#the conversation around street harassment feels quiet at the moment

[wastemanjohn]

i'm really fucking done with entitled ass men today

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦

Kenji Sato x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐔𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.7k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Coach’s daughter AU, Fluff, lots of shameless flirting, teasing, secret relationship

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Over coffee and conversation, Ken finds solace in a caf��, far from the chaos of the baseball stadium.

Ken had never felt his heart gallop this intensely before. Not even during his rise to stardom with the Dodgers back in LA could compare to the thrill and anticipation coursing through him right now.

This was more personal— unpredictable in a way that no game or spotlight could prepare him for. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t chasing a title.

It was a moment with someone special that made everything else feel secondary.

Tucked away in a quiet street of Tokyo’s lesser known district, the glow of the neon signs reflected off slick pavements as he watched you navigate the path, weaving between parked bikes and stray vending machines.

The faint hum of the distant train was the only sound that filled the night’s silence.

“Ken!” your voice rang through the empty streets, bright and familiar. As you drew closer, Ken couldn’t help but notice how the muted lights reflected in your glossy eyes, giving them an otherworldly sparkle.

He didn’t say anything until you were close enough for you to hear him without yelling.

“You made it…” His lips curled into a smile, meeting your gaze with a tender look. “Did you get enough rest? You look a bit tired.”

“Barely,” you confessed, a playful tilt painted on your lips. “I’ve been counting down the minutes until I can see you again.”

Ken was used to fans clamoring for a moment of his time, expressing their excitement to see him. But something about the eagerness in your voice and the slight bounce in your step sent a flutter through him.

He glanced around, checking that the streets were still empty before reaching out to cradle your cheek.

“You’re so clingy.” he teased, still holding his grin.

“I would’ve kissed you right now if we weren’t in public.” you shot back with a small smirk.

Ken leaned closer until his face was eye level to yours, his voice dropped to a heated whisper

“I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

The impulse to close the distance simmered under his skin, but the risk of being seen was enough to keep him rooted.

“But I also don’t want an angry mob of your dad’s supporters coming after me after catching us in a compromising position.”

Your smile faltered, replaced by a shadow of worry. “Right…my dad. I don’t want anybody from the press finding out either.”

“Yeah, the press…” Ken’s expression hardened, his tone turning bitter.

The media always lurked, threatening to expose what little happiness he could claim. He wished he didn’t have to sneak around like this.

He envied those who could show affection openly, like some of his teammates who left games with their families in tow. The normalcy forever felt out of reach for Ken.

“Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like…” he murmured, eyes drifting past the dim glow of the distant lights. “If we dated openly, without worrying about your father, or the fans, or the media.”

Ken rarely admitted these things, but seeing how you aligned with his unspoken thoughts made it easier to voice his fragile feelings— especially about your relationship.

“What could the fans do anyway? It’s not like they could control your life.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ken said with a hint of edge. “There are some intense fans out there that take their idols' personal lives way too seriously.”

Ken didn’t want to think too deeply about a situation blowing out of proportion. If rumours began, he knew all too well how quickly fans would start prying on your life, looking for any reason to judge.

Even the slightest flaw could unleash a tornado of online harassment. He didn’t want to bring that sort of trouble into your life.

His jaws clenched, a grimace flashing across his features before he shook the thought away.

“I’m more worried about dad. If he ever found out about us…I can’t even imagine how he’d react. Especially after that latest press conference. He came home moping,” you said, the last words trailed into a tired groan.

“I know, I could’ve handled it better.” Ken chuckled, before it was shadowed by guilt as he remembered his altercation with Coach Shimura. “I hate when the press digs for gossip.”

A low rumble of an approaching car snapped him out of his thoughts. Its headlights illuminated the empty street, casting fleeting shadows over the both of you, before disappearing down the narrow road.

You take a hold of Ken’s hand and gently tug him forward. “Come on, let’s head inside.”

You slip into a small, dimly lit cafe— a hidden gem that seemed to be empty from the outside view. It’s secluded places like this that makes your relationship feel safe, untouched by the eyes of the world.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries enveloped him, a silent call of the rare moment of peace you shared.

The cafe itself was modest in size, with wooden chairs and tables neatly arranged beneath the dim ambiance lighting.

There were a few patrons scattered here and there— a couple sharing a quiet intimate conversation near the window at the high table, and a few students hunched over textbooks.

Sparse decorations adorned the walls: faded vintage poster advertising sodas and sweet treats with its vibrant colours faded over time.

At the centre of each table sat a miniature cherry blossom tree, the soft pink petals contrasted against the dark wood.

Together, you crossed the cafe's interior, where a lone worker was wiping down the countertops. The glass display case in front of you showcased an array of cakes and pastries, though the selection was limited at this hour.

“You gonna order anything?” you asked, eyes scanning over the hanging menu above the counter.

“Yeah…a latte and maybe a cake, too,” Ken paused, gaze flickering over the cake display before shifting back to you. “You want anything?”

“I’ll probably get a bowl of anmitsu,” you mused, turning to meet his eyes. “What kind of cake will you be getting?”

Ken hums in thought for a moment, leaning in closer to the display. Rows of desserts were neatly arranged.

Fluffy cake rolls on the tile shelf with their swirls of cream peaking our— flavours ranged from strawberry to matcha. Slices of chiffon cakes in pastal colours on the middle shelf. And finally, tiny containers of pudding at the bottom.

“Not sure yet,” he murmured, his mind wandering over the cake display. His smile took a slight wicked edge as he added. “Maybe a cake I can feed you a bite of…”

The image of him holding out a spoonful to you flashed through his mind, followed by your lips closing around it. His imagination reeled, and he caught himself chewing his lower lip, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

Just as his thoughts threaten to wander further, your voice pulls him back to the present.

“Their chiffon cakes are always good.” you said, gesturing towards the pastel cakes.

“Yeah?” Ken followed your gaze to the neatly placed cakes. “But they’re crumbly. I’ll get cake all over your face.”

“It’ll be worth it though.” you teased.

Ken chuckled, glancing at the display again and taking another moment to look at the options again. His eyes shifted to the pastries with their delicious golden crust glistening under the light.

“Maybe I should get something messy, then,” he leaned in close to your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper again. “Like…one of those cream puffs with the sweet, sticky filling. I could lick it off your lips.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out an exaggerated gasp, swatting his chest. “Shhh! You can’t say that out here.”

“Why not?” he grinned, voice lacing with his smugness. “No one’s paying attention to us.”

Despite your playful scolding, Ken’s chest swelled with satisfaction and his ego soared.

He was aware that he shouldn’t push things too far, especially in public, but seeing how flustered you were and your stunned expression was too irresistible not to enjoy.

“Still…what if someone was eavesdropping on us.” you said, a hint of caution in your voice as your eyes darted briefly towards the other patrons.

“Then they’ll just hear me flirting. Harmless isn’t it? Doesn’t matter if they know how badly I want to taste the cream puff from your lips.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“What? I can’t tell my girlfriend how badly I want to kiss her?”

“Hmph, just order already.” You crossed your arms with mock indignation.

“Alright I’ll order for us, you go and find us a seat.”

His eyes followed your form as you weaved through the tables, your movement unhurried but purposeful. You found a table in the corner of the cafe that offered both privacy and a clear line of sight to the entrance.

Ken couldn’t help but hold his gaze at you with the cafe’s lighting cast a warm glow over your features.

Dragging his focus back to the task at hand, Ken stepped up to the counter and placed the order— a latte and a slice of cake for himself and a bowl of anmitsu for you.

Ken watched as steam erupted with a high-pitch hiss from the milk frother, the aromatic scent of the coffee mixed with the faint sweetness from the pastries.

The barista poured the milk into the latte cup with grace and precision, creating a delicate foam on top. Besides her, another worker arranged your anmitsu, layering the sweet toppings before placing it alongside with a spoon.

When the tray was finally ready, Ken paid and carefully carried it across the room. The clinking sound of ceramic cups and murmurs of the patrons accompanied his steps.

Setting the tray down on the table with a small smile on his lips, he slid into the seat across from you, feeling the soft cushioned chair beneath him.

Your eyes swept over the content of the tray before landing on the cream puff besides the latte. Your brow arched in disbelief. “Oh my God, you actually got it.”

“I did. Why? Did you think I wouldn’t? You thought I was bluffing?”

“Well, yeah. You’re always bluffing.”

The corner of his lips curled into a smirk at your surprise. Ken pushed your amnitsu closer to you before claiming his own plate. A faint whiff of the dessert’s sweet and rich scent rose to his nose, stirring his anticipation.

Picking up the fork, he scooped a bit of the cream cake and popped it in his mouth. He deliberately closed his eyes and let out an exaggerated, drawn-out moan of pleasure at the taste.

Even with his eyes shut, he could feel your gaze burning into him. He even took it a step further and started licking the cream off his lips.

When he opened his eyes, he found you pulling a face and he couldn’t help but give you a cheeky grin. “It’s delicious, by the way…”

“Hmm, it does look good.”

“Come on…you’ve been staring at it long enough. Have a bite.”

Ken took another spoon full of the dessert before holding it out to you. The moment you leaned in to reach for the spoon, he felt his heart spike and his senses on high alert— taking in every single detail of your action.

His eyes never left your mouth as they parted and closed delicately around the fork. He felt the fork grow lighter as you took the bite.

His focus stayed on your tongue flicking across your upper lip to catch the traces of cream and powdered sugar.

Witnessing it happen in real time was far more tantalising than his imagination— the sight was intoxicating.

He swallowed thickly, forcibly pushing the heat stirring in his chest.

A heat pooled in his gut, seeing you chew on the cake thoughtfully, completely oblivious to the effect you were having on him.

Ken inhaled sharply, trying to ground himself as he reached for a napkin. His hands trembled more than usual as he leaned forward and dapped the corner of your mouth to wipe away the cream you’d missed.

But instead of pulling back after, his thumb lingered, brushing over your lower lip— the same lips he had kissed feverishly in the past. The contact was light and featherlight but enough to make his stomach flip.

You froze under his touch, meeting his gaze. Your lips parted slightly to speak.

“Light and fluffy…”

“Mhm…” Ken hummed, completely distracted. Though he wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the cream puff you just had or the softness of your lips.

“Do you wanna try mine?”

Ken blinked rapidly, snapping out of his trance. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away from your lips, the warmth of your skin fading too quickly.

But his attention turned to your bowl of anmitsu, taking in the vibrant layers of fruit, glossy jelly cubes, and the soft mochi balls.

“Sure…looks delicious.”

Taking the spoon you offered, scooped a piece of mochi and fruit from the bowl.

The fruits were cool and refreshing in his mouth, and blended with the mochi which gave a pleasantly chewy texture.

He handed the spoon back to you, still chewing on the mochi. You pushed the fruit and the mochi around in the bowl with the spoon meticulously.

“They put a lot of mochi in this.” you commented.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

You reached for the brown sugar syrup that came with your anmitsu and poured it over the bowl. “Try it now.”

Ken scooped another bite, now coated in the syrup. The sugary bursts mixed with the fruits tang, and he let out a low hum of approval at the sweetness. “Hm…it does taste better.”

“Too sweet?”

“It’s already sweet enough, though I think you’re sweeter.”

“Corny.” you said, dragging out the word to emphasise your disapproval, though the faint smile on your lips betrayed you.

Ken chuckled at your reaction, he knew you were only disguising the effect his words were having on you.

He propped his elbow on the table, leaning his chin against his palm with his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“It’s only corny because you get flustered every time. Did you see your face earlier? When I was talking about the cream puffs?”

You only rolled your eyes at his words, a grin forming on your lips now. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“So, you’re only putting up with me because I’m cute?”

“And maybe because you’re a star player and super rich and whatever.” you replied, twirling the spoon through the anmitsu and waving your hands dismissively.

Ken tilts his head, the back and forth banter bringing a warmth in his chest. Being with you like this— relaxed and unguarded— was a relief in ways he rarely allowed himself to think about.

Having conversations like this with you felt refreshing knowing he would tease and you’ll do it right back.

He tapped his finger against his chin in a mock pensiveness before responding back. “Right, so you’re telling me it's my money and status you’re after, not my dazzling personality or good looks?”

“Oh, that too, I guess.”

“Is that how it’s gonna be, princess? Pretending you don’t secretly like me for more than my money or looks.”

“And what if I said yes?”

“Well,” he said in mock contemplation. “I’d have to work extra hard to win you over. Though I’d say that I'm pretty confident I have a head start.”

“I think you might need to focus on getting on dad’s good side first.”

Something struck inside him at your words— like a whiplash. The mention of your father always hit differently, a reminder of the uneasy dynamic that lingered between them. Ken let out a short sigh, his chest tightening.

It was still a sore spot for him that Shimura initially disapproved of him and his less-than-stellar past behind— though it wasn’t unexpected.

Despite everything Ken had accomplished back in LA— leaving his troubles behind and earning his respect in the field— it seemed his reputation preceded him.

Shimura, along with his teammates, had always treated him like the brash American kid trying to catch up, even though he came back to Japan to prove him among his own people.

With you, however, it was the opposite. You didn’t see him as an outsider or just another player in your dads team. You made him feel like he belonged.

That contrast made moments like these jarring, as if he was living two different lives— one as your boyfriend, and the other as a player constantly trying to win over your father.

Ken’s tone shifted quickly to be more serious, exposing his vulnerability in his words.

“Yeah…I’m trying, princess. It’s just, I don’t want to screw things up and risk not being able to see you again like this.”

Ken took a sip from his latte, the beverage now lukewarm against his tongue, but his mind was elsewhere and far from the cozy warmth of the cafe.

He knew he shouldn’t be dwelling on the ‘what-ifs,’ not when he was on a date with you. But as he sat there, he couldn’t ignore the nagging thoughts that pulled him under. How different would his life be if things had turned out another way?

What if his mother had never taken him to LA? If he’d stayed in Japan, would Shimura still look at him with the faint edge of distrust?

Would he see him different— one who wasn’t marked by a childhood spent feeling like an outcast in a foreign country?

Ken’s jaws clenched. He had spent most of his life in America, trying to fit into a culture that didn’t quite know what to do with him. The bullying had been relentless, the teasing cutting deep in ways he hadn’t fully healed from, leaving the scar of isolation.

Friendships were distant at best. Romantic relationships were practically nonexistent. For a long time, he felt like no one truly saw him.

Even the rise to stardom with the Dodgers hadn’t changed that much. Sure, people admired him, celebrated with him— but it still felt hollow and fragile.

None of it felt real, not like this. Not like you.

He glanced at you across the table, your head down as you inspected your dessert in front of you. If he’d never returned to Japan, he wouldn’t be sitting here right now, sharing this quiet, intimate moment with the only person who truly sees him.

Still, a bitter reminder lingered in the back of his mind. Would he have risen to stardom at all if he hadn’t gone to LA? Despite how brutal it was, the isolation and struggles had shaped him— it made him resilient-driven.

Without those years of grit and loneliness , would he have had the means to lead the Giants to victory? Would he have been ready to take his father’s Ultraman duties when the time came?

Ken sighed again, finishing off the last bite of his cream puff before taking another sip of his latte. It really was strange, the way life worked.

The very things that had made him feel out of place— his complicated family history, his American upbringing, the expectation of following his father’s footsteps— had somehow led him here, with you.

However, the weight of those ‘what-ifs’ still pressed onto his chest. His life with you— a fragile happiness— was precarious. He couldn’t shake the fear that one wrong move could send it all crashing down.

Being caught in the act by your father. It made his throat constrict with anxiety. He already knew that Shimura didn’t trust him. What if that made him believe that he wasn’t good enough for you? That he couldn’t take care of you the way you deserve?

He took another sip from his latte, though it did little to sooth the knot in his chest.

“You know,” you began, not looking up from your bowl as you stirred the syrup into the anmitsu, “being with you makes it easier to forget about everything else.” you said, not looking up from your bowl as you spoke.

Your words caught him off guard, but the tension in his shoulders started to melt. His stunned expression softened, replaced by something gentler.

“Yeah…that’s part of why I like you so much. You make me forget about everything.” His cheeks flushed slightly how openly heartfelt he was now as the words left his mouth, but he didn’t shy away from their weight. “It’s like…you make me want to be a better man.”

He reached out and let his fingers skim across the back of your hand— a subtle touch that carried all his unspoken emotions that he struggled to articulate.

You paused, looking up at him. “I don’t think I can imagine your struggles…especially considering your money and fame overshadow all of that.”

“Everyone thinks that it's easy.” Ken’s lips quivered into a humourless smile. “Being a player admired by thousands. I guess some parts of it are great. But there’s still a lot of stress and pressure.”

He glanced down at the flakes of his cream puff on the empty plate with his thoughts flickering like the steam rising from his latte.

Expectation pulled at him from every corner of Ken’s life— like a massive tree, sprawling yet burdened.

The roots that ran deep were from his fathers influence. They were planted firmly in the soil of his childhood and enchtranched his upbringing and identity.

The roots were unshakable, just like his fathers legacy of being Ultraman— something he was expected to fulfill.

No matter how far he had gone, across the Pacific to LA, he’d never truly escape those roots. Even now they wound tighter around him, tethered to the ground he was expected to nurture.

Then there was the bark— the protective layer. That was Coach Shimura and his teammates. It shielded him from the eternal storms, but it wasn’t invincible. It still demanded so much from the tree itself.

Shimura’s expectations weren’t harsh, but they were heavy and carried their own weight. The bark was strong and steady, but sometimes, it felt like it was tightening. As if holding the tree too firmly in place.

But it was the branch of the tree that weighed him down the most— the fans and the public image. They reached far and wide, growing outwardly. Branches were supposed to flourish.

But how were they expected to grow if you don’t cater to its needs. That’s what it felt like for Ken.

One wrong move; one bad game, and they could snap off. Every game felt like a performance of those branches, trying to keep those intact, making sure they don’t fall under pressure.

But no matter how strong they appeared, Ken knew how easily they could break.

And then there were the leaves, fragile and fleeting— the opinion of the critics, the headlines of papers, the ever-shifting opinions on social media.

Leaves changed with the seasons. One day could be lush and green, full of praises and admiration. The next, they withered and fell, leaving the tree bare and exposed. Their praises were temporary and their critics were choppy.

Though the leaves were less permanent, they still needed care and their loss could hurt the tree entirely. However, Ken couldn’t stop the seasons from changing or the wind from blowing.

Ken swallowed thickly, his eyes glued to the table as his train of thoughts spiraled further. Being that tree sometimes felt like he was stretching thin, trying to meet the demands of every root, branch and leaf.

And then there was you.

You weren’t a part of that endless tree. Not another branch to hold up, nor another leaf to nourish. At least, not yet. But the fear gnawed at him, dark and persistent, whispering at the edges of his mind.

What if you have expectations too?

You hadn’t said much or demanded anything, but it was only natural, wasn’t it? Relationships are always built on unspoken agreements of needs, hopes, and desires.

What kind of boyfriend did you want him to be? What were you looking for in him? Would he ever be enough?

It wasn’t that he doubted your feelings for him. It was the pressure he felt to be the person that you deserved.

To always be charming, supportive, attentive. To make time for you despite his demanding career.

For so much of his life, he had been judged by the outside world— his performance, his persona, his wins, and his losses. The thought of being seen by you that way made his throat tighten.

What if one day, you grew tired of him or wasn’t getting what you wanted from him and left? The thought alone of the empty space you would leave behind broke his heart and made his mouth dry.

It was worse than losing a game, worse than headlines calling him a failure.

Even with the lighthearted conversation and teasing you just shared earlier, his doubts were almost impossible to shrug off.

His mind were a battlefield of his insecurities and worries, but the warmth of your hands that pulled him out of his dark thoughts startled him.

You brought his hand and gently kissed over his knuckles. “Even if things do turn out bad for you, I’ll still think you’re incredible.”

The affectionate gesture unravelled him, nearly spinning him off his axis from being flustered— his mind momentarily going blank.

It wasn’t just the kiss— it was the conviction in your voice. The quiet, unwavering way you said it.

He let out a quiet sigh, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned a little closer to you. The warmth of your kiss still lingered on his hand.

“You always know how to make me feel better.” he murmured, his voice carrying a sincerity he rarely let show.

“You’ll still have all of me, even if you mess up. And I know you’ll do the same.” You brow arched as you added, “Right?”

Ken tilted his head, an amused smirk played on his lips at your remark at the end. The tension in his chest was replaced by fond amusement.

“Of course I will. You think I’d trade you in for someone else?” his voice lowered, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made his next words feel like a vow. “I'm not letting you go princess…not for anything.”

At that moment, the weight of the world seemed distant, as if the noise of expectations and pressure had diluted to a low hum.

He was so focused on looking at you, Ken didn’t notice you sneaking your hands across the table to reach for his coffee mug until you announced it.

“I’m taking a sip from your coffee.” you said, already snatching the cup.

Ken blinked, catching up to the present. “Hey…that’s mine.”

“I don’t have anything to wash down the mochi.”

“Hmm, can’t say no to that.”

Your face scrunched slightly in distaste after you took a sip. “You don’t put sugar in coffee?”

Ken shook his head and chuckled at the face you made. “No…I like the bitterness of the coffee. It’s more enjoyable that way.”

“I suppose the cream puff makes up for the sweetness.”

“No cream puffs for you any time soon if you keep stealing my drinks.”

“I don’t want anymore anyways,” you huffed in feigned offends. “Too bitter.”

“Awh what’s wrong? Can’t handle the taste of something that’s not over-sugared.”

“It’s not that…how do you drink that raw with no sugar?” your nose scrunched in mock indignation.

“I’m just used to it, I like the stronger taste of my coffee.” he glanced down at his coffee mug before looking back at you. “How could you drink something that’s so sweet?”

“It won’t be too sweet. The sugar just cancels out the bitterness.” you said, matter-of-factly.

Ken only rolled his eyes, responding with an exaggerated sweet tone. “Sure, princess. It’s not too sweet…just enough to make it a sugary drink instead of actually having a coffee taste.”

You pushed the mug back to him, waving off his dramatics. It was almost cathartic how the conversation could go from heartfelt and tender to teasing and flirting, like a flip of a switch.

With you, it always felt right, like stepping into the sun after being caught in the rain.

Ken shook his head at your dismissal, lifting the mug to take another sip of the latte. He didn’t mind the bitterness, especially if it meant sharing more moments with you.

Your eyes flickered past him, freezing on something near the cafe entrance.

“Crap.” you muttered.

Ken’s brow furrowed before turning to see where you were looking. Blood rushed in his ear the moment he spotted his teammates walking through the door.

Their presence wasn't loud or disruptive, but rather casual as they made their way towards the counter. The familiar jerseys and laughter sent a jolt of panic through him and a look of slight trepidation crossed his face.

“Crap…” he echoed your words, quickly turning back to you. “I think that’s our queue to leave.”

What were the odds? The cafe was in a quiet area, far from the usual hotspots, and yet here they were. His shoulders stiffened as he scanned the room, trying to gauge if anyone had spotted you.

Ken stood up first, his chair scraped softly against the floor. They weren’t looking in your direction but it was only a matter of time if you both stayed there any longer.

His voice lowered in your ear. “Come on.”

His hands found your wrist, lightly gripping it as he guided you towards the door without being noticed.

“They haven’t seen us, yet.” you said, glancing nervously at the group.

“Let’s not give them the chance.” His voice was barely audible, and his grip on your wrist tightened as you both made it to the door.

The air in the cafe felt heavier with every step. Ken’s pulse quickened and he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder.

The brass of the door handle was cool against Ken’s palm as he pushed it open. The cool breeze brushed against his face, a welcome contrast to the tension that had knotted inside.

The cafe, once a warm refuge that provided comfort, now felt like a minefield— every glance a potential threat.

Ken scanned the area of anybody potentially following you both. The buzz of distant traffic and the rustle leaves were the only signs that greeted you. Once he was satisfied, he let out a loud sigh of relief.

“So, where to now?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“We should probably get off this street and go somewhere else more quiet…and private.”

Ken turned down the corner, his strides confident but unhurried. The two of you emerged into an empty car park bathed in the dim, orange glow of streetlights.

Everything else felt insignificant now, far from the predicament from the cafe or the traffic beyond. Ken led the way toward the far corner, where a sleek bike rested— its polished surface gleaming under the lights.

“Is that your bike?” you gasped, taking in the sigh that was in front of you.

“Yeah, that’s my ride.” The pride was evident in his voice and his expression, seeing the look on your face.

“It’s beautiful.” The genuine awe in your voice sent a ripple through him.

He didn’t say anything, only gave the bike a fond pat before throwing his leg over it and settling into the seat.

“You up for a quick cruise?”

“You sure?”

“Of course. Have you ever been on one?”

“No….” you admitted sheepishly, your eyes darted to the floor out of shyness. He felt a hint of his male ego spike at that, his eyes roaming at your figure.

“Well,” he said, shifting forward on the seat to give you room. “I guess I’ll be your first ride, then. Hop on— I’ll take care of you.”

You hesitated for a moment, your hands brushing against the cool leather of the seat.

“Have you ever had a woman ride behind you before?” you asked. Ken didn’t miss the flicker of doubt in your voice

His hands tightened on the handlebar, looking back at you. It wasn’t the question that threw him off but the way you asked it.

He recognised the insecurity, the way it slipped out almost against your own will. And it hit him harder than expected.

The idea that you might think he was the type to collect fleeting connections and one night stands stung.

“Of course not.” His voice was steady, stripped of its usual tease. “You’re the only one I’d ever want to give a ride to.

You let out a small, nervous laugh at that. “I guess I’ll be your first, too.”

Ken chuckled, patting the seat behind him. “Damn right you will be.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but making you feel secure in this moment felt more important than anything else.

Ken’s joyrides were something sacred— his personal retreat from the noise and chaos. The familiar rumble of the engine had always been his companion, a constant source of solace.

It wasn’t something shared with anyone. Ever.

But now, as you stood next to the leather seat, it struck him how different this felt. Letting you into this part of his life was like cracking open a private door, one he’d never let anybody step into.

The thrill of it sent a flutter through him, both exhilarating and unnerving.

You finally took your seat behind him, and the shift in weight sent a wave of awareness through him. He swallowed hard when it suddenly hit him how close you were behind him.

Then your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and he felt his nerves spike. The heat of your fingertips grazed his abdomen sent little sparks of electricity through his body.

It wasn’t fear he was feeling but an intensity he wasn’t prepared for.

He let out a shallow breath as he felt your body pressed even closer. The sight of you behind him in the side mirror was enough to draw in a quick breath.

With a flick of the kill switch, the bike roared to life beneath him. The vibration and the sound broke the stillness, carrying you both out of the car park and into the Tokyo streets at an incredible speed.

The neon glow of the city painted streaks of light across the dark streets, and the hum of the traffic blurred in the background.

It was just you and him with the quiet rhythm of your trust that kept him grounded.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @despacito-uwu16 @roserfz27

[sadist1224]

I still want Mafia!141 AU

Part 1 https://www.tumblr.com/sadist1224/742379650222784512/i-need-the-mafia141-au?source=share

I just still want Mafia!141 who are so used to you, your difficult, persistent character and kind heart that they try to help you in everyday life and drag you somewhere on weekends, literally imposing themselves on you. At first you were angry and nervous knowing who they were, but the more you talk to them, the deeper they penetrate into your heart.

Johnny, who seems to have fallen in love with a self-sufficient, harmful and somewhat fearless barmaid from a small bar, who can't help talking about you for a day, which annoys the Ghost, and Gaz only slaps the Scotsman on the shoulder and offers to bring you coffee to work, and at the same time sandwiches.

Price, who is happy that his boys have found entertainment outside of work hours, but still worries that you are sitting too much in their heads.

The hikes of the 141 guys start to attract attention, and at some point there are more visitors in the bar, some of whom are quite intimidating.

A ghost who notices familiar unwanted faces hanging around your work. And the problem is that your neighborhood is small, at the intersection of two streets of the city, is a no-man's land and gangs have been fighting for it for a long time. And 141 and Los Vaqueros may be ready to accept your area as neutral territory, but others are not yet. He immediately reports this to Price, thinking along the way how he can scare other sharks away from this place.

But they have a job again and Price swears that he will take care of you and the bar as soon as he returns from another city.

It's not the first time you've seen new faces in a bar lately, your income has increased significantly, but the two men who came today seem too suspicious to you. One of them is tall in a sniper hood, the other is smaller, wearing sunglasses and a medical mask on his face. Both of them run their eyes around the bar, meeting you at the bar, wiping glasses, and then bumping into Valeria's stern gaze from the opposite corner.

Both choose a quiet corner away from the eyes, and the waitress brings an order for two beers. These two don't cause you any problems throughout the evening.

But a bar shift wouldn't be a bar shift without incident, right?

Therefore, when one of the particularly drunk customers starts harassing one of the waitresses, you can't help but intervene. A few seconds are enough for you to go around the counter of your workplace and walk with quick, firm steps to a group of drunks.

"Come on, we're going to have a lot of fun~" - one of them says, clinging to the waitress's arm with such force that she can't escape them. The girl turns, fixing a pleading look at you, and a moment later a half-empty bottle of rum breaks with a loud sound on the head of one of the men. The others jump up from their seats while their friend falls to the floor.

The one closest to you swings at you with his fist, but you easily dodge him, making a grab and pinning the man to the table, twisting his arm.

To your left, Val has already knocked the third one to the ground with a good punch to the jaw.

"Is there a problem, bastardos? - the brunette does not hesitate to kick one of them in the leg. This is her place, she can. - You are not welcome here."

The waitress girl hides behind you while you watch the drunks trying to get back on their feet. A crowd has formed around you for a long time, but you know for sure that the people around you are on your side.

A group of male regulars pick up the violators by the arms and take them out the door for a "conversation". Valeria, as always, punches you and goes to the bar with a loud phrase in Spanish. Everything is going back to normal.

However, out of the corner of your eye you notice the stares in your direction from those two visitors. You don't like those looks.

It's late at night, when the shift is over and you and Val have said goodbye, you feel the surveillance again. But you know for sure that 141 is not in the city, and if it's not them, then you need to be ready.

You are not a fool and you know that because of your injury you will not be able to handle a direct fight, especially with several opponents. Your strength is enough to defend yourself, but your instincts scream at you to escape and you manage to take off before someone very tall pounces on you from the shadows.

You run well. You run fast. But, unfortunately, not for long, and there is not enough lane map in your head to choose the most acceptable route to your home.

Therefore, when you are finally dropped to the ground, you group up and manage to deliver several blows to the attacker. One in the knee, the second in the stomach under the ribs. This does not save you from a severe blow to the head and darkness in front of your eyes. Well, you've been caught.

[morallygreysimp]

THE FLASH…II

CHAPTER TWO: ANXIETY

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of anxiety, heights and dangerous and violent actions

Never in his entire life had Oliver witnessed such a quiet Starling City. He was certain that even when he was on the island there hadn't been a single night that silent. That calm. There weren't cars speeding down the streets. There weren't men dressed in black hiding in the shadows. There weren't drunk boys trying to pick a fight or harass some poor girls. Felicity was strangely quiet, no news about a robbery, a murder, a deal; nothing. It was almost scary. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe what was actually scary was the nauseating feeling that had settled in his stomach at the beginning of the night. A feeling that by the sunrise was making him hyperventilate. If the city was so serene, then what was the reason of his anxiety?

"Felicity"

He called once. Then another time. Then another. She was probably asleep on her desk. Oliver shook his head. He dropped off the roof he was on. One specific roof. As he was on the edge of it he smiled to himself. He subconsciously turned his head around to look at the empty dove he was about to leave behind. His mind replayed what had happened a year prior.

"I'm not sure if I can be like you, some vigilante"

The younger man had said, a despondent, no disappointed expression painted on his face.

"No"

He had responded.

"You can be better. You can be something I could never, an inspiration, a hero. You can watch over the city like a guardian angel, and save them. In a flash"

He had said to him, in a almost desperate attempt to erase the sadness from the other man's heart. The feeling of great happiness that invaded his heart when he saw Barry's smile was possibly the most amount of happiness he had ever felt in his entire life. In that moment Oliver had found himself incapable of control his reactions, so he let a small smile slip. A smile that could only grow at the sight of his dimples. What was happening? Why was he unable to restrain himself and his reactions? How was Barry capable of having such an impact on him? Oliver lowered his head and slightly chuckled.

"And take your own advice, wear a mask"

He said, then took what was probably the only moment of sanity since the start of the conversation and walked away. As he was about the jump from the edge of the roof, the same voice that had distracted him just a few minutes before, spoke again.

"You'll help me, right?"

Barry's voice was shaky, as if he had let his anxiety take control over him once again.

"I'll be there, every step of the way"

A breath of wind brought Oliver back to reality. An exasperated sigh escaped his lips as his eyes made contact with the street. He took his hood off and run his hands through his hair. What was happening? Why was he feeling so preoccupied? He run his hands over his face sighing again. He took his bow in his left hand, clenched it around the metal. His right one searched for an arrow in the quiver attached to his back. He shot. He jumped. As his feet touched the ground he let out another breath. His head swirled with thousands of different possible explanations. He went through every single one of those thoughts and neither one of them seem remotely reasonable. His mind wandered to Barry. Bartholomew Henry Allen. His Bear. His. Oliver didn't even remember when he started calling Barry his. Or how for all it matters. It just happened. That spark they felt when Barry infiltrated into Queens Consolidate grew. It became a flame, then a bonfire, then huge fire. A fire either of them had intention to extinguish.

Oliver let himself smile as he turned his motorcycle on. He hopped on and turned right, then left. The foundry grew closer and closer, every mile brought up a different memory: Barry saving his life, their first "crossover" as Barry had addressed as, the late night calls, the late night runs, their first date. Oliver found himself thinking about their first date.

"How about we start tomorrow"

A strange wave of courage had washed over him. He had hesitated to jump off the roof. He didn't know why tho. He didn't understand why. He just stopped on the edge. Stopped and started talking. It felt like he was watching himself from above. As if someone had taken possession of his body.

"Like starting to train?"

Barry's voice was light, filled with confusion.

"You have woken up from a coma what? Six, seven hours ago? I was thinking more about a meeting?"

"A date"

Said Barry. And Oliver went completely quiet. Was that what he meant? Did Barry want it to be a date? Did Oliver himself want it to be a date? Again as if he was watching somebody else answer for him, he opened his mouth and said

"Exactly like a date"

The two of them felt that little spark grow a bit bigger, a sense of warmth and tranquility spread in both their chests and they smiled at each other. Oliver jumped. Barry run. They left each other behind, but not for long.

The ride to the foundry was as smooth as the night Oliver had just spent jumping from a roof to another. As he entered the warehouse Felicity jumped from her chair, adjusting her glasses and her blouse. Oliver quietly chuckled and shook his head. Felicity sent him a poisonous look and flipped him off, while she stretched her legs and sat back down on her chair. Oliver slowly undressed himself, set his quiver and his bow aside and placed his mask on its stand. His mask. The mask Barry had made. For him. Oliver had a very long time to get to know Barry Allen. He now knew his quirks, his virtues, his flaws, his darkness and his light. However he still couldn't understand why would he take time and effort to make him a gift after he had tried to kill him. He was grateful non the less.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a loud ring. He jumped and looked around, searching for the source of such loud noise.

"It's your phone"

Felicity said with a scratchy, tired voice. When Oliver picked it up from the desk a new, fresh wave of anxiety hit him like a tsunami. Iris. Iris never texted. Iris never called. Why would she reach out at 6:47 in the morning? Was she the answer to the nervousness he had felt all night? Was the source of said nervousness Barry? He answered.

"Oliver"

Her voice was shaky, Oliver could picture her puffy, red eyes and her wet cheeks.

"Zoom"

She said. That's all she needed to say. Oliver ended the call. He took his jacket and helmet and hopped on his bike once again. However this time he was sure the ride was going to be way much longer.

[bobbyseyesmile]

Pride and Passion | 4

Chapter 4

Note: Chapter 4 takes place AFTER chapter 5. It may seem weird but I tried to play with the timelines a lil' bit. I don’t always continue the story where I left it off. Hope this helps a bit heh

⤝ Previous chapter | Next chapter ⤞ ➻ Pride and Passion masterlist

“Ding Dong!”

Rick turned his head around, the low and raspy voice way too familiar to his ears. He rolled his eyes and turned towards Daryl: “They’re here.”

Daryl nodded and buckled his crossbow over his shoulder. “I’ll tell the others, Tara’s with Carl and Judith in the house.”

“Good. Tell her to stay put there, I don’t want my other kids near this psychopath…”

Daryl’s eyes lingered on his best friend for another second before he nodded again. “I know. I’m sorry.” He felt like shit- even though Rick assured him hundreds of times that it wasn’t Daryl’s fault, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the only reason you weren’t here was because he had to lash out that fateful night.

Rick on the other hand knew how his friend felt, the guilt-ridden expression never leaving his face, but he didn’t hold any grudge towards Daryl. It wasn’t his fault.

Even though Rick was angry at you and your decision, he knew it was the right one in that heated moment. If it wouldn’t have been for you, others would have died- maybe even Carl. You were a grown-up woman and could handle yourself, but it didn’t change the fact that you were his daughter. And he cared. A lot.

“Ricky!” Negan’s voice echoed over the streets of Alexandria “How’s my favorite Rick doing? Ya got some new shit for me?”

“How is she?” It was the first question Rick asked every time the Saviors arrived. It made Negan chuckle every time, and he babbled about how good you were treated in his Sanctuary. But this time he didn’t chuckle and he didn’t babble his usual cocky responses.

“Well, Rick, I have to say your hot-looking daughter is a little force of nature. She causes me some troubles, not gonna lie.”

“W-what did she do?” Rick was sure whatever you did wasn’t your fault- you would never do stuff to endanger the group.

“She’s got a mouth oh her, ya know that? Talking back when she should be quiet, humiliating me in front of my people, even in front of my other wives… Tsk, tsk, tsk. You and I got a little problem there, you see where I’m coming from?”

“I’m sure if you would let me see her, I could-“

“Are ya shitting me, Ricky? What do you think, that I’m stupid?” Negan showed a row of his pearly whites before licking his lips “She’s a lot like you, Rick, and to be fair and square- I don’t fucking appreciate it, ya hear me? So maybe I should punish her by punishing you, ya think she would get that little message?”

Rick looked down to his feet, he started to feel dizzy. He was lost in his own thoughts when a loud bang ripped through the air, interrupting both men in their conversation.

“Fucking bitch!” a man yelled and both men started running towards the noises.

“What happened?” Rick asked and looked around staring in flustered and shocked faces. After a second he saw Rosita on the floor, a knife to her throat while she was held down by two men.

“This fucking bitch shot me!” the man held his bloody hand, clearly losing a finger in the whole process “I’m gonna kill her!”

“Woah, woah…” Negan walked in the circle of people that had formed and stared down at Rosita. “Did ya really just shot one of my men?”

“He didn’t stop molesting my friend- Tara didn’t do shit, she just kept the kids safe in the house.”

Negan stopped at her face for a while before turning to the wounded man: “Is that true? Did ya harass the nice lady who watched the kids?”

“They had shit hidden from us, I just wanted to check out what it was!”

“It was the baby food.” Tara suddenly intervened and had Negan’s attention “I-I had just finished making a bottle for the little one and put the formula away, I didn’t hide it- it was just bad t-timing, I swear.”

Negan looked around before nodding and slowly putting Lucille to his side. “Alrighty… See Rick, that’s exactly the fucking problem with you people- always causing me some trouble, we can never finish a trade in peace…”

“We’re sorry.” Rick muttered while rubbing his eyes. He started to get a migraine.

“We?” Negan repeated and raised his eyebrows. “Don’t ya mean, you are sorry for not having your people under control?”

“Yes.”

“Splendid.” Negan’s usual smirk was gone, he looked pissed and growled a few commands to his men that they should hurry and start the trucks. “And Rick?” Rick looked up, sweat dripping down his temple. “This shit today? Your daughter will pay for that.”

Rick’s head started spinning, the helpless feeling that he couldn’t do anything for you manifested in fear, whatever sick things Negan had planned for you. “Wait! Negan, I’m sorry what happened, I’m sure we can talk about it-“

Negan turned around, now pointing Lucille right at Ricks face: “Talking-time is over, Rick, gotta teach your people a lesson or two here: We take the hot Señorita with us." Negan pointed at Rosita who was immediately taken and shoved into the trucks while she screamed and struggled.

"You don’t fuck around with me, ya hear me? You do what I say, and for god’s sake! Keep your people in line or next time I’ll bring you a finger from your beautiful daughter, got it?”

Taglist: @toxic-ink @jaywinchestersalvatore @crosshajr @neganswoman @tone-stark (if you want to be added, pls let me know)

[lucifers-horror-harem]

Savior

Heyoooo all I’m back! So this time I actually have a bit of a vent fic using my OC Alan Sharpe trying to work out some bullshit that happened at work. I’m okay and everything is getting sorted but yeahhhhh I needed to use Alan to enact a tiny bit of murder to make me feel better. I used third person but left the name off of the female character so you can self insert if you like.

Word Count: ~2k Warnings: Workplace sexual harassment, stalker/yandere OC, stabbing

Despite appearances to the contrary, Alan was a creature of habit. He had his rituals that he carried on throughout the day, though they weren't apparent to those around him. But those that weren’t close enough to him would ever suspect anything beyond the professional outer shell that was Alan Sharpe.

So to anyone else, it was a normal day. Alan would stop at the cafe down the street from his office. He refused anyone grabbing coffee for him, and would rather go without than to have someone get something that didn't suit his tastes. It was a hole in the wall establishment, one that favored the customers who weren't in a rush to grab subpar coffee and hurry to wherever they needed to be. It was warm and inviting, with seating for those who wished to stay a while. Alan never did, but he appreciated the ambiance for the few moments he lingered inside. 

What he appreciated more than any of these things, however, was the one particular barista who had caught his eye a few months back. She was a new hire, and while very quiet, had a smile that warmed him up in ways he hadn't felt in a long time. He knew she smiled for every customer like that, he wasn't delusional. But he wanted her smile just for himself. The days where they were able to engage in light conversation when he purposefully visited during a lull in the day made that thought burn in the back of his brain more intensely with every passing day. 

But that would all come in due time. He was a patient man. No need to rush these things. 

So as he entered his building, said hello to the various staff members and employees along the way, and smiled and greeted his secretary warmly before entering his office, he proceeded to begin his next ritual. Placing his coffee to his right, he opened his email, other documents that needed attending to, and after a few extra clicks and entering a password, another page popped up on his monitor. He placed his pages in a way that the live feed footage was in a smaller window beside his work pages, displaying multiple angles of the cafe that he could then click between at will. 

Technology had truly improved over the years, and as a man with more money than he truly knew what to do with, he could procure anything his heart desired. Alan always marveled at just how easy it was to hack into something like this in a business. He had assumed that most places wouldn’t have an easily cracked open back end to their security systems, but apparently he was giving them too much credit. Besides, why would anyone think that someone would want to see the cameras in their little store?

He sipped his coffee and spent a few moments watching the woman that had so entranced him. Alan imagined the smiles she gave every few moments to eager customers were being given to him, eyes shining so brightly as she would hand him his coffee. He imagined the day when he would allow his finger to "accidentally" brush hers. Alan knew she would chuckle softly and issue apologies, even though there wouldn't be a need for any. He wanted to see her relax, be free from the stress of retail work and simply enjoy her days with him by her side. He wouldn't have her lift a finger if she didn't want to. He'd give her the world if she only asked. 

A ping from his computer snapped him out of the moment, and he sighed, minimizing the window once more and placing it on the top right corner of his monitor so he could see what new problem was requiring his attention. 

Hours went by without incident. Every so often he would flick his eyes back to that small window, watching until he was satisfied and focusing back on his work. Alan loathed his paperwork heavy days, and apparently this was proving to be one of those. He finally leaned back in his chair with a groan, rolling his shoulders and neck before kneading his fingers over the bridge of his nose. The eye strain from the computer was starting to get to him, and he supposed it would be time for a break soon. Maybe he would go on a walk, grab another coffee, talk to his sweet barista…

But she wasn't there. Alan glanced over the staff at the counter, not seeing her among them. She wasn’t due to leave for a few more hours still. He maximized the page again, clicking through cameras before finding her. She was checking in a delivery in the back room and standing a noticeable distance away from the driver. 

Alan narrowed his eyes. He'd seen this guy before from other days. This cafe bought from a lot of local vendors, so he would deliver his product every few weeks to the cafe. But Alan could tell from the first time he laid eyes on the guy that he didn't like him. He always stood too close to his sweetheart, and she made a habit of trying to create as much distance as possible whenever he had to get checked in. These cameras weren't equipped with audio, so Alan could only imagine the asinine conversations he droned on about to her as he always seemed to overstay his welcome. He didn't like the way his eyes lingered, and even without being able to see clearly, Alan knew that the her body language was closed, avoiding his gaze, that she did her best to protect herself. 

And that's when it happened. She had been reading something off of the invoice, and for whatever reason, the guy came up and stood beside her, looking at the invoice over her shoulder. However, the thing that made Alan's blood boil was how the man put his hand on her back. Not high enough to be considered friendly, and not low enough to be considered a blatant grope. Alan's heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he watched her try to twist away, which she no doubt did because she was probably too frozen to call him out directly. But he ignored it, allowing his hand to sit right by her side as he continued to pretend to read whatever it was on the invoice that she had asked about until he finally stepped away. 

Livid wouldn't describe the feelings that went through Alan's brain at the moment. What he felt was rage in its most pure unadulterated form. It didn't matter that she was the object of his affections, he would have reacted that way seeing any woman be so disrespected, but it did amplify his need to solve this matter immediately. The only thought running through his mind was how he was going to protect his sweetheart and make it so she wouldn't have to deal with this or any other unwanted advances for the rest of her life. 

He kept the camera up as he quickly scoured through Google, typing in the things he already knew about the vendor. After the first few appearances of this man, Alan had already become acquainted with his little business and everything about it. Simply for his own curiosity, of course. But now he used that information to find all of his business listings, his name, and some of the personal information from his social media pages. Alan then brought up one of the databases he used that was perhaps a tad unethical to use in this way. But it was this man's fault for leaving himself wide open on the internet enough for Alan to connect the pieces. 

Soon enough, he had the last known address of this man. Alan's fingers drummed on the desk, his mind racing as he tried to regain control of himself. He couldn't stop the fantasies playing out in his brain, of finding this man and torturing him in a multitude of different ways. There was always quick and easy, but what about slow and painful? What would he use? How would he set the scene afterwards? How could he get this man to see the absolute error of his ways before meeting his maker? 

But the thing that brought him back to reality were the cameras. He watched his sweetheart, hidden amongst the back stock of coffee beans with her hands pressed to her eyes. The driver was long gone by now. His stomach dropped as he heard in his mind her pretty voice being wracked with the stifled sobs that were held back by biting her lip. Her shoulders trembled, and she stood there, alone, afraid of what to do, what to say, who to tell, and how violated she felt in that moment. 

This will end tonight. 

Alan spent no time at all figuring out where this guy spent his evenings out, and thankfully by the time the man finally stumbled out of his favorite bar he was alone. The thought of being attacked alone at night had never crossed this man's mind, and Alan smirked at the irony of it all. 

The guy wandered a few blocks before deciding to take a shortcut through the park nearby. Alan smiled under the collar of his coat he had popped up, partly to evade detection and partly because it was freezing. A perfect cover. He was far enough away from the man that if there happened to be anyone asked to be witnesses, they wouldn't think twice about Alan. The street was so sparse Alan didn't even think it would come to that, but he went through another entrance of the park, just in case. 

It wasn't even a challenge. The man had his guard down, not even noticing how alone he was. He barely reacted to Alan placing himself on the path ahead of him walking the opposite way. Only when Alan, just before passing him, suddenly stepped in front of his path, plunging the sharp blade into his belly, did the man finally look at Alan. He mused how lucky he was the man wasn't wearing a heavier coat or there might have been more of a struggle. But the thin hoodie did nothing for the multiple stabs Alan got in before the man could even realize what was happening. He fell backwards, Alan following him and delivering a few more blows, the blade twisting and tearing in the fleshy wound like butter as Alan clapped a hand over the man's mouth to prevent sounds alerting anyone nearby. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as he leaned down into the man's face, which reeked of sweat and beer, as he hissed, "Didn't your mother teach you to keep your hands to yourself?" 

Alan wasn't sure if the man ever realized the connection, but as stood back up it felt like the weight of his anger had slumped off his shoulders and onto the ground, relieving him of his burden once more. He had grabbed the man's wallet, and took the cash before flinging it back onto the ground. He assessed his body, blood blending nicely on his black clothes on a dark night like this. Black leather gloves made it so there would be no trace of him left behind, and to any normal person it looked like a robbery gone wrong. 

Smiling, Alan quickly hurried to the other end of the park, being careful to avoid anyone else should they appear. But he was home free. He slipped into the back of the black car that was parked on the other side of the street, and his man in the driver's seat simply nodded and took off down the road and back to his apartment where he could shed these clothes and be rid of them. He'd take a long shower, ridding himself of any other traces of what he did tonight, and spend the rest of his night relaxing. Thinking of her. Wondering if when he finally had her, that he should tell her about this. Alan couldn't help the wry smile. He was certain she would thank him. Her savior.

[may-fanfic]

Lovely Stranger

Summary: After being harassed by some men, a stranger comes to your aid

warnings: fighting, harassment

word count: 762

masterlist

((free feel to send in any request 💕))

a/n: I kinda want to make a part 2 but idk yet lmk

———

Walking home alone had always been the worst, especially when it was so late. You knew it was unsafe but you didn’t have a car and you had to go to work so working was your only option. You hummed softly to yourself, stuffing your hands deep in your sweater pockets. Your earphones muted out the quiet night, you felt relaxed at that moment but it was quickly replaced with fear as you circled the corner and spotted the group of men.

They saw you, so you figured if you went the other way they could just follow you in the dark alleyway and that’d be far more dangerous than walking past the bar so you did, head low and earphones loud. you couldn’t hear much and just as you thought you had successfully moved past the man one of the guys gripped your wrist, spinning you around. you swallowed hard glancing up at the man with fear as you ripped out your earphones.

“did you hear me, bitch?” your eyes went wide, and your throat felt as if it was closing, and your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“Does she not fucking talk?” he laughed loudly with his friends as he ducked down to near your face. You felt like you could cry as you stared into his sinister eyes. “let me ask you again.” he grinned, his other hand coming up to brush away fallen hairs from your face, but you flinched away, trying your hardest to find the courage to tell the man to go fuck himself but you were frozen.

“Hey, leave her alone.” suddenly, a raspy voice sounded, giving the man a hard push causing him to stumble away from you and releasing the hold he had. The woman stepped in front of you, eyeing the man who glared at her. You swallowed thickly; you knew now was your chance to leave and get home safely, but you couldn’t just leave the woman behind. You let out a soft yelp when the man leaped forward, reaching for the woman, but she was quicker than him, giving him another hard push before she swung her fist into his nose, causing him to groan, folding over to grasp his bloody nose.

“you’re dead!” he gasped out, wiping frantically at his dripping nose before stumbling away. His friends didn’t even bother to defend the man as they disappeared back into the bar. You finally let out the breath that you had been holding, letting your shoulders drop in relief.

The blonde girl spun around, a soft smile plastered on her lips as if she hadn’t just beat up some man for you. “who are you?” you gasped out stunted, she let out a gentle laugh, running a hand through her smooth hair before she stuck her hand out for you.

“Yelena Belova.” she uttered out, only now did you notice the heavy accent; it sent shivers up your spine as you reach forward and shook her hand gently. “Thank you, Yelena.” she nodded forward in the direction that you were originally walking.

“let me walk you home.” you felt far more comfortable as you walked through the dead streets with Yelena by your side. You were almost dreading the thought of never seeing the woman again after you were home. You have only been a block away as the two of you were completely engulfed in a conversation.

When you stopped walking in front of your door, the woman looked over her shoulder in question. “this is my house.” you pointed at the small house, causing her shoulders to drop along with her smile. “oh.. okay.” she forced tight smile before nodding.

“Thanks again for everything.” You could almost forget about the scary incident that unfolded, it could’ve ended terribly for you, and you were very thankful that Yelena was there at the right time.

“you know, I don’t know your name.” she pointed out. You didn’t see the point in even telling her to convince this would be the last time you’d ever see the woman again, but still, you uttered out your name.

“well, y/n, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she uttered out as she began walking away.

“tomorrow?” you called out as she had been a few steps away; she turned around completely, walking backward she called out.

“I can’t in good conscience let you walk alone; I’ll see you tomorrow.” you didn’t even have time to deny her offer as she turned back around and continued walking. You couldn’t contain your smile, already excited to see her again.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Little Bones 1

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: So, I’ve made some positive changes in my life. I am working away at original work, I’m drinking more water, I’m taking my dog on big walks and being more active, and I’m doing my best. So, I was struck with an old yearning to return to Birch. I’ll be updating here and there as I feel and won’t be pushing myself like I did before because I realise how unhealthy and stressful it was on me.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: It gets so sticky down here

A city girl in a small town. What could be sadder than that?

In the city, life went fast. In a place like Birch, the days dragged by as if to remind you of how helpless you were beneath the unyielding and inevitable tick of the clock. The hand wound around and around as you waited for what would never happen. The dreams of your childhood eroded beneath the rolling years leaving trail of crumbs you could not follow back to the beginning.

A woman just beyond her prime trapped in an antiquated career. The empty aisles between the shelves full of books bespoke of a bygone era. The forgotten library at the far end of the main street rarely saw a new face and those familiar were fewer by the day. The staff had thinned to three of you; Melissa was older than you with a daughter nearly your age and Colin was close to retirement if not well past.

You got on well enough, as well as you could given Colin’s faulty hearing aid, and Melissa’s wandering mind. They meant well but they shared the lethargy of the old small town. 

You weren’t nostalgic for the smog or the flashing lights of the city, but there was no life to this place. Only the impending reach of death rattling closer in the roar of the motorcycles and the rumble of the old railroad that ran through the middle of town.

The air nipped at your cheeks as you approached the library. A morning of yawning had you craving a latte from the bakery and the quiet girl behind the counter cheerfully steamed the foam before handing it over. Everyone in this town was familiar, everyone knew everyone else, and yet, you still felt like an outsider.

You felt the heat of the cup through your glove and you looked up as you sensed two figures by one of the thick columns of the library façade. Melissa stood chatting with her daughter, hugging her sweater around her as she’d left her coat inside. You peeked up at the grey sky as snow threatened at any moment with the mid-November bite.

As you thought to pass them and leave their conversation uninterrupted, your name drew you back.

“I was just telling my daughter,” Mel began as she waved you over with a chatter of her teeth. “About that podcast you mentioned. She loves those old Hollywood stars.”

“Oh,” you blew the steam away from the lid of your drink as you neared, “It’s alright. The stories are worth the narrator’s schtick.”

“Yeah? I’ve been closing at the bar and I like to listen to something once it clears out.” Mel’s daughter said. “You wouldn’t mind giving me the name?”

You told her the title of the podcast and helped her find it on Spotify to follow for later. Mel shivered and stood closer to her daughter who was bundled up against the onslaught of Birch’s blustering winter. You knew about her too. 

She was friendly but you saw in her a cynicism more common to city folk. You got along but you were weary of her associations. The local club of crass bikers were neither subtle nor savoury. In the city, it was easy enough to ignore the patch and all that came along with it. The seedy figures were distilled by the broader population but not in Birch. There, the club was the town.

“Mom, you can’t stay out here.” She poked her mother’s arm. “It’s too cold.”

“Little better in the library.” You grumbled and sipped your latte. “The radiator’s broken again.”

“You mean Colin broke it trying to fix what wasn’t broken,” Melissa shook her head, “and I’m fine, dear. I’ve spent more than fifty winters in Birch and been through worse than this.”

“Yes, but you were younger then--” Her voice dwindled as she turned her head to listen to the distant roar of exhaust.

You followed her gaze and noted the way her forehead creased at the noise. She swallowed and turned to watch as a dark rider turned onto the main road from the highway. It was the man who kept her entwined with the club, the one who marked her latent authority over all others. The only one who outranked her.

She swore and looked over her shoulder at her mother. Her mother touched her arm. It was a telling and surprising moment. Her expression read of all the disgust you felt for the bikers.

At least a dozen bikes followed the first and Bucky raised his glove hand to signal the others to slow as he pulled up to the curb just before the library steps. You backed away as his breath clouded around him and he waved Mel’s daughter closer. He craned to kiss her as she bent, her fingers picking at her jeans as she did, then he nodded his greeting to Mel.

“What are you doing?” He asked tersely.

“Can’t I see my mother?” The daughter challenged and the biker scoffed.

“Of course,” he killed his engine and the others mimicked him in fine order. “I wouldn’t keep ya from her but you didn’t tell me you were going downtown.”

“You were gone.”

You listened to the conversation as you stayed close to the column, thinking of sneaking up the steps into the library before you heard too much. Your curiosity had you searching the crowd of leather jackets as their wearers tried to conceal their impatience with their boss’ impromptu halt.

Among them, a large man sat casually in his seat, his feet planted on the cold pavement as he rolled slightly back and forth. Strands of his thick blond hair were drawn back beneath his helmet into a thick braid as the rest hung around his shoulders. His patch was different from the rest, an old Norse symbol you didn’t know the meaning of. There were several others who wore the same cut, including a dark-haired woman who chatted with another golden-haired rider.

You tasted your latte again, it cooled quickly as the cold air battered the cardboard. As you sipped and sidled around the column, your eyes were caught by another pair. The very man you’d just been watching was now focused on you. You stopped, hoping like some frightened animal that your stillness would ward off his attention.

“Barnes,” the broad blonde man spoke as he finally looked away. “You’ve not even introduced me to your woman. I assume that’s why we’ve stopped.”

Bucky shifted on his bike and sighed. You hadn’t expected the man to have an accent. His voice was deep but the subtle lilt defined his tone as unforgettable. The dark-haired biker of Birch rolled his eyes before he pointed to his girl and gave her name, then to Melissa as he explained their relation.

You sidestepped around the column to the stairs of the library and turned away. You were stopped again by the same voice.

“And that one? The quiet one?”

You spun back slowly and looked at each biker, many unconcerned with conversation, as a few stared back at you or at the viking-like rider. Bucky shook his head and furrowed his brow at Melissa’s daughter. She hesitated before she gave your name coolly referred to you as just another librarian. She was trying to deflect the focus and you were thankful for it. You wondered at her own blatant spite for that breed of man.

“No one important,” Bucky grabbed his keys. “Come on, honey. I’ll give you a ride back.”

“I can walk.”

“Get on.” He said gruffly and turned the keys.

The motorcycles thrummed back to life in a cacophony. You flinched and turned back to the library doors. Your lunch was almost over as it was and the cold was starting to make your head hurt. You heard the bikes tear off as you reached the door and you turned back to watch as Melissa ran up after you.

You held the door for her and paused as you watched riders tear away. The blonde remained and watched you with a smirk. He winked as he slowly rolled after the others and pushed off. You followed Melissa inside and pulled the door shut tightly behind you.

“I’ll finish the returns,” you slipped past her, “you should try to warm up.”

“Thanks, dear,” she rubbed her hands together as she neared the curve desk you all shared, “God, that man makes my skin crawl.”

“But your daughter--”

“She handles him as well as she can,” Melissa sat and logged onto her boxy PC, “she’s stronger than me, that’s for sure.”

You sat and chewed on the thought. You just assumed her daughter leaped at the opportunity to date the most powerful man in town. What else could a girl from Birch hope for?

“She doesn’t…”

“He keeps her safe, I guess,” Melissa muttered, “I don’t say nothing against it. I won’t, for her sake as much as mine.”

You lowered your lashes and turned to the stack of unscanned books. You took the first and opened the cover.

“I didn’t mean to-- I don’t really know anything about the… bikers.”

“Hope you never do, dear,” she said listlessly. “Those men, if you can call them that, are the lowest form of humanity.”

💀

You always took the same route home. It wasn’t very far. You lived in the studio apartment above Tammy’s, the clothes shop where all the local seniors got their outdated outfits. The store itself smelled like a retirement home but you were not often disturbed by the activity below. Like everything in Birch, it wasn’t very exciting.

Your walk took you past the diner and along the stretch across the street from the town’s sentinel, The Asp. The bar was the only place in town which always seemed to be bursting with life. You had an old Chevrolet parked behind the building but you never drove to work, only on your odd trip to the city to get away from the suffocation malaise of main street.

That day as you fumbled to get your earbud back in, you heard a whistle. You got a few comments now and again about your habit of blocking out the townsfolk and the town itself with your music. In the city, you didn’t just say hi to every person you walked by and you had little inclination to change that habit.

You kept going and the whistle came louder. You heard boots hammer across the street and you stopped as the earbud once more fell out of your ear.

“Eh, kitten,” you turned to the long-haired biker. A golden hammer hung from a chain and peaked out from the open collar of his jacket. He tucked his hands in his pockets as you faced him with blatant irritation. “We didn’t get to meet properly, did we?”

You stared at him and let out a foggy breath. You leaned on your left heel and shook your head with a scoff.

“No.” You said and turned back along your path.

“No?” He repeated and his footsteps followed closely. “I’m only being friendly, kitten. I’m not from around here and I’m just tryn’ ta make a few friends.”

“I’m not interested,” you march onward and stop short. 

You realised if you went any further, you’d lead him straight to your door. You didn’t need him knowing where you lived. You veered off and crossed the street, he stayed close just like your shadow. You’d stop by the liquor store and wait him out there.

“Where are you going, kitten?”

“Can’t you take a hint?” You nearly tangled your own legs as you pivoted sharply. “I’m sorry for your luck that you’ve ended up in Birch but I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you.” You grasped the handle of the liquor store door. “Oh, and my name isn’t kitten.”

“I know your name. I remember it.” He grinned and you swung open the door. He caught it behind you and you let out a frustrated sigh as he trailed you inside. “It’s almost as gorgeous as you.”

“Do those work on the women where you’re from?”

You stared at the shelf of fruit wines and tried to ignore him. You were starting to build a real thirst for the bottles.

“I don’t meet a lot of women like you, kitten.”

“Would you stop it--” You blinked and stomped further down the aisle.

“Thor. My name’s Thor.” He offered gallantly. “But you can call me whatever you wish.”

“I could think of a few things.” You bent down to read the label of a wine from the Maritimes.

“Mmm, my thoughts run wild, kitten.” He purred and you looked up at him in confusion.

You swiped the bottle from the shelf and stood straight. His eyes clung to your ass and as you turned, they swiftly found your chest. Neither were well-hidden by your jacket, even as thick as it was. Your weight often deterred the whistles and the leers, but not this time.

“How many ways can I tell you to go away?” You hissed and move to step around him. He turned and watched you pass. He shivered as you brushed against him unwillingly in the narrow aisle.

“So, you got a man?” He questioned as again he tailed you to the counter. You grabbed a small bottle of Vodka from the rack beside it and dug out your wallet.

“Does it matter?”

He bent and leaned on the counter beside you and you ignored his attempt to look you in the face. You paid and took your change as the clerk bagged your purchase.

“To me, everything about you matters, kitten.”

You shot him a sharp look and took your paper bag. You hugged it close and glared at him as he straightened. “Stop calling me that.”

“Here,” he gripped the top of the bag, “I’ll help.”

“I’ll smash this bottle over your head,” you threatened. “Now I’ve told you to leave me alone.”

He chuckled and dipped his head. His hair slid down the leather and he scratched his thick beard.

“Don’t worry, kitten, I like to play.” 

He looked at you again, his blue eyes twinkling. You were startled as suddenly he ‘woofed’’ at you. You backed away and he kept close as is to chase you, ready to salivate like the dog he mimicked.

“Get away!” You shouted and raced for the door.

His barks turned to laughter and the bell announced your stagger out onto the street. You didn’t look back as you charged across the street and narrowly missed being mowed down by Linda Karling. You reached the other side as you heard the liquor store door clatter a second time. You sensed his shadow as you turned down a side street.

You walked until you were certain he wasn’t following. The cold blew up your jacket as you mapped out your way back. You could sneak around the back of the clothes shop and sneak up the metal escape. You peered back and forth, the old house just at the town limits nearly faded into the dimming sky and main street shrouded by brick walls.

“Hey,” a small voice surprised you as a woman neared, walking the same route as you. “Whatcha doing all the way up here?”

You stared at her dumbly. It was the woman who worked at the bakery. She hung out with the club too.

“Nothing, I…” You grabbed your earbuds and put them back in your ears. “I was listening to my music and got carried away.”

“Oh?” she chittered like a mouse. “No one comes this way. Only me to see my ma.”

You nodded at her and gave an awkward smile. “Mmhmm. Well, thanks. I probably would’ve wandered right out of town.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said forlornly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“For your latte. And you always get the banana loaf when it’s on special and tomorrow’s Tuesday.”

You sniffed and rubbed your neck. You hated that. You hated that everyone knew you, that everyone knew what you did, and that they assumed they knew everything else. But she was sweet and you couldn’t hate her for never being freed from the prison of Birch.

“Oh yeah,” you squeezed the paper bag so it crinkled and pulled out your phone with your free hand, “tomorrow.”

[joyfulnoisexoxo]

Douchebags and Arseholes and Twats, Oh My!

Fem!marauder!reader x platonic!marauders

y/n = your name y/m/n/n = your marauders nickname

h/c = hair colour Word count: 1k+

Warnings: Catcalling, verbal harassment, mentions of sexual comments but none actually included, the boys just being very protective

Summary: You walk to a nearby store to pick up some snacks for your Marauders-only movie night, only to be harassed, catcalled and scared out of your mind the entire walk back.

A/N: I wrote this in a frenzy when I returned home from a walk where this actually happened and the only thing I wanted for comfort was a hug from James Potter. It's not perfect, it's unedited and was written with teary eyes but I hope it can bring somebody some comfort <3

Let me know what you thought of this fic and if you have any oneshot/blurb ideas that I could write up then just private message me!

*Feel free to share with others & reblog, thanks!*

Enjoy <3

~~~

Your trip to the corner store was supposed to be simple.

A quick walk to grab some snacks for your movie night with the boys, 30 minutes to get there and back to James’ house at most.

The boys were going to go with you but you reasoned with them, reminding them of how quickly you’d be back and how they should set up for the movie night while you were gone. They eventually relented, although James was a bit reluctant to let you go alone and Sirius was seated on a couch, pouting because he couldn’t walk with you.

You had grabbed your wallet and headed out the door, making your way towards the little shop a couple blocks down the road.

The trip there was quite uneventful, just walking in peace, enjoying the sounds of birds chirping and the light summer breeze blowing past you. It was the trip back that was slightly more troublesome.

Once you had found all the snacks the boys had asked you to get (along with some sour gummies hidden in the bag for Peter who had practically begged for you to get him some candy the other boys wouldn’t steal away) you left the store, giving the cashier a quick smile and a quiet ‘thank you!’ on your way out.

The first little bit of your walk was fine, just as peaceful as before, admiring the obviously rich neighbourhood James and his parents lived in, until some boys walking across the street decided to start up a ‘conversation’.

They tried talking to you from across the street, at first only making slightly disrespectful comments that set off some alarm bells in your head. However, when you merely glanced at them and continued walking without giving a response they got a bit frustrated.

The rest of the walk home they were shouting things at you, some sexual comments about your body, some things they said they’d ‘like to try out with you’, some just flat out insults, calling you all sorts of names while you just gripped your bags a little tighter and walked a little faster.

This continued for quite some time, them shouting crude things at you, you not responding and continuously wishing you had brought one of the others with you in hopes that having someone else around would make the dumbasses walk away.

They spoke from across the road the majority of the walk, however when you were about ¾ of the way back they crossed the road to see if they could gain more of a reaction that way. What they didn’t seem to be expecting was you taking off in an absolute sprint, running as fast as you possibly could towards the Potter’s home.

You ran as fast as you could hearing the echo of your harassers trying to catch up to you, not caring about your h/c hair blowing into your face or the slight sting in your feet from repeatedly hitting the pavement through the soles of your shoes.

You made it back to the house and as soon as you let yourself inside you finally were able to take a deep breath as well as letting a few tears drip down your face caused by the overwhelming and frankly, quite scary encounter.

He must have heard the door close when you came in because a couple moments after you sunk to the floor, Remus shouted down the stairs “Is that you y/m/n/n?”

Hearing his voice accompanied by footsteps descending the staircase you quickly made your way back to your feet, breathing heavily, and tried to make yourself look like you didn’t just run for nearly ten minutes straight in a panic.

“Yup! I got the snacks, I’ll go set them up in the kitchen for us.”

You dashed through the hallway, past the stairs and towards the kitchen, still trying to calm your racing heart. As you began taking the food out of the shopping bags the boys all piled into the room, eagerly searching to see what snacks they could grab.

You weren’t aware of what exactly you looked like in that moment but you knew that if they saw your face they would know something was wrong. You knew you could let them know what happened, they would rip those stupid boys to shreds if they knew, so you weren’t sure why you were trying to hide it.

Maybe you were embarrassed that you didn’t talk back to them? Or maybe it was because you didn’t want them to see you as weak? Honestly, it was puzzling but you didn’t have time to sort that out at this moment, nor did you want to bother them with the harsh topic on what was supposed to be your “Monthly-Magnificent-Marauders-Only-Movie-Night”, credit goes to James for the stupidly long name.

As the other three marauders chatted loudly and made an attempt to snag their favourite snacks so they could head to where the movie was set up in James’ room, Peter turned to you. He was about to check with you about the extra candies you had promised him, when he noticed you were being extremely quiet and staying mostly turned away from the group.

He moved towards you a bit so he could get a better glimpse of your face in hopes of figuring out what was up.

“Y/m/n/n, are you… crying?”

All chatter immediately stopped when the small, mousy boy asked his question.

You looked up, only to find that all eyes were on you, thoughts of snacks and movies completely lost as all four boys stared at you, with questions and concerns filling their minds.

When you stayed silent, trying to formulate an answer, Sirius was the first to speak, a comforting tone to his voice, still laced with concern as he draped a gentle arm across your shoulders, pulling you into his side slightly. “What happened, love?”

“Nothing, it’s alright, it was nothing important.” You responded, only to realize a little too late that your answer was not nearly convincing enough for the boys standing before you.

James spoke up next, with a slightly panicked tone to his voice “Do I need to kill someone? Because I will. I swear to you I will, just give me an address, I don’t even need my wand, i’m sure I could find a baseball bat somewhere in my closet and then I could just-”

Remus stopped James from his slight murderous rambling, taking a step forward to take one of your hands in his as he spoke in what he hoped was a calm tone. “Darling, we don’t want to pressure you into telling us anything, we are just worried.”

“Yeah, y/n we really just want to help, if you’re comfortable explaining what happened.” Peter interjected, his expression of anxiousness obvious through his tense stance, precisely matching the other three.

You sighed, realizing that they weren’t going to relax until you told them what had you so distraught. After you muttered a quiet “okay, but can we sit down first?” you all moved to sit upstairs in James’ bedroom, yourself sitting on the bed, Sirius on your right, James on your left, and Remus settling on a desk chair in front of you while Peter set all of the snacks on James’ desk before seating himself on the floor next to the bed.

Once everybody was sitting down you began by making them promise not to do anything stupid and to let you get through the entire story before they said anything. Although it took a small bit of nagging to get them all to agree, they relented.

You told them what had happened on your walk home, explaining why you felt so small and weak under the words and actions of your harassers. Through your explanation James had put a comforting arm around your shoulder while Sirius lightly rubbed up and down your back anytime you stumbled over your words out of anxiousness. By the end of your story Peter had grabbed one of your hands in his, stroking the back of it lightly with his thumbs, Remus doing the same with your remaining hand.

After a moment of silence Sirius spoke.

“Are we allowed to speak now?”

The moment you nodded your head there was a loud exclamation of collective shouts, containing words like “bloody prats” and “stupid twats” as well as some more R-rated insults that were quite fitting of the situation.

You stood in front of where they were still seated and waited for them to quiet down. When they stopped their furious screaming they all turned to you as you voiced your thoughts. “Honestly, boys, I really don’t want to think about it anymore. It’s done and over with now so I’d rather just watch the movie you’ve all picked out.”

They seemed to take this in for a moment before Remus uncharacteristically blurted out “Those arseholes are still bloody gits though.”

All the boys murmured quiet agreements as James stood and moved to engulf you in a hug, his arms around your waist as yours moved up to wrap around his shoulders.

“Seriously though, y/n, you didn’t deserve to be treated like that. You are worth so much more than what those idiotic prats said to you.”

You nodded, pulling away from the hug only to be brought into another one, this time by Sirius. “Don’t pay those dumb twats any mind at all, beautiful. You deserve the world and if anyone ever says otherwise I know you can beat them to a pulp to show ‘em who’s boss.” his voice muffled, since he was basically speaking into your hair.

“Yeah, I’ll beat them up next time for sure, Pads. Throw a few punches just like you and Prongs, right?” you said with a slight chuckle and you didn’t have to look at his face to know he was smiling proudly at your response.

You pulled back and moved over to the overly large bed in the middle of the room, grabbing some snacks along the way. The boys joined you shortly, each of them also grabbing their snack of choice, proceeding to make themselves comfortable around you.

Surprisingly, Sirius was the best with the muggle technology you were using to watch the movie so he was the one to start the film and hop onto the bed once it began, landing sprawled across you and James in a fairly graceless manner.

After both of you groaned and had pushed Sirius fully off of you, you settled back into the abyss of blankets and pillows the boys had set up, leaning your back onto Remus’ chest, the opening credits of “The Wizard of Oz” started. As Peter got comfortable next to you he grabbed your hand and looked over at you. “We’ve got your back, y/m/n/n, you know that right?”

“Always, darling.” Remus chimed in.

“I know, boys. And I’m very grateful you kept your promise in not doing anything stupid like going after those boys earlier.”

“Yeah, about that... “ Sirius started, exchanging a look with James that you knew meant they were already plotting something, before you cut him off with a stern glance in their direction, causing them both to raise their hands in surrender, turning their attention back to the movie.

“They’re still a bunch of douchebags though.” James spoke in a very clearly disgruntled tone.

“Arseholes” Peter added in an equally fed up tone of voice.

“Twats.” Remus muttered.

You just smiled a little as you spoke quietly for the last time before the movie became the object of attention, your words bringing soft smiles to each of their faces.

“I love you, boys.”

~~~

*Feel free to reblog and share if you liked it!*

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter four rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peter’s greatest love and Spiderman’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

After eating dessert and saying goodbye to May, Peter walked you to your room like a proper gentleman.

“You really don’t have to walk me home. I live right across that hall.” You teased him as you leaned against your door. You were glad he did, though. You wanted to spend every minute you could with him.

“I know, but I wanted to make sure you got in okay.” Peter said shyly. “You never know what dangers can be lurking in a hallway. Henry could’ve been around here and you and your feet would’ve been defenseless. You think I could live with myself if something happened to you?”

You laughed loudly and took your time unlocking your door, partially to extend your time together and partially to hide your massive blush.

“Thanks for dinner, Parker. I had a good time.” You said slowly as you fixed his collar.

“I had a moderately alright time.” He said nonchalantly. You laughed at his joke and shoved him a little.

“Fine. I had an amazing time.” He answered honestly. “We should do this again.”

The hope in his eyes knocked you out.

“Definitely.” You agreed. “But at my place next time.”

“Deal.” He stood there for a moment, just staring at you. You stared back, seeing the pale freckles on his nose and around his eyes. The longer you look at Peter, the better he got.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Peter said finally. You sighed softly and looked him over.

Parting really is such sweet sorrow.

“Goodnight Peter.” You answered. You gave each other one more giggly smile before you closed the door, completely missing the victory dance Peter did in the hallway.

“Alright. You ate. Now it’s our turn. Let’s go eat some assholes.” Venom cheered once you were alone.

“You couldn’t have phrased that in a worse way.” You grimaced as you set your keys down.

“I mean, let’s go eat some men who are assholes.” Venom corrected herself.

“Alright alright. Let’s go.” You walked to the window. “But, they have to be a total asshole. We can’t just eat a dick.”

“And you think what we said was bad? Listen to yourself.” Venom retorted.

“I heard it. I meant we have to eat someone who is really, really bad. Not just some random jerk.” You defended.

“Whatever. Let’s go. Your liver is starting to look really, really juicy.” Venom warned. With that, you climbed out the window and prowled the streets of New York.

It wasn’t long before you found a man harassing a woman near a local bar. They were both tipsy, but she seemed drunker than he was. He kept putting his hands on her, despite her protests. Every time she tried to push him away, he’d only try harder.

“Come on baby.” He purred.

“Leave me alone. I don’t want you.” The woman slurred as she pushed him away.

“Yes you do. You wouldn’t have worn that tight dress if you didn’t.” The man said.

Ah yes, logic.

When she ignored his comment, he angrily pushed her against a wall and covered her mouth.

“Asshole?” Venom asked you.

“Asshole.” You confirmed. You and Venom did your usual tactic. You’d start off as you and kindly ask the gentleman to leave the lady alone. When all else fails, you became Venom and ate the bad guy.

You and Venom weren’t cold blooded killers. If a problem could be solved with words, you would do it that way. But there are a lot of bad men on the streets who don’t take no for an answer.

And you catch bad men.

You tore the man away from the lady and she ran away screaming when she saw you as Venom. Most people do. At least she was safe. The man on the other hand suddenly lost his tough guy stamina and resulted to begging for his life.

“Should we eat them?” Venom asked you, loud enough for the man to hear. You did that little thing when half your face was Venom and half your face was you.

People get a real kick out of it.

“No.” You cooed. “They probably taste terrible.”

The man cowered away, begging you to leave.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again.” He pleaded.

“I never much liked the taste of perverts.” Venom snarled.

“Me either. Plus, he’s so puny. He’s probably disgusting.” You agreed.

You were dragging the man along. He was definitely getting eaten, no doubt about it. At least, there was no doubt, up until you heard the sound of feet landing on the pavement behind you.

“Hey, big guy, didn’t anyone ever tell you that people are friends, not food?” A young, muffled voice sounded. Spider-Mans eyes grew comically wide when Venom turned around.

“What are you?” He gasped. You could hear the terror in his voice. Under his mask, he was probably trembling. He sounded so young and terrified.

“We…are venom.” You answered as you snarled at him.

Never gets old.

“Hi Venom.” Spider-Man took a step back in fear, legs shaking slightly. “I’m Spiderman.”

The man took this as an opportunity to get up and run. You quickly ran after him, but you were suddenly covered in a sticky white substance. It wrapped around your legs and you fell to the ground. From the floor, you could see the man getting away.

“I can’t take credit for that. I got that from this really old movie, The Empire Strikes back. It works every time.” Spider-Man panted as he ran over to you.

You decided you had enough of this and easily broke out of the sticky stuff. You grabbed the unsuspecting Spider-Man by the throat and lifted him up by his neck. You could hear the sounds of him choking through his mask, and looses your grip. You weren’t a monster, but you weren’t a superhero either. Spiderman had let a bad guy get away and you could only hope you scared him enough not to do it again.

“You let him go.” You growled as you got in his face. Spider-Man hit the hand around his throat in an attempt to break free, making Venom smile. His feet were dangling off the ground. He was defenseless.

“You can’t eat people.” He choked out, gasping for air.

“We can and we will.” Venom growled. “Since you let our dinner get away, looks like you’ll have to take his place. We hope you taste better than you look, Spiderman.”

“Please don’t eat me. I’m just a kid.” Spider-Man begged. Venom tried to keep going, but you pulled back.

“Venom, put him down. We can find someone else. We can’t eat this guy. He’s too young.” You said calmly and prayed Venom would listen. Spider-Man was right. He was just a kid. He had pissed you off, but that didn’t mean he had to die.

“We don’t want anyone else. We want him”. Venom answered. Spider-Man looked confused, seeing as he could only hear Venoms part of the conversation.

“Put him down. His suit probably tastes terrible anyway. Let’s go find someone else. How about we go find a smoker to eat? You know how much you love to eat smokers.” You argued as you felt her grip loosen.

“They taste like barbecue.” Venom replied, feeling her mouth watering.

“Let’s go.” You insisted. “He’s not worth it.”

“Fine.” Venom grouched and threw Spider-Man against a wall. Spider-Man began to cough and clutch his throat. Venom stormed over to him and grabbed his head, making him look at you.

“If you ever bother us again, we are going to eat both of your arms, then both of your legs, and then we are going to eat your face. Do you understand?”

“We?” was all Spider-Man could get out.

“We.” Venom repeated. “Me and my girl. She saved your life tonight. Don’t except it to happen again. Next time, you’re dead.” Venom warned. With that, you ran away into the night, leaving Spider-Man behind.

After eating a man you saw steal money out of multiple homeless peoples cups, you climbed up the apartment building and sat on the ledge of the roof. You transformed back into yourself and watched as the sun made its way up the horizon.

“What are you doing up here?” You heard a familiar Queens accent from behind you. You smiled immediately and turned around.

“Are you stalking me Parker?” You teased as a bashful smile broke across his face. He looked ethereal in the early morning sunshine so you bit your tongue to keep from giggling.

He was too damn cute.

“You’ve got it the wrong way around. I lived here first. This had been my spot for years now. You’re the one stalking me.” Peter remarked. His voice sounded horse, like he had strained it. He moved slowly, almost as if he was in pain, as he swung his legs over the ledge and took a seat next to you. Your thighs just barely touched, but enough to send sparks though your body.

“Is this really your spot? I’ll leave if you want.” You offered, but Peter put his hand on your shoulder to keep you from getting up.

“It’s our spot now.” He said matter of factly. The sun light up his profile and you could see how tired his eyes were. You wondered what late night adventures kept Peter Parker awake. Peter stared out into the New York City skyline and sighed with content. A gentle breeze blew his brown locks and ruffled your clothing.

Everything was quiet. Everything was good.

“Are you an orphan?” You blurted before smacking your hand over your mouth.

You almost jumped off the roof right there. And you probably should’ve. No, actually, Peter should’ve pushed you off. It’s what you deserved. Who the HELL asks someone you just met that question? Who asks that question at all? Does anyone even use the term “orphan” anymore? Is this Annie? All these questions swarmed through your head as your cheeks managed to burn the brightest shade of red they ever had. Peter snapped his head to you and tried to say something but you cut him off.

“I only ask because…well, I am.” You admitted. “An orphan, I mean. And I saw the pictures in your apartment with the candle and you kinda have that…orphan look to you. No offense! It’s not a bad thing either. I probably have the same look. Plus, you live with your aunt and I didn’t see anyone else come home. Of course, maybe they just weren’t home the one night I was over. Not that it’s any of my business anyway. I’m sorry I asked. It was a dumb, dumb question and I’m a dumb, dumb person and I-“

Your excessive rambling was cut off by a soft chuckles on Peters part. You looked at him confused as it wasn’t the response you expected.

“You’re not dumb. You took down Carlton Drake at 19 years old with no help. I wouldn’t call that person dumb. I’d call her brave, smart, even heroic.” Peter complimented you. “And all the best heroes are orphans. So to answer your question…there was a question in there somewhere right? I think so. Yes, I am an orphan. I live with my Aunt May. I used to live with my Uncle Ben too but he passed away.”

“Your uncle was Ben Parker.” You realized. “I should’ve known. May mentioned his name at dinner. I remember hearing about the shooting. All my friends and I created a club in school to protest the lack of gun regulation in America after that. I’m so sorry, Peter.”

“I really appreciate you doing that. I’m really upset over the lack of gun regulation too.” He was quiet for a moment. “My Uncle Ben used to write too. He was always trying to get me to write for the school newspaper. It wasn’t my thing though. I prefer taking pictures and videos. You’re a really good writer, Y/N. My Uncle Ben would’ve loved you.” Peter said earnestly. You smiled at Peter and scooted closer to him.

“Thank you for saying that. I bet I would’ve loved him too.” You told him. Peter looked down at his hands which were dangerously close to yours. You weren’t bold enough to hold his hand, though you desperately wanted to. Instead, you put your head on his shoulder and looked out at the sunrise. It was a simple, innocent gesture. You were both awkward and knew it. It was the safest thing you could do without something going terribly wrong. Peter rested his head on top of yours and sighed.

“I didn’t know you were an orphan.” He said softly, not wanting to disturb the peace. You nodded, still nestled in his neck.

“My mom died a few minutes after giving birth to me.” You opened up to him, something you hadn’t done with anyone before. “I’m not sure what went wrong but they had to do an emergency C-section. I survived, but she didn’t.”

You got quiet for a moment.

“She never even got to hold me.”

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Peter whispered. He gingerly laced his fingers with yours. You watched as he did it and didn’t try to stop him.

“It’s weird.” You shrugged. “I never knew her, but I miss her everyday. I wish we could’ve had a conversation. Just one would be enough.” Your mom wasn’t something you often talked about. It was too painful to relive the past so you hadn’t even told Andy the full story.

But you felt safe with Peter.

“You don’t have to have known her to miss her.” Peter insisted. “I bet she misses you too and she never met you either.”

“What were your parents names?” You changed the topic as you rubbed his hand softly with your thumb.

“Richard And Mary. Richard and Mary Parker.” He answered proudly. “I write them letters all the time. I put them in an envelope and everything. Then I put them in a box in my closet. I like to think the read them.”

“I bet they do.” You told him while squeezing his hand gently. In that moment, you could’ve sworn he was yours. Like you were an actual couple that had been through hell and back together. Like you’d know him all my life. Peter looked you in the eyes and for the first time, someone really saw you.

The real you, and he didn’t turn away. His brown eyes stared right down into your soul. You felt insecure suddenly, your soul wasn’t a pretty place to see. Certainly not pretty enough for Peter Parker. But Peter didn’t seem to mind.

You got this feeling all the sudden, this feeling that told you you and Peter were meant to meet. That you were always meant to be in each other’s lives. To protect and love each other, like real people do. Peter didn’t feel like a stranger. He wasn’t someone you met on accident. You were destined to be. Just be. No matter what you were. This rooftop didn’t feel like a place you’d never been before. This rooftop felt like home. And Peter made it feel that way. Or maybe it wasn’t the rooftop that felt like home, it was just Peter. Your cheeks burned up when you realized what was happening. Your heart fluttered and your lungs felt like they were in fire.

You knew it. Every fiber of your being knew it. All your senses came alive at once and in that moment, on that rooftop, your heart looked into Peters and said those two words,

“Welcome home”

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Lazy Mornings - 1

Lazy Mornings:  A Captain America Fanfic

Lazy Mornings Masterlist | More Small Gods

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count:  2361

Warnings: Mentions of injuries.  (smut on series)

Synopsis: Steve Rogers has trouble taking time for himself.  When his friends set him up with a person with a very unusual skill, perhaps he can learn that the quiet moments are just as important as everything else.

A/N: Reader is a minor god.  Idea expanding on the one in my fic Lazy Sundays though it’s a completely different story (just same minor god x steve).

IF YOU WISH TO BE TAGGED IN THIS LET ME KNOW.

Chapter 1

Steve was on edge.  The Avengers had just come to the end of a very long, and very grueling mission.  With the lack of sleep, niggling injuries, and stress of battle, that would have been enough to have him anxious and exhausted just by itself, but Tony had insisted that they have a party to unwind while Steve still had government agencies to liaise with, paperwork to fill out, and people to question.  So instead of getting his work done so that he could sleep off his injuries and actually unwind, he had to be ‘on’ as the public figurehead of Captain America for a bunch of strangers while he was still running on less than four hours of sleep and had a cracked rib.

As he made his way through the large, open room, Steve became aware of a strange phenomenon.  The people around the door were in full party mood.  People were dancing, talking animatedly, and playing games of darts.  But as Steve moved through the room, the mood got more relaxed.  There was less dancing and more just talking and sharing drinks.  The level of the music dropped so it was more muted and even though the song never changed it somehow felt like it went from an upbeat dance number to a soothing ballad.  The light changed in the room too.  Closer to the elevator bright-colored disco lights cutting through the dark.  Whereas, by the windows, there was a soft diffused gold light, almost like early morning light coming through a gauze curtain.  By the time Steve reached the couches that were set up on a platform against the windows on the far side of the room, everyone was just lazing back on the couches, casually drinking in the soft light.

Thor, Bruce, Wanda, and Clint were all sitting together with you.  Steve didn’t recognize you, but the soft glow in the room seemed to both highlight you and make you seem like you were in soft focus. You had a slightly ruffled look like you’d woken up recently from a very good sleep.  Clint was practically curled up next to you like a cat.

“Steven!”  Thor boomed, making everyone near him jump in surprise.  “Come here, I have someone I wish for you to meet.”

Steve tried to hide the frustration that suddenly bubbled up inside him.  His friends had been trying to set him up with people for months and months now.  He’d been on countless blind dates with people he had nothing in common with, and even more dinners with surprise guests he was forced to be on with.  He hadn’t expected it from Thor and he resented the fact that even after such a grueling few weeks he needed to now play a round of the dating game.

Thor got up and approached Steve, clapping him on the shoulder as he gave your names.  He leaned in, bringing his lips to Steve’s ear.  “You may feel the urge to pull away.  Resist it - for me.”

Steve sighed and nodded as you looked up at Thor.  “You’re not staying?”  You asked.

“Not tonight,” Thor answered.  “I wish to celebrate.”

You gave him a small nod.  “Well, you know where I am if you need me.”

“I do.  Thank you,” Thor said, letting Steve go and heading back into the party where Tony was talking animatedly with Hill.

Steve took a seat near you.  Clint looked up at him with hooded eyes, like Steve had just disturbed his sleep, but not enough to properly wake him up.  There was an odd feeling of lethargy around the couches.  Not in a bad way exactly.  Just an overly relaxed sleepiness that made Steve wonder if they’d been partaking in marijuana before he’d gotten here.  Along with the sleepy-looking Clint, Wanda had her legs tucked up under her and was staring absently out the window, while Bruce was relaxed back with a goofy looking smile on his face.  It strangely had the effect of making him want to get up and leave in case he’d forgotten to do something.

“So what do you do?”  Steve asked as he resisted the urge to go back down to the office and get his work done.

You smiled and shook your head like you found the question funny.  “I like to paint,” you say.  “And I make a mean breakfast.”

Steve looked at you puzzled.  He’d never come across someone who answered that question with their hobbies rather than their job.  He wondered if you didn’t have one and were embarrassed or if you did something you didn’t think Steve would approve of.  The thought you were a HYDRA agent passed through his head and he looked over at Thor.  “How do you know Thor?”  Steve asked and Wanda started to giggle.

“We run in similar circles,” you say.  “Though I admit, I do not know him well.”

“She’s not HYDRA, Steve,” Wanda giggled.

That knowledge made Steve relax a little and you smiled at him.  “You’re holding a lot of tension, Captain Rogers.”

“Please, call me Steve,” he said.  “We’ve been on a mission for weeks now.  It takes a lot of me.  Everyone really.”

You placed your hand gently on his forearm.  He normally didn’t like when strangers invaded his personal space like that.  He’d had a fair amount of sexual harassment since becoming a supersoldier.  However, there was nothing even flirtatious about the moment.  It was genuine and kind and made him relax even more.  “It can be hard to let it go,” you said.  “But you are done, and now you can take the weight off your shoulders.  No need to carry it tonight.”

Steve tilted his head.  “Are you a therapist?”

You chuckled again.  “I guess - of a sort,” you said.

Steve was perplexed by the vague nature of your answers and couldn’t help thinking people were hiding something from him like this was some big trick.  Though he couldn’t see any reason why Thor of all people would be the instigator of such a trick.

“Will you relax, Steve?”  Wanda chided.  “She’s just a girl Thor thought you’d like.”

Steve tried to do as he was told.  He had to admit that it wasn’t easy though.  You definitely had a calming influence.  Despite the loud music and drinking happening in the rest of the room, at the couches, it was like a slumber party.  Bruce looked as relaxed as Steve had ever seen him, his whole body open and still as he talked calmly.  Clint dozed on and off, waking to join in on the conversation and then dropping back off to sleep again, while Wanda was giggly, and about an hour in she said she was going to go to bed and paint her toenails.

Whatever it was that was affecting the others, Steve could feel it too, but in the middle of what was a raging party, Steve was unwilling to completely relax.

“You don’t like it here much, do you?”  You asked.

Steve shrugged.  “I don’t mind a party sometimes, but no… not today.”

“I bet it’s been a long time since you’ve had a home-cooked meal,” you mused.  “Would you like to come back to my place?”

“No,” Clint whined as Steve balked.  “Don’t go.”

“I don’t… that’s probably not a good idea,”  Steve said.

“I meant for dinner, Steve,” you said.  “I promise, no funny business.”

Clint sat up and stretched.  “You should do it, Steve,” he said.  “Live a little.”

Steve looked at Clint and Bruce who were both nodding in approval.  He sighed and gave a small shrug.  “I guess I’m coming then.”

You got up and offered your hand.  “Come on, I won’t bite.”

He let you lead him out of the Tower and down into the street where you flagged down a cab.  “I don’t usually do this,” Steve said, as he sat in the back with you.

“I know,” you said.  “That’s why Thor set us up.”

“You’re not…” he stopped, not sure how to ask the question that was swirling in his mind right now and have it not come out as either offensive or judgmental.  “Are you a sex worker?”

You smiled and shook your head.  “No.  I like my bed though.”

“Why are you being so vague then?”  Steve asked.

“I can tell you if you really want to know,” you said.  “But Thor thought you might fight it more if you knew.”

Steve tensed up and shifted away from you a little.  “Do the others know?”

“Oh, yes,” you said.  “And I know you don’t know me well enough to trust me, but I promise what it is, won’t hurt you.  I’m not evil or malicious.  I am not here because I have to be or I’ve been paid to be.  You truly have just been set up with a woman.  And I am that.  I like you and I just want to take you somewhere you can relax and just enjoy a comforting meal.  That’s all.  If you don’t trust your friend on this, just say.  I’ll tell you.”

Steve looked you over, trying to see the lie or the trick.  All he could see was genuine kindness.  He gave a nod.  “Okay.  Will you tell me eventually?”

“Of course,” you said.  “When we’re both sure of how we feel about each other, I’ll tell you.”

The cab pulled up at a block of apartments on the upper west side.  It was a large pre-war building, the kind that has been romanticized in hundreds of films and costs more than most people could dream of earning to live in.

He followed you in and the two of you rode the elevator up to your floor quietly.  The tall ceilings and recessed walls of the hall brought him right back to his childhood.  You let him into your apartment and for a moment Steve felt like he’d stepped into a storybook.  The light was soft and diffused, filling the room with a hazy golden luminescence.  The furniture all looked inviting and cozy, the deep soft-looking couches all had cozy mink throws on them and a collection of fat plush cushions.  There were a few large bookshelves both filled with a mixture of books and board games.  Your TV was large but not obnoxiously so, and your coffee table was littered with candles, magazines, and books.

“Get comfortable,” you said as you headed into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the living room.

Steve took a moment to look around your apartment.  There was something about the room that reminded him of the way he and Bucky decorated.  You had a different taste to either man.  Steve was more into straight lines and dark wood, and Bucky like black and chrome, whereas you seemed to lean more into creams with splashes of color here and there.  However, like with him and Bucky, you had a mix of old and new.  Steve liked to keep things from his past whether they be actual things he had owned or just items that reminded him of his mother or times with Bucky.  The things you owned seemed to go back further than what he owned, but there was a lot that seemed to center around the nineteen-twenties.  Though they didn’t stop there.  There were items representative of various decades littering your apartment.  From depression-glass bowls to porcelain animals from the sixties to a lava lamp and a small collection of Pez Dispensers.

Steve noticed a copy of the Hobbit that looked remarkably like the copy he got when it came out.  Picking up several books he noticed that many were first editions.

He went and sat down more confused about who you were than he had been before.  You came out with a tray and placed it on the coffee table in front of him.  Each was laden with pancakes, eggs, hash browns, and fresh fruit.

“It’s a little late for breakfast,” Steve said, looking at you with his eyebrow raised.

You shrugged.  “I’m good at a few things, but this is the one that’s quickest,” you explained.  “Otherwise we’d be up for a few more hours while I cooked.”

“Breakfast food it is,” he said and started to eat.  You took your plate and sat back, crossing your legs under you and balancing your plate in your lap.  “You have an interesting collection,” Steve said, gesturing to one of your bookshelves.

“Thank you.  I try not to get too sentimental about what I keep and let go,” you said.  “I know it’s a little eclectic but there are some things I just can’t let go of.”

“How long have you lived here?”  Steve asked.

“A long time. Practically forever,” you answered

Steve wanted to ask you what you did for you to be able to afford living here but knew that would meet the same vague answer - so he let it drop and ate.  The food was good.  Warm and sweet and full of fat.  It wasn’t long until Steve began to feel sleepy and content.  You took the plates back away and when you returned to the living room, Steve was practically asleep on the couch.  You came over and gently touched his arm.

“It would be more comfortable in bed,” you whispered.

“I don’t… I never sleep with women on the first date,” he replied, sheepishly trying to fight the drowsiness pulling him down.

“I have a spare room if you want it,” you said gently.   “Though I just mean sleep.”

Steve stood slowly and followed you down the hall.  You opened the spare bedroom.  “This is my guest room.”

“And your bedroom?”  He asked, part of him wondering if you’d drugged him.

“The end of the hall,” you replied, taking a few steps toward it.  He followed you down and as he stripped down to his undershirt you changed into a soft pair of pajamas.

He climbed into the bed with you and you wrapped him in your arms.  As he drifted off to sleep, he thought how strange it was that he felt as comfortable as he did right now.

// NEXT

[hamsterboos]

Have We Met Before?

This is my last entry for Rowaelin month and it's my favorite one out of all of them. I'm really proud of this one, so I hope everyone enjoys it. Thank you to the admin group for holding Rowaelin month!

Song this is based off of is Eric Nam and Sarah Barrios' Have We Met Before

cw: kind of has character death but also not

Word Count: 1821 Read on AO3 Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Day 29 of Rowaelin Month Prompt: A work based off a song

~~~~~~

Aelin was exhausted, and as she sat down in the local café in her new neighborhood, she finally felt some semblance of peace. She had just moved to Doranelle due to an incredible job offer in one of the best publishing houses in this side of the world, and Aelin would be an idiot if she didn’t take it. Granted, she was now farther away from her cousin and her best friend, but she’d deal with anything if it meant working with some of her favorite authors. Packing up everything and moving into a new apartment was hard and tiring enough, but it was even worse with the strange, vivid dreams she’d been getting ever since moving into the apartment.

She moved a hand to rub at her collarbone, a sudden ache passing through the area as she remembered the dream - that was practically a nightmare, if she were being honest - where she had been slashed against that area with a knife before she had woken up with a strange sensation of missing someone along with the deep heartache that followed it.

It felt more like a memory, but that couldn’t be possible.

Shaking off the weird feeling in her gut, she tried to focus on the open word document on her laptop screen. This was the perfect opportunity to drink some coffee, have some great pastries, and get some editing done, and yet, even after nearly half of an hour of working, her mind kept drifting off to the dream.

Sighing, Aelin looked up and was surprised to find a man sharing the coffee table with her. The table was fairly large, big enough to seat four people comfortably, and she hadn’t even noticed when the man had chosen to sit diagonally across from her. She didn’t really mind, but the strange feeling overcame her again as she took him in.

He had silver hair, and his eyes were focused on the book in his hands, and he was fairly built if the tight shirt showing off his pecs were any indication. Under normal circumstances, Aelin would’ve been more than happy to start up a conversation with him — considering how handsome he was and the fact that he was a reader — to try to get to know him more, but as she watched him take a sip of his black coffee, she was astonished that she felt like she already knew him.

But how? Aelin’s brow furrowed as she contemplated where she could’ve possibly seen him. She’d just moved to the country — there was no way she knew anyone already that wasn’t working with her. He was a stranger, and yet the more she looked at him, the closer she felt to him.

It felt like déjà vu, and as the man looked up to glance around the room, his strikingly green eyes reminded her of the eyes she had seen in her dreams. Once they landed on her face, their eyes meeting and causing an undercurrent of electricity to pass through her, it was as though all the breath had been knocked out of her.

Aelin swore she had seen those eyes before, in her dreams no less, but that was impossible. She’d never seen this man before.

It couldn’t be, and yet…

~~~

“Come on, Aelin,” he teased, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s one dance.” They were sitting on the stairs of her apartment building, and the streets were filled with music. It was the second anniversary of Terrasen becoming an independent kingdom, and the celebrations were going on in full-force. Aelin loved the happy and carefree atmosphere that the music blasting through the streets would bring about, but unfortunately, if she didn’t finish writing down her thoughts on the uprising rebellion against the current regime for Doranelle Daily, then she would just become “another one of those useless women” that her boss, Arobynn, loved to harass.

“Yes, and then one dance turns into five,” she retorted, but without any of her usual snark. “I need to finish this article for tomorrow.” Aelin held up her notebook for emphasis, showing off her unfinished sentence.

“Oh, come on, darling,” her boyfriend continued pestering, pushing her notebook back into her lap and leaning in for a quick kiss that she let him have.

“Honey, let me finish this, and then I promise we will have your dance.”

He looked absolutely petulant for a moment, his nose scrunching up in annoyance, and she reached out to ruffle his beautifully silver hair with a laugh.

“Aelin!” he protested, reaching up to push the wayward strands back down. She simply grinned at him and pecked him quickly before going back to her notebook. She heard him sigh, and she knew then that she had won him over. Her boyfriend got comfortable by wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and settling his chin on her shoulder. Aelin pressed back up into his arms, content and happy with her life.

Until, of course, everything went up in flames.

~~~

Rowan didn’t know what possessed him to sit down at a table where there was already someone sitting there, but he felt compelled to be by the woman with the blonde hair that seemed exactly like the shade of blonde that was plaguing his dreams.

He sat down on the other side of her, diagonal from her so he wouldn’t be directly in her line of sight. She seemed to be typing away, hard at work, and he decided that he would instead just focus on his book. He came out today to get some fresh air, clear his mind after the strange dreams he’d started having every night for almost a week, and that’s exactly what he intended to do.

Instead, he spent the next half hour reading the same two pages, his eyes mindlessly passing over the words, and yet he didn’t actually comprehend any of them.

His eyes kept drifting up, roaming around the room as he looked at the café without really looking, before they just ended back on the woman sitting so close, yet so far.

As he watched her type away on her laptop, Rowan felt as though this quiet, yet stange, comfort he felt around her was familiar, like he had lived through this exact moment before. He watched as she blindly picked up what looked like a sweet latte, if the amount of whipped cream on top was any indication, and then she took a bite of an apple turnover.

Yet, there was no way he had. The woman was an utter stranger — albeit, a beautiful one — and that was that. Rowan had simply lost his mind. There was no other explanation.

He directed his attention back to his book in a last ditch attempt to make some progress before letting out a frustrated sigh as he gave up again. Rowan looked back up at the bustling cafe and then at the woman, and he was surprised to find that she was looking right at him.

His eyes met her blue ones, and it could not be a coincidence that the blue eyes that he seemed to love in his dreams were the same ones that this woman had, down to the golden ring surrounding them.

~~~

They were sitting in their favorite local café, a quiet serenity surrounding them. Rowan didn’t need to be constantly talking to his girlfriend to just be happy and content with her. It was her presence that just put his mind at rest.

She was drinking an intensely sweetened milk tea, and he had just opted for a simple black tea while the two shared an apple turnover. It was one of the few pastries the two had ever agreed on, and they always opted to order one whenever they went out. Money was tight between the two of them, but they made it work to at least always be able to splurge once in a while.

Rowan looked up from his own book and smiled at the sight of his girlfriend furiously writing in her notebook, working on yet another article for Doranelle Daily. Her hair seemed to be getting in her eyes, and instead of tying it up, she kept blowing it out of her face to the point where Rowan couldn’t hold in his chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“You could just tie up your hair,” he responded, laughter still clear in his voice. She looked up at him, her gorgeous blue eyes narrowed towards him.

“Oh, so now my suffering is funny to you?”

“Darling,” he spoke, leaning in closer to her from across the table, “you’re just lazy.”

“Rude,” she scoffed, but she took the hair tie off her wrist to tie up her hair, anyway.

“See? It wasn’t so hard to listen to me.”

“You could try to be a little less annoying.”

“You wouldn’t love me the same.”

“I would love to have some peace and quiet right about now.”

“We could just go home,” he innocently offered.

“So you can distract me from work again? No, thank you.”

Rowan’s jaw fell open slightly out of indignation before he scowled, and that caused a giggle to burst out of her. Rowan let go of his scowl and smiled as well.

This was what he loved, what he cherished.

Until, of course, he lost it all.

~~~

The two estranged lovers watched one another, surprise written clearly over their faces. The lack of recognition between the two was overshadowed by the memories in their dreams. The love bursting in their chest, mingled with the pain of their unwanted separation burned through them, so maybe they would say that the dreams were more like nightmares.

~~~

It was a “wrong time, wrong place” type situation. Nothing more.

The couple were walking down an alley, hand in hand, happily chatting, only to be attacked by rebels, trying to rob them in the dimming sunlight.

The female tried screaming for help when the male pushed her back, trying to protect her as he fought back against the two rebels.

It wasn’t enough.

A third rebel appeared behind the female, slashing a knife across her collarbone, causing a shriek of pain to escape her. Her screams mingled with the male’s as he tried to fight towards her, but a rebel slashed him across his bicep.

The couple was abandoned in the alley only when they had been removed of any jewelry and money, instead left with slashes and stab wounds that had them bleeding out on the ground. They stumbled into each other’s arms, clinging to their love while they would not be able to cling to life for much longer.

Their last words were declarations of love.

~~~

With those last words ringing through their minds, they each felt a pull towards one another, yet she was the one who was able to utter one sentence.

“Have we met before?”

[angryschnauzer]

What about if ghost mike took a liking to you and when you were getting harassed by some guys he "stepped in"?

Oh wow this one really got away from me! There’s something about Mike that makes me just want to hug him and make everything better. Thank you for this ask!

Warnings: Ghosts, potential assault, Mike saving the day. Canon-fix-it ficlet.

From the moment you moved into the tiny apartment you knew it wasn't going to be your forever home. Strange chills would cross over your skin when you would least expect it, the seemingly nice neighbourhood was far from it with regular arguments and fights breaking out between tenants or people just out on the street, and it got to the point where you didn't leave the apartment at night for what crept unknown in the hallways.

Your thesis was almost done, your final year of your Doctorate on religious texts and the only merit of not leaving the apartment in the evenings meant extra time to study and complete your work. You sat at your desk typing furiously, on a roll with your thoughts and your work when a sudden chill ran up your forearm giving you goosebumps;

"Fuck" you cursed, screwing your eyes shut as you tried to will the train of thought back to your mind, but to no avail. Finally with a sigh you pushed your chair back and stood, deciding to make yourself a hot cocoa.

Warming the milk in a pan on the stove you wrapped your cardigan tighter around your body as you stared out of the window that overlooked the street, before something moved in the periphery of your vision. A young man bending over your laptop, his lips moving as he silently read what you had written. In shock you gasped and turned, but to an empty apartment. Shaking your head you laughed to yourself; you had spent so long writing about spirits you were now seeing them.

Going back to your stove you finished making your drink before returning to your computer, working late into the night now you were re-energised in your mind.

-

Your Professor had been very complimentary of your latest work, and how you had led the Freshman and Sophomore students in theological discussions about spirits and souls, almost as if you had a new understanding of them. 

Continuing to work on your thesis you spent long nights and quiet weekends busy at your computer, but reminded yourself to take a break now and again. One such evening the words hadn't come, so abandoning the screen you’d lit some candles, poured yourself a glass of wine and had curled up on the couch beneath a blanket to read. You were deep in the world of your book when you were aware of your computer screen coming to life, the screensaver ending and your unfinished work on screen. As you looked up you saw him, this time sitting sideways to the desk on your chair where you’d left it. 

He was young, no more than 25, and dressed a little outdated in baggy jeans, hoodie, and a leather jacket, his dark hair curly and trying its best to hang in the mid 2000’s style of curtains. A fear shot through your body, rooting you to the spot and you held your breath; watching waiting… but he continued to read, biting his lip as if deep in thought; he had no idea you’d noticed him. The longer you looked the more real he seemed, no longer transparent but the colours of the apparition deepening.

“I can see you, you know” your voice was quiet yet it startled him, he turned in fright and disappeared right before your eyes. 

Crossing the room you pressed your hand to the chair, stilling it as it span slightly before sitting down, your writer's block now long gone. Your thesis was certainly getting jump started again thanks to your spectral visitor.

-

A week later it was a quiet weekend, no saturday classes, no additional work needed on your thesis until the last few books you’d requested from the campus library were returned. Snow fell outside your window and you stayed curled up in bed, dozing in the quiet morning. 

As the pipes in the building bubbled you finally woke properly, and you saw him, standing in the doorway.

“Don’t be scared” you said quietly, watching as he quietly laughed before raking his hand through his curls;

“Shouldn’t i be saying that to you?”

His voice was quiet, but deeper than you imagined.

“Do you know why you are here?”

He shook his head.

“Are you drawn to something? Did you die here?”

Again he shook his head;

“I can’t remember”

“What do you remember?”

“That my name is Mike” he looked down, almost bashfully; “You realise one tit is hanging out of your top?”

Glancing down you saw your cami had shifted in your sleep and you were now showing far more than you realised, letting out a laugh as you adjusted yourself, but when you looked up he was gone.

Calling out you smiled;

“Thanks for the tip… or should i say tit?”

You heard what could only be described as a chuckle, but he didn’t reappear.

-

Over the following days and weeks, Mike would appear occasionally. Once when you were reaching for something on a high shelf you’d turned to get a box to stand on only to discover the packet on the countertop and him standing next to it with a smile on his face before disappearing again. You became at ease with his presence, your skin chilling as you recognised the signs that he had appeared in the room. He still didn’t talk much but you’d managed to get a few lines of conversation out of him. It almost felt like having a presence to welcome you home, not a pet, but a silent roommate that didn’t bother you because you’d work different shifts.

After one particularly long day on campus, staying late after class to help the Sophomores with their midterms, having to stop for groceries on the way home, it was well past dark before your bus had pulled up outside your apartment building. Juggling your groceries, your backpack, and your keys, you stopped at your mailbox as you could see mail jammed into it, cursing as your cold fingers struggled to work with the tiny key when you heard a cough behind you. Glancing over your shoulder you saw the tall burly figure of a man, and you stepped closer to the mailbox;

“Sorry, won’t be a moment”

“Don’t you worry sweetheart, we can wait…”

You stopped, the fear bubbling up in your throat as you turned and saw that he wasn’t alone, two other men now standing behind him;

“A nice little treat to be found out after dark…”

You turned your back to the mailboxes, pulling close to them as you backed away and the three men started to advance like a pack of wolves, when suddenly another figure appeared in the doorway;

“Mike!” you called out, and the three men turned in surprise.

“Oh, your little boyfriend appears just in time? Don’t you worry about him, he can just watch”

It was then that you heard Mike’s voice, strong and loud in the small hallway;

“Babe, shut your eyes and don’t open them until i say so, ok?” he paused and looked directly at you; “Ok?”

You nodded and screwed your eyes shut, trembling as you hear the three men start towards Mike, but then you could hear them stop;

“What the fuck?”

“HOLY SHIT!”

“RUN, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

A strange gurgling noise came from the end of the hallway and you felt the rush of air as the three men pushed past you. Opening your eyes you gasped when you saw Mike. 

“I said don’t open your eyes!”

“Stop” His voice gurgled as he spoke.

You stepped towards him, the sight almost unbearable but now you understood;

“I can see what happened to you…” you paused; “And i’m not running away”

-

 Stepping in the door of your apartment you juggled the bags and held the door for Mike, before you smiled;

“Do i even need to hold this open for you, or could you just walk straight through it?”

He glanced at you and rolled his eyes, not saying anything.

“I would offer you to get cleaned up, but i have no idea how to clean a ghost up”

You set the groceries on the counter and turned, surprised to see Mike standing close to you, his injuries gone and his face and stomach back to normal;

“Oh!”

“I guess you just had to look away and i reset somehow” he muttered, his body sagging as if exhausted.

“This may sound strange, but do you need to rest? I would imagine what you did took a lot of energy…”

“I don’t like to sleep… the memories come back when i do…”

“Why don’t i rest with you?”

Reaching out you managed to grasp his hand, gently leading him to your bedroom and watching as he lay back against the soft covers, a tired smile on his face as he watched you climb in beside him;

“When i was alive it was never this easy to get a girl into bed with me” he murmured, his eyes drooping. 

“Just rest Mike, i’ll be right beside you… i’ll protect you the same way you protected me”

Leaning forwards you brushed your lips to his, and it felt like wet sand pulling away from you as the tide pulled back to sea. Resting your head on the pillow you felt your own eyes grow heavy, and as you watched Mike fall asleep the same happened to you.

-

Rain hit the window as you slowly woke, the unfamiliar feeling of a warm presence beside you in bed startling you as you sat bolt upright, looking on in shock as Mike slept peacefully beside you. His chest would rise and fall with each breath, and with a shaking hand you reached out and rested your palm against him and could feel the warmth of his body. Eyes wide in wonder you reached to his neck, pressing two fingers to the side and you felt the steady and strong beat of his heart. 

He woke with a gasp, inhaling as if he had been winded and sat up, his eyes wide as he grasped your hand in his own;

“How are you touching me?”

“Y-you’re real” He looked down, watching as your hand pressed against his chest; “and you’re alive”

You leapt at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you straddled his lap, laughing with tears of joy starting to spill down your cheeks before finally pulling back, your mouths so close you could feel the others breath hot on your skin.

“When i was alive… i mean before… i was an ass”

You shrugged;

“Most dudes in their 20’s are”

“And i thought i was god’s gift to women too, but was far from it”

“How about we leave the opinions of gods to the one of us that is the Theological major? As whatever happened here, we have someone to thank and it certainly isn’t Earth bound”

He smiled, and for the first time you noticed that in the blue of his eyes there was a tiny spec of brown. His voice was quiet;

“Can I kiss you?”

Nodding you edged forwards, the touch of his lips this time was soft and warm, and as the kiss deepened the two of you slowly fell back onto the bed, your bodies warm against each others as clothing was shed and bodies were explored.

Mike had a lot to catch up on, twenty years after life had ended for him you were now there to help him start it back up again.

[reiven2017]

Delicate steel.

Chapter 4

Rachel literally fell out of the building, covering her mouth with her hand and leaning over the cold iron handrails, spat the bitter taste of alcohol on the asphalt. Her head was buzzing, her hands were wadded up, and the fabric of her black shorts was soaked through with beer, sticking viciously to her body, and Raven found herself trying to count how many fingers she had on her hand.

Oh, she was in a complete mess and this is one of the worst decisions of her life..

A week before.

A gust of cold wind blew, a page of Rachel's textbook gave in to it, but the girl just calmly continued to sit in place. It was a lunch break, at this time of the year, usually all the students preferred being in warm buildings with heating and no one pokes into the street, so Rachel Roth went there with a cheerful gait.

She looked around the empty yard and noticed a large spreading tree in a remote part of the territory, and went there.

Raven sighed softly, finally getting rid of the stuffy rooms and the walls pressing down on her. Today seemed to be preparing her for the meat of something shitty and quietly mocked her without wasting a minute. In the morning, she spilled coffee on her jeans and there seemed to be nothing to put on others, but her mother reported too late that all the few things Raven had that reached at least to her knees were left in the laundry, so after glancing sullenly at herself in the mirror before going out, Roth continued to adjust the edges of the dark skirt that seemed too short to her.

She had no particular love for things that, with a slight gust of wind, could easily disgrace her. Sometimes it seemed to Rachel that she was naked, even though her legs were hidden under the thick material of black tights, but this did not save her from feeling insecure and a certain fear.

Raven was about to put up with the fact that she would go in jeans with a taste of coffee, as her mother did not tolerate any objections, waved her away and just as quickly shoved the girl into the car, offering to take her to school.

The day promised to be outstanding when the fifth whistle reached Raven, and after even more stupid words of teenagers at her school, and the girl was finally convinced of her hatred for this wardrobe item. She measured these stupid asses with a contemptuous look, squaring her shoulders and barely restrained herself from showing them a dirty gesture in response. Even if she felt naked and confused under their greasy gazes, she would not have given them the pleasure to find out about it.

For this reason, Rachel was immensely glad when she went out into the street, she came across only a lonely asphalt and a dim sun in the sky. It was cloudy, it seemed that the air was saturated with moisture and the sun's rays only occasionally reached the ground. Yes, it was cold, especially the hardships of the weather were felt in the skirt, but it was much better than sitting and listening to the students talking about their ass.

The girl shoved her phone into the very bottom of her denim bag and tried to concentrate in silence on the books scattered around her.

It took some time before Rachel's eyes refused to accept new letters and leaning back against the trunk of a tree, she literally felt someone else's presence, and then a mountain of muscles obscured her field of vision, and the smell of cologne hit her nose. Roth made an irritated face. She had a strange ability to recognize a person without even looking at him.

— "You're as beautiful as ever, Rachel." she knew the owner of such a smug voice and did not want to look at his even more smug face.

Rachel chuckled vaguely. She wasn't in the mood for conversation.

Especially with him.

"What do you want, Wilde?" he chuckled. "And as friendly as ever, my lady." " Raven gave him a cold look from under her lashes, and then went back to reading. History had never been her favorite subject, but it was much more interesting than watching Jonathan Wild and listening to his stupid flirting. He hadn't ambiguously annoyed her at school for several weeks, had he come all this way just to talk to her?

Raven was not the most desirable girl at school and did not try to attract attention to herself as many did, but simply lived by studying and this should logically provide her with a quiet life, but as they say, nothing is impossible and by some miracle it was the local football leader who fell on her. To the envy of the others and unfortunately for Rachel, but she found it extremely annoying and problematic for herself.

Her goal was to attract as little attention to herself as possible, and this pompous mountain of muscles and testosterone literally broke all her plans, considering for herself as her own law that every girl was crazy about him as soon as he appeared within a radius of ten meters. So, to get rid of him, the only thing she needed was like a breath of fresh air on a stuffy evening, and Raven barely restrained the rude comment that was ready to escape from her lips when Wilde sank down next to her on the withered grass and frowned disgustedly at his expensive designer jeans.

Is the big boy afraid of bugs?

Raven wanted to leave this place before he said anything else annoying and annoying. Of course, she could have stayed where she was and pretended that Wilde simply did not exist, enjoying further joyful solitude, but something in his gaze alerted her Mouth. She had already turned to take her backpack and get as far away from here as possible, when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, and then she was pulled back, making Rachel instinctively twitch at this touch.

Physical contact was never something pleasant for Rachel, and even more so when someone so unceremoniously interfered with her personal boundaries.

And? It seems to me, or his hand really lies on my shoulder

The thought made Roth frown. She turned her head in the direction of the teenager, caught in his, at the very moment when his lips stretched into a narcissistic smile and Raven felt anger creep under her skin, making it hiss like a snake and spraying blood in her veins. Rachel hadn't always been so aggressive, but his actions had awakened old fragments of memories in her, her brain was convulsively thinking and she couldn't restrain herself. At least, that's what she wanted to think.

She felt rage and irritability drown her head in one, her eyes went dark, and her lungs seemed to be on fire, and Raven tried to start breathing again.

"Come on Raven" - Roth was going to roughly shut him up before he said anything else, but her words stuck in her throat like a lump. —" I understand that you are new and you must be embarrassed by such attention from a guy like me, but, honey, don't be shy. When I saw you today in this charming skirt..". — Raven felt his gaze darting boldly over her body, and the corner of his lips lifted in a vulgar grin and she felt a wild need to hit him between the eyes. She jerked sharply again, ignoring his plaintive sigh when she probably hit him on the liver, trying to get rid of his obsessive hand on her body, finding it rather frightening that he was so much stronger than her and John, noticing his pressure and the girl's tightly compressed lips, pulled away, but still not giving Raven final freedom.

He smiled again, thinking that the sight of his snow-white teeth would relax the situation and it seemed that he did not care at all about what was happening right in front of him. John took a quick glance at the only entrance to the courtyard where he and Raven were, and his eyes darkened, shimmered with a strange shine. His hand came out from behind his back and wrapped around the girl's waist like a snake.

This left Rachel with no questions about why he had found her. And it made her lower lip tremble, from a moment of anger that came over her.

Raven looked at him carefully, noticing that despite the way he smiled sweetly and made eyes, pretending to be a completely relaxed person, his fists were tightly clenched, and sometimes his breathing was interrupted. Roth had no idea about him, except for a wild boy's fantasy in his head and a passionate love for football, and this was a dangerous fact for her.

"You know you're just wasting your time with me, Wilde," Rachel said through tightly clenched teeth.

She ran her hand down her skirt, lightly brushing the pocket of her hoodie, and she frowned before her hands itched, ready to beat herself. Roth had heard rumors a couple of times about Wilde's sudden change of mood when he refused girls, but these were just stupid rumors and Raven had no desire to check them. For some reason, that didn't stop her from thinking about her folding knife.

Of course, it was today that you didn't take your knife to Rachel Roth.

She was sure that her mother had checked ryukaz before leaving. It made Raven groan in resignation.

"Maybe, but it makes the thought of you even sweeter." - Roth wasn't even going to think about what thoughts about her were in Wilde's head, but for some reason it made her blue eyes turn black with anger. If he continued to behave in this  way, Rachel was not sure that she would be able to restrain herself. Her brain was boiling, her breathing was sharp and ungainly, and she was almost afraid for her sudden change of mood, if she didn't know the reason. She felt her nails involuntarily dig into the soft fabric of her palms. She knew how dangerous she could be.

This is Wild, a local favorite and the best athlete in Data, whose cups are personally signed by the mayor of the city. And this Rachel, a girl who was expelled from a prestigious school for a fight and disliked the local teachers. Anyone who listens from the outside will burst into wild laughter, completely disbelieving and denying everything with the cells of his soul that such a handsome athlete harassed such as Raven. This caused a wave of rage in her.

Rachel was sure, or wanted to be sure, that he was just playing with her. But he wouldn't rape her in the middle of the day and in the school yard, would he? It was stupid, even for him.

But everything happened faster than she wanted and Raven heard him swear dirty, his football bomber creaked softly as John reached for Rachel's face, squeezing her chin and pulling her towards him, and she did not immediately realize that he was looking at nothing else but her lips.

She caught his hungry gaze, just at the moment when their faces were literally a centimeter apart, when her eyes were flooded with scarlet lead, and the cruel side of her character obscured all sane thoughts.

- !Rubbish!! Raven wasn't the one who went along with someone and restrained her anger, and before she could stop herself, her fist shot up and she heard his painful groan as Jonathan Wyald, like a beaten dog, jumped away from her.

She was sure that she would regret it later.

Raven was trembling with anger and the adrenaline in her blood exceeded the norm when she felt a wild burning in her hand and winced, wiping the blood on her knuckles on her black hoodie. It wasn't the first time Rachel had been involved in a fight, so she was sure that she had broken the guy's nose. She was enjoying the contorted and stunned expression on John's face as he fell on his back.

Raven jumped to her feet, too fast for her, regretting it when her eyes went dark for a moment and grabbed the bag from the ground with a trembling hand. I had to get as far away from here as possible.

— "You're going to regret this, bitch."his voice, low and guttural, turning into an animal growl, only vaguely resembled human speech, causing Raven to turn around.

Wilde's eyes were burning, they were fierce and animal with anger, his chest heaved and fell heavily, and in his hand he clutched the earth and the wreaths on his neck swelled and reddened. He was like a wild animal whose ego was deeply and painfully wounded.

Raven smiled dryly at his words.

She might regret it, but it would teach him manners.

Roth had already sent one like Jonathan Wild to a hospital bed a few years ago and then, without doing it earlier, this delay cost her the most expensive thing she had. She imagined in her place those girls who shuddered when John carelessly passed by, smiling and laughing, and they were afraid of male touches, and Rachel barely stopped herself from putting his head against the wall. She barely stopped her justice-hungry nature from breaking something else to the asshole.Raven always chose justice, but she had a separate place in Hell for people like Wilde. Thinking that they are allowed everything and not thinking about the consequences.

Roth swallowed the acrid lump in her throat and her eyes stung from wet tears. She roughly wiped her eyes with her sleeve and rushed towards the school without wasting a minute. Rachel was barely restraining herself from hysteria, she was still reeling from a fit of rage and Raven knew that if she didn't get out of there, her nerves would break like a guitar string. She felt that the sleeves of the hoodie had become wet and sticky, and her brain was trying to restrain the painful urges of her bleeding palms.

                                                       ======

The next day, Rachel came to school with her hands bandaged and already mentally prepared for the fact that the scandal and the drama of Wilde would spread throughout the school, but instead she found the usual situation and the absence of Jonathan himself.

He didn't show up for the next few days either, and Raven didn't know whether to be happy or cry.

She occasionally caught strange glances from the guys on his football team, but she wasn't going to treat it as something dangerously warning. They were always limited to just glances, and as long as it didn't interfere with Rachel's life, she just brushed it off as an annoying insect. But this did not escape the attention of her new friend.

Over the past couple of weeks, he and Amy had been communicating quite well, and Raven had to admit that she found her an interesting conversationalist.

Amelia did not require her to answer and girly chatter, occasionally joked about the name of Rachel and knew how to be everywhere and at the same time nowhere. She was a wild fan of rock bands, but became a victim of her conservative and domineering mother forcing her to be a lady even sitting on the toilet. And it also turned out that Amelia Rogers was considered an outcast at the Data school, which seemed crazy to Rachel. Even in her medieval dresses and bows on her hair, Amy did not stop being cheerful and perky and Raven had no idea how someone like Amelia was labeled an outcast.

Raven's sincere question, why the girl is considered an outcast, caused a wave of laughter and unrestrained laughter in Amy for several minutes and Roth simply left the topic alone.

It was recess, Raven was rummaging through the depths of her school locker, being annoyed and looking for a book, and Amelia Rogers was standing next to her, occasionally throwing her comments.

Amy took a close look at the football team's table and held out her hand, intrigued. — "I'm definitely sure that you did something wrong." Rachel took a sharp breath, hoping that it would remain unnoticed for Amelia, but the girl continued to study the table carefully with the athlete and Raven urged herself to calm down mentally. - "what?" she felt Amelia roll her eyes and continued in a tone as if Raven was five years old and they were learning numbers. - "Wilde has been missing for several days, and his friends are not taking their eyes off you and it all looks suspicious." - "Don't talk nonsense." - "Oh! You're a terrible liar, Rachel Roth." - "Maybe it's you who are bad at recognizing lies. "Raven snapped, feeling guilty when Amelia stared at her questioningly and immediately regretted her words. It wasn't Amy's fault that Rachel was a complete mess.

Rachel exhaled wearily, leaning her forehead against the cold metal and whispered softly. - "I'm sorry. " she heard Amy snort softly at her words and felt the girl immediately break into a smile. "Come on, you're allowed to be the Raven Queen." Rachel rolled her eyes at the silly nickname Rogers had given her — " And to be honest, Your Highness looks like a piece of shit." — "It's...just bad lighting here." Raven pouted slightly - "Continue to amuse yourself with this". Amelia clucked and waved her hand around Rachel's figures. — "That's all, literally radiates the energy of sullenness and lame shit." -" Thank you. "Raven scowled, pulling away from the cold metal and leaning her back against the lockers. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her dark jeans, took a slow breath and tried to force something like a smile out of herself. - "Bring back the sullenness, now you have such a look as if I'm torturing you." Amy said with a smile, but her eyes twinkled excitedly. "Oh, to hell with it". Raven grumbled, leaving Amelia standing by the lockers. "Yes, escape from reality, Rachel Roth, and return to your kingdom of darkness. " Rogers chuckled, catching up with the girl. It was at such moments that Rachel wondered how Amy became her friend. She shot a frown at her friend's remark, but it made Raven think and she stopped on the toes of her sneakers. She wasn't running away from reality, was she? She had no reason to.

"I can see that you've gone back to your terribly gloomy thoughts, but!" Amelia playfully played with her eyebrows, attracting Raven's attention as they turned to"wards the algebra classrooms. Rachel arched a! questioning eyebrow, wondering what had come to the girl's mind this time. They stopped at the entrance to the classroom when Rachel stared incredulously at Amelia, who had a cheeky grin on her lips and mentally asked herself how many times she would regret it. -" But?"

                                                           ======

Raven continued to ignore Amy's stupid idea of a party and was almost not surprised when she came h"ome to find angry text messages and a number of missed calls from Rogers. She felt a wild desire to erase this day from her memory and just put on her pajamas and go to bed. But during this time, she tormented herself with an argument with Amy.

—" I don't even want to know how you know about the party at the docks. " Raven grumbled into the phone, throwing herself on the bed. There was interference on the line and it seemed to the girl that someone was sneaking on the other end of the wire. —" I have connections, oh, my dear Rachel. "Amelia whispered. -" It sounds threatening...and why are you whispering?" -" Don't be such a bore and agree! "Amelia exclaimed sharply, and Raven restrained herself from covering her hands over her ears.

Rachel wondered why she was so caught up in this conversation, and not just tu"rned off her mobile phone. Roth was sure that she would not leave her room even at gunpoint, especially alcohol and sweaty people were never in a number of her priorities, so even the very essence of the conversation caused her irritation. She was grumbling, rubbing her eyes, still not understanding what Rogers was up to, puffing and mumbling into her phone, as if she was running from a herd of bulls.

— "I still don't understand how you're going to pull this off, living under the same roof with Mrs. Rogers." — "I have a plan." -" A plan? I hope I don't have just anyone involved in it." It was at this moment that Rachel caught a sound from the first floor and her mother's voice was heard on the phone. The girl's eyebrows shot up in surprise, she took the phone away from her face, listening to the sounds on the first floor and moaned in resignation, reproaching herself that she should have foreseen Amy's madness for this party.

Raven frowned and said angrily through her teeth.

—" Don't you dare say you're at my house." - all she heard before the line ended was a cheerful "Late", and then the front door in the hallway slammed shut and Angela chattered amiably on the first floor. Someone was having a nice conversation with her mother on the first floor, and knowing and confident in who exactly it was, Rachel wondered if it was too late to run, but she heard footsteps on the stairs, and then Angela came into her room and Amy's wide smile appeared in the doorway.

Rachel was going to wipe that smile off her face as soon as her mom stepped into her room.

-" Raven, why didn't you tell me that you and Amelia have a joint project?"

Do we have one?

Rachel stared at her mother with incomprehension, noticing how Amy was gesturing obscenely behind her back. Roth cleared her throat, quickly trying to correct herself and smiled at Angela. -" I'm sorry, Mom, I was just going to let you down and warn you, but I didn't know that Amelia would come so quickly. " this answer seemed to satisfy her mother. "Make yourself comfortable, honey, and call me if Raven doesn't feel well. Oh, I'll call right away and warn your mom that you're staying with us for the night, as you asked." Angela looked painfully happy, and Rachel wondered what Amy had already told her mother.

Asked for it?!

Rachel wasn't sure that she hadn't said it out loud and was extremely sorry that she hadn't put the locks on the door, continuing to watch in disbelief as Amy broke into an innocent smile that Raven knew wasn't innocent at all. The very presence of Rogers was the end of the world, and now Raven was well aware of the purpose of the" project", but still did not intend to participate in it.

Rachel narrowed her eyes dangerously when only she and Amy were left in the room. —" And how do understand this?" —" This is my last attempt to persuade your evil ass to come to the party." Rachel grumbled irritably, rubbing her face. — "Why me? I think I made it clear that I don't look like a lover of parties and crowds of people...especially as you suggest that I do it when you personally told my mother about our "project"." "Oh, don't fuck with me, Rachel Roth. My mother on the eve of the evening read me another monologue about how you again escaped through the window." -" Let's say, but this does not negate the fact that I'm not going to go to any party." Rachel said dryly, in a tone that absolutely brooked no objections. Amelia could go on as long as she wanted, but Roth's conviction that this was a terrible idea had a great cost. "Michael will be there," Amy said uncertainly, hiding her eyes on the floor. Rachel grumbled again, pacing the room. —" Is he that important to you?" - "Yes! I've been pining for him since high school, and yesterday I was finally convinced that he broke up with a girl and this is my chance! " Raven looked at Rogers incredulously. She was sure that Amy was not exaggerating her feelings for the boy. Amelia always made Rachel sit next to his desk, she was there when he needed answers to tests and Roth once again pulled Amy out of thoughts about their wedding and hamsters. This caused her inner resolve to falter. — "Well, yes, and seeing you among drunk and sweaty people, he will immediately explode with love...have you tried just talking to him at school?" "No one does that, my friend..." Rachel cast a frown at Amelia. -" well, except for you, but people like Michael need to be impressed, and not hang around with empty conversations. That's why I have to be there." -" Call someone else. I'm the last person who should ask to go to the party." Raven saw Amelia hesitate, seeming ashamed of something. - "But? — "I have no one but you". Raven felt Amy's voice tremble and moaned in frustration, now she just hated herself for never being able to stand on her own for a long time and allowed herself to be made into a living doll, but no matter how uncomfortable Rachel felt in a large crowd of people, she just couldn't turn her tongue to say "no". —" I'm going to your damn party."

[tenthgrove]

L’inizio- A La Squadra Backstory Collection

Chapter 1: La Serenità (Risotto Nero)

Word count: ~6000

Warnings: Like most La Squadra backstories, this fic is going to get quite dark in places so I’m going to include content warnings chapter by chapter. For this chapter, warnings are in place for grief, self-harm (implicit), violence, murder and general mental ill-health

Needles of rain batter the old road as the taxi pulls into a quiet town. The driver, who eyes his unfamiliar passenger quickly and often as he slumps broodingly in the back seat, prays his headlights don’t give up on him now.

“I know my way from here,” the passenger speaks. Though doubtful of his judgement, the driver takes his cue to pull to a stop on the unlevel curb. The passenger undoes his seatbelt and slings his heavy bag over-shoulder. He spares the taxi driver a rare moment of eye contact. “If you try and find the church yourself in this weather we’ll be here all night,” he huffs.

“Are you sure?” the driver asks waveringly, “the downpour is quite severe after all.”

“I’ve had worse. Now here, your money,” the strange man maintains, shoving a fist of cash towards him. The driver counts it eagerly.

“130,000 lire? That’s far more-”

“The first half is for the journey, the rest says you never saw me,” he elaborates impatiently. Reaching for the door, he steps out detachedly into the rain and begins his long strides forward. After a moment he stops, and looks back. For the first time all journey, his bitter face is lit up by the glare of the headlights. For all he has said and done, the driver cannot bring himself to feel shock at the sight of the black and red eyes the stranger looks at him with.

“And really,” the young man repeats. “Ensure you speak nothing of me. If you do, I have contacts who will ensure you regret it,” he snarls, turning his back ardently on the car and pacing away down the street. The driver wastes no time in leaving him be.

Risotto Nero wipes rain from his brow as he climbs the hill towards his destination. Somewhere, deep within his mind he acknowledges the unjust callousness with which he regards his childhood town around him. Perhaps, it is easier on his soul not to do otherwise.

Even as the darkness affords him no aid, Risotto guides himself by muscle memory towards the old tower of the village church. He knows by memory too, the way through the ancient graveyard to the place he came to visit. Reaching the far corner, he stumbles on the dirt and feels his hands for the stone. Icy hands trace its name, pangs of both relief and guilt when the familiar lettering is felt by him.

“Domenico,” Risotto half-gasps. He lets his knees give way as he sinks down onto the dirt of the grave. “I came back, as I promised you. I have to go again soon but…” he reaches into the pockets of his coat and pulls out a metal box the size of his palm. It’s starting to reek, a miracle the driver of the taxi didn’t notice, but it’s here now. “I did it Domenico. I killed him. For you,” Risotto speaks. He wrenches off the lid and the foul stench of rotting blood ebbs out. He hold it shakily over the grave, and tips it onto the dirt.

“I wanted to make him suffer more. Show him just what he did to Nonna and I by taking you. I couldn’t do that, there wasn’t enough time. But… I hope this is enough for you, Amico. I hope you can be at peace now.”

Risotto kisses his palm and presses it to the gravestone.

“Goodbye, Domenico.”

Risotto stand to his feet and turns away from the grave. A clap of lightning brings a brief moment of light to the rugged graveyard. There at the other end, Risotto sees a figure familiar to him, looking out over the sea of graves.

Damn it, Risotto thinks to himself. How in God’s name did she find him here?

Risotto crosses his palms and stands sheepishly as the figure of his grandmother approaches him. Vittoria stops when she’s close enough for the faint light of the night to force them to see eye to eye. Risotto knows he could not look away from her if he tried.

“I saw a vehicle coming into town,” Vittoria speaks. “Somehow, I knew in my heart it would be you.” The aging woman reaches a hand for her grandson’s arm. He flinches, but does not shake her off. “What have you done, Risotto?”

Risotto breathes deeply. He gives her the firmest look he dares.

“Exactly what I said I would.”

“It’s all over the news,” Vittoria laments. “The theories are ceaseless. I can only thank god you haven’t been named as a suspect yet, but with all that’s happened it’s only a matter of time.”

“They aren’t going to name me,” he promises. “I sought protection as I said I would. No police force in Italy will dare put blame on me, and they will not harass you either.” Risotto assures her. Vittoria’s eyes go wide as panic flashes across her face. She opens her mouth fearfully.

“Who?”

“Passione,” Risotto answers.

“Then you really have doomed yourself Risotto.”

Risotto takes a step back.

“I’ve sworn to report to Naples by 4pm tomorrow. I have to go, Nonna,” he excuses himself.

“Stay, just a few hours, I beg of you,” Vittoria pleads. As he marches to the edge of the graveyard, she follows him desperately. “If you must go, I can take you myself in the morning. Don’t you want to bring more of your things? At very least- give a passing goodbye to your home?” she vies. Risotto shakes his head without looking back at her. “Risotto, please,” Vittoria begs, grabbing him by the wrist. “You’re all I’ve got left. You don’t have to go to them. I can hide you. I can take care of you.”

“I’m not going to be so dishonourable as to break an oath. Even if you could find a place for me out of Passione’s reach, my conscience would not allow it,” Risotto insists. “Surely you can understand that.”

Vittoria nods shakily.

“Unfortunately, I can. Very well, Risotto, I see your mind is made up. But won’t you at least come home for tonight?”

“No. It’s easier if I just go,” Risotto denies her. “Thank you for everything, Nonna.”

::::::::::::

A car horn sounds outside and Risotto snaps his eyes open. Sweat clings the sheets to his skin in spite of the cold weather. His head hurts and the light of his desk lamp stings his eyes as he switches it on.  He doesn’t want to leave the bed. He wants to curl up and throw the sheets over his face but he knows he can’t do that.

It’s 11pm. No doubt his superiors will have tasks for him overnight and glancing over at the other bed, his roommate is already up. Risotto forces himself from bed. He notices the wrinkled photograph of his Nonna and cousin out on the nightstand- he must have left it there before he fell asleep. He tucks it quickly into the drawer. The idea of his roommates seeing it always leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Dressing in the first thing he can find, Risotto stumbles into the squalid little bathroom. Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s only 20, a gaunt, ghoulish figure whose eyes never focus and mouth never smiles. He used to think himself lonely as a child. Now he longs for a life that loved.

Risotto turns the tap and splashes his face with a little water. It hardly helps him look much better but it helps a little with the headache. He dries his face with a wipe and casts it into the bin. Often, he wonders whether his roommates haven’t noticed all the bloody tissues that keep piling up in there or if they’re just keeping quiet, but either way he’s glad for their silence. Wiping his hands on the towel, Risotto leaves for the kitchen.

“You look like shit,” Marco remarks. By the time Risotto looks at him back he’s already lost interest, eyes focused on the book he rests against the edge of the kitchen table.

“Thanks,” Risotto responds. He turns the dial on the light a little brighter. “Where are the others?”

“Fucked if I know. Nowhere good, I reckon,” Marco answers him. He pushes his glasses back into place, before scooting back in his chair to look up at Risotto. “But it works well for us. We’ve got an errand ‘needs doing. Whole massive sack of cash needs running to the warehouse. You know I can’t trust the others with that sort of thing, so I’m giving it to you. Fair?”

“Fair. I could use the walk,” Risotto shrugs. He reaches for his coat.

“Woah woah woah,” Marco stops him. “Please tell me you’re at least going to eat something before you head out. You look like you legitimately might fall over.”

“I’ll be fine, Marco, I just- don’t feel up to it,” Risotto excuses himself, slinging his arms into the coat sleeves.

“I am not letting you do such an important job for me in a state like that. Sit. I’ll get you something. As captain of this house, I’m ordering you,” Marco insists.

“If you’re so powerful how about you get Niccolo to stop barging in drunk every morning at 4am?” Risotto grumbles. He sits down anyway.

“I’m house captain, not a damn miracle worker,” Marco half-chuckles. Risotto gives a tut and forces his tense body to relax.

He heads out right after he’s eaten, not particularly wanting to converse with his roommate much longer. Risotto likes walking, especially at night. The cool air helps with the constant feeling of sickness and the quiet clears his head. He knows the place he’s going- an old warehouse a few blocks away where a lot of the money and drugs Passione seizes are taken as a first port of call. It’s not far, but Risotto thinks he’ll take the long route back. He’s enjoying this.

Risotto spies the run-down silhouette of the warehouse towering over the end of the street. The front entrance is right ahead, but Risotto knows he’s not supposed to use it for this sort of work. He heads left, down into the brick alleyway that takes him to the back door. A man is leaning against the wall. His face, scarred and stubbled, is made visible by the lighter he uses to light his bent cigarette. He spares a glance to Risotto, and Risotto feels the sudden urge to give him a wide birth.

“You got a watch on you?” the stranger asks.

Risotto isn’t falling for that one. He looks dead ahead and keeps walking, clutching the bag between himself and the wall. Pain assails the back of his shin and he falls, string-tied money falling out on the floor.

“We’ve been expecting you,” says the stranger. Face against the mud, Risotto hears the click of a gun and his instincts take over. He flings to the right, just as the deafening sound of a gunshot fires right by his ear. He rolls onto his back and grabs the stranger by his wrist, twisting the gun away before it can fire again. There’s a noise in the alleyway and Risotto wonders if it’s help. Two silhouettes come around the corner and point their guns, but it isn’t at the stranger. It’s at him.

Risotto twists his attacker’s wrist further until he hears something pop. The man yelps in pain and lets go of the gun. Grabbing it, Risotto aims at the two newcomers and fires rapidly. The angle is hardly idle but Risotto is fervent. There’s a scream and one of them falls, distracting their companion long enough for Risotto to take care of his other problem. Gripping his arms with both hands and summoning all his strength, Risotto flips the first attacker over his head, the injured man landing with a thud behind him.

Risotto scrambles to his feet. The man tries to do the same but he isn’t fast enough. Risotto straddles him and draws his knife. He stabs him again and again, blood spurting from his neck and chest as his struggling slowly stops. He stills. Risotto pulls the knife from the dead flesh and sighs.

A blinding brightness shoots down from above and Risotto reels in pain. Falling to the ground beside the body, he tries to blink his eyes open only to be met with more agony. It’s like a million needles of light are stabbing him from the sky.

The stars. Something is up with the stars.

“Bet they didn’t even give you a stand, did they? Worthless nobody.”

Steps approach Risotto from behind and the third attacker stops beside him. “Obviously not, otherwise you would have noticed it earlier,” the man scowls. Risotto tries to look up and catches a brief, blurry image of his face with no detail. It’s isn’t good to confirm much other than the man is there.

“What have you done to me?” Risotto demands. He tries to press his hands to his eyes but it still hurts. The light gets brighter still.

“I’ve used my stand on you. It’s only your perception of the stars that has been changed and not the whole planet, so don’t feel too mind blown. Believe me, if I could do that, I wouldn’t be stealing from Passione to subsidise what they pay me.”

Risotto’s eyes blink open again and in their brief moment of vision Risotto sees something that stills his blood. The stranger holds Risotto’s own knife, raised high above his head. Risotto lashes out.

Relying on instinct alone he lurches up to tackle his assailant to the ground. The stranger chuckles and throws him off of him. Risotto may be strong, but he isn’t used to fighting without his sight. It puts him at a severe disadvantage.

Risotto feels a harsh punch to his spine. He stumbles back to the ground, stopped from landing face first only by his scratched hands. He knows he would have heard it if another individual had approached it. That can only mean one thing- his attacker’s stand.

Risotto despairs. He knows stands are immune from all damage by things of this world, so without a stand of his own Risotto is defenceless against it. He has only one hope: kill the user first. Risotto lunges forwards, grabbing onto his attacker and pushing him to the ground through sheer force. He sinks his hands around the man’s neck and pushes down with all his force. The man brings up the knife and stabs it into Risotto’s chest. The pain is blinding, but Risotto knows it’s nowhere fatal. He is not deterred. The knife is brought up again and strikes him again between the ribs, but it is not deep enough to make Risotto give up his grip.

The stranger’s arm falls and the knife clatters out of reach, but Risotto is not safe yet. The unseeable stand unleashes a barrage of blows to his body, but Risotto forces himself not to give up. He stays there for what feels like an eternity, eyes clamped shut and body in agony, until the light starts to get weaker. The stand’s punches lose their strength.

Risotto can see clearly again, though the pain isn’t entirely gone. He looks down unfeelingly at the dying man below him, retching, wheezing for air as he grips Risotto’s wrist pleadingly. Risotto feels nothing as the man’s eyes glaze over and his body goes still. He holds his grip for another minute, making absolute certain the assailant is dead and not unconscious. Then he collapses.

Risotto stares up at the sky. Blood clings to his chest and oozes around his clothes. He notices how acutely aware he is of his heart, beating erratically as it pumps the blood out his skin. His limbs are heavy, the feeling in his hands already gone. He can feel himself fading second-by-second. He comes to realise just how long he’s wanted this.

Risotto thinks of Domenico and his Nonna, and patiently waits for the beating in his heart to stop.

::::::::::::

The next thing that Risotto is aware of is the heart monitor, beeping rhythmically as the white of the hospital surrounds him. He moves about in the sheets, noting the feeling of his chest constrained by bandages. A nurse rushes over to him and his awareness dissociates. It doesn’t come back until she’s leaving.

“There was a man here to see you earlier,” she mentions.

“Not some twerp with glasses, was it?” Risotto asks. He hates how weak and strained his voice sounds.

“No, some classy guy. His name was… Prosciutto Crepuscolo? I’ll have to check the book, but it’s something like that anyway. He seemed pretty ardent about seeing you so I’ll expect he’ll be back soon.”

“Alright,” Risotto sighs. “Thanks for the warning.”

Great. This is probably some stuck-up management asshole here to interrogate him about what happened. Risotto can only hope they know what the attackers were up to and don’t think he just decided to murder three soldatos on the fly. Otherwise, Risotto’s troubles may be just be beginning.

Risotto waits. The clock strikes 6am, but there’s no way to know how many times it’s done that since they took him here. He’s half-tempted to get up and find out but then he remembers the tube in his arm. He can’t really be bothered, anyway. At very least, they gave him a private room. It’s clear they know who he is, so it must have either been his roommates or the operatives of the warehouse who took him here. Someone who knows where the doctors on Passione’s payroll work.

The clock strikes 9. That nurse came back to check on him at some point but Risotto barely even noticed. He wants to go back to sleep but the pain is too bad for that. He can’t do anything but think, and even that is hard for him in so much pain.

The door clicks and an unfamiliar man enters. He appears disdained by the rain on his fine jacket as he takes it off quickly, brushing strands of blond hair from his eyes. He is a young man, though seemingly a fair bit older than Risotto if the way he carries himself is anything to go by.

“Nero?” the man asks. He regards Risotto critically as he steps forward.

“Yes, you’re Crepuscolo, correct?” Risotto replies.

“Call me Prosciutto. I can’t stand when people use that surname,” the man answers. He places his blazer on the back of the visitor’s chair and sits down, folding his hands.

“You’re from Passione, aren’t you?”

“That obvious? I suppose it must be,” Prosciutto shrugs. “I’m less special than you probably think. I handle logistics, usually more to do with murder than drugs and gambling, but I report to Polpo just like you do,” he explains.

“Are you currently sorting the logistics of having me shot, Prosciutto?” Risotto asks dryly. Prosciutto rolls his eyes.

“No, no. The operatives at the warehouse recognised one of your attackers as having tried to rob them before, and your team was quick to vouch for your character. Everyone accepts you acted in self-defence and there’s no suspicion otherwise,” Prosciutto reassures him. “In fact, I’m here on a personal whim.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been tasked with the elimination of an important politician residing in Naples. I don’t usually carry out such orders myself, but when the stakes are high it’s usually best that I, as a stand user, step in personally. Even still, it’s best to have backup and frankly, all my usual contacts are either out of town or hapless fools I wouldn’t trust to water a houseplant,” Prosciutto explains.

“And you’re looking for new options, I presume,” Risotto deduces.

“Precisely,” Prosciutto nods. “Winning a three-on-one fight with one stand user is certainly an impressive feat. I was hoping to find you in better shape than this but I can afford to wait a month or two, so I won’t strike you off my options yet. I must say, Risotto, you look like you belong in this place even without the multitude of chest wounds, but I haven’t figured out if that makes me more or less appealed to you.”

“Charmed,” Risotto sighs. “What’s in it for me?”

“Well, they’re giving me 30 million lire for the job and it would only be fair for me to give you a cut. How does 5% sound?”

“10, at least,” Risotto contends. Prosciutto smirks and makes a little huff.

“You’re an eager bastard aren’t you. Done,” he concedes.

“What do you need from me?”

“I live across from the promenade. Number 23. If you’re in shape by the 3rd of December, come to me in the afternoon. I do my hits at night but there’ll be plenty to discuss, so make sure you’re there by 4 at the latest. I can give you the pay there and then but you’ll have to keep it on you until we’re done so you don’t try to leg it.”

“And is there anything in particular I should train myself for?” Risotto asks.

“Nothing in particular. You’re only there for backup so you might not even need to lift a finger. Really I’m giving you money for nothing,” Prosciutto remarks, standing up dignifiedly from his chair. “But making new connections can only help us both, don’t you agree?”

With a small parting smile, Prosciutto departs without awaiting his answer. Risotto is left alone with the beat of his heart monitor. He doesn’t know what to think of his new acquaintance yet, but an allegiance with a stand user could change everything. If Risotto were to gain status within Passione, would it finally fill the hole in his heart left by Domenico? He honestly doesn’t know.

::::::::::::

It’s the third of December, 1992, and Risotto is in good spirits. He worked hard to restore his health after his injuries, making a point of taking better care of himself and spending many hours working on his mobility. What Prosciutto has given him is a goal, and that’s something he hasn’t had since hunting Domenico’s killer. Now, when Risotto looks in the mirror, he sees resolution. He’s going to impress his new acquaintance if it kills him.

Risotto walks along the promenade counting the houses for number 23. It’s a fancy looking place, as he expected, made of sandstone with a twisted copper fence surrounding the upstairs balcony. He passes a grove of palm trees and knocks on the door. The answer is immediate.

“One moment, one moment,” Prosciutto calls impatiently. The smaller man opens the door and Risotto is struck by the smell of expensive cigarettes. “Sorry, do you mind?” Prosciutto asks, gesturing to the cigarette in his hand.

“Not at all,” Risotto assures him. “May I come in?”

Prosciutto walks wordlessly into the living room and Risotto gets the hint to follow. The pair sit down on a lavish settee. Risotto finds himself anxious in such an alien place to him.

“You live on Firenze street, close to the cinema, yes?” Prosciutto enquires.

“Yes. Piece of shit dump.”

“Tell me about it. I used to live just on the next road when I started out with my first squad,” Prosciutto reminisces. Risotto leans forward in surprise.

“You’re self-made?”

“More like… earned back,” Prosciutto clarifies. “Though for the record you’ll find most of my possessions here are cheaper than they look. I’m not nearly as rich as I was as a young man. Perhaps someday,” he hopes.

“When did you join Passione?” Risotto asks curiously.

“Three years ago. If you’d started just a few months earlier, we would have been neighbours,” he muses.

“And your stand?”

“Now that’s newer. I’ve had it for the best part of a year.”

Risotto taps his leg nervously.

“How did you do it? Move up the ranks so quickly?”

Prosciutto tuts.

“Wondering how you’re still stuck as Polpo’s postboy at the same point in your career I was lined up for a stand?” he asks cuttingly. Risotto chokes out a half-formed rebuttal, then looks down in shame. “A bit of luck, a bit of knowing the right people, and a lot of speaking bullshit,” Prosciutto answers. “It also doesn’t help that… you know…”

“You can say it. Everyone knows I’m an utter state and sometimes I legitimately impress people by waking up alive in the morning,” Risotto grumbles.

“Well, that’s one way to put it. If it’s any consolation you’re no worse than most at your level of the organisation. The problem comes when you want to move up,” Prosciutto takes another drag of the cigarette and leans back into the cushions. “You’re hardly a rare case. You thought Passione would be something it wasn’t for you and now you aren’t sure what you’re living for.”

“Did you… look into me?” Risotto asks defensively. Prosciutto shakes his head.

“Like I said, it’s a common story. I don’t really need to look into you to know.”

“It’s not entirely true,” Risotto protests. “I never really expected anything out of Passione. I just didn’t think I’d care what happened to me anymore. Sometimes I don’t, but it still hurts.”

“Shit parents?”

“No! Well, yes. But they weren’t the ones who raised me so it doesn’t matter. Someone… died, someone very close to me, and in avenging him I asked Passione to protect me. I had to join them of course, in exchange, but I didn’t mind. I thought I’d be at peace once I had my vengeance. I was wrong,” he says quietly. Prosciutto is quiet for a moment.

“Come on, let’s get ready to go.”

::::::::::::

It’s a cold night. Risotto is starting to regret volunteering to wait outside. His task is simple, watch the front door and shoot if the target tries to leave. He lives alone and the two guards have already been disposed of, so the job couldn’t be simpler. Risotto hopes the target really does try to run. It will make him feel like he had an actual purpose being here.

Even out here, Risotto can hear the scuffle inside. It’s a good thing they’re far from the city and there aren’t any neighbours nearby, but then again, does anyone living in Passione’s territory really still trust the police enough to call them?

After what feels like ages, the door falls open. Risotto aims his gun and prepares to seize his moment, only to find the stumbling target looks half-dead already as he collapses onto the porch. He fires a couple of shots anyway, just for good measure.

Prosciutto steps out. He kicks the body. Risotto starts to walk forward.

“No!” Prosciutto shouts. Risotto stops in his tracks. “Alright, you can come now,” Prosciutto permits him. Risotto steps forward uncertainly. “Apologies, my stand is indiscriminate so I can’t have you going near it. It’s gone now, so you’re safe. Come, come over here,” Prosciutto urges.

Risotto eyes the dead body in front of him. He is struck immediately by how old and shrivelled it seems- he could have sworn the politician was only in his early 60s.

“Is your stand… aging?” he asks.

“Well-guessed. It’s morbid, I know, but it does the job,” Prosciutto confirms. “You’re welcome to leave now. Cleaning up is a delicate process and it’s best I do it myself.”

“So this is it, I just go now?” Risotto says, a little disappointed.

“You have your money, don’t you? Now go, before someone drives by!” Prosciutto urges him. Risotto sulks away down the front path. “And Risotto?” he calls back. Risotto turns to listen to him. “I’ll be sure to give you a call if I ever need you again. You’ve impressed me, Risotto.”

The young man smiles. He nods in acknowledgement.

“Thank you, Prosciutto. I hope we can work again together soon.”

::::::::::::

It’s May, and Risotto is freshly 21. He finishes sweeping the floor of the kitchen and sits at the table, taking a sip of his coffee as he watches out the window. There’s a knock on the door.

“Hello?” Risotto says, opening it. The sight that greets him is a surprise- the familiar figure of Prosciutto Crepuscolo standing at his doorway.

“Apologies for the delay, I finally had an excuse to meet with you,” Prosciutto greets him. “May I come in?”

“By all means,” Risotto smiles. The two enter the apartment.

“You’re looking… better, Risotto,” Prosciutto notices. Risotto brushes his fingers through his hair.

“I wouldn’t say I’m doing well, but it’s a start,” he agrees. “So, what finally dragged you out here?”

“It’s possible I might have a position for you,” Prosciutto announces. Risotto perks up eagerly.

“Under you?”

“Over me,” Prosciutto corrects him.

“Now I’m intrigued.”

Prosciutto steeples his fingers and starts to explain.

“Passione is forming a new squad. Assassination, at long last. No more running around Naples for volunteers last minute. I’ve been chosen, no surprise, but I’ve made it very clear I refuse to be team leader. I have personal commitments. It wouldn’t be ideal. I’ve already got two others on the team with me, good men I’ve known for a while, but I’ve been told in no uncertain terms not to let either of them anywhere near positions of power. You on the other hand, my superiors are willing to consider.”

“I’m hardly qualified.”

“You’d be surprised how good an option you are. Being able to kill without a second thought is rare enough in itself, and on each of the few occasions your combat prowess has come into play, you’ve performed exceptionally. While it’s true you don’t have much experience as a leader, you’ve got all the hallmarks of someone who could be taught to be one. And you will be taught. I’ll be there to teach you.” Prosciutto assures him. He leans back in his seat. “There’s only one issue. We need to get you a stand.”

“I see. Can you get me put through for one?” Risotto asks.

“With your consent I can get you put through tomorrow. But I need you to be certain, Risotto, I need you to agree to lead us.”

Risotto takes a moment to think. He breathes deeply.

“I agree Prosciutto. I’ll do it.”

“Excellent. It’s time we got you out of this dump.”

Risotto wakes the next morning to knocking on the door of his new bedroom. He sits up and takes a moment to regard the room around him, his mind planning already how he’s going to make it look once it’s concretely his. Really though, he’s just glad to have a space to himself now.

“Risotto it’s time to get up,” Prosciutto calls impatiently.

“I’m awake,” Risotto answers him. “Give me one minute and I’ll be dressed.”

Risotto hurries into his clothes and exits the room. Prosciutto is waiting for him, leaned against the wall. He regards Risotto with a nod.

“We aren’t expected at any particular time, but I’d rather we go sooner than later. Best to get it out of the way.”

“I’d prefer that too,” Risotto agrees. “Let me finish getting ready and we’ll head out.”

Prosciutto follows Risotto downstairs into the large front room. Risotto can tell Passione intends to grow this team beyond its current meagre size, else they wouldn’t get a house this big. At least he can enjoy the privacy while it lasts.

Down in the sitting room, two men look up from their sofa. They are entangled in each other, arms splayed lovingly over each other’s shoulders with little care who sees them. The smaller blond shuffles from his partner’s lap. He crosses his legs and looks at Risotto with wicked eyes.

“And who might this be, Pros? Our first victim?” he asks. The dark-haired man beside him presses his knuckles to his lips in a poor attempt to hide his malicious smile.

“This is Risotto Nero,” Prosciutto corrects him. “Should all go to plan, our leader.”

“What a young face,” the dark-haired man remarks.

“And so… uniquely dressed,” his partner adds. They pass a wicked glint between them.

“Risotto, this is Sorbet, and his husband Gelato,” Prosciutto introduces them, pointing to each. “The two recruits I mentioned earlier.”

“Recruits?” Sorbet asks, a hint of offense in his voice.

“We’ve been in the game far longer than you have, Prosci,” Gelato agrees.

“You both know what I mean,” Prosciutto sighs. He leads Risotto to the door and the pair get up after them. “Where on earth are you going?” he asks.

“We thought we might go with you, to… see our new friend off,” Sorbet explains.

“Very well, but no dawdling,” Prosciutto agrees.

The four pile into Prosciutto’s spotless Ford, the man himself taken the driver’s seat as Risotto sits behind him. Sorbet and Gelato jump eagerly into the back, gripping the seats in front of them and holding their faces way too close to Risotto for comfort.

“Now, you remember what to do?” Prosciutto checks.

“Yes,” Risotto assures him.

“My advice would be to find a street with no wind and stay there. Occupy yourself mentally, but don’t walk around or you’ll be asking for trouble,” Prosciutto advises.

“Thank you, Prosciutto, I’ll remember that. Any hope of you telling me how I’ll actually get the stand?” Risotto vies.

“Sorry, no chance. Just believe me when I say I have faith in you.”

“Very well,” Risotto accepts. He chuckles quietly.

Prosciutto drives just a few more minutes before stopping at the gates of a prison. He regards Risotto’s surprise with a reassuring pat to the shoulder.

“The guards will let you in, don’t worry. Go now, we have faith.”

Risotto thanks him with a smile and steps from the vehicle. A hand tugs his wrist. He turns to see Gelato holding onto him.

“Prosciutto’s going to tell me off for saying this, but drop the lighter. It’s what you’re actually meant to do.”

Unsure of what to say, Risotto shakes him off and carries on towards the gates. He hears the conversation behind him.

“Gelato, what on earth are you doing?!” Prosciutto chides.

“Giving him a faster death.”

::::::::::::

Risotto pushes against the arrow with all his might as it digs into his chest. He lets out a grunt of exasperation as he battles for his life, adamant in the resolution that he refuses to die today. He begins to hear screaming, passive at first and then steadily louder. It isn’t him, but it’s coming from within him. The iron grate by his side begins to twist and contort.

::::::::::::

“So, do you think he’s dead yet?” Sorbet says humourlessly. He checks his nails while caressing Gelato’s head in his lap.

“He’s going to be fine. I really don’t know why you have so little faith in him,” Prosciutto admonishes him. The pair chuckle.

“He’s just another dumb fuck dragged in from the gutter. There’s no way he could possibly survive obtaining a stand,” Gelato maintains.

“I’d like to see you say that to his face when he gets home alive,” Prosciutto tuts.

The front door clicks, the lock giving way on its own accord. The door swings open and Risotto Nero steps through, a cascading wave of metal swirling around his torso at his command. He reaches his hand into the iron dust and a shining blade is molded from the air. He presents it to Prosciutto proudly.

“Will this be adequate, Prosciutto?”

The older man stifles a laugh and looks over to the stunned lovers on the opposite sofa.

“My friends, I think it’s time you gave your new leader the greeting he deserves.”

[local80smotel]

Tears and kisses

pairing; V x reader

summary; V & the reader's friendship started on him being injured and their relationship would start with that too.

requested by; @peachesandbb

rating; T

warnings; mention of blood (but never described)

word count; 2,663

A/N; I'm so sorry this took so long but I had a lot of fun with this! Thank you for requesting!

Y/N's lungs burned as they ran deeper into the alleyways of London, holding their heels in their hands. How were they supposed to know the creep they punched was a member of the Fingermen? Maybe wearing heels tonight was a bad idea but hey, no one thinks that they're going to be chased by madmen who were drunk with power at 8:30 pm. 'Shit' they thought, glancing at the street clocks '30 minutes untile curfew'. If they didn't get home soon that would just be another nail in the coffin for this English citizen.

The fleeing criminal didn't look back until they heard a loud, panic-filled scream followed with a thud. When they did, they were shocked by the scene in front– well behind them. There, taking out the Fingermen with such ease, was a pure black figure wearing a mask and an outdated hat. The hat or the mask wasn't the thing that confused Y/N, it was the fact this street vigilante was flinging these six-foot men like they were rag dolls. As embarrassing as it sounds, Y/N just stood there, stuck in some kind of awestruck daze until the ringing of a gun blast drew them out of it.

All they could cry out was a "No!" As they were still glued to the alley street. The masked figure only let out a pained grunt before taking out the shooter with one of his many knives. He stood there for a moment, their back only facing Y/N. They could tell even in the dark that this vigilante was seeing if the bullet was an exit wound or not.

“Hello?” they stepped closer to the caped hero “Are you hurt badly?”

Y/N's hero turned to them, obviously flustered as they tripped on their words as they tried to answer back.

“Uh-” He tried to bow but only winced in pain which stopped him from doing so “I would say so, but," he chuckled softly under his breath “as you can barely tell, I'm bleeding.”

Y/N rushed over to them ignoring common sense which yelled for them not to go to the man who had just taken out four men all by himself.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” they asked as they searched for the wound and see if there was an exit wound as well

“I know I haven't introduced you as I have to others, but could you be as kind as to let me into your home?” It was easy to tell the awkwardness and anxiousness in his voice. He shook his head before trying to continue his sentence, probably to backtrack and apologize but Y/N stopped them as they nodded before looking back at the street clock.

“We have sixteen minutes till curfew, we have to hurry. Can you run?”

The man nodded as he placed a hand on his wound before saying "Lead the way".

Luckily, it seemed that the secret police had vanished as they made way back to their apartment. They couldn't help but feel responsible for this poor civilian's injury. 'I could have outrun them. He didn't need to intervene like that.' They thought as they looked over at him. Now that they were closer to the street they should see where the wound truly was, his left shoulder. Y/N couldn't help but sigh in relief which rewarded them a confused head tilt from their guest. Hopefully, it hadn't hit any important nerves, muscle, or bone and they'd feel safe putting their hero on the street once a more.

Things between them things were quiet until they got to their apartment building's door. There, right on the porch of the brick establishment, he muttered a word as he was noticeably starting to get lightheaded due to blood loss.

“V...”

“V? Is that the name of the street you liv-”

“Name. That's my name.

All they could say was "oh" as they opened the door and started up the stairs. It was easy to tell he was getting grumpy as well. Who knew that was also a symptom of blood loss. When they both were greeted with their apartment door Y/N wasted no time opening said door and pulling this masked hero into it, making sure not to pull the injured side, and made a b-line to the bathroom. There, like most normal people they kept their medical supplies stored.

V stepped into the room first and before the host could follow he closed the door.

“Hey!” they yelled as they lightly slammed their hand into the bathroom door “What gives?”

“I- uh, please forgive me but I can take it from here!”

Y/N huffed as he spoke, feeling slightly insulted that they couldn't go into the bathroom they paid for. They were taken away from their irritated thoughts when V spoke again around three minutes later.

“Could you stay? Sit by the door I mean.”

“Why?” they shot back as they somewhat snapped. V waited for a moment before answering.

“Just... Nervous that's all.” His soothing British accent made the hair on Y/N's neck stand up “I can understand if you say no– I did lock you out of your own bathroom.”

“No! No, no it's okay.” They began to slide down the wall so they could sit. The quietness sneaked in as Y/N brought their knees to their chin. Small sounds like him hissing at the pain from rubbing alcohol and him rummaging for more supplies were the only things that broke said silence until he mumbled out four words;

“Would you help me...?”

The apartment's owner sighed as they got up, jittering the doorknob “Sure if you can unlock it.”

Again, it took him a few moments before a small click happened but they weren't annoyed or upset at the wait as they knew he was probably in more pain. When they opened the door they were greeted to V who now was shirtless with their back facing them. The wound wasn't the thing that caught Y/N's eye, but instead, it was the fact his body was so heavily burned. It made sense why he wanted to patch himself up now! They couldn't help but place their fingertips gently on his back which caused him the tense up.

“Need help wrapping the bandages?”

He nodded, still not looking at them which made it easier to tell that he was truly embarrassed.

Y/N looked closely at the wound, sighing in relief as it seemed that the bullet hadn't lodged itself inside any of the muscle and started wrapping the medical bandages, trying to make sure that it wasn't too tight. In an attempt to relax V they tried to make conversation about his burns. He was quick to say that he "didn't remember" how he got them which Y/N couldn't believe but dropped the subject and onto a new one; why he saved them.

“I watched you– just to make sure you got him safe– and I saw them. Harass you I mean.” he looked back at the bandage work, seemingly pleased with their work before talking once more “You threw a good punch though.”

Y/N couldn't help but blush at the compliment as they stood up “Thank you, V. Come back if you ever need help.”

When V left they couldn't help but feel that their apartment was, well, empty. That night as they laid in bed they secretly hoped he'd come back again and oh boy, would he do exactly that.

Almost three months into their budding friendship they were woken up in the middle of the night to pounding at their door. Fear washed over them like a wave as they opened the door, scared the police had come to take them away for some petty thing.

“Oh! V!” they smiled in relief along with joy as they got to see their good friend after waiting for almost one and a half months to see him again. “Come in!” they moved out of the doorframe, still smiling like a goof until they looked at the floor. Blood. Once again their dear friend had gotten himself hurt. Their heart sank as they looked back at him who was already in the bathroom except for this time he didn't lock the door like he did the first time he came here.

“Really V? This is the third time in a year,” they said with concern in their voice as they walked in the bathroom, undressing him to see the wound which turned out to be a stab wound in his upper abdomen. Luckily it didn't hit anything vital.

“Maybe you just get yourself hurt to see me..” they mumbled as they pressed a cold washcloth on him. Sure they said it was a joke but somewhere, deep down inside them, they wished it was true. V grunted as a response once rubbing alcohol was introduced to the stab injury, turning their head away from them before actually speaking.

“Come with me. Back to my place.”

Y/N turned red when they finally processed his words. Why? How? Where does he even live? Truly they wanted to say "yes" right then and there but they just couldn't.

What about their apartment? Their plants and mail? Sure, they didn't have anything important in their home like a pet but still, moving (especially when they've never seen the place) is both scary and draining.

“Why? V you know you're always welcomed in my home.”

He took Y/N hand's and placed it on his face so his "cheek" was cupped before answering their question

“One day Y/N they'll follow me back here and because you're helping me, ” he coughed “they'll take you away too. I want to make sure you're completely safe. You're important to me.”

Y/N's ears felt hot once V was done talking. They thought for a moment as they inspected the wound to see if it needed stitches. Maybe he was right and living with him would be a good idea. Hell even it wasn't like he only came to their place for safety as well as they couldn't count how many times they opened their door just to see items like water bottles or bags of fresh bread (with a V drawn on them of course) and due to that, it was clear that he did care for them.

Y/N sighed as they locked eyes with V “Ill go with you, V. Let me pack up first.”

They could tell he was happy as he rubbed his face a bit deeper into their hand.

A few hours later at one AM the two of them hurried out of the building, carrying a few duffle bags as they did so. Y/N as they walked couldn't help but glance down at the man's hands as he carried both bags.

“I can carry them V...”

“Nonsense! I'm just doing what a gentleman would do.”

They couldn't help but roll their eyes at this. For being an absolute tank he still tried to act all soft, guess that was another reason they liked them.

As they walked they teased one another, trying not to laugh so they wouldn't alert the police as they were very much out against curfew. That night Y/N learned that V loved stars which just added on to the cuteness factor of him.

“What is this?” they asked in confusion once they stopped in front of Victorian Station “V this place has been abandoned for years.”

“Exactly my comrade!” He smiled as he placed the bags on the sidewalk and opened the doors to Y/N's surprise “A secret treasure I like to call it, now come along you're probably exhausted.”

The two descended into the dark depths which V seemed to be used to. Y/N finally got to carry a bag but it was only so V could use his free hand to guide them in the dark as he had a hand on their shoulder.

As the door opened they were shocked to see the inside completely decorated. It was easy to see V was a big art nerd as classic paintings hung from the ceiling and loved literature once they saw their new room as books were piled all the way to the ceiling.

“I'm sorry if it isn't to your liking.” He said as he placed down the bag in his hand

“No no, it's amazing. Thank you, V.”

Before he left the room Y/N placed a kiss on the metal mask's cheek. V didn't stop to ask why but merely turned his head to look at Y/N who was busy unpacking their clothes now.

For the next two years, V came home with no injuries to Y/N's happiness. It was easy when it came to them bonded as V showed them his favorite movies and how to cook. Their relationship also deepened when the talk of politics came up. Sure, it was slightly concerning for them how V loved the idea of anarchy. But one thing was for certain; they both hated Sutler with a burning passion. Nothing outright romantic happened between them, BUT the night that marked their two years of friendship while having a movie marathon, Y/N laid their head somewhat near his shoulder as they began to fall asleep. V, even though he felt slightly awkward due to this situation, played with the tips of their friend's hair until the movie ended. He didn't move them back to their room, instead, to make sure V didn't wake Y/N, laid their head on a pillow and gave them a blanket before leaving the gallery. Like two years ago Y/N was startled wake around four AM to V slamming the door shut while grunting and mumbling to himself.

“V?” their voice was almost a whisper as they got up slowly and followed him

“Ah Y/N, I'm sorry for waking you.” he turned to them as he held his left side. It was easy to tell that he was nervous. When they finally got to see what was wrong their blood felt like it was being boiled. He had gotten himself hurt again! There was no blood but it was easy to tell he had broken something. He was always being reckless, didn't he know they cared for him? It just wasn't fair!

“Do I not matter to you?!” they snapped as tears threatened to fail as they grabbed the home's first aid.

“You haven't done this in so long V! Why now? Have I done something wrong? V–”

Before the could finish their rant V slammed his "lips" unto Y/N's whose eyes widen. They felt frozen for a few seconds until they wrapped their arms around them, running their fingers through his hair as they closed their eyes. To Y/N's sadness, they couldn't deepen the kiss due to his mask so holding him close was all they could do but it made them just as happy. When the two broke the kiss Y/N laid their head in the crook of his neck as they stayed silent for a few moments before they broke the silence.

“Can I say something?”

“Of course love.”

“I love you...” They held V's hand as they spoke in a whisper “I have for a while.”

V moved their head out of his crook and lifted their chin to look them in his eye before kissing them on the forehead

“And so have I.”