the extra week i guess.

Mat: dude...i don't think this is a good idea. y/n's like...really emotional right now.

Tito: AND I'M GOING ON A TWO WEEK DRYSPELL.

Mat: okay, get laid tonight and let her come back.

Tito: nope. i'm using all seven days of this time and look on the bright side, now you'll get the guestroom done faster than you planned.

Mat: are you at least coming back with the pizza?

Tito: no, just her clothes. caroline is coming over in an hour.

He laughed in disbelief, shaking his head as he looked at you– still lying in the same position from when you hung up the phone.

Mat: dude, you so owe me one.

Tito: 👍🏻

Mat put his phone back into his jacket pocket and turned to you. He was sure that the movement on the couch would have been enough to get you to open your eyes– but you didn't budge. He reached out and nudged your arm and you opened your eyes and turned to look at him. "What do you think about Chinese?"

"Let me guess, he's not getting the pizza?" You asked, drained of any energy.

Mat bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. "No, he said they were packed," the lie was a lot better than telling her the truth. "If you're not feeling Chinese, we can go to Chipotle?"

"I don't know," you sighed, picking up the wine glass and taking a long sip. "Do you think we'd miss him?"

Not in a million years. Even if they did, he'd just drop the bag of belongings in front of Mat's door, no doubt.

"I'll buy you a large guac and a large queso," He smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "Free of charge."

"You had me at large guac." You looked at him and then back at your wine glass, downing the rest before placing it back onto the table and turning towards Mat. "Besides, he's the one who didn't bother to offer me the couch in the new 1 bedroom he'd be staying in until everything is fixed. He can wait a few extra minutes if we're not back in time."

Mat just nodded, standing up with you and playing into your mood. "Yeah, fuck that guy."

You laughed, and for the first time since he walked into yours and Tito’s apartment...he saw you smile. He felt proud of himself for being able to cheer you up in some way. And maybe, he thought, if Tito wasn't going to look out for you...he could.

It was only for seven days, how bad could it be?

[bigkyloenergy]

𝙃𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙔𝙀𝘿 𝙑𝙀𝙉𝙊𝙈

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘.

a witcher!kylo x reader fic. dark themes, smut ahead. 18+.

summary: you are a barmaid / stablewoman at an inn in toussaint, kylo ren, one of the last of the witchers from the school of the viper regularly stays at the establishment. you wonder what keeps him coming back.

read on ao3.

O Valley of Plenty, O Valley of Plenty….

This song was going to be stuck in your head for weeks. How many times had the bard sang it in the last 24 hours? You could hear him even as you stocked the tables outside, grabbing one of the plates a little too tight when you picked it up. 

It wasn’t as if the man was a bad singer, he had such a following for a good reason — out of all the songs in the land, his favorite was a ballad of Witchers. Reminding you of the last time you’d seen yours, how well you’d memorized the outline of his lips even in the quick look you’d gotten under a setting sun.

Only a few days passed, it felt like weeks. While work would usually occupy you, you spent extra time turning your head toward every incoming guest, just to check if it was him. 

Betty couldn’t stand you working so much, she nearly kicked you out every time dawn began to pass over Beauclair. After you finished the placewear, you said a quick goodbye to cook while you grabbed your things from the kitchen before passing the crowd that was gathered tightly in the inn, warmed by ale and good company. 

Usually, you’d stay after when entertainment was hired at the Pheasantry. You loved music, the tales behind the tunes, letting your body sway and your mind find silence. Ruek didn’t put up an argument either, you figured he was just about as sick of you as the inkeep. And your bed didn’t sound so bad with thoughts of the Viper occupying your mind. 

The cobblestone shined with the reflection of the night sky, the town dressed in a somber silence while your boots clicked down the street. 

Every time you blinked, you saw him. Leading the horse as he fucked you, using the instability to his advantage, leaving you with a bruised cervix, one that demanded you yield every step you took. You weren’t shy to your carnal desires, but he awoke them in a way that seemed unearthly. 

Crickets began to stir in the grass, your walk not being far so you took your time, enjoying the way the buildings looked at night, walking in zigzags since you didn’t have to worry about anyone to run into. Your thoughts were quickly proven wrong when you spotted a hooded woman right in front of your building, like she was looking for something at the bottom of the door.

   “Hey. Can I help you?” You knew the neighbors that lived above you, and the other flat was vacant, and you couldn’t help the suspicion considering the woman wasn’t even trying to ring the bell. 

Her hair fell in raven curls around her face, side profile sharp, and you could tell that her eyes were beautiful even from here. 

  “Are you looking for someone?” 

Again, you tried to gauge her attention, taking a step closer. 

Maybe she was hurt, maybe this was a grandchild of the elderly couple that you didn’t know about. You remembered them telling you that their family was still back home in Novigrad, but maybe you’d missed something in the last conversation you had with the wife.

Reaching your hand out, you barely brushed your fingers over the cloaked shoulder before she was turning, snapping your arm back into your chest. 

What was a regular woman had glowing, white eyes, mouth opening in a hiss — revealing jagged teeth. As you stepped back, fear making you trip over your heel, she advanced on you. In her motions the hood fell, dark hair surrounding her face, and the last thing you saw was her desiccated beauty before everything was black. 

—

    “.... and you, the Witcher who prefers vampires over monsters, come here for a girl?” 

Your head hurt. The ground was hard under you, pebbles indenting your skin while you rolled onto your side. Barely able to register the voice, let alone what they were saying. Blood rushed between your ears. You heard a pop, wondering if it was in your head or wherever you were, trying to recover the last thing you remembered. The woman. 

  “Why don’t you let her stay here, with me?” You cracked an eye, a wall looking back at you, behind you a quick shuffle of feet somewhere before a high pitched shriek burst the tension that was making the room sound like it was underwater.

  “Not as nice as the others say, I thought the first time I met you would be special. A dance of two monsters.” 

  “I don’t dance.” 

His voice, even in your state, had your brain crawling with urgency, looking for the crack of light in confused darkness. 

You rolled again, releasing more tiny rocks that had burrowed in your skin, just in time to see the woman disappear. 

Her clothes the only evidence she was there, Kylo shattering a glass bulb in the same place she’d left. The man grunted, now making eye contact with you. 

The cave began to echo with distant noises of the bruxa. Your head whipped, trying to find the source, adjusting your hindered sight in the darkness. Kylo was turning on his heel, unclipping something from his waistband, another splintering against the floor.

This time, it puffed with silver dust, leaving the air sparkling — and that was when you saw her.

She was decorated by whatever he’d just tossed in that direction, yet you couldn’t completely recognize her, you knew it was the woman outside of the door. The bomb only outlined her frame, but it was enough for him. 

Jumping against the caved walls, she used them to get above the Viper, dropping from the ceiling just as he caught the dagger that was in his left hand between his two forefingers, holding them both to brace for her impact.

Claws scraped along his side, and he took advantage of her weight to grasp her wrist — sending her into the wall next to you. She shrieked, then disappeared again.

Kylo stood above you. He used the curve of his boot, right where your ribcage met your hip, only to toss you farther toward what you assumed was the entrance. 

You gasped, rolling against the floor, trying to protect your softer bits from the collision with the ground. 

Scurrying to the wall, you shrunk yourself against it, pulling your knees into your chest. Still in your skirts from work, you clutched them in clammy palms, the dust burning your nostrils as you swallowed air. 

It was as if you couldn’t completely focus your eyes, Kylo blended with the darkness, his sharp movements as he dodged your captor the only thing spotlighting him. You were too afraid what may come if you looked away. 

His offense was fluid, as if he’d had this fight a thousand times. It was almost like… he wasn’t trying. Kylo would mock her without speaking, his blades barely catching her as she passed, earning gurgling objections from the monster. 

Each time she attempted to invade his space, he was shrugging her off in a lithe twist of his burly body.

The Viper’s very stance was taunting, flicking his daggers outward as if to challenge her. The silver caught in the sliver of moonlight, before it was being tossed through the air and landing directly in her chest. That pissed her off. 

She teleported behind him, jumping onto his back before you could blink, and latched into the side of the Witcher’s neck.

You screamed. 

He shook her off, stumbling forward, gloved hand coming over the wound as she circled him. Crimson dripped from her mutated face, chittering all the way, as if she had already won. You felt your eyes burning with tears, and you refused to let them pass. Monsters was a light term for the cloaked woman who was now besting the Viper. 

Suddenly, her demeanor changed, she was recoling. The noises were turning painful, and this was Kylo’s signal to advance on her. He dropped his hand from his shoulder, grabbing the dagger that was still in her chest. You knew Witchers practiced magic, so you were hoping that would be his big finale to this nightmare. 

It wasn’t.

Kylo coiled his arm around her neck, bringing her back to his chest. She thrashed, and you watched him lock a leg around hers for good measure. He took a few steps like this, making sure that he didn’t lose his grip, and he began to drag the knife upward. Blood splattered at the hilt, splitting open her chest, breaking every bone in its wake. You could hear the cracks between her feral blubbering, snapping her teeth in the air, clawing at any part of him she could find. 

And in one more graceful movement, her top half was completely severed, dropping to nothing in front of her bloodthirsty defeator. And for what seemed like good measure, he pulled out another glass from his pouches, pouring a thick liquid over the body. 

  “What’re you doing?” Your voice broke as you finally spoke, unclutching the skirts that were your only security.

He didn’t even look up.

  “She isn’t dead.” He snapped his fingers, a ball of flame dancing from them, fire sealed her skin before it devoured it, leaving it to ash. 

You opened your mouth again to speak, only nothing came out. So much was on your mind, yet you felt so empty. Numb. You stared at the burnt spot on the cave floor, but Kylo didn’t move. He was watching you, blood still dripping from his shoulder, his mask still perfectly placed over his chiseled nose. 

Through all the adrenaline you were harboring, the desperation to see his face again stayed stubborn.

  “How did you find me? Did you follow.. Where the hell did she even take me?” You stayed in your position, “and what the hell was she? I — thought… you were… She bit you. What were those glasses you were breaking all over the place? Did you just make fire with your fingers? Was she naked?” 

A puff of air through the mixed material in his muzzle was all you got in response, taking a few wide steps to lift you to your feet. You quickly pulled your arm from him. 

  “No. What the fuck? Why can’t you literally answer any questions? Don’t you think you owe me that?” 

  “The second time I’ve saved your life.” he reminded, “I owe you nothing.” 

It was now when you finally got clear vision of his eyes, expecting the golden gaze you memorized, only to nearly collide against the wall when nothing but black looked down at you. Your throat dried, switching between the heavy purple veins under them, and back to his unidentifiable pupils. 

You took a long breath, letting the fear sink into your belly, before you stepped forward, aiming your chin up toward him. 

  “You’ve been in Beauclair this whole time, haven’t you? You just haven’t checked into the inn. Are you avoiding me? You know, you’re the one who decided to pull your dick out on your horse.” 

He growled, taking a deep breath, which only dwarfed you further. 

  “Tell me,” he tipped your chin up, forcing you to meet his dark stare, “are you angry because all you can think about is my cock? You want me to show up at that dull inn and fuck you delerious every night?” Your lips parted, saliva building in your mouth.  

He dropped his hand.

  “Come, or be the next bait for whatever finds home here.” 

Kylo passed you, stepping up the incline that was the exit, even still, you stayed. You crossed your arms over your chest, gauging a reaction from the Witcher. 

  “Maybe whatever comes will show me more mercy than you have.” 

The Viper stopped dead in his tracks, twisting on his heel, before he was closing the space between you at a menacing rate. 

Macabrely stoic, you stared into the abyss that were his eyes, unwavering in your feigned bravery. 

  “Mercy.” He chuckled mockingly, before he snatched you at your throat. Lifting you off of your feet, bringing you level to him. You couldn’t help but think that he looked beautiful like this, his pupils broken, the black matching the armor he wore.

 He surveyed you like this for a moment before releasing you, leaving you to a pile at his feet. 

You grasped at his legs, bringing yourself to some type of stability while you filled your lungs, finding yourself at your knees in front of him. Anticipation breathed at the back of your neck, gooseflesh dressing you. He grabbed your face in exchange, his hand taking the entirety of your jaw with no effort. 

  “You’ll beg for mercy when I’m done with you, little müna.” 

Pushing his leathered fingers into your wet mouth, Kylo forced your jaw open, flattening your tongue while he began to unzip his pants. You churned at the thought of seeing his cock again, ignoring every ounce of morality you had. The dirt under your knees was hard, pinching your flesh as you adjusted your weight. You stared up at him, willing, and he grunted, releasing himself. 

His cock was already hard, waiting, and with the way he prodded your tongue you knew exactly what he wanted from you. But he didn’t give you a beat to do it yourself. 

The Viper removed his hand, shoving his cock in its place, filling you to the base of your throat. You gagged, your fingers reaching to brush against his solid thighs before he smacked your hand away. He reached back up to the shoulder that hadn’t stopped bleeding, coating the glove in the fresh liquid before he smeared it along your face. First your eyes, forcing you to close them, then down your cheeks, painting you in him. 

  “Don’t touch me.” Kylo warned through clenched teeth as he began to push himself into your face, finding a steady rhythm. 

You whimpered against him, leaving your hands in your lap while he collected the majority of your hair in one hand. He snaked his fingers against your scalp, starting at the nape of your neck, letting them lace through the strands before he wrapped it around his knuckles. 

The Viper gave a good tug, forcing you to take every inch of him, bury your nose in his pubes, inhaling his musk, hindering your senses. You were being swallowed by this man, every bit of you knew it, you wanted him in any way he’d give. 

Even if it meant fucking your face on a cave floor after he’d just saved you from a damned vampire. 

“That’s it, choke on it, slut.” He groveled, shimmying your face in a way that would make the tip of his cock bounce along your esophagus. 

Your eyes welled with tears, hollowing out your mouth so you could take this monster’s perfect cock as it should be. Appreciating every inch forced into you, tongue rolling to steal tastes from his slickened skin. 

His sounds egged you on, the low moans that were drowning between his primal growls. You wanted him to go mad with the feeling of your mouth, and this wasn’t enough. You attempted to force your head further, though his hand was doing all the real work, reaching yours up again to cup his balls in your hand. 

You heard a muffled breath before he was ripping you from his erection, forcing you to gaze straight at it, and you were sure no torture device had anything on this. Your spit dripping from his swollen head, the veins protruding and garnishing his dick in the most delicious way. Some saliva dripped from your bottom lip as you looked up at him with confused, desperate eyes. 

Kylo dragged you by your hair, your ass skating across the textured floor, until you met the wall you’d been recoiling to earlier. 

“I told you not to touch me, already stuffed with cock and can’t stop being a disobedient whore.” He spat, before he slammed his cock back into your gaping mouth. 

His thumb hooked at your jaw, over your bottom teeth, dislodging it from your face. You whined, the pain shooting down your neck, through your head, making it harder to breathe when you began to panic. But this didn’t stop the Viper, every time you fussed he would smack his hips hard enough against you that your skull would crack against the earthly wall. 

As you shifted, trying to mask the pain with the pleasure you found in him using you like this — you felt the wetness ruining your undergarments. You squeezed them together in a futile attempt for some pressure, any sort of relief, and Kylo quickly kicked your legs back apart before you could even finish your thought. He held your hair right at the top of your head, forcing stillness, leaning over your body, using your mouth as his personal fuck hole. You could feel him getting harder in your mouth, which only could mean one thing. And you wanted it.

You wanted to feel him shoot down your throat, invade your insides, make home in your belly and know the taste of his spend. 

Excitement was getting the best of you, nipples poking through your blouse as it slipped from your shoulder. He looked down at you, his eyes still plagued with whatever concoction had done this to him, and came in your mouth. 

You tried to open your throat, but the brunt force had swelled it enough to object to swallow. Coughing, you used his cock as a cork to keep the seed down. It was only when you began to feel him softening that he finally pulled out of you. You were more dazed than when you’d woke up here.

Kylo zipped up his pants, watching you all the while. You were beginning to get used to that, the way he looked to you as if you were going to say something earth shattering at any point. Closing your mouth, your jaw clicked back into place with a harsh pang.

Your hand clutched over it, whimpering, trying to move it to make sure that he hadn’t just broken your face trying to use it as a human cock toy. 

Unsure if your feet would even register standing, you lifted yourself to them and your knees immediately wobbed.

The Viper sighed, grabbing you at your hips before he slung you over your shoulder as if you were extra cargo. 

Stepping out of the cave, ducking under the passageways so he wouldn’t hit you along them, his head already reached the top so you were a dangerous addition to his exit. When he mounted Luxe, he didn’t bother with the courtesy of letting you into the saddle in front of him. 

And for the second time, he dropped you at the inn without so much as another word. 

[buckysbitch107]

I don’t know if requests are open, but if they are can I request a Steve Rogers x Reader where at the end of end game he goes back to his lover from the 40s but instead of Peggy it’s the reader(include any backstory that you want)? Like even his compass contains the picture of the reader and not Peggy. I love your wring so far btw, keep up the good work!!!

Home Isn’t Just A Place | Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: When Colonel Phillips himself delivered the letter stating the love of your life (and best friend since 5 years old) was dead, you were more than devastated. You were still mourning the loss of your fiancé, mindlessly fiddling with the ring on your finger, when a much harsher knock rang at your door. You expected it to be perhaps your sister or a delivery boy. What you certainly didn’t expect was for your fiancé, who you were told was dead, to be standing at your doorstep.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Crying

Word Count: 2.38K

A/N: Hope this meets your standards! I tried my best with this one and i hope you enjoy it! Just a reminder that I will always be accepting requests! I will be writing a Part 2 to this, so stay tuned!

“It’s fine guys! I can cook something in the apartment!” You speak, the men on either side of you giving you a small glare.

“It’s our last night, (Y/N/N). We wanna make it special before you’re alone in the apartment.” Steve mentions, wrapping his arm around your waist. You’re still taller than him, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“That restaurant isn’t that good anyway.” You whisper, trying so hard to hide the disappointment in your voice. You’d been looking forward to sitting in that restaurant since it opened, and when Bucky and Steve said they were taking you, that meant you could finally get a chance. That is, until you got there, and they didn’t have your reservation.

“Doll-” Bucky starts, soon being cut off by your voice.

“Guys. It’s fine, really.”

“No, it’s not (Y/N)! We wanted to treat you to something special, and now it looks like we’re having cabbage fuckin’ stew for dinner… again.”

“Or,” You pause, lifting your arm to point at the sign hanging off of the corner store at the end of the street. “We could get some food from Stan’s. It’s still open and we have enough money for some hot dogs.” The two men agree shortly after and the three of you quicken your pace, eager to get some food in your stomach. The small bell above the door rings through the air as the three of you walk in, the owner walking out from the back.

“Steve, Bucky, (Y/N)! Nice to see ya! What can I get for you?” Stan asks, his smile always bringing comfort to you three.

“Three hot dogs and three cokes please!” You respond, offering him a small smile yourself. He nods and taps some button on the register, pulling the crank before turning his head back up to you.

“Thirty cents please.” You start digging in your wallet when a hand stops you, and your head snaps to meet Steve’s eyes before he starts digging in his own wallet. He hands the man 30 cents before discreetly grabbing your hand, a small chuckle leaving your lips. Stan walks to the back and returns with three hot dogs in hand. He sets them down on the counter before reaching in the fridge and pulling out the drinks. You take them and thank him before walking out the door, Steve and Bucky following you out with their own.

“Let’s go to the docks! Watch the lights in the city!” You propose, turning back to face the two men. They agree and you all walk down to the docks, finishing your food and drinks shortly after getting there.

“Sorry, it had to end like this, (Y/N/N).”

“Meh, I liked this ending better. At least this way I can say fuck.” You giggle, turning back to look at your boyfriend. A soft melody fills your ears and you search for the source of the music. You soon find it as a band plays at an oceanside restaurant, where people are probably dining on the finest steaks and champagne, but you’re happy right where you are. Steve’s hand grabs yours and he smiles, both of his hands wrapping around your waist.

“Dance with me, doll.” You nod before placing your hands around his shoulders, the two of you slightly swaying to the music. Bucky lets out a short laugh before leaning against a lamppost. Steve grabs your hand and spins you around, the blue dress flying up around your waist as he twirls you in his arms. Your eyes drift closed as he continues to spin you, a laugh bubbling out of your mouth, and you finish turning and open your eyes to see Steve on one knee.

“Oh.” Your hands fly up to cover your mouth and you see Bucky smiling out of the corner of your eye as Steve pulls out a ring.

“I know, I know it isn’t much, but it’s what we could afford.”

“Wha-Whe-How?” You whisper.

“Well, we saved up for a bit.”

“I think you’re supposed to give a speech now, Stevie.” Bucky comments. 

“I’m getting there!” Steve responds, making you let out a hoarse laugh before you start choking on your sobs. “Doll, you are the best thing to ever happen to me, Buck being a close second. You’ve always been there for me when I’m sick, which is a lot. I wanna be with you forever. I want to have kids with you, I want to give you the best white-picket-fence life I can. I swear to love you for the rest of our lives, if you’ll be mine. What do ya say doll?” By this time, your hands have migrated from your mouth to your chest, and you wipe your eyes while nodding your head, choking out a short “yes” before Steve slides the ring on your finger. As he stands up, you begin to cry harder as you pull him into a bear hug. He pulls away and you place both hands on his shoulders, looking at him sternly.

“You better come back to me, you hear me?”

“I promise I will, doll.”

“No, I need better than a promise.”

“I swear on my life, dollface. Besides, I wouldn’t leave my best girl behind.”

~~~

You’ve seen all the adverts and movies about the one and only Captain America. People see him as a hero, as the man who punches Nazis straight in the face and kisses babies, but you still see him as the little guy from Brooklyn who couldn’t run the mile from fourth grade on. Yes, you missed your fiance very much, but you had faith that he would keep his promise and come home after the war. A few months after Bucky and Steve left, you picked up a waitressing job in a mom-and-pop diner on the weekends and weeknights alongside your job as a science teacher. Bills aren’t going to pay themselves, and Bucky and Steve aren’t here to help you. You walk in the door, returning home from your morning shift at the diner, planning on quickly changing clothes before running out and volunteering at the animal shelter, something you always did on Saturdays. You throw on a simple dress, the pale yellow glowing in the sunlight streaming in from the window. Your plans suddenly change when a knock rings at your door.

“One second!” You yell, finishing pulling up the zipper on the back of your dress before walking over to the door, opening it to see Colonel Phillips himself. “Colonel Phillips.”

“Miss (Y/L/N). May I come in?” He asks, the solemn look on his face causing an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

“Of course, sir.” You open the door a little bit wider and he enters the apartment.

“You may want to sit.” You follow his instructions and sit yourself down at the kitchen table, now noticing the letter in his hands. “I wrote it all out on paper, but I also figured I should tell you in person.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Captain Rogers crashed a plane into the ice to save the lives of millions of people yesterday morning. I would have gotten here earlier but there were some complications with the plane.”

“No.” You mumble, standing up to directly face the colonel.

“He has been declared Killed in Action, along with James Barnes.” Your head snaps up at his comment, tears already pooling in your eyes.

“What-what do you mean they’ve both been killed in action? What-” A sob rising in the back of your throat cuts you off and you have to steady yourself against the table. Phillips places the letter on the table as you try to quiet your sobs. He quietly nods his head before turning to the door, about to step out when you choke out a short “wait”. Colonel Phillips turns around as you compose yourself, wiping the tears off your face.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Am I allowed to give you a hug?”

“Yes ma’am.” You wrap your arms around him and place your head on his shoulder, the colonel hugging you back shortly after. The two of you pull away and you whisper a small “thank you sir” before he nods and walks out the door. You turn around and grab the letter, ripping it open before focusing on the words carefully typed on the page:

Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N)

437 West Clermont Street

Brooklyn, New York, USA

11201

I regret to inform you that both Captain Steven Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes have been killed in action in service of their country. As you know, Captain Rogers freed over 200 men across enemy lines in Azzano, Italy. He then formed a squadron, the Howling Commandos. That squadron took down more enemy bases than any other in history. It is with deepest condolences that we regret to inform you than on Saturday, February 19th, Sergeant James Barnes fell out of a moving train while defending Captain Rogers. On Friday, February 25th, Captain Rogers crashed a plane into the Arctic in order to save over three million lives from nuclear bombings. Not only has America lost a soldier, America has also lost a hero.

Deepest regards,

Colonel Chester Phillips

A loud sob erupts from your mouth as you throw the letter on the table, your hands quickly covering your mouth.

“No. Nonononono, they can’t be dead. I can’t- I can’t do this alone.” You back up against the wall, slowly sliding down as your fingers thread through your hair. It’s only when you look back at the ring on your finger that your tears of pain turn to those of anger. “YOU PROMISED!” You scream, not giving a damn if the neighbors can hear you. Your head falls into your hands as you curl up into a ball, your sobs echoing through the now eerily empty house.

“You promised.

~~~

It was a nice funeral. A lot of people you knew were there. Dum-Dum, Gabe, Jim, and Monty came, while Jaques sent his condolences. It was small, but Steve would have liked it. Yeah, you sobbed, but so did everyone else. You sit numbly in your house, the walls no longer filled with laughter, the floors no longer covered in flour and paint, now only scuff marks from your pacing panic attacks. You’re mindlessly fiddling with your ring when a knock sounds at your door, this one sounding louder and overall harsher than the other ones you’d been experiencing for the past week. You stand up and walk over, not caring to check the peephole before opening it. And standing there, is the man you were told crashed a plane into the arctic.

“Wha-”

“Hi, doll.” You slowly start shaking your head before walking away from the door, simply leaving it open.

“No, no. Nonono. You crashed a plane into the arctic. Your signal went dead. You were presumed dead! I’m going mad, I’ve gone absolutely bonkers and now I’m imagining the love of my life is in my living room when he’s buried somewhere in the Arctic!” You rant to yourself, tears slowly gathering in your eyes. You stop when Steve puts both hands on your shoulders, stabilizing you and forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“God, is this what happened after I crashed?” He mumbles, looking up and down at your frantic form. Your clothes have become a little looser, your hair a little thinner, the bags under your eyes just a bit more noticeable. But that’s not the only thing that’s changed. You look at Steve and notice he looks… different. He looks older and more exhausted.

“You aren’t my Steve?”

��Sit down doll, I have a lot of explaining to do.”

~~~

“So you’re from-”

“Yeah.”

“But you still-”

“Mhm.”

“And I’m still-”

“Yep.”

“But wouldn’t this-”

“Nope.”

“Huh. And this Thanos dude he-”

“Eliminated 50% of all living beings. Yes.”

“And you’re back here because you’re delivering the stones back to their original places in time and wanted to see me?”

“Yeah pretty much.”

“Huh. Okay.”

“So, can I have this dance?” He stands up and reaches his hand out to you. You smile and take it, the man pulling you into him. You notice as the two of you start swaying that he’s suddenly more relaxed, and that he’s definitely gotten more muscular over the years. You dance for a little while longer before he tilts your chin up, meeting your lips for a gentle kiss. “God I missed you doll.”

“I missed you too.” The two of you stay silent a little longer before he pulls back slightly, a serious look on his face. Uh oh.

“Come back with me.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Come back with me. To 2023.”

“Stevie, I can’t. I have so many responsibilities, and it could mess up the timeline and-”

“Nope. Already checked with the Ancient One. Said it should be fine as long as no one knows about it.”

“Oh.”

“Plus, you can meet my friends, and we can finally get married, and Bucky will-”

“Wait what? Bucky’s alive?”

“Oh yeah, he was captured by HYDRA but we got him back.”

“You’re gonna need to catch me up on everything.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Fine. I’ll come with you, but if I throw up it’s your fault.”

“Deal.”

~~~

“I’m trying to bring him back!” Banner yells, flicking switches and pressing buttons on the dash. Bucky bites at his cuticles, something he does when he’s nervous, also something you used to yell at him for. The launchpad starts whirring again and both Bucky and Sam’s heads shoot up at the noise, not familiar with it at all.

“Um, is that supposed to happen?” Sam asks.

“Only when there’s more than one body being transported.” Banner mumbles, pressing a few more buttons. “Okay. Bringing him back in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”

“AH-oomph.” Bucky’s eyes widen as his brain registers the yellow dress, the sparkling eyes, the dazzling smile.

“(Y/N)?!” He yells, giving both you and Steve a confused look. You sit up on the launchpad and look around, not familiar with any of your surroundings.

“Hiya Buck! Oooh, love the hair! Nice to see it change from the ol’ buzzcut.”

Permanent Tags: @wintersoldierslut​ @breakmy-bedbarnes@stuckys-hot-dogs​ @andreasworlsboring101 @yaxamarvel @donutloverxo

Just a reminder that all requests are open! My masterlist is in my bio, so you guys know who I specialize in, but really I do anyone y’all request. As I’ve mentioned, nothing is too fluffy, angsty, smutty, or gorey for me. I mainly write Marvel and its characters/actors. I can also write some characters from other things, you just have to ask! Also please let me know if you want to be a part of the Permanent Tags! But please, for now,

Call me Emily

[ktheist]

twenty-five

chapters:  24 / 25 / 26

knight!jungkook x princess!reader

x

The party is in full swing. Men and women dressed in their finest article. Colorful ribbons hang overhead like a rainbow without a sky.

Your first dance was with Taehyung, as tradition required it. But he was whisked away by the daughters of Barons and Marquises as soon as the song ends and you accepted a couple dances from a neighboring noble and your sister. She had arrived as part of the Northern Kingdom’s delegates.

“How does his majesty treat you?” She had spoken in such a direct tone, you almost thought yourself crazy for looking around in case the nearby couples heard.

It was a few heartbeats later that you reminded yourself it was as normal as a pleasantry could get.

“He treats me fairly well, sister.” You schooled an easy smile - but Minju being Minju, spotted the stiff angles and hard set brows in your features almost instantly.

Instead of prodding some more, she had sighed and murmured her surrender, “I’m glad you’re getting along well. I was worried after what happened since you last returned home.”

“Home,” you echoed, the words sounding foreign now, “what a luxurious concept.”

You would have sat down with Minju somewhere in the corner and catch up but the noblemen were faster. They’d swept her away in a blink of an eye. You did search for her after the dance but with the sea of people, having had extend the invitation to the people, you can barely recognize the faces in the room.

In the end, you find yourself in the White Lotus room on the opposite end of the hallway way. The fact that someone else was in the room goes past you like a ghost of a presence. It is only when you hear his familiar velvet voice, do you jump from your spot in fright.

“Not everyone can sneak in on me,” you let your lips curl into a smirk a second later, impressed but not at all unexpected from your knight-turned-ghost.

“To be fair, I was here first, your majesty.” Jungkook states, his voice laced you with a trace of humor.

“I own this place.” You plant your hands on your hips, noticing how a numbing pain spreads through your body from the small touch.

The royal physician said it was normal to experience pain in your lower back and hips in your second to third trimester as your body begin adjusting to the growing life inside you.

“Indeed, along with everything and everyone who lives here,” he stands up from the exquisite sofa imported from ribwit’s, a hundred and thirty two year old mahogany, “you are my master.”

Something in the way he calls you that makes your stomach churn with unrest. You don’t need to look in the mirror to know your face has contorted into tense eyebrows and troubled pout, “you’re your own person, Jungkook.”

The man simply chuckles - as though he knew what you were about to say before you even did.

He lifts a hand, palm facing the ceiling, “may I have the honor of this dance?”

“But there’s no music,” you say but place you hand in his anyway, your other hand making its way to his shoulder while his free hand makes its way you your waist - or where it’s supposed to be.

It started to disappear and meld with your growing stomach. Dresses you own no longer fit you. Everyday, the royal seamstress sends you new clothes to cater to your changing physique.

“Is it true? That you were looking for a second wife for the King?” The question hits the air like a smoke bomb after silence lapses between you whilst you sway to a distant sound of the musical instruments from the ballroom.

 You don’t know why you’re surprised when there’s been rumors circulating around your withdrawn interview for the position.

“I won’t pretend to be clueless of my own actions,” you begin, “but the King had strongly disapproved of it, I can’t force it upon him.”

“But you’ve never had any problem wrapping him around your fingers until now, have you?” His breath hits your face - if you would just crane your neck, you have no doubt that you’ll find his eyes boring into you but you choose to fix your gaze on the silver embroidery of his attire.

It is the question that comes a second later that makes you involuntarily search his eyes in the dark of the night.

“Have you fallen for him?”

You’re the first to stop moving - you know, because his hand shifts with his movement and they halt when he notices your motionless state. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, how could I?” it is a defense but it is as weak as a baby’s hold on a candy.

A noise escapes him, something between a laugh and a scoff as he lets his hand fall away from you and take a step back.

“You let a man who tried to kill you into your bed - like he didn’t burn an entire village down while you watched, helpless.” His words are knives and you’ve find your hand bracing your belly more than it’s held a sword, “he caused you so much pain, your majesty yet you let him hold you like a lover.”

The man in front of you is the splitting image of your knight. The same set of brows, the same set of doe eyes yet they are fiercely and unforgivably fixed on you while his tall frame now seem to tower over you like a looming threat. And perhaps that’s why your heart bursts into flames, palpitating against the cages encasing it within your chest.

“If anything, it was you who pushed me right into the tyrant’s arms,” your blood runs hot, as do your claim as you take a step forward, eyes trained on his brown ones. 

But it is short-lived as tears begin to prick your waterline from the onslaught of emotions that flood into your chest, putting out the fire within, “I-I asked you to run away with me the first night we spent together but you didn’t want to - why didn’t you want to?”

It is apparent from the way his gaze falters and the dulling light in his eyes - that the memories begin to flash in the back of his mind like a play performed over and over again.

“I’m undeserving of such sacrifice, princess.”

You’re not sure if he’d spoken that name consciously. But it still takes you back to the first time you find yourself alone with him - with you trying to hide from your governor and him, possibly on a night walk. Back when you were a princess and her royal knight.

“I couldn’t - I can’t steal you away from the people just when they have a chance at a prosperous life under your reign,” Jungkook shakes his head as though willing the idea of escaping these walls and living a free life - away, “even now, you’ve made so much changes even though they are not the people you were meant to rule.”

There’s a faint taste of blood in your mouth when you release your bottom lip from the confines of your teeth, shoulder line falling as you let out a breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding.

Every word he said bears truth. You wanted a fairer rule - a kinder one compared to your father’s and Taehyung’s father. The latter was not as cruel as the man you grew up looking at with admiration and later learned the abhorrent acts he had committed. Seokjin is a wise King - but if given a choice, you can’t say for certain that you would let him have the throne if he had so much as expressed his desire for it - had you not chosen to marry a rival monarch.

It is your one disposition. Ungodly as it may be.

“You think I’m despicable for being unable to let you go and yet desiring Taehyung all at once.” You wipe a drop of tear from your eyes - but the truth is, you don’t wish to see Jungkook’s expression when you ask that question. No amount of time and bracing could prepare you for when you see his face contort in displeasure or perhaps even disgust-

“No,” a pair of warm hands frame your cheeks, forcing you to look up at the most enchanting cosmos trapped in the eyes of the man you will never have, they’re hazed with something you can’t pinpoint as he closes them, eyebrows knitting together as he rests his forehead on yours, “please forget what I said... after realizing your growing feelings for him... I was scared you wouldn’t need me anymore. ”

“I’m sorry,” the waterworks comes in full force - perhaps it’s the pregnancy. The physician did say you’d feel a series of overwhelming emotions out of the blue almost too often. Or perhaps it’s guilt rearing its ugly head - and rightfully so - for the unguarded pathway to the garden of your heart, “I’m sorry I let him into my heart - I’m sorry I can’t let him walk out of it.”

That night, Jungkook holds you in his arms, drawing little circles on the side of your stomach where you feel the first bump from the growing life within you.

“It’s yours, you see,” your voice is barely above whisper but you know he hears it well, “I’m sure - I started getting the symptoms after the night at the inn.”

He doesn’t say a word, instead he paces a gentle kiss on your head, disallowing you to look up at him and study his expression - whether he’s happy or whether he’s sad, you’ll never know.

“I’ll need some time to process that, your majesty,” his muffles his words into your tresses, but it does not go unheard as a smile makes its way to your lips “even if it isn’t, it’s part of you and that’s all I need to swear I would protect the next heir with my life.”

You stay in his arms for as long as the night allows you to until the music begins to cease - a telltale sign of the guests getting ready to leave for the lantern adorned streets and march down to the lake to light up the lanterns and release them into the night. Taehyung had held your hand instead of the formality of having his arm held by his queen - it would be a lie if you said you were oblivious to the shift in your relationship.

You were no longer just his queen.

[enkelimagnus]

Cookbook

Bucky Barnes Gen, 1694 words, rated T for Hydra shit

Jewish Bucky Barnes, pre TFATWS, post Endgame

Bucky walks home from a long day of paperwork. On his path is a garage sale and a tired woman.

TW: cigarettes, smoking

Read on AO3

Part 2 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series, Part 1 here, Part 2 here

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

Bucky smokes on the way home from work.

Everything that brought some sort of pleasure was a currency back in his day. That was why they sent cigarettes to the front. It was easy to make them necessary, when you were under constant fire and needed something to keep you going. Anything that got you out of that hell was traded for, fought for. Some days, it was like nothing mattered more than the next ration shipment and its load of cigarettes, pin-up magazines and six-pence books.

In truth, he doesn’t have the habit he used to have. Hydra wouldn’t have that. Upside of brainwashing, he guesses. And it’s not like it burns the same way anymore. That’s the serum for you.

Still, sometimes, he pulls a cigarette out of its gore-decorated cardboard box, lights it and pretends it has the same effect on him now than it did back in muddy camps or candle-lit living rooms.

The day has been long. No raids, but he’d been stuck behind a desk doing fucking paperwork for the last two weeks-worth of missions. His reports are tired and concise, he hates doing them and he’s pretty sure it’s obvious to anyone who reads what he writes.

He wishes he could smoke then , at that stupid cramped desk, to make the endless signing and reading and writing easier, but you’re not allowed to smoke inside anymore. So he finds himself doodling on other pieces of paper when his mind drifts. His focus is not the best outside of missions.

He used to love writing shit. Steve had his drawings and Bucky had his words, in between everything else. They wrote stories on notes they passed in class in high school. When it got taken by the teacher, no one could understand what they were talking about. He used to make up worlds and think of men walking in space, and he wishes he could tell his 14-year-old self that there are people in the sky, and that he’ll meet them one day. That he’ll see aliens, real ones, and punch them in the face.

He would tell him all the good things about the universe, all the people in it, all about partners in crime and arms like Dugan or Morito or Jones, or Sam or Natasha, how he not only met Howard Stark but was his comrade, how Stark knew him as “Sergeant Barnes” or “Sarge”.

He’d tell him all the good, and none of the bad, none of how his dad would die in two years and he’d be leading the family in shabbos prayers at 16, none of how the people in the world could be cruel for the sake of their own fun, none of how Howard Stark said his name in shock before he punched in his skull with the metal fist that was now his left hand.

Those conversations with his younger self -- barely a man, already smart-mouthed and charming and cocky in the way teenagers are and in the way Bucky had tried to remain for as long as he could until the war drained it out of him -- evaporate in the smoke, in the cold Brooklyn air.

He doesn’t love writing anymore. His mind can’t create the worlds it used to make. He thinks in three languages on a good day, only knows how to write one of those, so whenever he tries, something’s always missing. On a bad day, he can barely string along one sentence, let alone tell a story.

And he’s got no one to tell them to, anyway.

It’s 7pm and the streets are dark and icy. In the last few weeks, the gloves he always wears to hide his left hand have not been an incongruous fashion statement.

It’s January now. There was snow last week, a soft blanket that made him fucking cry out of nowhere when he saw it through the window. It was gone soon, but it was there. And for once, it didn’t fall on Siberia. It fell on Brooklyn again. He never would have thought he’d seen snow on Brooklyn again.

That kind of shit pulls memories out of him like nothing else, and he’s thankful for them. They make it easier and harder at the same time.

He told Doctor Raynor about the shul that’s now a church, about how it was the worst pain he’d felt since he’d last been wiped. How that’s another reason why he doesn’t want to walk into Becky’s retirement home and see her as she is now. The pain of time lost is the worst one to bear.

That, and he’s pretty sure she knows what he’s done. His name and photo have been blasted on every news channel and every social media website after the UN bombing. There’s no way she wouldn’t recognize him, when he looks so similar to the brother she lost.

He has no desire to face his Becky now that he’s a murderer and a weapon of mass destruction, Hydra brainwashing or not. You don’t do that to your little sister.

Besides, she doesn’t need him. She’s got kids and grandkids and great-grandkids, and nephews and nieces and every sort of relative you can imagine except for parents and siblings. She’s taken care of, they visit her often, she doesn’t need the grief he’d bring. He can’t be selfish.

He stops to stab the butt of the cigarette into a wall but his eyes catch something else.

In the cold evening, there’s a few lights set up on the sidewalk, over some makeshift tables threatening to crumble over all the items on it. Everyday items mostly, kitchen stuff, books and a clock and some candlesticks.

At first glance, all of the pricier stuff has been sold already, and there’s a tired-looking middle-aged woman sitting on the stairs of the house behind the tables. She has a look on her face, heavy with emotions muddled so well they’re impossible to tell apart.

“Buy what you want,” she says. Her voice doesn’t carry. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have heard more than a mumble if his hearing wasn’t enhanced. “Pay what you want.”

How many times has she said that today?

He looks down at the items for a moment, the cheap metal candlesticks, some old plates decorated with blue flowers, a still plastic-wrapped, never used, frankly hideous challah cover, and a pile of various books. Most in English, a couple in what he assumes to be Polish, some in Yiddish. His eyes fall on one in particular, a cookbook. It looks old.

“Can I touch?” He asks, pointing at the cookbook.

The woman nods. “Yeah. Nothing very modern in there. Bubbe barely even made this anymore,” she explains. Ah. A bubbe passed and the stuff they can’t keep, they’re selling.

The cookbook’s unremarkable. It’s been used, obviously, there are stains of chocolate-covered fingerprints on some of the dessert pages as he flips through. It seems to be half in English and half in Yiddish. He reaches the page where the publication date would be. He doesn’t even know why he’s checking.

Entire Contents Copyrighted 1949 The B. Manischewitz Co. Printed in the U.S.A.

1949. It’s close enough. Really close enough.

“How much do you want?” He looks up at the mourner.

“I told ya, it’s how much you’re willing to give.”

Bucky makes an annoyed sound at the back of his throat. He rephrases the question. “How much do you want me to give?”

The woman makes eye contact again. She looks deeply surprised by his question. Hesitant, too. She has no idea what to reply.

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, starts going through the cash he has. He barely uses his credit card. Every month, when he gets his money from the army, he immediately withdraws most of it. It’s safer that way, and he knows how much he’s spending.

He counts out 180 dollars. It feels like a ridiculous amount for a cookbook, but the woman’s selling her bubbe’s shit like this, she’s still out at 7pm in January in Brooklyn and Bucky doesn’t have a lot of expenses anyway. He doesn’t really have expensive taste. 18’s a good number too, at least, it used to be, in his day.

“Peace be upon her,” He says quietly, when the woman opens her mouth at the bills he places in her hand. “It’s getting cold, you should go back inside,” he adds, quiet and coaxing, the tone he used to use when the neighbor’s son, Aaron, had a tantrum and sat on the stairs all evening, pretending to be mad at his parents.

Did he know the bubbe in question? Was she one of the kids from Hebrew school? It’s a little too far from his old neighborhood to be sure. He’s not going to ask.

The woman sighs a little, putting the money in her pocket when she realizes he’s not going to take any of it back.

He eyes the tables for a moment. “You need help packing up?”

She hesitates. He gets it, he’s a weird stranger who just bought an old cookbook for 180 dollars, it’s nighttime… He can’t tell her he’s not a serial killer, because he is one, and there’s going to be a moment where she remembers where she’s seen his face before. There usually is.

He holds his hands up, seemingly showing he’s harmless. It’s hilarious, really, because he’s never harmless. But contrary to Steve, he’s not massive. He’s more on the lean side of things, especially with his new arm.

“No pressure.”

She hesitates still, but he sees the exhaustion working away at her until she nods. The cookbook is put to the side and he helps her pack up the tables and the remaining things. He is careful not to display too much strength, and he’s also careful to keep his face in a neutral but positive sort of mask. His resting expression is meaner than needed.

He comes home much later than he thought he would, but he’s got a cookbook and some ideas of how to occupy his amnesia-riddled nights.

[ikemensweetheart]

Fireflies Chapter 2

---------

You grew up next door to the Clemance brothers.

You would consider Jonah your best friend and there was something more between you and Luka.

Some time after Luka leaves Red Territory,  you find yourself trapped in an arranged marriage.

Desperate to escape, you follow his example.

There, fate brings you back together.

But how will this love story play out?

Chapter 1

The sun rose bright and clear over Cradle the next morning. Birds sang from the trees as the Black Army began to stir in its barracks.

Ray was the one to emerge from his room. Yawning as he stretched.

"Sneak Attack!" Fenrir jumps Ray from behind, clinging to his back. Fast as lightning, Ray flips Fenrir off his back and onto the floor with a thump!

"Ouch."

"You're going to have to do better than that." Ray says laughing.

"Isn't it a little too early to be roughhousing?" Seth asks as he and Sirius walk past. "Morning." Both the King and Ace reply. 

"If you two keep that up, you're going to be late for breakfast." Sirius adds.

Ray and Fenrir jump to their feet and join the other officers as they make their way to the lounge.

The rest of the army were gathering there, where a hearty breakfast was piping hot and ready for them as they trickled in.

Luka was already there setting the last dish on the table.

"Breakfast looks good today, Luka." Ray says as he sits down.

"Yeah, I can't wait to chow down!" Fenrir adds. "Thanks." Luka murmurs softly as he takes his own seat. He had been up before dawn making the food and it always made him happy to see everyone excited over the fruits of his labor.

As soon as Ray gives the order, everyone starts eating. Talking and chatting among themselves as they eat, but food is the last thing on Luka's mind.

He wanted to see you again, but he didn't want to be a bother. Maybe he could get you a late housewarming gift, but he hadn't been in your house to know what you still needed.

A book maybe? You had always loved reading, but you worked at a booklender, so you could be any book you wanted there.

Luka's quiet sigh didn't go unnoticed. Seth, who was sitting across the table, set down his fork, leaned in and gave Luka a knowing smile. "So, Luka. How did your date go last night?"

Luka choked in surprise. It took him a moment before he could respond. "It wasn't a date." He said, a blush starting to bloom on his cheeks.

"Oh?" Seth quirked an eyebrow. "The two of you certainly weren't dancing like strangers."

"What's this about a date?" Ray asked, looking up from his own food with interest. 

"Luka was walking his girlfriend home last night after dancing with her." Seth explained. 

Ray's eyes widened in surprise."You were dancing with someone, Luka?"

"What was her name again?" Seth tapped his chin thoughtfully.  "Felicity?"

"I'm pretty sure it was Emily." Fenrir added.

"Her name is MC and she's not my girlfriend." Luka cut in. "We just… Grew up together…" Luka's entire face was scarlet now.

Everyone stared at him in shock.

There was a moment of silence before Seth burst out. "You can't just drop a bomb like that and not give the details! Tell us more!"

"There's nothing to tell. We were neighbors, so we used to play time together as kids, that's it." Luka quickly stood up. Gathering up his plate and utensils, he started making his way to the kitchen. "I'm going to go start the dishes." He declared as he left.

Sirius, after having not said a word during the entire conversation, finally spoke. "I'm going to go help." He got to his feet with his own dishes in hand and followed Luka to the kitchen.

"Dang." Fenrir murmured, sticking a forkful of hash browns in his mouth. "He's got it bad."

"Fenrir." Seth said, softly as he leaned back in his chair.. "I do believe an intervention is necessary." 

*****

"Achoo!" Your sneeze seems excessively loud in the quiet shop.

"Oh dear. You're not getting sick, are you, MC?" An elderly man said as he emerged from among the bookshelves.

"I certainly hope not, Mr. Callahan." You reply, smiling at your boss. 

Mr. Callahan has been kind enough to offer you a job even though you were inexperienced in work as a whole after you had been turned away by other business owners in the area.

He had even directed you to the old cottage you were now living in.

Mr. Callahan studies you for a moment. "Are you alright, MC? You seem distracted today."

"I'm fine." You tell him. "There's nothing to worry about."

"You put an astronomy book in the children's section." He counters. Your eyes widen. "Oh. That." You blush a little. "Okay, maybe I'm a little distracted." You confess. "I ran into a childhood friend last night at the dance and I may have been reminiscing a little."

"Oh?" Mr. Callahan joined you at the counter. "Tell me more about this friend?"

"We used to be neighbors." You tell him. A smile on your face. "We used to go over to each others' homes all the time to play.

"He was a very kind and quiet person, not like some of the other children where we grew up. He had an older brother who was always doting on him. It was funny to watch."

You let out a sigh. The light blush on your cheeks grew. "I haven't seen him since he left for boarding school. He's even more handsome than he was then…" You trail off, gazing out the front window, dreamy look on your face. Mr. Callahan's chuckle snaps you out of your thoughts. A blush creeps into your cheeks. "I guess I've got it bad, don't I?"

"It would seem that way." Mr. Callahan agrees.

He then glanced over at the grandmother clock in the corner. "It's getting late, you can head home. I'll close up shop." 

"Are you sure?" You ask. "I'm sure." Mr. Callahan nods. 

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, I guess." You grab your purse from under the counter.

"Oh, before you go, my wife wanted me to give this to you." Mr. Callahan disappeared into the back room and came back with a covered basket. "Aw. Tell her I said thank you." You say with a smile as you accept the basket. Knowing Mrs. Callahan, she had packed it full of delicious food.

"Get home safe. Alright?" 

"I will. Have a good evening Mr. Callahan." You call as you open the door. 

With the basket in one arm and your bag in the other, you set off down the street.

It was late afternoon, so you still had plenty of time to get home before dark. There was also a crowd of people on the street. Going about their day, shopping, and chatting with friends and neighbors as they passed on the street.

As you walked, you mind wandered back to your childhood. Remembering the adventures you used to have when you played with Luka.

You would always play the fair princess, Luka would be the dashing prince. The two of you would sneak into the kitchen, pilfering snacks under the staff's nose, pretending you were talking back a stolen treasure from a ferocious dragon.

Though, now that you thought of it, maybe you hadn't been as sneaky as you believed yourselves to be.

The two of you had also made blanket fortresses in the library, spending rainy days curled up with books.

Lost in thought, you hadn't noticed the breeze had brought in dark rain clouds. 

It wasn't until the first drops hitting your skin that you looked up. The streets had cleared at the imposing weather.

The sprinkle quickly became a deluge. You ran for the nearest awning. 

You manage to get to safety without incident. You quickly check the contents of your basket to make sure the food hasn't gotten wet.

To your relief, it hadn't.

You sigh. Now all you could do was wait out the rain.

As you stood there, you saw a familiar figure running through the rain. "Luka? Luka!" You call out to him. "Over here!" He quickly runs over and joins you under the awning, wet and panting.

You had always thought of him as your prince when you were kids, now, standing there even though his dark hair damp and water dripping down his porcelain skin, he looked as handsome as a prince.

Your face warmed a little at the thought.

"What are you doing out in this weather?" You ask.

Luka's honey gold eyes turned toward you. "I was, um, doing a favor for another officer." He replies, hefting the small package under his arm.

"Ah." You say softly. 

"What about you?" He inquires. "I just finished work and was on my way home." You tell him.

The two of you fell silent, the only sound between you was the rain. Not that you minded, you never had. It was one of the many things you liked about Luka, that you could just sit together without the need for conversation. Not like some of the other children your parents would make you play with. It had always been a fight with them on what to play, but with Luka, you took turns. It was always refreshing.

"I'm going to go find an umbrella." Luka spoke suddenly. You look up at him in surprise. "No, you don't have to. You're already soaked." You tell him. "It's fine." He reassures you with a smile. Your heart flutters. "Here, would you hold this for me?' He asks as he hands the package to you.

You take the package and he steps out from under the awning and into the rain.

Once again, the only sound you hear is the sound of the rain. It had been raining the day Luka had left for boarding school too.. And didn't come back.

You quickly shake your head clear of the thought. Don't be ridiculous. You chide yourself. Of course he'll be back.

As if on cue, Luka did return. This time with an umbrella in hand. "I'm back." He says, holding up the umbrella for you. 

He looks even more handsome with the gentlemanly gesture. Your heart flutters and your cheeks grow warm.

"Thanks." You murmur as you step out from the awning and under the umbrella.

After adjusting your hold on both Luka's package and your basket, the two of you start walking.

You walk in companionable silence.

Before long you leave the Central Quarter and its cobblestone streets behind, heading into the quiet countryside.

"Watch your step." Luka says, slipping his free arm around your waist to guide you away from a puddle.

Your eyes widen and heart skips a beat. He had never done something like that before. You glance up in his direction. He was blushing. "Sorry, I-I just didn't want you to get your skirts muddy."

You smile at him. "It's fine. Thank you." That causes him to blush even harder.

He was so cute when he got like that. You couldn't help but giggle a little bit. That caused Luka to turn away, his entire face turning red.

You bit your lip, trying hard not to burst out laughing. 

Before long, you were at the field where you had seen the fireflies last night.

You smile as you remember the breathtaking scene.

The two of you continue on to your cottage. At the gate, you ask. "Would you like to come in?" You were hoping to at least get a warm cup of tea in Luka. He looked chilled to the bone. "I don't want to impose." He tries to decline. "It's fine." You insist. "It's the least I can do to thank you. Please." You give him puppy dog eyes, he had never been able to resist those.

He finally gives a relenting sigh. "Okay." You break out grinning and lead the way up to the front door.

"Welcome to my humble home." You say as you open the door.

The decor was sparse and simply. It had been completely empty when you had moved in, but you were slowly adding to it with each payday.

You grab a towel from the bathroom and hand it to Luka before leading the way to the kitchen. You set your basket and Luka's package on the little table and talk over to the stove. "Have a seat and help yourself to what's in the basket." You tell Luka as you fill the kettle and set it on the stove to boil.

Luka meanwhile took a peek into the basket. He found a variety of food in the basket. He then looked around the kitchen, noting how much more empty it was from what else he had seen of your cottage.

"MC…" He said slowly. "Do you… still not know how to cook?"

You stop what you're doing. "Um, no." You say, your cheeks growing red with embarrassment.

You knew how to make tea, but you were never taught how to cook. Your parents wouldn't let you and you hadn't found someone to teach you since you came to Black Territory.

You could do tea at least, part of being a 'proper lady', but that was it.

"Would you… like lessons?" Luka asked. 

You turn to Luka in surprise. "You mean it?" You ask. Luka was the best cook you had ever known. To have him offer to teach you how to cook would be fantastic.

"Yeah." He replies softly, giving you a gentle smile. "I'm off this Saturday." He explains.

You discuss plans as you finish with the tea and set it on the table.

As you two continue talking, the rain outside clears to reveal a vibrant golden sunset.

"I'll see you Saturday!" You tell Luka as you see him to the door. "Yeah." Luka says, tucking the package Seth had asked him to pick up. 

He sets out down the path as the last rays of daylight vanish behind the horizon.

As he goes past the field the fireflies are starting to emerge. He smiles as he thinks of the look of wonder on your face as you watch the little bugs.

With a pep in his step, he continues walking off into the night.

-----

Stay safe everyone!

If you liked this, please reblog.

Requests are open.

[rigginsstreet]

JULIA’S FICS MASTERLIST

so it’s my wifes ( @fredheads ) birthday and im a flop who doesnt have her birthday fic ready (it’ll be done... before the end of the month. absolutely should not take that long but thats the only definite timeline i have lmao) SO to celebrate, i think you all should read her fics and leave nice comments because it’s what she deserves :)

MULTI CHAPTER (unfinished)

She's The One (fem!fredsythe)

Just Like Heaven (fredsythe, alice - fred escapes the Sisters au)

talk about a dream, try to make it real (fredsythe, gladys - college au)

quiet mercy (fredsythe - the OG fred & the sisters of quiet mercy fic)

Papa (fred and artie exploration)

wanna be your backdoor man (fredsythe - h*rny neighbor antics)

With a Girl Like You (fred and gladys friendship)

all our costliest treasures (baby fredsythe at christmas julia i would like to see more... its your birthday i should not be requesting things my apologies)

but your kids are gonna love it (archie and jughead - back to the future au i never saw that movie so i cant say for sure but they do time travel so that checks out to me)

Riverdale High's Last Annual Father-Daughter Winter Fling (fred takes veronica to the father/daughter dance because hiram is in jail =/ )

i say the phrases that keep it all going (different takes of fred fp archie and jughead dying in each others arms julia where is the fredsythe one... just asking)

MULTI CHAPTER (finished [according to ao3])

wouldn't it be good (ensemble - everyones paired up and has to raise an egg)

love is like a heat wave (fredsythe summertime antics)

burnt toffee (halice - working at an icecream shop, falling in love, v cute)

if only in my dreams (penelope lies about having a boyfriend)

let nothing you dismay (alice cooper fixing christmas)

there's a blue light in my best friend's room (hal and fred bonding hour)

The Trials of Cheerleading (or, "Throwing In The Megaphone") (the parentdale bible just read it and forget anything else anyone [ras] has ever told you)

fred andrews adopts a gang (bet you cant tell what this is about)

from the rich to the poor they are mostly unkind (i think this is a sweet pea centric fic?? julia really has something for everyone but dont expect her to do this again)

fp's adventures in domesticity (fp taking care of the andrews household while fred recovers from getting blasted in the chest)

Oblivion (all the times fred has experienced god)

west of memphis (jarchie post 107 thats all i can tell you idk)

ONE SHOT

Wherever you go i'll be with you (fp and archie - a timeline after freds death)

that's as close as i'll get to loving you (fremary - fred asks mary out)

i'm only good at being bad, bad (gladys hating her deadbeat husband <3)

and all the miles in between (fp and tom on the bus to basic training)

excerpts from the same party (freds interactions...at a party... the title is pretty self explanatory but who doesnt love a party fic ammirite ladiez)

don't you know these days you pay for everything (fred, fp, mary - i remember this being fp playing wingman to get fred and mary together cuz he likes mary better than hermione.... read more to find out if im right)

tying faith between our teeth (fredsythe - au where fp goes to college and doesnt ruin his life)

and they were roommates (fredsythe - another college au)

The Construction Tree (jarchie - idk what this is about i dont read kid fics im sorry... but julias a bomb ass writer so im sure the jarchies will love it anyway)

flowers grow through cement (fred gaining weight and feeling insecure)

night creatures call and the dead start to walk in their masquerade (HALLOWEEN FREDSYTHE BABYYYY!)

get me a prescription for that one perfect touch (fredsythe sick fic)

i don't know where else i can go (more hal and fred bonding hour)

everybody's got a hungry heart (fredsythe sexy time with food... that sounds weird.... listen either youre into it or youre not)

not so typical love song (fp and mary bonding hour)

all the redemption i can offer (fremary after the shooting... im pretty sure... listen i have a bad brain i cant remember things just read it)

Simply Irresistible (fred is a ho)

took the words (right out of my mouth) (four times fred and fp say ‘i love you’)

if you wanna get it done you gotta do it yourself (fp and mary loving fred... who is a ho)

people livin' in competition (more fp/fred/mary nonsense with fp gay pining what a good triangle i would have liked to seen it...)

buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight (mary works at youth crisis hotline and fred calls in)

that's what they say when we're together (halram post high school au)

a good old fashioned romance (hiram flaunting his wealth instead of displaying emotions)

you don't know what (you) got (fred has great friends even though hes a bit of a putz)

watch your weight (more fredsythe food shenanigans)

Valuable Lessons Learned On The Tilt-A-Whirl, or "Babe, You Ought To Quit This Scene Too" (alice hermione fred and fp go to the fair)

what once was (jughead and the andrews after freds shooting)

you must remember this (i have no recollection of what this is about but it sounds jughead centric)

takes guts to be gentle and kind (idk what this is either lmfao but i know julia saved moose and midge in it... idk midge but good for her [granted this also takes place after 202 so keep that in mind])

FP Jones and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad House Party (or, "Nothing Good Ever Happens At One Of These") (oh i remember this one.... mmmm. title tells you all really)

and so please help them with your youth ( ‘fred teaches archie to walk. archie returns the favor’)

andrews & son (more fred and archie post 201)

Blueberry Pie (fredsythe - my review of this fic is just me clutching my chest saying ‘oh god, oh fuck’)

never drill for oil on a city street (part 1 of mary working at a youth crisis hotline and fred calling in and i should put this above the other fic but like... you can figure out one and two on your own i believe in you)

The Perils of Faking Illness (or, “two times Fred Andrews faked sick to get out of class and one time he actually needed a hospital”) (read the title)

healing, in three parts (fred fp archie and jughead attempt a roadtrip)

all along the watchtower (#fredandrewsisriverdale)

guess that we were too much of the same kind (fred getting visitors in the hospital)

sometimes wonder what's beneath the mess you've become (fred and alice bonding hour)

nice day for a white wedding (fredsythe hospital times babyyyy!)

The Unexpected Perks of Feminist Activism (or, "Fingertip Rules") (fred gets fucked in a skirt by fp thats all you need to know)

Any Way You Want It (reggie x moose idk what it is but if you like them here you go)

fun, fun, fun (till her daddy takes the t-bird away) (beach antics! freds a menace but fp loves him anyway...)

hands over the ears of my heart (fred and hermione share a bed but platonically)

the apocalypse comes sooner than you think (fredsythemione antics)

small as a world and large as alone (a series of drabbles about archie jughead and fred post 104)

do a good turn daily (archie x reggie post 103)

seven minutes in heaven (archie and reggie picked for 7 minutes in heaven)

tell me every terrible thing you ever did (archie drops jughead off after the pep rally)

[everamazingfe]

You Can Ride On My Rocket 69 - Chapter Twelve

A Song About Strength

Fic Summary: Jeremy has recently awoken in this strange world, 210 ten years after he was put to sleep, and is now the lone survivor from his vault. Trevor's a radio host from Diamond City who's barely left the station, lonely in his own right and isolated from the rest of the Wastes. When they meet, Trevor finally gets a chance to see the rest of the wasteland like he's always wanted, though Jeremy becomes more of his bodyguard than Trevor does his companion. They meet various people along the way, some being friends like the odd throuple they meet in one of the neighboring city, or foe like a certain Diamond City guard. Both are wary about bringing up their pasts, but the wasteland has a strange way of bringing people together.

Chapter Summary: Jeremy faces a setback in the search for his husband, but Trevor finds some courage. This chapter's song is "Mighty Mighty Man" by Roy Brown. 

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Words in this chapter: Pairings: Jeremy/Trevor, Michael/Gavin/Lindsay, Jeremy/Matt Warnings for this chapter: Threats of violence, blood, gun violence, gore. The end of this chapter gets a little violent/graphic.

Notes: There’s a link to the first chapter of this fic as the source of this post! Click it to go read this fic over on A O 3, or you can search up the title or ‘everamazingfe’ on the site! 

Also, I won't be posting a new chapter on the 1st/2nd of April because I've been getting very bogged down by schoolwork, and I just don't have the energy for everything I want to do. The next chapter will be posted on the 15th/16th of April. See you then!

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When Trevor woke up the next morning, there was a moment of confusion before he realized where he was, and who he was next to. He was much warmer than he was used to being, but it wasn’t the unpleasant and sweaty warmth that came after a nightmare. It was comfortable and made him feel safe. Until he cracked an eye open, he had no idea that the source of it was Jeremy. They had their arms wrapped around each other loosely and their legs tangled together, the other man’s head tucked beneath his chin as he snored softly. The sight made him smile, though the sound kicked off a headache. He squeezed his eyes shut with a soft groan, holding Jeremy tighter. Maybe if he just ignored the pain, he’d be able to go back to sleep. The sun was only just starting to rise, Diamond City wasn’t far, and Geoff probably wasn’t going to be expecting them for a while. He had time.

Besides, Jeremy was still sound asleep. As far as he knew, it was the first restful sleep either of them had gotten in months. He wasn’t about to do anything to disturb that. So he settled in again with ease, pulling the blankets up over their heads to block out the beams of sunlight shining through the cracks in the plywood.

The Rexford was still quiet in the early hours of the morning, the only residents bothering to be awake at this hour were some of the ghouls getting ready for early morning patrol shifts. They had enough common courtesy to keep quiet, though. As quiet as they could manage in a centuries old building that creaked with each minute movement, at least. The wood was half rotten and the glass had been knocked out of the windows by the bomb and by the weather, that was the case with every building in town, but the residents of Good Neighbor had worked hard to try and keep everything sturdy and functional. It was a good place to be. Some might even say it was more welcoming than Diamond City, particularly a certain radio host. 

In addition to the neighborhood watch, another small group of people were awake in those early hours. But they hadn’t even gone to sleep yet, to be fair. 

“I hope everything went well at the Den, Trevor seemed a little… I don’t know. Worked up when he came by?” Gavin asked, both Michael and Lindsay nodding in agreement as they lay together on the bed, tangled together and sprawled over each other in various ways. “Picked up a lot of beers for someone who doesn’t usually drink.”

“Maybe they were for Jeremy?” Lindsay pitched, lifting their head from Michael’s chest to look over at the other. 

The bartender shrugged, sighing softly. “Hopefully not. Even for someone who does drink on the reg, that was a lot.”

“Would you both please… Shut up? They probably split them,” Michael muttered, running his fingers through Lindsay’s hair to get them to relax and lay back down. “We can ask tomorrow, right now some of us are trying to sleep.” He still tried to maintain some semblance of a sleep schedule, without one he got rather cranky, but his two partners loved to work against him on that front. Despite the two of them being regular humans, a lack of sleep didn’t seem to affect them. 

Lindsay giggled, planting a kiss to his cheek before pulling their boyfriends close. “He’s right. We should. Bar’s gonna be busy tonight.” That wasn’t anything unusual, it was busy every night, but reminding Gavin that they had actual work to do usually did the trick with settling him down. Otherwise, he’d be throwing around hypothetical questions all morning long without anyone getting a wink of sleep. Michael had learned how to tune them out years ago, but Lindsay didn’t quite have that luck yet. 

As the trio managed to go to sleep, a few floors away it was Jeremy’s turn to wake up. Instead of confusion greeting him, there was a moment of excitement as he thought he was waking up in his husband’s arms. The shitty old beds of the hotel felt exactly like the bunks they’d had to sleep in when they were deployed, the two of them squeezing onto a twin-sized mattress with springs that dug into their sides and creaked with every movement. There was even a fleeting thought, a hint of a memory that came to the surface in the moment of semi-consciousness before he was fully awake. 

“Matt?” He asked, voice low and gravelly as he lifted his head only to see that the man who he was wrapped up in wasn’t his husband. It was Trevor. That realization was only somewhat disappointing. Still, he let out a sigh and laid his head back down on the pillows, pulling back from the other a little bit. If Trevor woke up, he didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. He didn’t know that the other had already woken up and was more than okay with their sleeping arrangement. 

Jeremy stayed there for a while, alternating between looking at Trevor and the hints of sunlight peeking through the old wood that covered the windows. The dust danced around in the beams and made him dizzy. After a few minutes of that he sat up, gently reaching a hand out to touch Trevor’s shoulder and gently shake him awake. “Trev, wake up,” he murmured, smiling fondly as the other whined and stirred. “C’mon, got a busy day ahead of us. Can’t spend it all in bed.” Oh how he wished they could, though. 

Trevor put up with the shaking for a few moments before he got fed up, knowing that Jeremy wasn’t going to be relenting and that there was no chance he was going to be able to sleep for even a few more minutes. “Okay! I’m up.” He swatted at the other’s hand, rolling onto his back and trying to adjust to the headache and the brightness of the room all over again. It was a lot more difficult the second time around. He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to wipe away the headache. “Does this happen every time you drink?” He asked him, peeking up at him through his fingers. 

He chuckled softly, shrugging a shoulder. “Kinda? You learn to ignore it after a while. Med-X usually helps some too, if I’m honest.” He had a bit of a headache, but nothing too bad though. “Water too, but… That’s in short supply these days.”

“When we get back to the city, we can stock up at Shen’s. But in the meantime, I’ll take that Med-X.”

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Diamond City was the same as it always was: the market was bustling and full of people, guards patrolled the streets or hung out at their posts, and the mayor looked out at it all from his office. Trevor noticed one very important thing once they were inside the city limits, though. Even with all the guards and people around, he just didn’t feel safe there, and it didn’t feel like home. Inside the Home Plate was a little different. The mayor couldn’t glare holes into the back of his head there and Ian, if he was even still alive, couldn’t get to him either. Out in the open he felt way too exposed. 

Jeremy didn’t exactly feel safe there anymore either, constantly on high alert and keeping an ear out for the first sign of trouble. He was less concerned about his own safety, and more about Trevor’s. 

With how busy the city was during the middle of the day, Jeremy was extra conscious of making sure Trevor didn’t end up lost in the crowd. He hadn’t even given it a second thought when he’d grabbed the other’s hand, guiding him through the crowd and keeping him close, not noticing what he’d done until they’d reached the detective agency. 

“Hey there, boys!” Geoff greeted, clapping his hands together and grinning as the two walked through the door. He glanced at their joined hands and shared a look with Ellie, his grin turning to a knowing smirk before he steeled himself and cleared his throat. “You ready to go check out Kellogg’s place?” 

Jeremy quickly took his hand out of Trevor’s, clearing his throat as well and wiping it on his pants. “Uh, yeah. Ready.” He knew that it wasn’t really anything to be embarrassed over, but that didn’t stop a light flush from rising to his cheeks. “I remembered something else, too… In case it’s helpful,” he added, and Geoff’s eyebrows rose as he waited for Jeremy to continue. “His name was-... Is Matt. My husband. His name is Matt.” 

Geoff grinned at that, pulling out his notebook. “That is very helpful, Jeremy. It confirms that Kellogg’s our guy. That’s what he said his friend was named when he passed through, right Ellie?”

She nodded, typing something up on her typewriter and nodding. “That’s right, Matt Bragg. And he certainly matches the description you gave.” 

“Then we’re on the right track. Let’s get going.”

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As far as Jeremy was concerned, Kellogg’s house was a bust. First, it had been locked up tight and virtually impossible to break into. The lock on the door was more complicated than any one he’d encountered in the wastes before. The only reason they’d gotten in was because of Trevor, and he didn’t want to know where he’d gotten that skill from. Then, anything useful was hidden behind a secret room that had been a real pain to get into, and there turned out to be nothing useful there at all. Some half burned cigars and empty beer bottles, but nothing that would actually tell them where he’d gone. 

“San Francisco Sunlights… Kind of a rare brand around these days, they’re pre-war, but…” Geoff trailed off, picking up the cigar box and turning it over in his hands a few times. 

“But?” Trevor asked, arching an eyebrow and looking towards Jeremy. The man was leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, eyes on the floor. His frustration was palpable and intense, and Trevor just felt bad for him. 

 “But unless you’ve got a sniffer dog, there’s not much more I can do for you.” Geoff sighed, passing Jeremy the box. “I’m sorry, Jeremy.” 

He took the box, staring at it wordlessly. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he let out a huff as he shoved it away with the rest of his junk. “So that’s it?” He asked, lifting his gaze to meet Geoff’s eyes. “This is the end of the line? After all of that, after what I’ve been through, we’re just… Done?”

“There’s nothing else to be done, kid. You could ask one of the guards if they’d be willing to spare one of their dogs,” Geoff said, pausing and glancing at Trevor for a split second before his eyes were back on Jeremy’s. “But I don’t know if anyone would be willing.” 

Jeremy balled up his fists at his side, closing his eyes and breathing hard. “Great. Just… Just great. Thanks for your help, Geoff. I’ll let you know if I find out anything else.” 

“Happy to help,” he assured, waving the comment off before turning to leave. He paused next to Trevor, leaning in and whispering, “Don’t let him do anything stupid,” before walking out of the door.

It took Jeremy a few minutes to compose himself, but that didn’t happen before he punched the wall. “It’s not fair!” He shouted, oblivious to the way Trevor had backed away as the drywall dust clouded his vision. “We’ve been through so much! You put up with so much of my shit, we walked so far, and… And for what?” Shaking out his hand, he let out a frustrated huff. The outburst had helped, all of his anger fizzling away all at once into something heavier and harder to deal with. “Let’s just go home. Figure out what to do. Maybe find a dog.”

Trevor nodded, hesitating before stepping forward and offering Jeremy his hand. “Diamond City has a lot of strays,” he told him, giving his hand a squeeze when the other took it. He hated those sudden fits of anger, those moments where Jeremy lost his temper, but he didn’t know how to help other than being there for him. That was starting to get harder, though. “But going home sounds nice.”

They walked out of Kellogg’s house together, walking quickly away from the stands and back towards the market. The crowds had started to clear out, but there weren’t any less guards around. Diamond City took safety seriously, for some of its citizens at least. The rest were left to fend for themselves.

As Jeremy dug through his pockets for the key to the Home Plate, Trevor scanned the market. They’d have to stock up on supplies before they set up again, but who knew when that would be. Without being on the hunt for Jeremy’s husband, they didn’t have much reason to go out. As Trevor looked over the people, he locked eyes with someone through Takahashi’s stand. “Uh, Jeremy? Can you maybe… Find your keys a little bit faster?”

“I’m working on it, Trev, just… Give me a sec, I’ve got a lot of shit in my pockets.”

Trevor swallowed hard, not looking away from the man who was staring right back at him. He couldn’t. “Jeremy,” he said through gritted teeth, nudging him roughly with his elbow to get his attention. 

“Trevor, what?” He snapped, whirling around to cut him a glare. But Trevor wasn’t looking at him. He followed the other’s gaze with a deep frown, letting out an, “oh fuck,” when he saw what had attracted his attention. “Shit. Okay, hang on.” He turned back to the door, pulling out his keys right as the man began to take steps towards them. 

“‘Ey, Trevor! Jer’my!” 

Jeremy rushed to unlock the door once he had his keys in hand, shoving Trevor inside. “You get anywhere within ten feet of his door, and I’ll blow your head off right where you stand!” He shouted, pulling out his pistol and aiming it at him for added effect. 

“I just wan’ t’ talk!”

“Fuck you, Ian. You don’t deserve to even look at him, let alone talk to him,” he spat before slamming the door, locking it and shoving some furniture in front of it for good measure. “God, I wish I could set up turrets in here.”

Trevor was already sitting on his bed, pulling off his armor to tuck it away in the trunk at the foot of it. “You told me he was dead,” he stated simply, looking up at Jeremy before he got back to untying his boots. “Why did you lie?”

“I didn’t lie, I just… Didn’t know. I thought he was dead! I had hoped he was dead,” he confessed, sitting down on his own bed to start doing the same. He was quiet for a few moments, biting his lip in thought before he spoke again. “Do you want him to be?” He asked in a murmur. 

Trevor paused, frowning. “I really can’t talk about this right now, Jeremy.” 

“Right, right. Sorry. But the offer’s still there.” Maybe he should have some reservations about killing someone, but his time in the army had desensitized him to that, even two hundred years after the fact. Plus, in his eyes, it was worth it. It was only fair after what he’d done to Trevor.

“Maybe another time... You got anymore of those yao guai steaks? I’m starving.”

Jeremy chuckled and nodded, shucking off the last of his gear and throwing it into his trunk. “Yeah, lemme cook them up so you don’t get rad poisoning again.”

“It was one time! And you’re the one who didn’t tell me that it was pre-war food!” Trevor wrinkled his nose and grimaced. “That was the worst thing I’d ever eaten, though. I should’ve stopped after the first bite, but I was just so hungry.”

“Don’t worry, that’s not gonna happen again.”

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

In the morning as he sat on the edge of his bed, halfway through putting his boots on, Jeremy realized that priorities had shifted. Finding his husband was still very important to him, that hadn’t changed, but keeping Trevor safe had bumped that down to second place. Trevor was his first priority now. It felt like the shift had happened overnight because of how sudden the realization was, though in reality it had slowly been happening over the course of their time together. The latest setback had just been the catalyst. 

“Do you have any plans for that loft up there?” Trevor asked, nodding towards the staircase from his own bed. When he’d been laid up from his head injury, Jeremy had worked on furnishing the place and making repairs, but the second floor loft had remained empty. Right then it served as a stopping point on the way up to the third level’s bathroom, but it felt weird empty like that. 

The question pulled Jeremy out of his thoughts, and he hummed softly. “No, not really. Maybe just storage? I dunno.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Why?”

“I wanna move some of my radio equipment here. That space is bigger than my trailer, probably. It’d be perfect. But I don’t wanna impose.” 

Jeremy shook his head quickly, putting a hand up to stop him. “Trevor, I got this place for us. You can do whatever the hell you want with it, alright? It’s just as much your place as it is mine. I’ll even help you move the stuff.”

“Really?” Trevor asked, his face lighting up. “Thanks, Jer.”

“Of course, Trev. Anything for you.”

He knew that was just a thing that people say when the favor wasn’t a big inconvenience to them, but for some reason Trevor felt like Jeremy genuinely meant it when he said that. It made him smile despite the butterflies in his stomach. 

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

“Oh, this one’s a good one too! As soon as this song’s done, we have to listen to this one,” Trevor said, pulling a disc out of the filing cabinet and waving it around for Jeremy to see before setting it down on top of it. “Actually, fuck it, I’m putting it on now.”

Moving the equipment from the trailer to the Home Plate hadn’t really taken much time, but packing the discs away into boxes to bring them over too was taking forever. Each time he found a CD that had a track on it that he liked, Trevor had to stop and explain to him exactly why he liked it and all of the nuances of each lyric. As endearing as it was, Jeremy had really been hoping to get this done before sundown. 

“Trev-” He’d started to speak, about to ask him to speed things up a little, but a knock on the door interrupted him. Both he and Trevor frowned, looking at each other in confusion, though the latter was frozen in place. He set down the box on the bed, shutting off the music and opening the door a little. “Oh, fuck no. No. Get the fuck out of here,” Jeremy spat, slamming the door shut, but a heavy boot jammed between it and the frame stopped it short. 

Ian met his eyes with a wicked grin, and at the foot of the steps stood Mayor McDonough. The sight of Ian alone had made his blood boil, but realizing that the mayor was there with him had it running cold instead. 

“Now now, Jeremy. We just want to talk,” the mayor said, his gaze going right through the man to look at Trevor who was peering out from behind him. “I thought I told you that Diamond City didn’t like troublemakers. But it seems like you’ve been causing more incidents than I originally thought.” 

Ian shoved the door, making Jeremy stagger back. He used that opportunity to get the door open, letting himself and McDonough into the already cramped trailer. There had barely been enough room for himself and Trevor in there, but the space felt even smaller now. It made Jeremy’s breathing pick up, his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Do you remember what I told you when you first showed up in my office, Mr. Dooley? I told you that you’d be escorted out of the city if you caused any more trouble. And what did you do? You went and hurt my favorite guard.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “Such a serious crime cannot go unpunished, Mr. Dooley. And Trevor, I thought you knew better than to make any waves.”

“It’s not his fault,” Jeremy said, balling up his fists as he began to calm down enough to speak. The walls were still closing in around him, but he couldn’t afford to stay silent. Trevor couldn’t, either. He really wished that he’d thought to bring a gun. “Look, McDonough, whatever you’re gonna do, don’t loop him into this.”

“But he’s the whole cause of it. You both are a pox on this city, and if you don’t decide to leave it quietly, I’ll be forced to put my foot down and have you forcibly removed.” 

“Aw, c’mon Mayor. I think tha’ we should let Trevor stay,” Ian laughed, and the mayor seemed to be considering it. 

Neither of the men were looking at Trevor, they were hardly even thinking about him, he was just a way to taunt and torture Jeremy. But behind them, he could see the radio host moving towards his desk, and he had to work hard to bite back a grin. Though he’d been convinced that Jeremy wasn’t a synth, he knew that keeping a gun around for extra protection was still a smart idea. And what neither Ian nor the mayor knew was that Trevor had become a hell of a shot during his time in the wastelands. 

“Nuh uh. Where I go, he goes. Either we both stay, or we both go. And since we’re so much trouble, I think we’ll both be going,” he stated, turning around to pick up the box and start packing away Trevor’s CDs again. It almost seemed like they were going to let him continue, but he huffed when he felt cold metal against his temple. 

“Those are Diamond Ci’y property, mate. I suggest you put the box down and go, ‘fore we have t’ do anything rash. And take your pet radroach with you.” 

A gunshot rang out then, the foam on the walls muffling the sound to the world outside, but not doing nearly enough to stop it from making everyone’s ears inside ring. McDonough shouted out in surprise and covered his ears, and Jeremy dropped the box to do the same. As he looked down to see where it landed, his eyes widened in surprise. Although he knew that this was going to happen, he still wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

Ian was nothing more than a crumpled heap on the floor, his face completely unrecognizable now. Jeremy could look through it and see the cracked tile beneath his head, and if he had any weaker of a stomach he probably would have thrown up. Already he was pretty close. Blood and brains were splattered along the wall and cabinets, some of it getting onto Jeremy’s clothing, but the majority of it had landed on the mayor, staining his tan suit red.  

“I am not a radroach,” Trevor spat, the barrel of his pistol still smoking as he aimed it towards the mayor. “And we aren’t leaving Diamond City.” 

McDonough began to beg, but Trevor no longer had his focus on him. Instead, he looked past him to Jeremy, who only gave a small nod of approval and stepped out of the way so he wouldn’t get splattered again. Another shot rang out, and the mayor joined Ian on the floor, the pair of them a mess of blood and limp limbs. 

Jeremy stepped over the bodies, gently pulling the gun from Trevor’s hands and setting it down on the desk. “Are you okay?” The other man nodded slowly, though he began to tremble. “Go home. I’ll get the rest of your stuff. Do you have the key?” Trevor nodded again, digging it out of his pocket and passing it to Jeremy. 

��We’re so fucked,” he whispered, laughing and running a hand through his hair. “Jeremy, what the fuck did I do?”

“You protected yourself.” He’d done what Jeremy himself had been too much of a coward to do, he was righting a very long series of wrongs. “I’ll take care of this, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Trevor wasn’t so sure he agreed. Although at the same time, he didn’t feel like he’d done anything wrong. In fact, he was kind of happy about it. But the fear of getting caught and ending up like the pair on the floor was more overwhelming than anything else he was feeling, so he just nodded dumbly and walked carefully out of the trailer, trying hard not to step in any of the blood that was now pooling in the cracks of the tile. 

Once the door was shut again, Jeremy pocketed the keys and hit play on the CD player, letting Roy Brown play in the background as he packed up the rest of the discs. The cabinets themselves would just have to wait there, he needed to get back to Trevor as soon as possible. 

[maergheritas-moved]

S L A Y E R S, a novel by margarita p. g.

CHAPTER 00 - OLIVER

For being under Marco’s wing for a few weeks now, Oliver still hasn’t managed to master “the art of repair” even a little bit. He’s realized, instead, that he really isn’t good at this, that his nimble hands that once, in his younger years, served him for pickpocketing, for dumbkres with his mates, don’t work for handing tiny bot parts. It sucks, really… Marco thought Oliver would be of some use. And Oliver did, too. A part of him, a small part, maybe hoped that this stay would be permanent. 

But, like all things in his life, it soon proved to be nothing but momentary. He realized this on a burning hot summer morning, when the sun was high and the sulfur in the air even higher. He was only getting used to the life in Bajo then, trying to find a place amongst the renegades and runaways, and the many generations and cultural legacies found within the ancient walls of his new tiny town. The locals knew him as escurridizo, a nod to his late night appearances literally anywhere in town… he had the ability to slip out of where he was and be somewhere else in what looked like seconds. Lightning speed. Faster than a teleporter. Some people even thought he was one. He very much was not. That much he knew. 

Oliver woke up late that June morning, to the high-pitched whirring of centuries-old engines. He had hoped to get some rest after his rendezvous with Rory last night. But, as the heroes in video games would say, duty called. So, he got himself out of bed, put his sandals on, helped himself to burnt toast and already cold coffee, and headed to the taller. 

There lay Marco, working on his new project: the restoration of a humanoid bot found by some archeologists a couple of miles from here. It was clearly a very, very old model, and Marco had been promised a very large sum of money if he restored it back to working condition. Maybe the archeologists were planning to take it to a museum or a college or something like that, Oliver thought. 

It was very large, probably over three meters tall, and had a masculine shape. To Oliver, it looked like the military droids he saw on films. 

The military humanoid death machine thing lay with its stomach part open on the table, and by the smell of coltan in the air, Oliver knew Marco was dealing with the motherboard. It was definitely from the 22nd century, maybe early, when they still put moderboards on the torso and not the head. Marco had his microglasses on, and was very intently working on opening something really really small. There was soft jazz music playing somewhere, which, mixed with the birds chirping and the sound of schoolboys close, painted a picture in Oliver’s head that resembled a time when everyone was still together and life was easy. He let the memory wrap him under. 

An order from Marco pulls him back to reality. “Hey, nene,” he says, not even a hello beforehand, “can you check this wiring for me please?”

Without a word, Oliver walked over to the table, where the chemical smell is almost uncomfortable, and looked at the tangle of loose wires on the open motherboard. They were color coded, thank god. To Oliver, non-colored coded wires were the reason God left the Earth. Marcus and him always took hours to set them right. Almost instantly, he got a vague idea of how the circuits should go. They were like magnets, and he could feel where one ended and the other began, the many channels of energy running through the bot’s body, like blood rushing down veins. He had an instinct for this sort of things, a sixth sense, and it was hardly ever wrong. Oliver knew this wasn’t exactly normal, he knew it since he was a kid and could feel the many forces coming onto him way more than other people could, but he was not a might. Or at least, not a bolter (he’d already tried; sparks never came out of his palms). Whatever he was, he never gave it much thought. It would not do him good, especially not in this country.

Trusting his weird instinct, Oliver got to work, ordering Marco what went where, offering clear directions and vague explanations. Marco didn’t mind. To him, this boy was some sort of wizard, and not the “evil” kind. He did the work because he knew how to. If Oliver did it himself, he might as well cause a short circuit so strong it left the whole town with no power for a few hours. Oliver never understood why things like this seemed to happen, he guessed the wires just hated him. 

Thus, they fell into a steady rhythm of work, sorting circuits out, monotone actions, with problems coming up as they went along, which they solved together. Oliver and Marco were a good team in that sense, Marco’s vast knowledge mixing with Oliver’s knack for improvisation to come up with increasingly creative solutions. These came naturally to Oliver. No one had ever given him a book on how to life, so everything he’d learned, he learned it by doing. By figuring things out, just like they were at that moment. Maybe he could be of use there, he thought. The idea of having a place to stay, even if he didn’t realize it then, gave him comfort. 

Time passed quickly when you were at work, and soon it was time for lunch. Marco called a break, and Oliver lifted his head from the wiring of the bot’s eyes that he was attempting to figure out. 

“Hungry?” Marco asked. Oliver nodded. He was, indeed, starving, and had been for a while, but with the task in front of him, it had been a second thought in his mind. 

“Alright, then, uhhhh” Marco thought out loud. “Mara won’t be home until tonight, and there’s nothing from last night”. 

Bummer, Oliver thought. Would they have something to it until Mara came back? There were days like this, when Aymara, Marco’s wife, was out working twelve hours at the rest stop outside of town. They had to do with whatever leftover there was from breakfast. 

“So, we’re eating crackers, then?” Oliver asked, defeated. 

Marco’s eye brightened up, his torso straightening up a little. “Actually, I think there’s some money in my bedroom. Go get yourself a mixto or whatnot, kid.”

Oliver practically springed to his feet and rushed to Marco’s bedroom. Indeed, there was money in his dresser, enough to buy two mixtos and maybe a sugary. With that, Oliver rushed out of the house and into the secluded Clovel Street. 

The sun burned his skin, and he definitely should not have been out in this weather, but he was hungry and Lala’s tiny shop in the corner was open. There were a few neighbors having tartitas, who said hi to him. He went up to Arpy, the AI assistant, and ordered two mixtos, one for Marco and one for him. They would be ready in ten. 

Oliver sat on the counter, watching Arpy put the mixtos in the toaster, and looked out the door, where there was a small stray dog trying to catch a fly. That was when he saw him. 

His stare froze Oliver’s blood, made him paralyze all over. There was something about it…. something stomach-turning, revolting, repulsive, wrong. Like the man had crossed all of Oliver’s boundaries. It felt like a violation, but Oliver didn’t know of what. Or even how. 

He wanted to run away. As far as his legs allowed him. That’s what his mind told him to do, that the man was a predator just like the MIMIC or the police. But his body told him otherwise. His body told him to stay; he felt a pull to the man like those of his wires, he did not care what fate met him there, what the man might bring him, he just had to go. It was impertinent, urgent. Now. 

Yet, he stayed seated, watching his mixtos slowly get browner and cheesier, focusing on repelling that driving instinct within him, that… whatever he was doing to him. Sweat rolled down his brow and the people of the shop were completely unfazed or perhaps even unaware of whatever was going on between him and the man down the street, what strange energetic transaction was taking place Because it felt like that. It felt like electrons pushing down orbitals and moving, shifting, mixing, reacting, exploding. He felt like that: like a nuclear bomb that would go off if the man didn’t do anything about it first. He tried breathing. He tried focusing on anything else, on the smell of the food or the sound of cheese burning or the conversations taking place behind him. Nothing worked. 

When his mixtos were ready, he grabbed them and rushed outside, without even saying goodbye. Without thinking, he crossed the street, to the man. It felt eternal. And the man’s eyes…. they followed him. Wide and large and dark, open, focused… they felt, to Oliver, that they were feeding on his energy. 

Oliver let out a shaky breath when he got to him. He was at least a head taller than Oliver, could crash him in a split second, and very, very dark. His demeanor was unexpectedly calm. His eyes loosened for a bit, and Oliver was terrified for a half second. Then, his large hand wrapped over Oliver’s frail arm, and he hitched a breath in fear. He could not form words. The energy-sucking man started walking him down the street in double time. How is no one seeing this? Oliver thought. 

He wanted to ask so many things, who are you, where are you taking me, leave me alone, I have to get back home, but he couldn’t. If he did, what would this guy do to him? He was scary, villain-level scary. So, Oliver just went along. He got thrown into the back of a white transport. There was a brunette woman on the shotgun seat. Her eyes looked even more threatening than the man’s. 

They were kidnapping him. God, they were going to throw im on the sea or on a deep pit and let him die there. Immediately, Oliver started thinking up escape plans. He could still run. The didn’t bind his hands with anything. Dumbasses. 

The man got in the car. The woman was clutching her head, as if she had a migraine. They were discussing something, Oliver realized. But they were not talking. They were doing it through looks. Can she communicate with him in some sort of eye language? Or is it telepathy?

After a while, they both settled down and looked at him. Oliver was going to run. But he also couldn’t. Something kept him from running and this time it wasn’t any of their looks. 

“Sorry about that” the man said, “it’s pretty terrifying, i know, trust me” 

What the hell? Oliver thought. He was apologizing to him?

“I’m Drake, by the way” he said, with a smirk and friendly eyes. Oliver wanted to vomit. 

“And I’m Alyx” the woman said. Her eyes were warm and heavy-lidded, and Oliver had a feeling he should stay as far from her as she could. 

There was a beat of silence. “Who… Who are you and what… why…?” Oliver tried to speak, tried to form questions, but he didn’t know where to start. 

“Um, in short, kid,” Drake said, shifting in his seat. He opened his mouth, closed it again. “Okay, so: We are from the Cali Might Army. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Drake Emerson and she’s Officer Alyx Warren. That’s the important thing”.

Oliver gaped in awe at them. They were the Might Army. He had never met them, no one has, but he has certainly heard of them; in late night horror stories and headlines detailing tragedies. People spoke of them as violent, relentless insurgents who would abuse of their monstrous abilities to overtake the country. They almost seemed too powerful to be real. They couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be real. Is it a prank? 

Alyx looked at Drake. “He’s very confused, he’s saying… it’s a prank or something, um…”

Oliver panicked. Immediately he tried to open the door, tried to break the window, anything to get away from this… woman. She was reading his thoughts! Has she always been doing that? He didn’t even feel it, she just walked into his mind without even asking for permission. 

Drake reacted immediately, moving to pin him down, stop him. Oliver was on fire, his legs kicking to get away, powerless against Drake’s weight, screaming and panting and crying, he only now realized he was crying. 

“Oliver!” Alyx yelled. “Oliver. Please. Please calm down, I don’t want to calm you down, please don’t make me calm you down.” She was as panicked as he was. Oliver just failed to form curses at her and kept kicking. He was not going to calm down. He was going to get away, these people couldn’t mean well. He had to get back to Marco, to the work, have lunch. 

But he would never get there. 

With Drake Emerson pinning him down and Alyx  Warren in his mind, plus the thousand questions that grew by the second, he would never get there. Ever. 

After a while, Oliver sat in the car seat, unmoving and breathing heavily, powerless. Alyx and Drake were in their seats, panting. Alyx let out a curse. 

“Listen,” Drake said, softly, calm, “we won’t hurt you. Really.”

You already have, Oliver thought. “Then… why are you doing this? Why are you taking me?” he asked over shaky breaths.

“Because,” Alyx  started, voice trembling, “You have a very strange ability that no one has ever had before, and you might really, really, be of help for us.”

Oliver wasn’t sure he was breathing anymore. 

Alyx continued. “So, you’re coming with us, because, if you don’t, then someone else will take you, and you won’t be safe and neither will the world.”

TAGLIST (ask to be added/removed!): @andromdae @rapunzelles @herondalelucies @posideon @mayaeri @vicisse @pnstaudt @themillionthdraft @ditzysworld @vandorens @partheneos   

[builder051]

It don’t take a word

James slags home from campus, feeling as though he’s pushing the car instead of driving it.  Steve’s outdated sedan is reliable, but today the front wheel drive is bumpy over the layers of ice and grit on the streets, and he isn’t a fan of the number it’s doing on his aching stomach.  

Aching.  Every part of him is aching.  The hand of his prosthesis is clamped stiffly around the ten-o-clock side of the steering wheel, sending pins and needles up into what remains of his shoulder.  His head throbs every time he pauses at a red light, then hits the gas again.  James tries to tap the pedals slowly, carefully, but he speeds a little in his eagerness to get home.  

He parks crookedly, but doesn’t care.  James slings his bag over his good arm, wincing as it thumps against his back with a decidedly unsympathetic and entirely too heavy pat.  “Hmph,” he exhales, swallowing frantically lest he lose control of his insides right there in the parking lot.  James supposes it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world; they already have the reputation of being the apartment with those damned coeds.  Being the one who left an unsavory gift beside a sloppily angled car isn’t much worse.  Plus, it would probably freeze overnight.  

Still, the bathroom is better.  James runs his tongue along the backs of his teeth, scraping away the thick, slightly bilious saliva.  He spits, snuffs, and takes off at what he hopes is a reasonable pace toward the gate and the stairs.  

James takes them two at a time until his legs start to shake.  Then he slows and sticks a little closer to the railing.  He’s watching his sneakers ascend the steps, kicking them out slightly to remove the snow sticking to the toes, when suddenly a door opens two inches from his nose.  

James stiffens, and his mind immediately goes blank.  Fight or flight takes over.  Even sick, he can dredge up the energy to crush whatever opponent has the gall to take him on.  

A laundry basket precedes the dark figure, and James goes for that first.  It’s probably meant to be a distraction, potentially containing some sort of device.  Maybe an explosive.  Or maybe it’s just a decoy.  

Socks and blue scrubs go tumbling, and someone loudly shouts, “Hey!”

James grinds his teeth.  He isn’t sure if he says something or not.  If he does, it probably starts with “Fuck.”

He goes for the head next.  James’s knuckles come into contact with the jaw, and something wet drips down his fingers.  Spit, probably.  Maybe blood.  

“Hey, man,” the opponent says through his fat lip, “I didn’t do it, ok?”  He backs up as far as he can.  The laundry room door has swung shut, and he plasters himself against it, his hands held roughly at the level of his ears.

“What?”  James realizes he’s out of breath.  This guy’s a civilian?  Is he a suicide bomber?  James looks him up and down as best he can in the tight space.  The man is slender and dressed in running tights and an equally close-fitting top.  No backpack, nowhere to put an explosive.  The laundry basket was probably the best bet for a hidden threat, but it seems clear.  Since it’s all toppled halfway down a flight of stairs, James doubts there’s a bomb tied up in a pair of boxer briefs.  

“Yeah.  I didn’t do it.”  The guy gives James an impressive side eye.  “What’s got up your crawl, man?”

“I, um,”  James stutters.  He wants to apologize, to explain, but he needs to get out of there.  He opens his mouth again to say something, maybe something about the war, the PTSD, but all that comes out is a nauseous hiccup.  

“You ok?”  The man James just socked in the jaw now leans in closer, offering what looks like it’s about to be a comforting pat on the arm.  

“No, I, I,” James looks wildly around.  “I’m really sorry,” he mutters, then he turns on his heel and takes off.

Speed comes easily again, but only for the next half-flight of steps.  James has just enough time to register the unfairness of it, the fact that he can see their front door from where he’s forced to stop and brace against the wall as what feels like every ounce of strength, as well as several gallons of liquefied snot, exit his body through his open mouth.

“Jesus fuck.”  James drags his fist across his lips, but he just bows forward and vomits again.  Strings of mucous drip down his chin, and the sourness of bile in his throat makes his eyes water.  Tear tracks burn their way across his cheeks before becoming lost in his stubble.

James swears again, watching his sick flow from one stair to the one below it.  It’s slow, like lava, and, as he thought before, will probably freeze over before the night is through. Then at least it won’t smell.  And he’s a floor and a half above the mystery neighbor’s spilled laundry.

James moves away from the mess as quickly as he can, dashing up the last few steps and tinkering with the doorknob.  He’s too shaky to handle keys, but it doesn’t matter.  The door’s unlocked.  

That means Tasha must be home.  Now that she’s free of self-bolting dorm doors, she rarely locks up.  James usually gives her a lecture when he comes tome to an easily penetrable front door, but today he’s ready to write her a thank-you note.  As soon as he stops trembling head to toe, that is.

James drops his bag as soon as he’s inside and starts in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Jamie?”  Tasha sits curled in the recliner, the lamp on like a spotlight over her head, making her auburn curls glow red-gold.  Her brow wrinkles as she focuses in on him.  “What’s wrong with you?”

James wants to say ‘nothing.’  ‘Mind your own business.’  ‘Do your homework,’ or something similarly big brotherly that will get her to lave him alone.  When he opens his mouth, though, he practically feels his Adam’s apple bob straight up into his mouth, bouncing off the uvula and bringing with it a rush of more guck.  Instead, he makes a guttural noise and shakes his head.

He fully expects Tasha to shrug and go back to her whatever-she-does when she sits alone in the apartment.  Read.  Meditate.  But instead, she hops to her feet and rushes at him.  At least that’s how it feels to James, who is so barely on his feet that he may as well be moving backward.  

“Huh?” he groans.

“I said, what’s wrong with you?”  Tasha grabs him by the shoulders.  

James flinches slightly.  Tasha loosens her grip and moves to gently massage the angry skin at the edge of the prosthesis.  It barely makes a ridge under his clothing, but she knows exactly where to find it.  

“Pfft,” James makes a negligible sound whilst trying to clear some of the awful taste growing again at the back of his mouth.  “Just,” he sniffs.  “Sick.  Shook up.”  He slowly lets his forehead come to rest on Tasha’s shoulder, her ear a warm comfort pressing against the top of his head.  

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”  James swallows a gag.

“Jamie.”  He knows Tasha’s giving him a look.

“Got shook up,” he admits through tight lips.  “Then got sick.”

“Going to again.”

“No,” James protests, though by now he’s sucking down bile.

“Wasn’t a question.”  Tasha walks him sideways toward the bathroom, expertly negotiating them through the doorway like a pair of ballroom dancers at Blackpool.  

She throws him down in front of the toilet with the same amount of gentle grace, then hooks her arms through his to unzip his jacket and help him get comfortable.  

James sets his cheek on the toilet seat and looks up at her with glassy eyes.

“Gonna be in here for a long night?” Tasha asks, using a washcloth to sponge a dribble of vomit from the front of his coat.

“Hope not,” James says into the toilet bowl.  “But probably.”

“What spooked you?”

James sighs and gives in to a heave before he answers.  He doesn’t want to talk about it, but she deserves an answer.  A few words, at least.

“Somebody coming out a door too fast.  In my face.”  James hacks and gags himself accidentally.  “Hit a little, uh, too close to, well, uh...”

“Far away from home?” Tasha finishes

“Yeah, that.”

James drags his wrist across his lips and gives her a tremulous smile.  “You don’t have to stay, you know.  Go do your...whatever you were doing.  Steve’ll be home soon.”

“Nah, I’m good.”  Tasha settles on the side of the bathtub.  “Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t aspirate on your own puke.”

“Nah, it’s only you who do that,” James pokes at her before he leans over the toilet for another wave.

“Only when I drink!” Tasha protests.  “Give me some credit, here.”

“Ok, ok.  You’re a fine nurse.”  James sits back on his heels and flushes the toilet.  “And not always a horrible patient.”

Tasha grins. “Feeling better?”

James smiles weakly back.  “A little.  Still bad, but the edge is gone.  I think I need to sleep the rest off.”

“Let me re-diagnose you in the morning?  Find out if it’s cold or flu?” Tasha offers.

“Sure.  You and Steve can tag-team it, if you want.”  

James shakes his head at Tasha’s evil expression and heads to the bedroom for clean clothes and warm blankets.  Nothing is solved, by any means, but like he told Tasha, he feels a little better.  

And all it takes is a little sister.