#robber AU

[denim-devil]

Rage | Robber!Frank Castle x Male!R

Summary - The burley “punisher” known for his menacing presence and crimes happened to stumble by your home…

A/N - A simple thought that became something more then it should of, although this has been sat in my drafts for weeks now, I just decided to leave it open, maybe a PT 2 if yall are interested idk…

The night was young.

You sigh, scribbling down notes, anything that came to mind to help with the current case “Murdock and Nelson” was handling.

A series of break-in’s littered the papers of Hell’s kitchen, the bastard had managed to wriggle himself from the grips of the N.Y.P.D, stalking the shadows of the night for his next victim.

Flopping back into your chair, the cushions helped relieve the strain between your shoulder blades from standing a while, bending over the desk that currently wasn’t visible, messy crumbled up balls of paper and yellow documents detailing the certain aspects fitting the onslaught of crime covering the varnished service.

The cool breeze of the city left you shivering and alone reminding you that the law firm you happened to call home for past couple of months was your intake of madness and the decent into a spiralling well of secludedness, you hadn’t had the time to truly enjoy the character Hell’s Kitchen was and will remain.

Once clasping the window shut, you stand, rubbing at your eyes, the tiredness that stuck to them like honey grew thick yet withstand-able, it was if the city was listening, creeping and sauntering, figuring you out, a loud clunk echo’s through your apartment, ringing from wall to wall.

You had guessed it was the stormy weather outside but curiosity killed the cat…didn’t it?

“Fuck-“

Ushering out profanities was your way of coping, taking course of a few steps, gradually making your way to the wooden frame of the door consoling the running thoughts swirling around in your fuzzy brain, you still before turning the bitter-cold handle.

It wasn’t a shock, it almost felt real, more then anything you had witnessed over the past coming months, there he stood, a tall burley man, broad shoulders and toned physique, dressed in all black and a ski mask to cover his identity.

Silence fell over the room but his confidence stood proud, his muscular arms falling to his side underneath the dim light the outside street lamps provided.

“I don’t want any trouble sir-“

You tremble at the thought of becoming his next victim, although he hadn’t killed, the offer still loomed over you like his figure. It wasn’t immediate but you had guessed something within him flicked like a light switch, he placed the bag he managed to fill with stolen goods, your goods, on the floor with the same clunk from before, moving himself closer until he began to invade your space.

“What…do-“

With the incapacity to speak, you stumble back into the wall, his brown hazel’s staring deeply, trying to figure you out. He huffed before licking at his dry lips, closing in on you like an animal with it’s prey, trapping you from a potential exit.

At first he huffed and puffed like the big bad wolf, eyes twitching and lips still, as intimidating as he was, curiosity did infact kill the cat. You waited, keeping your eyes trained on his own, watching for anything.

“You’re a little to curious for your own good”

His voice was low and growly like the worn-down roads of New York City, a shiver ran down the edge of your spine, tingly yet comforting, almost riveting. Although you had no plan of escape nor defense, you melt into the wall keeping you up right, he eyed you up, almost checking to see if you fit the checkbox he had granted himself.

“Are you saying…I gotta be careful from now on?”

You question, hands glued by your sides whilst his block you against the structure of the room. This wasn’t how you expected it to go nor is it how you expected him to be, in ways he seemed softer, almost sweet like your favourite candy dissolving on the tip of your tongue.

He nods confidently, quicker then you would have liked. You can’t help the shakes the ran through your body like a tumble dryer and clothes, eager to figure out what it was that he so desired from you but also to terrified to even speak another word.

“There’s a bad guy out there, he could hurt you, y’know?”

Was it a threat? Or was he simply taking his time? His voice had managed to make you calmer, although being the aggressor, you couldn’t help but reach out, placing a hand on his hard chest, trying anything to communicate.

“Please- please I don’t want this, I-“

Worrisome pleas seemed to do nothing as he stood, still blocking you. The glint in his eyes had changed from dangerous to lustrous within seconds as if he wasn’t here to steal anything but your innocence.

“Don’t you think you could learn a lesson or two?”

A warm hand cups the base of your throat, tightening until your breathing was short-circuited, restricting each intake until you faced him, watching as he tugged a smile onto his plump lips.

Pressing forward, you allow your hand to drop from his chest, his overwhelming presence shifting until his warm breath began to fan against the shell of your ear.

“Never disturb a man whilst he’s at work…”

He presses more firmly with his hand this time making you gasp, choking on the air that seemed to be invading the small space in your lungs. He chuckles before pulling away, essentially playing with his meat, doing everything and anything in his power to make you dumb and nonchalant.

“I- please”

Your ache prolonged, blossoming as you grew harder, he was tall, practically looming over you, closing in and eventually overshadowing you from the light, his burly body blocking you in. A single hand of his cup at one your cheeks, his thumb trailing against your bottom lip in attempts to quieten you.

“God your sweet ain’t ya…”

His mouth was vulgar, his smile stretching as you accept the thumb into your mouth, tongue rolling against the thick digit. Frank could feel himself twitch, it was unusual for his nightly escapades to go like this, it was uncommon for someone to be so inviting, non the less he was entirely enticed by the whole ordeal.

You groan once he pushes deeper, jabbing the palette of your throat causing you gag, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. He couldn’t deny how pretty you were like this which pushed him to pull his now slick digit back with a pop.

Frank doesn’t fight the urge to dip his head low enough to connect your lips, locking you within a searing kiss, one that left you both hungry for more. His tongue, long and wet, rolled smoothly against your own, the material of his disguise rubbing against your upper lip and the tip of your nose, giving enough friction to calm the storm.

It’s chaste and sweet much like he was trying to seduce you which had worked a little to well considering how dumb and weak you had gotten from one touch, one look.

Pulling away with a quick press of his lips, he looks hungrily downward, lips slightly red and lick from the sloppy snog. Still leaning one muscular arm against the wall just to the right above your head, he leans further into you, pressing all of his weight against your front.

That’s when you had felt it, thick and plump underneath his black cargo’s, he settled against your own slowly growing bulge, the continuous roll of his hips relieving the ache as you sigh, practically falling into his chest.

“Just one touch and yer’ dumb for me, for it, come on, show me what i’m missin’ sweetheart”

His hands wrap around your waist once he pulls away, just enough to softly throw you onto the sheets of your bed, his talented hands make quick work of your night shorts and boxers, his eagerness prevailing once they fall into a pool on the carpet.

You hiss when the cold air hits your now oversensitive tip which dripped copious amounts of pre, Frank noticed with a deep chuckle, strong hands pushing up your legs with no resistance as he settles on his knees, hot breath fanning against the back of your thighs.

He takes note of your pale pink hole, salivating at the thought of finally planting his face between the two pert globes you had offered up.

“There he is- fuck look at that”

He wouldn’t ever admit just how hard you had got him, you we’re pretty, a little to pretty, maybe ditzy and a little stupid for letting someone as dangerous as him touch you in ways that had you clutching at the sheets.

“Sir- I can’t, need you-“

Is all you could mutter passed pressed lips, it had been so long, to long since the last time you had gotten intimate with someone, this one took the cake, it was all kinds of strange, only taking note of features shown, the way his eyes had changed to a dark shade of lust, how his lips softly pressed dirty chaste kisses to the skin of your under thighs…why was this happening, you were suppose to help catch the bastard, not fall into bed with him.

“Say that again- wanna hear yer’ beg”

Each kiss led lower until he settled just above your hole, pressing two rough, sloppy kisses to the puckered skin surrounding it, he wanted to hear just how eager you were to finally have him, to finally allow him to dissect you like a butterfly, clip the wings and make you his own.

“Please- I need you, anything-“

He tuts before chuckling one more, the huff of hot breath settling over the coolness of your hole, without any thought, you sink back into the sheets before reaching for the top of his head, with a surge of confidence, you smush his face between your cheeks as he spreads them, feeling him smirk against you was everything, but the long lap, from balls, taint to hole was much more.

He had witnessed the case file you had on him, guessed you were some sort of lawyer working for murdock, it just fuelled his fire, his urge to take control, make you forget, make you understand that he is the man you should fear, but the man you should come running to, it had his dick jump with joy, you were easy but he liked that.

He lapped and lathed at your hole dirtily like some pornstar, eager to uncover the very thing he craved. You could feel the once more slobber roll down from his tongue to your balls, dripping onto the carpet below, shivering in his hold, you begin to push back, wiggling against his face as he noses at your wet clutch.

The tips of two fingers were present, pushing into you alongside his tongue like butter, no resistance, just pure admiration and pleasure, allowing the stranger to ruin your hole, lavish licks and darts of his tongue had you quivering around the intrusion, his fingers smashing in and outwards, scissoring them apart to prepare you for the oncoming assault.

“So easy, just wanna be used? Yer’ that hungry for me? yer’ been stalking me for months and here I am…using yer’ like a damn whore…what would Murdock and Co. think of yer’ spread out and whining for the biggest criminal in Hell’s Kitchen?”

You whimpered at the thought, almost driving you over the edge. He was vulgar and dirty with his words and his tone, deep and low, almost making you dizzy along side the third digit slipping inside, burying themselves to the knuckle making your cock jump.

He smirks against your hole before giving it a few final laps. He pulls them away, standing to glare down at your fucked out features.

“Somethin’ tells me yer’ like the sound of that hmm?”

You watch attentively as his fingers work to unclasp his belt, whipping it off. He unfastens the button, watching as his cargo’s pool around his ankles before kicking them off along with his boxers.

His cock slaps up into his abdomen with a sharp thud. You glare at it, taking it in, judging it harshly. He was big, big enough to leave an impression, he was girthy and long, thick from base to tip, his head an angry shade of red, his balls resting heavily between his thighs, the light shedding of hair framing the beauty.

“Don’t think yer’ gettin’ outta this boy, yer’ gonna take it like the pretty little thing yer’ are”

Peeling off his long sleeved t-shirt, you glaze amongst the muscles that bulged, his physique was godly, heavenly, everything that had your body spreading automatically to give him the space to slot between your legs, kneeling on the edge of the bed.

“Fuck- you look-“

Your words were slight encouragement to Frank as he dipped, still the Ski-mask stayed, secreting his identy, you could still kiss him, sloppy and rough. Whining into the kiss notified Frank of your eagerness, so much so, without warning he pressed the spongy head of his cock against your rim, practically asking for permission.

Breaking the kiss had you back to reality, but it was to late, you mumbled a sharp “yes” allowing him to enter, pushing into your sloppy, slick hole with resistance. You both moan in unison as Frank pushes the air out of your lungs, pushing each inch inward until he sheathed himself fully, now resting against you.

“Atta boy, all the way in with no complanin’, yer’ such a pretty boy ain’t yer’, taking me in all the way like a professional-“

You flutter against him as his arms throw your legs up, pushing them against your stomach giving him enough space to settle just above you, his lips kissing at your jaw, nibbling on the skin as he pulls out, pushing back in slowly to allow you to adjust.

How were you going to explain the current set of events to the law firm and two of the closest men to you, Matthew Murdock and Foggy Nelson, the intimacy of your thoughts only lead you to believe that this would put you at risk…of wanting more.

[sauljudgeman]

"Bad Boys" - A Robbery AU (Oneshot)

Trevor Belmont x Reader ❤️

Sypnosis: On the 5th anniversary of your relationship, Trevor's dumbass decides to ruin anything by stealing some valuables, kickstarting a journey you'd wish you'd end sooner than later.

(Hopefully, this doesn't suck lol)

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Chapter 1: Pilot

Thousands of pink candles stand in the middle of many round, circular tables, which are on the restaurant floor. Each one is dimly lit to create an atmosphere as warm as the sun's heat. Many of the tables are draped with white tablecloths that contrast the shiny black wood. At least 50 waiters stroll around the restaurant, some taking orders while others are delivering food and drinks. The chatter of over a hundred guests echo the walls of Steaua Miraculoasă, a prestigious dinner spot with a rich history that spans hundreds of years. But on this special night, there are two particular guests that need an introduction.

Tonight, you and Trevor Belmont gather together to have a romantic dinner date to celebrate a glorious five-year long relationship. You and Trevor had met under unique circumstances, when the two of them were still kids. At the time, you'd been walking around the park with your mother and father, a family moment that should've been a typical trip to a park. You'd spend at least an hour walking around and observing Mother Nature's striking green landscape, and then go back home. But after traveling for about 20 minutes on the pathway's sturdy gravel, you came to a halt, pointing out towards a random tree.

     “Mommy, daddy, look! There's a dead body right there!!”, you shout in fear.

     “Sweetie, what are you talking about?”, your mother questions, bewildered by the fact her daughter would claim such a thing. 

Your father is about to ask the same thing when suddenly, he looks under the tree to find a young Trevor Belmont, unconscious and dirty. While by no means was the little boy bruised, he clearly hadn't eaten or drank in days. Strands of hair scattered among the grass and the wooden surface, and the fatigued expression on Trevor's face were just a few of the signs of his recent habits. Brown dirt stains are found on his white wife beater and black sweatpants. And when you hurried off towards the unconscious Belmont boy's body to shake him awake (despite claiming that he was dead), you noticed that so much more is wrong with Trevor than you thought initially. All it took was a gentle touch to notice his cold body temperature and dry skin. Moving your hand up his arm to touch his mouth, you can feel his mouth, drier than the Sahara Desert and as sticky as fresh slime.

You sighed, exasperated by the situation, yet determined to help out a fellow child. Maybe if you successfully save Trevor’s life, he'll want to be your friend! And so…

You proceed to violently shake his body for 20 seconds straight, all the while you're shouting out loud:

   “WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UUUUUP, YOU DIRTY RAT! NO ONE LIKES TO SEE A DIRTY RAT OUTSIDE, DUMMY! SHOULDN'T YOU UNDERSTAND, BY NOW?!”

Needless to say, when young Trevor Belmont woke up to your insufferable screaming, he was…grumpy. Watching this whole scene play out, your parents just silently looked at one another, not knowing what to say.

Well, at least he wasn't dead.

Eventually, your parents carried him back into their white Chevrolet, and drove him back home. And after about 6 months, your mother and father were able to successfully adopt Trevor into the family. Despite Trevor's initial annoyance with how loud and boisterous you could be at times, over the years, he slowly began to fall for you. Deep down, your act of kindness had touched him, and he ultimately settled on the fact that maybe, just maybe, you might really be his other half, after all.

But back to the date. As you both treat yourselves to sizable portions of seasoned chicken, with a side of red beans and yellow rice, you have an adoring expression as you stare into your gruff lover's eyes, admiring each individual iris and each strand of stubble that's poking out like a man's erection on a steamy, sensual evening. Trevor, surprisingly, stares back with equal interest, lost in the beauty of your gorgeous locks, your soft pink lips as they crush a piece of meat, and the way your fingers gently drag across your thigh…which isn't your face.

As he continues to have his eyes linger on your thigh, he mutters, in an attempt to be flirty:

     “The juices on these drumsticks taste so sweet~”

You smirk in response, oblivious to his attempt at flirting, but in the mood to joke around. 

     “Maybe it's because you drowned the chicken with 10 bottles of fucking wine, you dumbfuck. Try to put all of that energy into not relapsing.”

Trevor falls silent. Offended by your remark, he  looks up from your meaty thigh, kindly places his fork down on his napkin, crosses his arms, and turns his head away from you and instead  focuses his eyes on one of the walls of Steaua Miraculoasă, which is decorated with a bunch of sparkly yellow stars. Each star happens to have a mirror to make the dining experience as luxurious and unconventional as possible. As Trevor looks into one of the mirrors, morose, he calmly states:

     “BLOODY HELL, (Y/N)! No need to be an ASSHOLE!”

You giggle softly in response, amused by Trevor's saltiness. After you and Trevor finish eating dinner, the same waiter that delivered your food returns to collect any missing payments. As you prepare to pay for your food, you take a quick glance at Trevor, and notice that he's stuffing something--or rather some things, into his pocket. You begin to question what else could he possibly be putting away, considering that the only thing  from home he brought with him was a golden leather wallet. But you shrugged it off. Perhaps Trevor's wallet just takes up that much space, and he was adjusting it to make sure that it fit comfortably and did not fall out of his pocket.

After the both of you paid for your meals, the waiter, a young white man with a blonde buzzcut and a blonde mustache, looks around the table and notices something strange. To start off, ALL of the silverware on the table is missing, including yours, and the pink candle that just a few minutes ago burned alight, has also gone missing. Confused, the waiter asks,

     “Excuse me, my lady and my good sir but…where's your silverware? And the candle?”

Your eyes light up with shock, caught off-guard by the waiter’s question. Wanting to see if he knows anything, you turn to Trevor with an expression that contains the same amount of confusion that the waiter has.

     “Uhm…do YOU know where they went, by any chance?”, you ask him with a hint of suspicion. Knowing that Trevor has a certain…history, you begin to worry that he did something fishy.

Trevor sighs, irritated by the sudden confrontation he faces.

     “Jesus Christ, love! The silverware and the candle got knocked into the floor, after I bumped into the table. Didn't you notice?”

You raise an eyebrow, not believing him whatsoever. Sure, you weren't paying attention to his every single move, but you're not an idiot either. You remember that prior to you giving the waiter your payment for your order, the pink candle AND the silverware had been on the table. And Trevor had never bumped into the table. So you're about to say something, when all of a sudden…

Your “genius” boyfriend gets the idea to pull out his antique whip from out of his shirt collar, break open a glass window that cost $50,000 to be built, and jump out of the window.

     “TREVOR, YOU GREEDY BASTARD! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT OUR ANNIVERSARY! YOU COULD'VE AT LEAST ASKED FOR PERMISSION!”

You scream in horror, before quickly grabbing your bag and running off, shouting a goodbye at the appalled waiter as you do so.

The waiter in question slowly pulls out his Samsung phone, types “911”, and awkwardly utters the words:

     “Uhmm hello. Yes, officer. One of our customers just robbed us, and he…used a bull whip to make a shortcut out of the establishment…”

And so, ever since that fateful day on February 14th, 2024, you've known one thing about your husband, something that would turn your life upside down; the love of your life, Trevor Belmont, is a petty criminal. A very, VERY petty criminal.

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Thanks for reading! I'm honestly not that confident in my writing abilities on this one. I just hope that others will be able to enjoy it more! But honestly, for my first fanfic in years, the quality could've been so much worse.

Love you all, and have a nice day!

[kjack89]

If you're still taking Spotify requests: E/R for which ever song is your favorite that ISNT a repeat from last year. (Or Taylor Swift. My coworker has been over playing Midnights in the office and I'm so sick of it atm.)

Oh man, this was a hard song to pick, because I love so many songs on this playlist (obviously, or they wouldn't be in my top 100!). In the end, I went with the song that I have loved the longest, the one that I used to ask my father to play whenever he drove, like, 4-year-old me anywhere because the album this was on was one of the cassette tapes he had in his car.

Well, it was this album or Enya, and sadly Orinoco Flow didn't make my top 100 for some reason.

87. "The Ballad of Billy the Kid" by Billy Joel

It's a Western AU. Because why the hell not at this point.

The night was quiet and peaceful, its stillness broken only by the gentle crackle of the dying fire and the ubiquitous chirp of crickets, but Enjolras couldn’t seem to enjoy it, his own ears still ringing with the sounds of chaos from earlier.

As a general rule, Enjolras didn’t like robbing trains. Too high a possibility of innocent people being hurt or recognizing one of Les Amis, defeating the purpose of how they handled their robberies, and besides, word of mouth spread faster when robbing banks.

But when Combeferre got reliable word that the Corinthe, headed from back east out to the west coast, was carrying a stash of money belonging to none other than F. H. Tholomyès himself, one of the wealthiest and most exploitative robber barons the West had ever seen, Enjolras knew that not even he could pass up this opportunity.

Which was how Les Amis had found themselves that morning perched along the train tracks, guns and horses at the ready. As they waited for the train to round the bend in the tracks, Enjolras could not help but share a few words, knowing they would never have another opportunity like this one. “Gentlemen,” he started, sweeping his hat off his head to catch their attention, “where are we going?”

To his right, crouched behind a rocky outcropping, Courfeyrac muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “For Christ’s sake,” but Enjolras ignored him, instead glancing around at their compatriots.

Joly sheepishly raised a hand. “Are we going to the train?” he asked, barely managing to hide his smile as Grantaire and Bossuet sniggered on either side.

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed, and Joly’s smile disappeared. “Yes,” Enjolras said, with a bite of impatience. “We’re going to the train just as we are going to the future. And what we do here today is in service of all people. Gentlemen, we are no mere robbers—”

“We do not steal for riches,” Bahorel recited in what was clearly meant to be an undertone but carried a little too well.

“We do not steal for glory,” Feuilly added, a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth as Prouvaire chimed in, with the cadence of an orator, “Thievery, I hate you, but I make use of you—”

“—For by stealing this money, so too do we steal our future from those who would keep it from us,” Bahorel, Feuilly and Prouvaire finished in unison, and Enjolras glowered at them.

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Maybe if you didn’t use the same speech at the start of every robbery—” he started, but Enjolras ignored him, barreling stubbornly onward.

“We are advancing the unity of man,” he said through gritted teeth. “The common man out from under the thumb of the rich, that is the goal. And whatever happens here today, through our failure or through our success, we are creating an alternative to those who think there’s no other way to live.”

He glanced at Combeferre on his left, who also looked a little like he was trying not to smile, and Enjolras scowled. He was saved from saying anything by the train finally rounding the tracks, and instead jammed his hat on his head before he raised his voice to shout, “Courage, and onward!”

From there, things had devolved into the usual controlled chaos that was the undercurrent of every robbery they had ever done, all leading to this moment camped out by the fire, their afternoon’s takings – even more than Enjolras had hoped – in a series of nondescript bags to be tied to a horse’s saddle. 

As much as Enjolras disliked robbing trains, he disliked the aftermath of a robbery even more. He could never find a way to calm himself after the excitement, always ready to move onto the next. He reckoned it was part of what made him so successful, even if it meant always feeling a little like an outsider as his friends traded jokes and stories around the campfire as he brooded on their next plan.

Still, there was nothing else for it, and with a sigh, he sat upright, grabbing his hat from on top of his saddle and placing it on his head before standing. He bent to pick up the saddle, carrying it over to his horse, Mabeuf, who was drowsily grazing where he was picketed. “Sorry for the early morning, boy,” he murmured, rubbing the horse’s neck before lifting the saddle onto his back.

A similar movement caught the corner of his eye and he immediately turned, his hand automatically falling to the pistol at his hip. He relaxed when he saw it was just Grantaire tending to his own horse.

The relaxation was short-lived, seeing as how Grantaire had never been an early riser and had managed to drink enough whiskey to drown a lesser man, and Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing?”

Grantaire didn’t even glance over at him, adjusting the saddle with a practiced eye. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

Enjolras scowled. “Looks like you’re packing up.”

Now Grantaire did look over at him, a small smile creasing his face. “I always knew you were more than a pretty face.”

Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why are you packing up?” he asked, ignoring Mabeuf nudging his shoulder in search of an apple or sugar cube.

Grantaire shrugged. “Because I’m going.”

“Going where?” Enjolras ground out. No one managed to irritate him quite like Grantaire did.

Grantaire shrugged again, squinting out at the horizon where the first hint of light was just beginning to break. “Well, now, that’s a good question,” he said easily. “Not sure yet.”

Enjolras sighed. “You know you can’t come with me.”

“I do,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras scowled. “You know why we do it like this.”

“Hasn’t changed.”

“Grantaire.” They’d had this argument so many times before that Enjolras really only needed to say Grantaire’s name in that tone for them to both know exactly how this would play out, just as it had every time before. It was as familiar to them as the sun rising over the plains, and almost as comforting in a strange way, as if a mission wasn’t complete without its familiar cadence.

Which was why Enjolras kept his tone calm but firm in the explanation he’d given a hundred times before. “I’m the one who has to go,” he told Grantaire. “We do the job, I split off with the money and distribute it to where it needs to go. That way, I draw all the attention to myself, and let you all get away. No one ever suspects you. You can’t be implicated.”

They hadn’t always done it this way, but after the first posse got together to track them down, Enjolras had insisted on the change, had insisted that everyone else cover their faces so that the only one anyone ever got a good look at was him.

There was a reason Les Amis wasn’t well known throughout the West, and it wasn’t because they weren’t damn good at what they did – it’s because to every sheriff from the Mississippi to the Rio Grande, they were known as Apollo the Kid and his Gang.

He didn’t need to remind Grantaire of that, though – Grantaire knew. Even in the dim light of the dying fire, Enjolras could see a muscle working in Grantaire’s cheek. “That is indeed the plan.”

Enjolras suddenly found he couldn’t quite meet Grantaire’s eye, and so busied himself with Mabeuf’s bridle. “Which is why you can’t come with me,” he said, his voice rough.

“You already said that,” Grantaire said, matching his tone. “I ain’t deaf.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Enjolras shot back.

Grantaire scowled at him. “Listen, the job’s done, right? So there’s no need for me to stay. Way I see it, I’m free to go.”

Enjolras jerked a shrug. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Grantaire repeated. “And here I thought freedom was the entire point of what we were doing here.” He paused before adding pointedly, “Isn’t it?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Of course, but that’s not—”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Ain’t you the one who keeps saying that the working people need to unite because the only thing we have to lose is our reins?”

“Chains, but—”

“Then let a man pack his horse in peace,” Grantaire finished.

Enjolras scowled. “Fine, if you’ll answer me one question.”

“What’s that?” Grantaire asked, not looking over at him.

“Why’d you suddenly decide to pack up now when I started to?”

Something that might’ve been a smile twitched at the corners of Grantaire’s mouth. “Coincidence.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Helluva coincidence.”

“Sure is.”

Still, despite himself, despite everything, Enjolras had to admit that packing up seemed to go faster with Grantaire at his side. Or at the very least, it seemed just a little bit less lonely.

When they were both packed – and the money they’d stolen carefully stashed in Enjolras’s saddlebags – Enjolras pulled himself onto his horse, glancing over at Grantaire. “You heading out?”

“Yessir,” Grantaire said, patting his horse’s neck as he added in an attempt at casual, “Which way are you headed?”

Enjolras jerked his chin toward the horizon. “West.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Well, whaddya know,” he said. “So am I.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “Coincidence?” he asked wryly. 

Grantaire half-smiled. “Sure is.”

Just as the packing was less lonely with Grantaire by his side, so was the ride. It was early enough that neither man worried too much about anyone else being on the road, though both kept a weather eye out, just in case.

But the ride in comfortable silence could only last for so long, and eventually, Enjolras reined his horse to a stop, Grantaire stopped as well. Enjolras nodded to the fork in the road up ahead. “This is where we part ways,” he said, a note of warning in his voice.

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Enjolras said with conviction. He hesitated before adding, “Thank you for coming all this way with me—”

“It was nothing,” Grantaire interrupted. “I was headed this way anyway.”

Enjolras managed a small smile. “Coincidence.”

Grantaire smiled as well. “Well, something like that, anyway.”

Enjolras nodded, something sharpening in his expression. “Just like it’s coincidence how you always seem to be headed my way after every robbery,” he said lightly.

Grantaire’s smile faded, and he shrugged. “Ain’t the world a remarkable place,” he said noncommittally.

“I suppose it is.” Enjolras glanced over at him. “Where are you headed now?”

Grantaire shrugged again. “Oh, here, there, and around,” he said, purposefully vague, but Enjolras didn’t miss the way his hand twitched toward his gun in its holster. “Got some business to keep an eye on.”

Enjolras frowned. “You know I don’t need you to protect me,” he said bluntly, tired of playing this little game every single time.

To his surprise, Grantaire barked a laugh before running a hand across his mouth. “Enjolras, you don’t need me for a damn thing.”

“I don’t know that I’d go quite that far,” Enjolras said before he could stop himself, and he quickly looked away, feeling the back of his neck burn despite being protected by his hat. “In any case, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you at the rendezvous.”

Grantaire nodded. “Yessir.” He kneed his horse forward, ostensibly toward the fork Enjolras wasn’t taking, then paused, turning back to face him. “Oh, and Enjolras?”

“Yeah?”

Grantaire raised his chin just slightly. “Anytime you want it to be something other than a coincidence, all you have to do is say the word.”

Enjolras’s throat felt tight. “I know,” he said, his voice low.

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might say something more, but instead he just touched the brim of his hat before kneeing his horse forward again. Enjolras watched him go before starting forward once again, alone.

[raccooninmycabbages]

love it lol- I went crazy with the reasoning in the comments - I believe the 2 best ways are Galadriel or a Nazgul

[snakeguy999]

Fleas and robberfly for Batter

[chrisrin]

HE'S GONNA STEAL--NOT JUST YOUR HEART--BUT EVERYTHING YOU OWN AS WELL!!!

[sforzesco]

some "new" designs for different crassus and pompey, specifically for a side project I've been playing with that's so removed from anything relevant (action/adventure/horror standalone story lmao) that they kind of needed their own thing. this story's pompey has a neck scar from an Incident™, crassus has shorter hair and wears (checks notes) jewelry sometimes.

[blue-sunflower-bee]

Securitywaiter fandom!

Consider this... I NEED this Ness

With this Mike

Aka "Clumsy detective x even clumsier robber that is followed by bad luck"

Edit:

You can read the beginning of this story here:

[threecrowsinacoat]

Rip Camicazi you would’ve loved cosplay

[sunibits]

I’ve noticed that there’s not many comedic aus so I introduce to you the cops and robbers au

If you can even call it an au

It’s literally just comical goofy silly shenanigans that happen in this au and I love it

[puppetmaster13u]

Hey

If I were to do a map call for dragon batman/gotham, would anyone be interested in that?

[no-ditches-no-bitches]

*Bailey is perching on his lil rooftop as usual, when he sees Ditch for the first time. His first reaction is to investigate, just based on how suspicious he was being. The red boy prepared to jump down, just in case.*

((aw shit he boutta get jumped fr 😔💔))

Ditch is just one his way home, I guess?? Secretly hurdling at least 10 dollars in his pockets and under his hat.

[vanitiz1]

Frozen Au

I don't know Which will be the name?

Maybe Kindgom Frozen (reference and relation with the title "The Snow Queen")

Character setting-Concept art

Kay and The Snow Queen (Elsa)

Here to know

v

Context

[diddlydarndoodles]

AU where Basil, Sunny and Mari are stuck in a timeloop and in order to break it Basil has to choose which of the siblings will die

[mint-flavoredd]

♣️♥️Flash your Cards rom-com movie cover + doodles!! definitely give it a read!!!♦️♠️

[desognthinking]

im fascinated what is tomb guardians au i am immediately imagining ava trying to get (very serious about her job) bea to talk to her (t4t aka tomb for tomb communication) like “it’s because you’re always on that damn guarding the tomb” and bea staring at her like “oh (relevant semi-religious curse word/deity invocation), i HAVE to fuck her”

Hi 😄  tomb guardians au is exactly that! except a little weirder, i think. Because they arent the guards stalking the graveyard they are the inhumanly stone-and-metal-but-not-really guardians themselves ☺️it's like what if beatrice had two heads and stood watch over the sealed, entombed heart of a bloodline. And ava was the new, terrible protector of a clan of craftsmen on a hilltop, buried with chambers of generations of their art. And what if they were necropolis neighbors 😳

This is one chunk previously posted and this shorter thing is set a little later, during the wedding mentioned in the first part. i think it kind of matches this ask pretty well 🥺:

Weddings are just like funerals: they’re never safe. The procession overflows from the courtyard at the mouth of the tombhouse, and nobody turns their attention to the other side of the hill. That's Ava’s job. Beatrice, perched carefully atop her roof in a long line of others she can vaguely make out, stretched across the rim of the hills, can see her sway and duck through kitestrings and tree-hung lanterns blowing in the wind as she keeps vigil. 

There’s fire, and an uncoordinated symphony of chattering accompanying music, and colored smoke that drifts up and drenches the air in pinks and yellows. The party had started at the Salviuses’ inner city tombhall, and then wound its way through the cobbled streets to settle here sometime around midday. Now the sun has cooled from its boil and the clouds are dissipating in streaks leaving swatches of color overtop the trees.

Celebration mixes with ceremony in equal parts, and Ava’s soaking it in, so she told Beatrice herself. Amidst the rush of activity at the Silvas’, she’d found her way over yesterday, dangling her human legs over a particularly stubborn branch that tipped over a brass gate, lurching under her weight towards brown grass.

“And, if you want,” she’d said quickly, “the view from atop our central mausoleum is incomparable.” Following the parched trajectory of Beatrice’s traitorous eyes, Ava had reached up to hurriedly smooth out the colorful combs that had erupted from her crown as she blurted out the offer. “You could see the dances up close.” 

She paused, as Beatrice reached out, at first hesitantly, then bravely, to gently still Ava’s hands from patting down the sharp, fiery crests. It’s okay.

(I like them.)

“We’re close enough that you could still keep a lookout for things over here.” 

Proximity, of course, was in truth the last thing that Beatrice feared would compromise her duty, and she knew that Ava knew it too. 

They sat in silence, not uncomfortably. Hot plumes, from where the days-long feast was being prepared in great earthen pots and pits on the rolling green surrounding the Silva walls, thinned out as they passed through the trees to Beatrice’s clearing. 

Whispers of stews, and meats, and spices. Beatrice felt, suddenly, terribly hungry.

“Will you ask again tomorrow?” she chanced, finally. 

Ava, bright and shocked and delighted, laughed. In her relief she nearly fell backwards off the branch, taking with her Beatrice, who had joined her on the tree.

Razor-edged fronds sprung up again from the top of her sun-warmed head. “Horrible”, she joked. 

Beatrice disagreed, and let her know.

Now, the sky is dampening, and the wedding party, in dribs and drabs, pauses to refill its cups and light its candles. In this twilight Beatrice lets herself turn to the west.

It is not easy to see, but the creature on the Silva house is there, beyond the clasp of woods, and when Beatrice meets its eyes its form unfolds in magnificent, menacing span and its unmistakable, jagged tail rises, quick and high, as in warning or challenge. 

From this far away, and half-hidden by foliage, it is impossible to make out the details of that bolted, harsh surface, but Beatrice knows how it feels under her palm, fluttering and leathery and spiny and warm, just as she knows by a glance the towering shape of the display and the exaggerated, daring, silly invitation that it extends across the space between their roofs. 

Ridiculous. 

Ava – terrifying as she extinguishes the numerous wraiths that have already sought to take advantage of the guardian transition, serious as the new caretaker of an artistic legacy, and an achingly, brilliantly quick learner of that uncommon dialect spoken by Beatrice’s house – lifts off her roof in a dramatic jump, and lands with a shaking thud that sends shivers through the ground all the way over. 

\

Help arrives so quickly that Beatrice knows said help is going to give her a hard time. 

“Mary,” she greets, relieved all the same. “Are you sure you don’t mind keeping watch?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Shannon's got it all handled back home,” Mary traces the perimeter easily, scanning the horizon in each direction and then feeling the hollows and convexities of the tombhouse in quick reappraisal. Beatrice stands aside as she smoothly pads across the surface of what she must have judged to be possible points of weakness, tests the robustness of a couple of Beatrice’s carefully constructed defenses, then nods, satisfied. 

A great-aunt, peeking out too to watch the celebrations, looks up, sees Mary, and waves. Mary sends her a bow. 

“You know, Bea, she’s right,” she hums, finally. “It’s not too far away, and you’ve always been focused when out visiting.”

The bait is not particularly subtle, and Beatrice narrows her eyes. 

“I just don’t think it’s safe to reduce any protections during a celebration when everyone’s guards are down.” She busies herself with cleaning up the place, tightening the wards and doing some final redundant sweeps and checks. “It’d be easy for someone or something to slip through, especially with so many unfamiliar faces.”

“Mm. And you’d be distracted.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Sure.” Mary circles, then sits down, settling in and getting comfortable. She uncoils and reaches out to nudge Beatrice gently where she’s examining the shifts in some stones very conscientiously. “And I promise not to look over.”

“Mary.”

“What?” She shrugs, casually puts out a strong claw and kicks Beatrice firmly off the parapet. “Time to go-o.”

There’s a shower of stone fragments as Beatrice shakes and gathers herself to snap and snarl halfheartedly and harmlessly up at her from the ground. 

Mary looks over the edge and shakes her head, grinning. “Oh, baby girl,” she tsks, “Don’t tell me you need me to teach you how to fuck her.”

“Mary!”

Mary’s laughter echoes as Beatrice turns and steals into the darkness, necks hot with embarrassment. “Now hurry up, Beatrice,” her call seeps, howling, into the roots. It warps with the topography of the earth into something deep and old, sinking its frigid teeth into Beatrice’s bones. But the shape of the wind whipping past Beatrice’s ears is fond and teasing in its turbulence as she tears through the thicket. “Your poor girl’s waiting for you.”