#this is directed at my landlord who slams the door like five times in the mornings

[katierosefun]

people who slam doors what is wrong with you

[fruitcoops]

hi eve! i was wondering if you would be interested in writing a coops shower fic, nothing smutty, just really soft and sensual and maybe comforting. i’m going through a tough time right now and your writing always cheers me up. thanks <3

Yes! This was combined with an ask for Coops' first day/ night living together--I hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for showering together (nothing smutty, just fluff)

They tumbled through the front door in a mess of laughter and rainwater—Remus’ soaked sneakers slipped on the floor and he skidded into Sirius, who was still blinded by the damp hair hanging in his eyes. “Shit!” Remus spluttered around his breathless grin as they struggled to keep their balance. “Baby, baby, grab the door—”

The front door slammed shut and steadied them just as another bolt of lightning cracked overhead; they stood in the entrance, panting and drenched, before Sirius’ chest began to shake beneath Remus’ cheek once more. “Mon dieu,” he snickered, leaning his head back against the heavy wood. “Which god did we piss off?”

“I’m taking this as a good sign.” Remus shivered as he shook his raincoat out on the welcome mat. “A fresh start, and all that symbolism.”

“Okay, college boy.”

He peeled one wet sock off and snapped it at Sirius’ hip, but the extra water weight made him miss by a mile and Sirius just shot him a teasing grin while he wriggled out of his tshirt. “I told you to bring a jacket,” Remus said wryly as his head got stuck. “But oh no, sweetheart, it’s totally not going to rain today. The weatherman is always wrong, it’s been sunny all week—”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius grumbled from the depths of wet fabric, waving one hand in his general direction. “You’re very smart.”

“Do you want first shower?”

Sirius’ cheeks were pink when he finally freed himself, both from his efforts and their mad five-block dash home. His brows furrowed in confusion. “Aren’t we showering together?”

Remus shrugged. “Hey, it’s your house.”

“Our house,” he corrected, taking the hem of Remus’ shirt and helping him pull it over his head.

A little flurry of joy ran through Remus’ gut at his words; goosebumps broke out over his freezing skin, and he could feel a dopey smile spread over his face. Ours. Most of his stuff had been living at Sirius’ for a couple days, but he had only brought the last of it over and dropped his key off with his landlord that morning. The last six hours had been filled with delirious happiness every time he remembered. “Then lead the way, captain.”

Sirius kissed his chilly nose and took him by the hand—both their palms were clammy and half-numb from the rain, and Remus didn’t care one bit. Stripping down was significantly more difficult when every article of clothing seemed dead-set on becoming a second skin, but after a handful of minor mishaps and more than one muffled curse, they were finally standing under warm water.

Remus closed his eyes with a sigh, letting the steam wrap around every inch of him. His apartment may have been comfortable, but it was severely lacking in water pressure and heat compared to Sirius’ house.

Our house.

He hummed to himself and stepped back until his shoulder blades were pressed to Sirius’ chest; there was a low laugh, then callused fingers running through his hair. “What are you thinking about?”

“Our house,” he answered, turning to stand on his toes and place a kiss to Sirius’ lips. It was chaste and unhurried; there was no time constraint on how long they could spend there. Remus didn’t have to worry about getting home too late, or whether he had brought enough stuff to stay the night. Everything he wanted was within reach.

Sirius smiled against his lips and draped his arms over Remus’ shoulders, tugging playfully on the wet curls at the base of his neck. “Good thoughts?”

“Always,” he said immediately. “This is…it’s so good, Sirius. So good. I am so happy.”

Their next kiss was deeper, but there was no real heat behind it, even as Remus curled his hands around the sharp peaks of Sirius’ hips. “I love you,” Sirius murmured when they pulled back for air. He bumped their noses together. “And I can’t wait to have you here all the time.”

“You don’t have to wait at all.”

His grin widened and he kissed Remus again. “I know.”

Remus nuzzled into the side of his neck and relaxed into the soapy slide of Sirius’ hand down his spine. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until the hot water started pouring over him, and sudden sleepiness trickled into the edges of his thoughts like rain through a gutter. The steam turned minty fresh as Sirius washed the expanse of his shoulders, then his neck, then all the way down each arm; he dropped a teasing pinch to Remus’ ass, but moved right back up to rub his thumb in the crook of one elbow.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” he asked quietly against Remus’ temple.

“Mmm, please,” was all Remus could muster in response.

He had never really understood the hype about physical affection before he met Sirius. Sure, hugs from his parents and Jules were amazing, and fist bumps from the guys always made him feel included, but the gravitational pull Sirius had was like nothing he had ever felt. It was impossible to be uncomfortable if Remus was within five feet of him—impossible to feel unsafe when he fit so neatly in the dip of one shoulder.

“Love you,” he said around a slow exhale as Sirius began combing the conditioner through his hair. It was almost long enough to flop into his eyes, something that seemed to delight Sirius any time he saw it.

Warm lips brushed the shell of his ear for a moment. “You smell like la lavande.”

“Lavender?” Sirius hummed his approval and Remus raised his head just enough to kiss the water off his collarbone. “Do you like it?”

“Love it.” Sirius glanced down at him with a sideways smile, making one dimple pop. “Love you. Where did you get this?”

“Walgreens.”

That startled a laugh from him, which set Remus off as well. “Walgreens? Really?”

“I ran out one day at, like, midnight and it was the closest place. It smelled nice, so I just kept on buying it.”

Sirius shook his head with the same awed look on his face. “The secret to illegally soft hair is Walgreens conditioner. Amazing. My hair would riot.”

Remus frowned. “Your hair looks incredible even after you swim in salt water all day.”

“And then it tangles, and frizzes, and—” He paused. “Comment dit-on une colère? Like a toddler?”

“A tantrum?”

“Ouais.” Remus tilted his chin back obediently to let him wash the conditioner out. “It throws a tantrum. See, this is why I need you around all the time.”

“I have never seen your hair throw a tantrum before.” Sirius’ cheeks flushed and he bit his lip around a smile; Remus poked him lightly in the chest. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s an awfully big smile for nothing.”

His silver eyes shone as he placed yet another gentle kiss to Remus’ lips through the water running down both their faces. “You get to see it all the time now. No more going back to your apartment after we go places.”

“You’ll be subjected to my bedhead every morning,” Remus teased, resting their foreheads together as he reached for the soap.

“I love your bedhead.”

“I’m counting on it.” He took the bar of soap and ran it along the planes of Sirius’ chest, then around his back to trace every muscle. He could feel Sirius’ gaze on him with each movement and warmed from the inside out at the attention. Every bit of rainy cold that had snuck under his skin vanished in the minutes of comfortable quiet.

Thunder rolled through the sky when they finally turned the shower off and wrapped up in Sirius’ fluffiest towels—Remus’ own were significantly less fancy, but they remained in the linen closet on equal standing. It was silent things like that that made him love Sirius just a little bit more.

“Wait, wait, hang on,” he said as Sirius started pulling his sweatpants on.

“Hey!” Sirius protested when Remus took both the pants and his soft tshirt right out of his hands, winding the towel back around his waist with an awkward hop. “I’m going to get cold!”

“Five minutes!” Remus called over his shoulder as he hurried down the stairs with their clothes. “I promise it’s worth it!”

It would be a drizzly night; grand plans of takeout and a movie ran through his head and he did a small happy dance in the laundry room as he tossed their clothes in the dryer. His dryer. Their dryer. “Mine,” he murmured, running a hand over the top of the machine. It was a wild thought, and one he would have to get used to. He still instinctively checked the clock from time to time before remembering that he would be staying for—

Forever.

The thought came before Remus could really process it and he leaned against the dryer with an unsteady breath. It was only his first real day in the house, and already he was thinking about…that. About staying forever. It wasn’t as scary as he had imagined.

“Mon loup?” Sirius peeked around the doorjamb in confusion, still fiddling with the tucked side of his towel. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a trick that I learned from my mom,” Remus said rather than getting into the specific train of thought that probably left him looking like he had been whacked with a frying pan. “Do you want to do takeout for dinner?”

“I…kind of wanted to get dressed.”

Remus patted his hip as he passed. “Five minutes, baby. Where should we eat?”

“You pick.”

--

Forty minutes later, Remus found himself tucked under the blanket his mother had given him when he went away for college with his boyfriend and a box of takeout Thai food. Their clothes were still warm from the dryer—he would never forget the pure bliss on Sirius’ face when he got dressed and was instantly cocooned in heat—and Sirius’ hair was still half-damp from their shower, curling in little wings over his ears. It felt like worlds colliding. Somehow, Remus was just fine with that.

“Hey,” he said quietly as the exposition continued on screen. Sirius glanced over with his fork halfway to his mouth. “This is perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looked around the living room—their living room—that had seemed so empty the first time he saw it. They could put pictures on the wall by the back door, and one box of his books still laid unopened by the shelves. He could bring out his grandmother’s quilt in the winter. A month from then, two months, ten months. “I’m happy here.”

Sirius’ breath caught for a moment before a hoodie-clad arm slid between Remus’ back and the couch and guided him over to rest his head on Sirius’ chest. His lips were slightly spicy from the curry when he kissed him. “I’m happy when you’re here,” Sirius said, hardly above a whisper. “I miss you when you’re not.”

Remus breathed in the smell of his—their—laundry detergent and felt his heart give a hard thump. “You don’t have to miss me anymore.”

“C’mere.” There was a shuffle as Sirius set both their food boxes on the coffee table and paused the movie, then shifted around so Remus was laying on his chest. He pulled the blanket all the way up to their shoulders and slipped one warm hand up Remus’ shirt to rest on the small of his back; his eyes were bright in the semi-darkness. “Stay with me.”

Remus didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

[1987vampire]

A Good Something? | Judd Birch

Fandom: Big Mouth Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: a hurt racoon, the f slur, just a lot of cussing.  Request: None! A/N: This isn’t established Judd x reader, this is meeting him for the first time so if I write more fics for him, I have something I can refer y’all back to :) If y’all want to see more Judd, an ACTUAL judd x reader, I can give y’all that ALSO the reader has dyed hair in this - not blue - it’s not super important but there’s a line in here that references it.  Extra: 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” your words were stressed as you slammed on the breaks. The rain made it hard to see; it wasn’t your fault that the animal had run into the middle of the road. You weren’t even going that fast, they should have been able to hear you.

You flung your door open harsher than you meant to, but you had to move quickly in case someone came speeding down the road, and you ended up bleeding out right next to whatever you had hit. The road was slick underneath your feet. You almost slipped and fell as you skidded to a stop in front of them. It was a racoon, a fat one at that, and it was staring up at you with big doe eyes. His leg was twisted, and he was letting out small grunts of pain.

“Oh, I’m sorry, little buddy,” You cried. “Can I pick you up? I’ll find somewhere to take care of you, I promise.” You hadn’t really expected an answer- it was an animal after all – but he nodded up at you, reaching his little paws out in hopes that you would help. You paused for a moment, taking in the situation and trying to figure out how to pick him up without hurting him.

You reached an arm under his butt and the other under his neck so you wouldn’t jostle his leg too much. He made little chirping sounds as you steadily walked over to your car, using your head as a shield so he wouldn’t get rain in his eyes. You let out a quiet stream of ‘I’m sorry’s as you did so. You made it into your car just in time to close the door as someone sped down, narrowly missing you as they went.

The little racoon shivered in the passenger seat, but you covered him in blankets and spare clothes you kept in the back, turning the heat in your car on high, trying to dry him and heat him up at the same time. He stared up at you thankfully as you put the car in gear, driving home even slower than before, never going over twenty-five-miles-an-hour.

Once you had reached your apartment, you had to sneak him in in hopes that your shitty landlord wouldn’t notice. He had a strict no animals policy, but this was a bit more important. Fortunately, you could sneak past his office by telling the raccoon to be quiet, since he seemed to be good at listening to directions somehow, and hiding him underneath the pile of clothes, passing him off as laundry.

Finally, inside the comforts of your apartment, you laid him down on the couch and set to researching what to do. After a few calls to a few vet offices and a lot of google searches, you were able to give him a makeshift cast and lay him in a way that would be best for his recovery. He was still talking in his little racoon language as you went. It really looked like he was trying to tell you something, but unfortunately, you were human and could not understand him.

That was until he held your hand in his little paws and pulled them to his neck. How had you not noticed the skinny collar he was wearing? His thick fur had almost completely covered it. Really, it wasn’t even a collar but a thick piece of cord with a circle nameplate in the middle.

You fiddled with it, reading the information attached. ‘Contact Judd. 555-4200’ was engraved onto it in someone’s personal handwriting instead of with a machine. “You know it’s illegal for someone to own a racoon around here, right,” you told him. The racoon made a noise of disapproval and fiddled with the collar again. “Do you want me to take it off?” He hissed in displeasure, making you stop abruptly. “Call him?” He nodded enthusiastically. “You’re a strange little guy, you know that, right?”

You pulled out your phone and dialed the number, tapping your foot against the floor anxiously. It took a few rings, and you were sure he wouldn’t pick up, when a deep voice answered the phone.

“Do you know what fucking time it is, right now?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned towards the first clock you could find—three o’clock in the morning. “I- I’m sorry. I can call back in the morning if you want. I just have this racoon with me, and his ankle is twisted because I accidentally hit him, and he had your number on his neck, and I- I-“

“Racoon?” His voice cut you off, and you could tell that he was waking up at the information. “You hit one of my fucking racoons?”

“He ran out into the middle of the road when I was driving. It was raining, so I could barely see, and I couldn’t swerve to miss him because there was a car on one side of the road and trees on the other. I wrapped his leg, and he’s resting, but he wanted me to call you, so here we are.”

He let out a few grumbles, and my fingers instinctively rose to my face so I could bite at my nails. “Fucking hell. Why was he in the middle of the road?” It was a rhetorical question, but you had almost wanted to respond even though you didn’t have an answer. “Does he have any distinctive marks on him? A missing toe, clipped ear, maybe he has uneven stripes.” Your eyes fell on the racoon again. He looked pretty normal besides the leg.

Almost like he knew what you were talking about, the racoon pulled one of his hands up to his forehead. After you pushed some of his fur to the side, you knew what he was pointing at. “He’s showing me that he has a scar on his forehead - like he split his forehead or something.”

“Of course it’s fucking Gerard – the fat fuck.”

You frowned at the statement. “He’s not that fat.”

“I mean the sentence in the most loving hatred filled way I can mean it. He knows I don’t mean it. Can you give the phone to him?”

This was the weirdest fucking situation you had ever been in. “Oh yeah, I guess.” you placed the phone in the racoon’s hand, and he made a chirp as a hello. You could hear Judd’s voice lowly in the speaker as he talked to him, the racoon making noises of acknowledgement as he went. You could make out very little besides him asking if you were taking care of him and then berating him for being stupid. The racoon – well, Gerard – kept trying to talk to him, but Judd refused to let up, barely giving him a moment to speak even if he did understand him.

After a few minutes, Gerard pushed the phone towards me, and I took it back. “So, what do you want me to do with him. Like, I can take him to yours, since I guess he belongs to you, or-“

“Fuck off. What are you – the feds? Give me your address, I’m not letting you see my shit.”

“Well, usually people ask me on a date before seeing my place, but-“ the words had slipped from my mouth before I thought about what I was saying, and my eyes immediately widened with embarrassment. “Oh my god- I’m sorry-“

He laughed loudly and pulled the phone away from his ear. “Well, we can think about that after I get the fat fucking faggot in your house.”

Your arms crossed. “You better part of that community if you’re using their slurs, fuckface.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mused. “Give me your address. I’m getting in my car.”

After giving him the information, you hung up, itching at your arm as you stared at Gerard. “He isn’t very nice, huh,” you told him. He chirped and shook his head as if defending him. “Is he really mean or is it a front?” He chirped at the second part, and I smiled. “Well, he’ll be here soon.”

And soon it was. It only took him about ten minutes before you heard a loud knocking on your door, banging more like. You jumped from sitting beside Gerard to the door, peeking out into the dark hallway, the latch still connected. “Judd?”

On the other side of the door was a decently tall man with black and blue hair, his sides shaved til it was only stubble. He was clad in a gray hoodie and black jeans, gray converse on his feet. His face was set in a glare as he stared at you. “Who the fuck else would it be?”

You shut the door and unlatched it, opening it wider so he could come in. “You knock like my landlord.”

“Landlord?” He pushed into your apartment, his sights set on the racoon lounging on your cheap couch. “You don’t look old enough to have a landlord.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m nineteen. This is my apartment.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder. “And you let some strange man in? Pretty stupid if you ask me.”

You frowned and pursed your lips. “I can kick you out- keep your racoon if you don’t start acting nice.”

“You could definitely try.” He picked up Gerard’s leg, inspecting it. “You did a good job with this. Almost as good as my work.”

“He was a good patient.”

Judd scoffed, sticking his hands underneath Gerard to pick him up just as you had earlier that night. “He was probably just basking in a pretty girl’s attention.”

Pretty? A smile was climbing onto your face. He was pretty, too, if he didn’t have such a sour attitude.

His eyes fell onto yours as he turned. “I like your hair by the way. The color suits you.” You ran your hand through your dyed hair, suddenly very conscious of how you looked. “You should try blue next time.” Gerard made a loud noise in his arms and reached out to you. Judd frowned down at him. “You had your fun, dumbass, but you’ve got to go home now. I’m sure the others are worried about you.”

“Others?”

Judd looked back at you. “Yeah, I was – uh – training a battalion of racoons to kill my younger brother.” He groaned quietly. “Now they’re good for catering and attacking intruders, but they refused to hurt him. Got a few scars because of it.”

You chuckled quietly and shook your head. “You sure are something, alright.”

His lips upturned the slightest bit into a tiny smile. “Is that a good something?”

“Sure, we can say that.”

You opened the door for him as he started taking strides towards it. He paused right past the entryway, something sitting on his tongue. “Try not to hit any more racoons, alright?”

Your fingers drummed along the door, and you laughed. “I’ll be sure to call you if I do. Just in case.”

He was already walking away when he responded. “You have my number.”

You hesitated on shutting the door right away, choosing to listen to him begin to berate the racoon as he walked down the hall, something along the lines of, ‘you make me come out in the middle of the night, scared shitless. You could have died, you fucking cunt.” He continued as he disappeared out of sight, but you didn’t even have the heart to ask him to cover the racoon as he left, preferring to just deal with your landlords berating the next day.

[harveywritings92]

BNHA scenario: you sleepwalk/sleep talk.

Summary: You have a tendency to talk or walk in your sleep, it never really bothered your boyfriend, if you wandered off in your sleep he'd just follow you to make you don't get harmed and take you back to bed, or if you talk in your he'd humor you as he found it hilarious! but tonight was different... this night you seemed to channeled something paranormal and it scares you boyfriend shitless.  

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Shigaraki: It was around three am when Shigaraki was woken up by you sitting up in bed, he sighed tiredly assuming you were gonna stand up and walk around for couple minutes then wander back to bed, or you were gonna leave the room and he'll have to go make sure you don't hurt yourself and bring you back himself. After five minutes of you not moving Tomura turned around to look at you...

And was very confused you were obviously still asleep, but you were kind of glaring at something? Shigaraki curiously looked over his shoulder and surveyed his dark bedroom confused at what could be holding your attention and was more so stumped when you slowly lifted up your hand and pointed at the large antique mirror, he had set up near his computer; with this almost frustrated expression. "He won't stop starring..." you deadpanned causing your boyfriend to jump from you suddenly talking... 

"W-who won't stop starring?"

"Him, the man in the mirror!

"There's no one in the mirror, y/n"

"The man with no face he's right there...."

You huffed annoyed before laying back down, while Tomura was sitting there looking between you and the mirror shitting brinks! *Wake the fuck up! you think you can just go back to sleep and just leave me on edge like this!* He mentally hissed the froze when he heard a weird scrapping noise coming from the mirror's direction, his red eyes slowly turned to look at the mirror and nearly pissed himself when he saw it the mirror was swaying on the wall right to left, only to stop he made a move like he was gonna get up and check.

"Oh fuck to the no..."  he hissed before laying back down hugging you close, Shigaraki nearly smothered you to death with how tight he was holding onto you! 

The next day you were confused when you came back to the base to find what looked like a box of glitter and rotten woodchips in the dumpster out back, you went to Shigaraki's room and found the mirror gone! in it's place was a random poster and a shelf filled with video-games, comic books and random liquor bottles, Also you noticed that Shigaraki seemed to be avoiding playing any horror videogames involving ghosts for a while; opting instead to play Animal crossing or Pokémon.

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{Note: Ayane is the default name for the Dabi's daughter reader in the dad scenarios]

Dabi: He was coming in late from a mission, he sat down on his bed taking his boots off and nearly shat himself when he saw a figure standing up in the corner of the room, he quickly turned the lights on to find you just standing there staring dead ahead, he let sigh expecting you to burst out laughing any second now. "Y/n you scared the crap out o-..." You weren't reacting. "Y/n? Fairy?"  he stood up and waved his hand in front of your face and noticed your steady breathing, and realized you were sleeping... 

Dabi was going to grab your hand when you caused him to jump back, your eyes snapped up to look at him then pointed at the hallway, just in time for Dabi hear giggling and saw what he though was his 2 year old daughter running passed the door. "Ayane?" he called out as he sat you down on the bed and went to get the kid before she hurt herself. "Firefly what are you doing out of-...what the hell?" Dabi trailed off when he saw Ayane peeking out from behind a door, a door that was deadbolted shut, there was no possible way for her to reach the locks let alone open it!  

Before Dabi could take another step despite his instinct screaming at him not to, a faint voice whispered in his ear "You not supposed to follow when they call..." Dabi cussed and turned around to see you standing behind him still sleep walking! then you both heard the door "Ayane" was hiding behind slam shut then lock! Scaring the crap out of your husband and waking you and your daughter up, who started crying for you both as she could. "Touya? why am I in the hall-..." You husband didn't answer he just rushed to Ayane's room like bat out of hell!

"Put your shoes and coat on! we're getting the hell outta here!" he hissed at you while carrying Ayane, you did as you were told but kept asking what was going on? "Now!" he barked making you jump from shock, you've never seen him this shaken up before! "I knew this house was too cheap for a reason!" he growled as he strapped your daughter into her car seat, He told you what happened in the car after driving to a gas station a few blocks away, needless to say the three of you spent the night in a roadside motel and the next morning Dabi was looking for the landlord and some priests! 

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Izuku: He was woken up by the feeling of being stared at... Izuku woke up and rolled over to see a woman standing over him! He yelped nearly pissed himself before he realized it was you! "Y/n? why are..." his eyes adjusted and he saw the glazed over look in your eyes and realized you were asleep! "What did you have another nightmare again?" he asked getting up holding his hand out to you, but you didn't budge... 

His brows furrowed before deciding to try to take you back to your room and got up and went get the door but was shocked to it locked! but if he locked his door then how did you..." Izuku felt his blood go cold as he turned around ready for a fight! only to find...Nothing?  but no... Your were just here! he saw you! hell, he felt his hand brush against yours when he got up! he checked his closet, under his bed under his desk, you really weren't there! 

Izuku was rightly freaking out as he left his room and went to your room; He started knocking on your door as quietly as possible and waited a few seconds, before he heard you shuffling around as you opened the door rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "Izuku?...that's trippy." You yawned as your boyfriend looked at you confused. "w-what do you mean?" he stammered you were looking mighty creeped out!

"I just had a dream I was in your room and you were staring at me not saying anything, not matter how many times I called your name."

"*goes white as a sheet* h-huh.."

"What? what I say?"

"You...what- I just coming over here to tell you I saw the same thing! Except you were one staring! what the crap?!"

You both started freaking out about the whole situation, before Mr. Aizawa found you both out after curfew; giving you a real reason to be scared!

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Hawks: Hawks was up late finishing up reports when he saw his phone light up, Keigo checked and saw it was a photo of you sleeping... he hummed not really thinking about it, assuming you sent it sleepwalking, it wouldn't be the first time this occurred... and he was going to keep working when the blond froze. *if you were sleeping, who the hell took that photo?!* Something was wrong!? Keigo rushed out of his office and made it to your house out of breath.

Landing in your backyard he approached the back door he saw you cat Mr. Pants sitting outside refusing to go inside even when he saw Keigo, he very carefully opened the backdoor door and was about to hit the lights, when something in his head told him that was bad idea! that's when the smell hit him...Gas! the winged man cussed under his breath and made his way to your room, finding you passed out on the bed, phone resting on the nightstand, he grabbed you and ran out of the house; without even checking to see if someone else was there!

He laid you out on ground outside checking to see if you were breathing... to his relief you were! but barely! Keigo called the fire department and ambulance, while he feathers opened some of the windows in your house to air it out! the fire department determined that the cause for the gas leak was your new stove, one of the hoses wasn't properly installed.

Keigo asked if anyone else was in the house? The firemen looked at each other befuddled. "Sir, Your lady friend there was the only one in the house." the blonds brows furrowed as he looked down at his phone to look at the photo only to find it gone! in fact there was no history of you ever contacting him! Hawks thought he was going insane!

The next morning when he went to the hospital to check on you, he told you about the photo and asked who was at your house. "No one, It was just me and Mr. Pants!" you insisted but then remembered something. "Y-yeah I had a freaky dream, I thought I was sleepwalking around the house, but when I got to my room I saw myself passed out on my bed! I thought it was soo weird I grabbed my phone and...took...a" Hawks finished your sentence. " A picture." Both of you were pretty shaken up by this whole situation and decided not to say anything about it, unless someone brings up the topic of "creepiest thing that ever happened to you?" and the ghost selfie is your go to story!

[interstellargatorskinboots1812]

Tapped Into Your Mind & Soul Chapter 5

WARNINGS: It’s an Alfie fic, so obviously SWEARING.

As always, i am a complete comment whore so PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE drop me a line to let me know what you think of the story so far.

All Things are Subject to Decay and Change

Alfie's red Bentley barges it's way through London- a city of vibrant smog which is helping Arabella feel at ease.  There is plenty of beauty to her in the soot-hazed stone of the passing buildings and even the Londoners who hunch by with sour faces and their misery reflected in the colour of the sky.

She is glad of the car's padded seats which absorb each of his sharp turns and brutal stops.

'It's like a circus round here', she comments with optimism, pushing her head further out of the window. Miles upon miles littered with curiosities - street artists providing depictions of escape on the cold pavement, costermongers shouting their trade and yards of train advertisements pasted onto lampposts in every colour. Alluring as the sound of jazz and the sight of the Charleston might be, London shrouds itself in so much more potential for her than flappers and frivolity. His irked voice snaps her from her thoughts.

'It's fuckin' 'orrible, too many animals in this circus'.

His knuckles are white from his grip on the wheel, intense focus directed to the trams and wagons weaving ahead of them. The car agitates over the metal tramlines, as a brown Hovis truck cuts in front of the car, coercing Alfie to slam on the breaks.

'Oh fucking hell!'. His tone is booming as  he reaches into his pocket , pulling out a pistol to aim at the offending driver. Arabella's mouth slowly drops open, capturing his arm and pulling the gun under the dashboard, obscuring it from view. With narrow eyes she quickly looks around to scan the area.

'Have you lost your mind, Alfie?'

'Treacle, these idiots, they only understand one language.'

'Well, lets not have you arrested on my first night in London, eh?'

A small grunt emits from his throat. He yanks his hand easily from her grip and stashes his gun back into his coat pocket.

'Suit yourself,' he grumbles. The car has been overtook now on more than one occasion, another headache to add to his list. Still, best not to piss her off on her first night  and so he turns his eyes back to the road ahead and daydreams of shooting the bollocks off the Hovis driver.

Twisting an unstrung strand of hair repetitively around her finger, she can't help but think about where they are going. It's going to be her new home for the foreseeable future and given the volatile looking environment of his work place, Arabella isn't holding out hope.

Moments later, the noise level begins to filter away as if they have turned down a road that is miles from any civilisation. Thriving with colourful flora within well tended gardens, regency era town houses stand majestically at three stories and with the fanciest of facades. A short and  stoutly older woman canters down the pavement, before turning right into one of the houses and desperately trying to manipulate two heavy shopping bags in order to open her gate. Alfie slows the car down to a stop and beeps his horn, making the poor woman almost jump to the moon, she briskly turns around.

'Oh, vey Alfie! Are you trying to bring me closer to God?' Alfie opens the car door and takes the bags from her hands, opening her cast iron gate with ease.

'What did I tell you Mrs Goldman, mhm? No lifting and carrying these heavy bags, eh? Ishmael can take you to the market and bring you back.'

'Ah Alfie that poor lad does everything, I don't need him helping me as well. I ask God not for a lighter burden but for broader shoulders'. She simpers at him with a twinkle behind her brown eyes that Arabella did not observe before the lady spoke with Alfie.

'Worryin' about you yeh, will be the death of me! Now, tell me that landlord of yours 'as sorted that broken light fixture?'

'He's getting round to it'.

'So, that'll be a no then?' Alfie furrows his brow, making it crease with line after line and tilts his head to the side. 'You need me to have a word with him?'

Mrs Goldman chuckles earnestly before pinching his cheek between her thumb and forefinger.

'Don't be a Schmuck Alfie, the last time you did that my rent went up to pay for his hospital bill. Now, who is this beauty you're sharing your car with hmm?'' Looking around Alfie's broad shoulders, her gaze falls on Arabella who feels rather sheepish under her matriarch stare. Sighing, he pinches the tension from the bridge of his nose. The last thing he needs is for Mrs Goldman to start shooting her mouth off at her knitting circle and have the whole of the Jewish community gossiping before he has had time to formulate how he can position Arabella into his life.

'It should be fuckin' noted right, that nothing gets past you'.

Catching Alfie unawares, she uses her now free hand to provide a sharp whack to the back of his head, making his eyes scrunch. Arabella's eyebrows curve upwards as she swallows down the urge to laugh.

'This is Arabella Shelby, the sister of one of my close business associates. She's going to be staying with me until she gets settled in London'.

So, that's how he plans to play this. Arabella exits the car.

'Nice to meet you Mrs. . . erm...'

'Goldman, dear'. She shakes Arabella's hand, her light touch and weak grip showing just how delicate she is. Alfie was right, she shouldn't have been carrying those bags.

'Please accept my apologies for Mr Solomons lack of manners, I assure you dear, he does possess them somewhere'. She sends her a wink.

'I'll let you know when the search party I've sent out, actually find them.'

This tickles the grey haired lady who stomps her foot letting out a huge guffaw and patting Arabella on the arm.

'I like her Alfie, she is sharp of tongue as well as looks'. She flashes him a knowing smile, one that makes him shift from foot to foot. Much as he likes Mrs Goldman, he can muster no interest in her insinuating words.

'Right, well as much as I'd like to stand here as if i'm fuckin' not and be insulted, we have to get going. Miss Shelby here 'as 'ad a rather eventful day so, goodbye Mrs Goldman'.

She throws a harried glance at Alfie before returning a polite smile at Arabella.

'Now my dear, just you remember that I am but five doors down and that makes us neighbours. Should this  Mazik get to you, just pop on to my door and i'll make sure you're always greeted with a cup of tea and a listening ear.'

Alfie knew that her words served only to aggravate him. He places a hand on Arabella's arm to lead her back to the car and curses his poor decision making for stopping here in the first place.

'Lovely to meet you Mrs Goldman, I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of one another'. Alfie's gentle push to the car, turns into a shove.

'I'm sure we will my dear, and it's Nelly to you.'

Alfie watches to make sure Mrs Goldman enters her house safely.

'Sister of a close business associate? Dread to think how you'll introduce me to people when I'm your wife.'

'Arabella, that woman has a mouth wider than the Thames, best to give her as little detail as possible and save her choking on gossip'.

Crossing her arm over her waist and tucking it in at her elbow, she turns toward her window. With a roll of his eyes, he starts up the car. They don't have to travel far before the vehicle is once again stationary. Straightening  up in her seat, she observes the building in front of her.  All of the houses on the street were identical in their architecture, stressed in uniformity – this one however,  was built with a desire for individuality.  

'There ya go, look. Home, sweet-fucking-home'. He walks around the car to help her out. She is mesmerised by the grand blossom tree that pushes the house into almost obscurity due to it's size, looming over the black front door. Pale pink pieces that have been wooed from the tree by the spring winds, gather under her feet, a reminder of life's fickleness. Concealing herself behind Alfie, her cautious spirit holds an inner negotiation with her resilience as they walk up a black and white tiled pathway.  Inside the warmth of the house engulfs them both along with a nauseating charcoal smell. Her foot suddenly slides on something slippy on the marble floor. Bending down she picks up a folded piece of paper that is lay in the doorway. Alfie's name is written on it in the scrawled handwriting.

'Alright now, let's have a look and see if your suitcase has been dropped off... what's that?'

'You tell me, it's got your name on it.'

The blithe and animated Alfie Solomons she is getting to know  is barely recognisable now as an ashen and turbulent man stands across from her, a wrathful look in his blue-green eyes. Frantically he grapples the paper from her hands and faces away from her to peek at the contents.

'Must be something awfully important'. She says, standing on tiptoes to see over his shoulders. The note buckles into pieces as he folds it in his fist, harshly.

'Who's asking you?' his quick-tempered reply takes her by surprise and she narrows her eyes at him, making him clear his throat.

'It's a betting tip if you must know. As an occasional bookmaker, I do need to keep a sharp eye out for the fastest horses'.

He stashes the note into his deep pocket. They both stand facing one another, Alfie towering over her by a good few inches. Neither of them speaking, just eyes setting fire to the other pair. The door at the end of the hall bursts open and commotion on four paws comes bounding excitedly towards his owner.  

'Oh, 'ere he is look, the behemoth with a wagging tale. Ello mate, did you miss me?' Placing his hand onto his right hip, Alfie slowly bends down to fuss and stroke the solid bulk of his bull mastiff.

His incensed constitution replaced with playful humour by his four-legged friend. As if sensing the presence of a stranger, his dog bolts into an alert position and begins to bark anxiously and warningly at Arabella. Alfie prepares himself to calm down his probably panicked fiancé. He's not expecting the hand that comes to his elbow, pushing him aside as she crouches in front of the slobbering beast, offering her hand to smell.

'Hello, you. I've heard so much about you, don't you know?' She strokes her hand roughly over the top of the dog's head, which he immediately cocks and begins to excitedly wag his tail.  'See, your gruff and tough owner here is a huge softy when it comes to you, he doesn't shut up about you'. Alfie watches on as  she undauntedly makes a fuss, not caring about the amount of froth being drooled onto what looks like an expensive, if not gaudy, coat.

'Well, his name is Cyril and he's supposed to be an all powerful and protective breed, but I will acknowledge that it appears I was fuckin' lied to about that'. He crinkles his forehead as he watches Cyril gracelessly roll onto his back so Arabella can rub at his belly.

'Well I think he's just perfect., i'm sure we'll get on like a house on fire.

'Let's see if you're still saying that when he's all over you at five in the morning because he wants to go out for a piss'.

Arabella looks up at him and shakes her head. 'I can see Cyril here holds all the power in this house'.

'Oh yeh? An how do you work that out?'

She pushes herself up to standing and offers him a condescending smile. 'Because Alfie, power lies in loyalty and I can see how dyed-in-the-wool you are with him'.

'That so? Well, lets see where my loyalty gets him tomorrow when Edna sees these muddy paw prints on her mopped floor'.

'Edna?'

He scratches Cyril behind his ears as he steps closer to her.

'My maid. Lovely woman she is, reminds me of me Mother. You'll meet her tomorrow. Now, do you wanna see your new home?'

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

Arabella piano-plays her fingertips on the dark walnut dressing table, listening to the rain outside as it pelts the windows and drips from the alien roof. She could float half way to heaven as she kicks off her slippers and the plush carpet hugs at her swollen feet. Alfie has spent some of the evening showing her around his impressive home. A big house, one she dreamed of owning as a child with it's polished wooden floors and graceful bannisters. Nothing like her Small Heath dwellings. Is it possible she is beginning to get homesick for a place she isn't even sure exists? One with love and where her soul is understood. However, when he had shown her the fully plumbed copper bath tub, she was ready to say 'i- do'  post haste.

Alfie is steadfast becoming a curious paradox – his abode is a beautiful palace, gleaming with a spotless silence. It's king, all the same is harsh and unpredictable with a flare of intelligence and good looks. Although she is hasten to admit it, he intrigues her.

Until Tommy sorts  the delivery of the rest of her things, all of her is compacted into the small suitcase that she pulls from the bed to put away She puts on her nightie, a soft cream silk slip – although well worn, still immaculate.  After an argument with Alfie regarding sleeping arrangements, they finally agreed that they should be adult enough to share a bed to make their relationship more realistic to his house staff. Standing in front of the floor length, mirror she watches as his mother's locket swings off her neck like a stranger. She pats the soft garment over her stomach - full from a delicious stew his maid had prepared, which she enjoyed alone. Alfie has secreted himself in his downstairs office and she has not seen sight nor sound of him all night..

The sound of smashing glass makes her jump, she can hear the thundering voice of Alfie barking out words she can't make out. Whatever the furore is, it's emanating from the upstairs landing. She quickly steps out of the room and sees the bathroom door ajar. Inside Alfie is desperately trying to wrestle Cyril inside a large fluffy towel. The floor around him is immersed in water and Alfie's shirt is saturated.

'Cyril, keep-the-fuck-still'. His fractious tone echoes off the bathroom tiles as he battles against his dog.

'Alfie, do you need some help?'

'No we've got this under control, ain't we boy'. As Cyril succumbs to submission, allowing his master to begin to towel dry his fur, Alfie looks up to acknowledge Arabella, his eyes immediately give her a once over and he feels the inside of his throat dry up as he spots her legs. Cyril takes advantage of his master's distraction and bounds his way out of the towel, bouncing his head off the copper bath in the process, before galloping his way to Arabella.

'Cyril! Ya daft, mad cunt! Get back 'ere now!' Taking not a ounce of notice, Cyril jumps frenziedly onto Arabella, wet paws pushing away at her.

'Get off 'er now ya demented lad! CYRIL! Fuck sake!'

Uncontrollable barks bite their way back at Alfie who is now tugging at his dog's paws, trying to gain purchase to pull him off her, flattened and trapped as she is against the wall.

'Fuckin' hell Cyril, what are you playing at, get off. . . stop trying to wrestle . . .CYRIL! I'm warning y. . . '

'SIT!' Her voice is loud and stern as she points to the floor with a free hand. Cyril obeys and sits down, Arabella following him to the ground, untwisting the towel from  around Alfie's fisted hands and slowly patting down Cyril's blubbery body. The dog sits calmly, with his head held up majestically as if he is content in being obedient for her.

'Right fuckin' turncoat ya are Cyril. Get one whiff of a woman and you forget about me, eh?' He folds his arms and leans against the door frame, watching as Arabella softly finishes drying.

'It's all in the tone, Alfie. You have to be stern not erratic'. She stands up smugly in front of him.

'S'at so?' He looks her up and down once more, only this time he notices just how wet Cyril has made her and he swallows hard. The light fabric of her night dress is now translucent and he can make out the shape of her ample breasts and the enticing colouring of her nipples. The quick glance he gets before looking away is like a blow to his chest. Her body is certainly holding his interest but he knows he can't take any more of her in. He does not want to look at all, but this was unavoidable.

Clearing his throat and picking up the towel from Cyril, he gestures to her chest.

'You might need this, to erm cover . . . ' She looks down and immediately covers her chest with her arms, taking the towel from him to dry off.

'I'm sorry about Cyril, he can be a right lunatic when he wants to be.'

'They're just tits, Alfie', she says as she notices how he has turned his body away from her.

'No, they're not just tits- they're yours and it's not up to my maniacal dog to expose them because he can't keep bloody still'. He moves past her into the bedroom and reappearing a few seconds later.

'You can wear this if you like, whilst you dry that off. I promise it's clean'. He hands her one of his white shirts which she gladly accepts.

'You're nothing like I thought you would be, Alfie'.

'Yeh?' He moves closer to her. 'That's because, right, true power lies in the unexpected'. They both stare at the other, as if taking notes, before he breaks the chain and walks away toward the staircase.

'Cyril, come on', he pats his leg and Cyril follows, leaving her flustered on the landing. Was it possible that Solomons possessed a more human side that contradicts his reputation? She turns away from the stairs and hurries into the bathroom to change. Closing the door, she notices Alfie's black wool coat hanging from the hook. The coat he placed his secretive letter in earlier. An uneasy feeling washes over her, she always respects privacy, to her far too many people can't live in silence for fear of missing applause from an audience who don't even care. She has to see what has him so vexed though -  if she wants to be ahead of him and her brother then she has to do some necessary digging. Before she can talk herself out of it, she plunges her hand into his pocket and pulls out the piece of paper. As she turns it over she can see that this is not the same note. This is a pink betting slip- after further rummaging, she realises he has moved the note elsewhere.

'Fuck' she says, annoyed. One final glance and she sees what looks like a phone number on the back.. She leaves the bathroom in a hurry, her hand concealing the slip.

TAG LIST: @clintbartoris  @gameofpot @doomwhathouwilt @lokigirlszendaya @inkinterrupted @misselsbells06 @sunshineyourethebesttime​ 

[jimlingss]

It's B from @bang-tan-bitches and I would like to request a yandere fic. It can be BTS OT7 x reader or BTS member of your choice x reader. Similar to your amazing isekai story i would like something similar(a long one shot or a multi-chapter, your choice). Whether YN transmigrates to a game or a novel (not as a villain but maybe as a cannon fodder side character that has little importance to the story and just wants to lay low) but YN captures the attention of the love interest(s) and shit starts getting weird, intense, uncomfortable. Maybe it causes the supposed female lead to turn into the villain, maybe it causes the love interest(s) to turn into the villain(s). Maybe YN realizes that something is wrong with the story/game but can't figure it out. Idk. Time period doesn't matter. Modern. Ancient. Fairytale. Fantasy. Whatever.

If you can do this great! If you can't or don't want to, that's okay too. You're an amazing writer with so much talent and I'm really appreciative of all your work. Thank you for taking requests from your fans, I'm sure you've received a lot.

Take care! 😘💜💜💜

at the start of the pandemic, I was getting back into manga and manhwa and then after a few months, I dawdled off but recently, I’ve been getting back into it again haha so this request came at a pretty good time. Hopefully you won’t mind that I’ve taken some creative liberties with this request lol I think it’s more fun if I keep readers on their toes, including the requester.

On another note, I really shouldn’t be writing all my isekai’s with Taehyung as the main lead but he’s just so fitting asdfghjkl

↳ The Fox Bride

2.6k || 99% Light Fluff, 1% Angst || Kim Taehyung || Isekai!AU, Slight Yandere!AU, Nine-Tailed Fox!Taehyung

You are a tutorial character.

But you weren’t always. You still remember being a career woman in the twenty-first century, struggling with overtime and paying bills while trying to keep yourself fed. The success of that ranged from month to month. But more importantly, you still remember that night too.

It was rainy. Your car blew a flat tire. You pulled to the side of the highway and got out.

The last thing that registered was the deafening honk of the semi-truck. 

Then you felt yourself flying upwards.

But when you landed, instead of colliding with the concrete and dying upon impact, you fell back onto your ass in the middle of a market on a dirt road. Transported back a thousand years ago.

Your purpose was fulfilled in the next two minutes. 

“Are you alright?”

The male protagonist had stretched out his hand and helped you up. The hero. The main character. It was obvious with his bright red hair, shining eyes and bronze armour. He was so starkly different from the rest who were gray and drab, including you who was suddenly in a brown shapeless dress. He was practically a neon billboard in the middle of a graveyard.

“Are you Y/N?”

You looked at him, befuddled that he knew your name. But before you could even respond or provide a line of dialogue, he said, “This is a delivery from Baker Jeon. He gives you his thanks.”

The protagonists handed you a loaf of bread. Undoubtedly his first ever quest. 

You looked down, not sure what to do with it.

“Do you know where the blacksmith is?”

You had absolutely no clue. But there was the deafening noise of hammering steel literally ten steps away. You would have to be blind not to see the gruff man shaping a sword at an anvil right on the road and deaf not to hear it. As if that wasn’t enough, the literal sign of the shop read: ‘the blacksmith’.

So you pointed.

“Thanks.” And he trudged off.

You were utterly confused until a background character who said they knew you waved you over. You shared your bread with her, brushed aside when she asked you what was wrong, and you followed her as she walked up to your supposed cottage.

All the while, you saw yourself in the background of the hero’s main quest as he ran through the town.

And that was that.

It wasn’t so hard to figure out where you were or what the hell this was when you put your mind to it. Without much of a job or a family, and no technology but the candle that you had to conserve when night fell, there was ample time.

So you spent it thinking and you eventually solved the mystery.

You were in Beast Boys Harem: A Forbidden Embrace. AKA. a dumb yaoi otome game app that you downloaded on your phone when you were sixteen and bored. You remember because you were too cheap to buy the routes, so you played the tutorial, prologue and read the summaries of the routes online. Now you regret that you didn’t just fork over the goddamn five dollars. 

Even more than that, you regret that you even downloaded the game in the first place.

But at least you’re just a tutorial character. You’re free from the storyline and the plot—

That’s what you thought.

Turns out living a thousand years in the past in a fantasy realm as a woman didn’t bode well. It was probably no different from how it would’ve been like in the medieval ages. You had no trade skills. No one was willing to accept you as an apprentice when you were a woman. You found that you were essentially illiterate with a reading level of a preschooler, no one was willing to teach you, and you had no power or wealth when you were without a father or a husband.

And you’re certain what the landlord and tax-collectors are doing is illegal.

But in this world, in this unjust realm, there is no such thing as the law.

“We know you’re in there!”

You jolt from the heavy pounding on the frail wooden door.

“It’s time to pay up!”

Your hands tremble as you set the candle down that’s still billowing of smoke, the flame smothered out mere seconds ago. As much as you want to hide and pull the blanket over your head, you know that door won’t last. They’ll find you if you’re trapped in here.

“If you can’t, spread those legs of yours!” a low voice spits and there’s chortling from the men.

Someone adds, “Sell your body already!” 

“Open up! Damn whore!”

Without a single possession but the white nightgown clad on your body, you open the latch of the back window. You cringe at the squeak, trying to keep your movements quiet before the door gives way.

You hoist yourself up onto the window ledge. The door bends with the strength of multiple clenched fists against it. Your feet touch the soft grass outside your cottage. The men shout.

And the door finally slams against the wall, hinges broken. 

But by then, you’ve slipped into the shadows.

“Where is she?!”

The blanket is ripped off the bed, curtains are whipped back, every drawer dumped onto the ground and cupboards yanked open. The floor shakes with the weight of their boots and you press your palm to your mouth to silence your panting breaths, slowly stepping away.

“That damn whore slipped through us—!”

But as your shitty luck would have it, a sudden crack has the whole world coming to a standstill.

Shit. You look down at your feet, realizing that the snapping noise came from you stepping on a twig. And it’s exposed your hiding place.

“There she is!” — “Out the back window!”

You grab fistfuls of your dress and bolt. 

“Get her!”

With your cottage on the edge of town, there’s nowhere to run but through the dense woods. It’s shrouded in the darkness, no doubt filled with wild beasts creeping through the thicket. The rustling canopy of the trees doesn’t allow the dim, waning moonlight to illuminate your path.

So you’re left blind. Struggling up the high incline of the forest, feet slipping on dirt and mud. But you keep sprinting with all your might, even when the pointed, coiling branches scrape at your calves until blood sheds and the hem of your dress tears in the underbrush.

“Run, little rabbit!” one of them mocks, “Run!”

The four men continue to give chase, gripping onto their roaring torches, shrieking and howling after you. One of them is manically laughing as if your efforts to flee only adds to the thrill. Their greased hands reach out to snatch you, but the tips of their fingers graze the ends of your hair.

Your teeth are sunk into the bottom of your lip, sobs breaking through your aching chest. Your lungs burn, dying for a break or moment of relief. But you don’t relent and luckily, you manage to build distance between you and the men. Only, that luck comes crashing down by a fucking hole.

A hole in the forest floor that you don’t see. That has your footing all wrong. That makes you scream and fall.

You twist your ankle in a direction it’s definitely not supposed to be in and cry from pain. 

A second later, you force yourself to get up and keep running with tears flooding your eyes and dripping down your cheeks. But it’s more like limping than running, akin to hobbling on one leg and every movement has pain shooting from your swelling ankle.

The effort becomes futile. They surround you within minutes.

“All finished?” The tax-collector’s head cocks with a spreading grin. “You’re not going to keep running?”

Why couldn’t you just fucking die the first time?! Even if it was an awful death where you didn’t have time to prepare yourself or say goodbye to anyone, at least it would’ve been the end. At least you wouldn’t have to suffer.

But there’s no time to grieve. Or hate the new life you’ve been given. This is it. You have to keep going. You have to survive. By any means. You’re about to pick up a branch and uselessly wave it around at them, shout at them to stand back. Anything that you could do to save yourself—

“Who dares come onto my mountain?!”

There’s a deep timbre behind you. A husky voice that quivers the very core of the forest.

As if the wind has swept through, the trees and thicket rustle and it goes silent.

The men fall back onto their asses, some torches clattering to the ground. Their eyes have grown double in size, nearly falling from their sockets and their jaws have dropped to the dirt.

“I-It’s the nine-tailed fox!”

The man scrambles back.

“Demon!” 

Another barely manages to get onto his feet. He turns around and lurches away while shrieking.

They all run. Scattering away as frantically as cockroaches when the light is flickered on.

From your spot on the ground, you turn around with wide eyes. 

Amber irises meet your gawking and they practically glow in the darkness of the forest. He is dressed in a loose, white robe that’s draped over his frame, open to the middle of his chest. And over his honey hair, on the top of his head, his pointed golden ears twitch. By the torch fire still yet to die out, he is illuminated and his shadow is casted on the ground. The blazing flame warms his cold, sharp features. 

He is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. In both worlds you’ve lived in.

And you know who he is.

Taehyung. One of the love interests of the hero. A seductive, sly creature that eventually coaxes the hero into selling him his soul to grant one of his wishes. But Taehyung grows to become an obsessed character that wants to do nothing but monopolize and possess the hero for himself.

That same Taehyung approaches you with his lip curled as you teeter to your feet.

“Run away, girl.” He leans close. “Before I eat you.”

“Stop!” 

On sheer instinct and adrenaline, you push him back. Your palm shoves against his firm chest.

Taehyung stumbles back with his eyes becoming rounded. He looks down to where you had made contact against his body. “Did...you just touch me?”

“What?”

Taehyung’s head darts upwards and he captures your wrist in his hand, squeezing tightly. He tugs you in and on your swollen ankle, you stumble into him. Bodies flush against one another. Your face pressed to his warm chest. His arm coming around your waist to break your fall.

He is aghast. 

“You’re not from this world.” Taehyung’s yellow eyes swirl as they gaze into you. “Where did you come from?”

…

It’s been three days.

“Wed me,” he begs for the seventy sixth time. 

You don’t know why you’re keeping a count.

“No.”

You’re hugging your knees for warmth. The rice paper-paneled doors are slid open and letting in the chilly air. He doesn’t seem to be affected by the cold, but you don’t look at him for long. 

You turn into the corner of his home while sitting on the tatami floors as if you’re putting yourself into time out. But you’d like to say it’s your privacy corner. It’s as private as this abode, which was basically one room, could get. 

Taehyung sighs in frustration, placing his hand on his forehead. His teeth grit. “You’re only making this harder for yourself.” Your silence angers him more. “You can never leave.”

You turn over your shoulder to glare. “Even if I married you, you’d never let me leave anyway.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes on you and then smirks. “You’re right. Wed or unwed, I won’t let you out of my sight. You should feel grateful, girl. You’re the best human I’ve ever treated.”

You quietly scoff.

Maybe you should feel scared. Maybe you should tread more lightly. After all, he’s not a character to be trifled with.

But you know he needs you. That alone gives you power. 

As a beast, Taehyung’s been trapped on this mountain by priests for centuries. The only way he can be free is by feeding off of sexual energy and breaking the barrier. But of course, they also cursed him to be unable to touch any woman in this universe. 

You aren’t from this universe.

You jolt when you realize that while you were lost in thought, Taehyung’s crawled closer. He has a foxy smile, amber eyes searching your expression. “Maybe….maybe I’ll grant you a bit of freedom if you would just give into the temptation and let me have a taste of you.”

As cold as he looks, he is beautiful. He is mischievous when he smirks and sly when he speaks. You are utterly spellbound as you look into his irises. And the temptation he speaks of flickers in the warmth of your belly.

But you turn away.

“I already said we only do that kind of thing after marriage. And I will only marry someone I love.”

Taehyung draws back with an unamused scoff. “What a prudish world you’re from.”

He wanted you the moment you were brought to this house. With the intensity of his stare and your captivated state, you had let him pin you to his floor and you liked it. But then clarity came and you blurted that such an act only happens after marriage. A lie just to buy time.

You didn’t expect for the hero to arrive at Taehyung’s house the next day. With his red hair and bronze armour, he had gotten lost in the forest and knocked on the door. Before you could limp over and answer it, Taehyung jumped off the roof and confronted him.

The guy was thrown off the mountain within five minutes.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to have a steamy rendezvous. Taehyung was supposed to get the sexual energy from him! 

The story was going off the rails. And you’re not sure what you’re even buying time for anymore.

The both of you know it’s only a matter of time before you break and succumb to his mesmerizing seduction.

Taehyung is cruel, ruthless, obsessive.

But what’s the most bewitching thing about him is the jarring contrast of when he’s clumsy and nurturing. It’s what he regards as his own weakness. What he hides from others. But you felt your heart waver two nights ago when you were shaken awake in the middle of twilight. When you peeked open your eye to see him gingerly wrapping your swollen ankle with bandages.

He looked beautiful in the pale moonlight, ears, tails, sharp features softened—

“Ow!” You wince as he squeezes your ankle, right on your injury.

“You think too much in your head,” he says and looks at you. “What’s wrong?”

“It hurts.”

A sadistic smile tugs on Taehyung’s lips. He lets go, but only to lift your chin with his fingers. His plush lips are inches away, his breath warm on your skin and he gazes deep into you. “I won’t let you return to your world. I won’t let you run away. I won’t let anyone harm you.”

“You’re mine now.” Taehyung swears, “You’ll fall in love with me eventually.”

You gulp and he smirks.

The two of you know it’s only a matter of time.

[tomhardysteeth]

Use Your Imagination

[ao3]

2.9k Eddie Brock/Venom Based entirely on the Venom: Let There Be Carnage trailer

Eddie woke up to the feel of his body tugging indiscriminately out from his back. He sighed and reached behind himself, easily finding a tentacle and tickling it until it retreated back inside him.

Wake up, Eddie, Venom said cheerily, running a slimy three-pronged tendril across his face delicately. We’re hungry.

“Ugh, can’t you just bring me something in here?” Eddie replied grumpily, burying his face in his pillow.

No. Venom took control of his legs and lifted him up and onto the floor, and Eddie momentarily lost his balance before a tentacle righted him.

Eddie groaned and stretched his back, cracking it. He headed to the bathroom and took a piss while a tentacle brushed his teeth.

He was exhausted, because he and Venom had finally tracked down all the guys harassing Mrs. Chen and had spent half the night running—literally running—them down. But Venom was even more chaotically energetic than usual because it had gotten to eat three people.

And Eddie couldn’t drink caffeine anymore—Venom hated it—so he was resigned to his orange juice and to spending the entirety of the morning just trying to wake up. 

“Babe, what the hell are you making?” Eddie asked as his body shifted minutely with the extension of several tentacles all over the kitchen. 

Breakfast, Venom replied as it knocked several things out of the fridge and onto the floor.

“You can’t possibly be hungry.”

No, but you are. 

Eddie wasn’t entirely sure how their digestive systems worked, but he knew his body didn't even notice when they ate people, and his appetite was completely different than it used to be and also completely different from humans in general. He had to eat big, disgusting meals at least three times a day, and despite Venom assuring him that they both needed the sustenance to survive, Eddie couldn’t help but notice that he had gained weight.

Not that he could get on a scale. He broke his bathroom scale when he tried, presumably because a massively dense alien inhabited his body. That being said, his belly stuck out farther than it used to and his jeans were too tight.

Venom was making a mess and singing along (terribly) to the radio, so Eddie took a seat at the kitchen table and tried to dig his phone out of the pocket of his robe with his hand, but a tentacle got to it first and handed it to him.

He scrolled for a few minutes, ignoring the crashing sounds and the fire that he could see in his peripheral vision. Venom would clean it all up eventually, so it was fine. 

“Don’t forget to feed the chickens,” Eddie said distractedly, still looking at his phone.

Don’t forget to feed the chickens, Venom mocked in a nagging voice. 

They always had a few chickens in their apartment that Eddie got from a local farmer so Venom could eat live meat whenever it needed it. Except for the one chicken Venom had apparently imprinted on and was actually just their pet. Venom had named her Popsicle.

Ta-da, Venom said as it dropped two plates stacked high with who knows what underneath the waffles. 

“Thanks, Vee. Looks great,” Eddie lied. 

Venom swirled the end of a tentacle across his face, and Eddie reached up a hand to hold it steady so he could kiss it. 

Venom always helped with eating, because despite Eddie’s weird appetites, he still found it difficult to actually put food to mouth without gagging a bit. He also hated how long it took to eat enough to make him full, so Venom took to mindlessly feeding him, quicker than Eddie could feed himself, while he checked his emails and read the news.

What do you want to do this weekend? Venom asked as it put a fork to Eddie’s mouth.

“Nothing,” Eddie mumbled around the food.

Oooh, spicing it up a bit from last weekend when we did nothing.

Eddie huffed a laugh and reached for a limb, tangling his fingers through the threads of Venom’s biomass. 

After breakfast, Eddie got caught up in reading on his phone, so Venom took over control of his body and moved him onto the couch. It laid him on his back and propped pillows behind his head and under his arm, then it produced several tentacles out of the center of his chest and took to cleaning the mess it had made.

Eddie couldn’t see his phone past the tentacles, so a smaller tendril emerged and held it for him. His hands free, he stuck his right down the front of his boxers and lazily played with himself. 

Venom ignored him, too busy humming along to the radio to notice that Eddie was getting hard. After about five minutes, Eddie got bored and stopped his hand, resting it palm down inside the waistband of his boxers. His neglected boner softened.

There was a knock on the door, followed by Anne’s voice shouting at them to turn off the music. 

Eddie jumped and reflexively sucked a couple tentacles back into his body. Another limb caught his phone before it fell to the floor, then even more tentacles came out of his back and pushed him upright and closed his robe for him. 

Venom had cleaned much of the mess in the kitchen, but there was still cereal all over the counter, dishes piled precariously in the sink and on the stove, bullet holes in the fridge door, a tire swing hanging by the kitchen table, gaping holes in the ceiling, a four-foot stack of various bones from different creatures in the corner—hacked up by Venom during digestion.

“The chickens—grab the fucking chickens,” Eddie whisper-shouted as he walked to the door, Popsicle under his arm. 

Venom grabbed the other three chickens and held them out of sight of the cracked door. 

“Hey, Annie,” Eddie greeted. 

She tried to peer through the door, but Eddie had a tight grip on it, only revealing a sliver of his body to her. 

“You didn’t text me last night,” she said.

Eddie closed his eyes. “Right. Sorry. We got home really fucking late, and it just slipped my mind.” 

“Eddie, I have to know you’re OK.” Anne tilted her head and moved her eyes like if she looked hard enough then the door would magically swing open. 

“We’re fine, Annie. We took care of things.” Eddie avoided telling Anne details of his and Venom's vigilantism, but he always tried to text her to let her know they were safe. 

“Eddie.”

“Hmm?”

“Are you holding a chicken?”

As Eddie looked down at the chicken under his arm, Anne shoulder-tackled him and the door simultaneously and made a break for it into his apartment. Venom immediately encased her in tentacles and tossed her back into the hallway and slammed the door shut in her face.

I HAVEN’T FINISHED CLEANING UP IN HERE, ANNIE, AND I’D LIKE TO SPEAK TO YOUR MOTHER ABOUT YOUR FUCKING MANNERS, Venom shouted.

Several neighbors yelled and banged on the walls, demanding that Venom shut the fuck up. 

“HEY!” Eddie shouted at the top of his lungs. He grabbed a broom with his hand and a mop with a tentacle and aggressively hit the ends of them against the ceiling and walls. “NEED I REMIND YOU FREELOADERS WHO TOOK CARE OF CRAIG?” 

Craig was their (missing for 35 days and counting) landlord. 

Anne pounded on the door. “Eddie, open this fucking door, I swear to god!”

Eddie forcefully cracked the door, only enough for Anne to see one of his narrowed eyes. “You’re not allowed to judge how we live.”

She pushed on the door, and he allowed her to come inside. A solid minute passed in which Anne stood in the middle of the apartment with her hands on her hips and surveyed the room without saying anything. Then, in an even tone:

“Alright. First question. Tire swing?”

Venom continued cleaning. Eddie stood next to Anne.

“Do you want the real answer or the PG answer?”

Anne’s whole body revolted. “Ew, oh my god. Gross, gross, gross—”

No, Annie, look, it’s just for this, Venom said, extending a head out of Eddie’s shoulder and snaking several tentacles around the tire. It spun the tire as fast as possible in one direction and then unraveled itself in a gooey mess as the tire spun in the other direction. 

“Oh,” Anne said. “Is that really what you use it for?”

Venom’s head was in the middle of the tire with limbs extending out to swing itself back and forth. No, I suspend Eddie in it and fuck him until he cries.

Anne cursed and threw her hands up in the air. Eddie and Venom laughed.

“Alright, next question.” Anne said after she had recovered. “Are the chickens for eating?”

“Yeah, except for Popsicle.” Eddie pointed across the room at where Popsicle was pecking at unidentified detritus on the floor.

“How the hell do you know which one Popsicle is?” 

“What do you mean? She’s that one.” He pointed again.

“They all look the same, Eddie.”

No. Popsicle looks like that. Venom pointed a tendril toward Popsicle. And the food looks like that. Another tendril split off into three prongs to point at the other chickens. 

Anne dropped her head and put her fingers to her temples, rubbing in circles. 

The toaster oven exploded. 

“Jesus, Vee, what did I tell you about—”

WELL maybe if SOMEONE would let me steal an oven then we could—

“Where the hell are we gonna put an oven in here? You gonna steal it from one of our neighbors?”

They continued arguing with each other while a tentacle grabbed a fire extinguisher from their stash of fire extinguishers in the coat closet and put the toaster oven out. 

“I don’t think you’re gonna get your deposit back, Eddie,” Anne said, still looking around his apartment. Her eyes stopped on the wicker basket full of dildos by the TV, but she didn't comment on it. 

A rock hit Eddie’s window. Venom opened it and stuck a tentacle out, and the neighborhood kids down on the street cheered and asked if it had time to play. 

“Go ahead, babe,” Eddie said.

It always felt a little strange when Venom removed so much of itself from inside Eddie’s body. It of course had to leave some still inside him, but just one tiny thread connected them together as Venom fanned out on the outside of the apartment building and juggled as many mundane objects as the children had in their power to throw up at it. Rocks, old toys, dolls, basketballs, baseball bats, a lawn chair, a pan of broccoli casserole, a cat. 

“How the hell do you live like this, Eddie?” Anne asked. 

Eddie cleared a space on the kitchen counter by shoving cereal onto the floor, then he grabbed two mugs off the sink pile and dug the coffeemaker out from the back of an extremely disorganized cabinet. The coffee itself was hidden from Venom in a plastic bag duct taped to the wall behind the fridge, so Eddie easily nudged the fridge to the side to retrieve it. He figured if Venom played with the kids long enough, he could get a little bit of caffeine in his body without it noticing. 

He said to Anne, “I’m in a relationship with an alien. What do you expect?”

Anne looked at the fridge then at Eddie, clearly confused by his inhuman strength. “I don’t know? For you to still act like an adult human?” 

Eddie internally tugged at the strands of Venom still inside him and found just enough biomass to make thick black veins pop out all over his face. “How ‘bout now? Do I still look like an adult human?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Eddie pulled the veins back in. “Stop worrying about us, Annie. I know it looks like a disaster in here, but that’s because our life is a disaster. It works for us.”

A child shrieked in a loud laugh. Eddie could just barely see through the window that Venom was juggling the 5-year-old twin girls that lived in the apartment below them. 

“Babe!” Eddie yelled. “Put the girls down before somebody calls the fucking cops!”

The girls aww’d their disappointment as Venom carefully lowered them to the ground. 

“Eddie.”

He turned his attention back to Anne and waited for her to continue.

“Are you, um, safe? Like, what are the logistics of your...sex life?”

Eddie scrubbed a hand down his face. “Well, Annie, Vee is made up of a whole bunch of malleable tentacles, so I’d say use your imagination.”

Venom slithered its way back in, so Eddie tried to gulp down his coffee but didn’t finish before a tentacle wrenched it out of his hand and slung it into the sink.

“How do you know you’re not, like, subjecting yourself to some kind of alien STDs?” Anne asked. “Or, like, what if it’s changed your body composition so much that you guys are, like, capable of reproducing?”

Venom and Eddie both gasped and smiled at each other, Venom’s head floating just a couple feet away from Eddie’s. 

Eddie said, “Oh, that would be so cute if we had a little—” at the same time that Venom said Aww imagine if it had your good looks and my complexion—

“Fucking Christ, you guys are intolerable,” Anne interrupted. “Can you not be weird for, like, two seconds?”

Venom pouted at her and moved its head over to Eddie’s shoulders, nudging at his face and bumping against him like a needy cat. It wrapped two big tentacles around his waist like arms, and Eddie dropped his hands over them and squeezed affectionately. 

“What else did you come over here for, Annie?” Eddie asked.

She cleared her throat. “I was going to ask if you and Venom would like to come over to my apartment sometime to have dinner with me and Dan.”

Venom’s head popped up from where it was resting on Eddie’s shoulder. Dan is finally ready to hang out with me?!

“Yes, but he’s still a little delicate since—”

I tried to stick my tongue in his mouth when you were kissing him goodbye before going to rescue Eddie from Riot, yeah, I get that.

“You what?” Eddie asked.

“So if you could just try to temper yourselves a tiny bit, maybe leave the chickens at home and don’t talk about fucking each other,” Anne concluded. 

“He knows that we’re fucking each other, though, right?”

“Yes, but knowing it and being confronted with it are two totally different things.”

Hey, Annie, tell Dan I think he’s boring.

“Hey, be nice,” Eddie chastised, reaching a hand up to pat Venom’s face. 

Anne told them she would let them know a date and time, then she headed for the door with Eddie close on her heels. She turned and hugged him on her way out and didn’t flinch when a couple tentacles clung to her, too. 

They’re not going to feed us enough, Venom said after she was gone. 

“Yeah, we’ll have to pre-game.”

Eddie went back to his lazy spot on the couch and Venom went back to tidying up. This time, when Eddie’s hand inevitably found its way into his boxers, Venom took notice right away and teased a small tendril out of his thigh to join in on the fun. 

ALEXA, PLAY “LET’S GET IT ON” BY MARVIN GAYE.

“You broke the Alexa yesterday, babe.”

Right, I’ll just have to sing it myself.

Eddie closed his eyes and leaned his head back, stroking himself slowly. “Please don’t.”

Venom rumbled a complaint through Eddie’s entire body, but then it snaked two tentacles over his shoulders and down his chest and pulled his boxers off completely. Two more tentacles pushed out of Eddie’s back and hammocked him in, folding underneath him and then turning up toward the ceiling to grip the holes.

When they started having sex, it wasn’t really so much of a monumental decision as it was Venom participating in literally every single other aspect of Eddie’s life that it just didn’t make sense for it not to be involved in the most fun bit. After Venom had been with Eddie for a week or so, Eddie couldn’t avoid his sex drive anymore and tried to quietly jerk off. Venom, having already stuck its tentacles into everything else Eddie did, simply wrapped a limb around Eddie’s hand and helped him out. And Eddie, stupid and horny, had immediately asked the alien to fuck him with its tongue. 

So, here they were.

With Eddie suspended, Venom moved its head under him and licked its way around his rim. There was still only one small tendril helping his hand pump his cock, but they had plenty of time to—

“Eddie, I forgot my—oh my god, oh my fucking god, oh my fucking—”

Eddie dropped back down on the couch, biomass encasing his nakedness in a safe little cocoon, but Anne had already rushed out the door and slammed it shut. 

He sighed. “I guess she doesn’t have to use her imagination.”

[probablyintensemuses]

Telephone

Summary: you met Bucky at a grocery store when you were struggling to reach the top shelf— enamored by him you two exchange phone numbers and begin a friendship. But what happens when suddenly your text messages aren’t going through and your phone calls drop? Did Bucky Barnes block you?

Bucky Barnes x reader (tfatws era)

Warnings: fluff, a bit or angst, platonic friendship.

You let out an exasperated groan, almost at the top of your lungs. This was the third day you had called and text Bucky with no avail—hell every time you did your messages never went through. And you didn’t want to be that clingy person, because things were hard post blip and you knew that. You had just gotten your mom and sister back after five long year’s without them, so you knew adjusting would take time and space. But this much space was ridiculous and it was beginning to bother you—a lot. So you grabbed your keys and stormed down your apartments stairs. Heading towards Bucky’s favorite place—the local Japanese restaurant that you introduced him to, where he found solace in you,Yori and Leah.

After practically breaking the door off it’s hinges you storm into the restaurant. Immediately directing your attention to the bar where Bucky sat talking to Yori and going for a swig of his beer. With your keys jiggling in your hands you approach the two men; your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you watch Bucky laugh at a joke Leah told.

Slowly, Yori turned around and shoots you a wrinkled smile before announcing your presence. “Oh, good day Y/n—won’t you join us for some sushi—it’s tuna!” Yuri beamed, pointing to the half eaten plate of sushi in front of him.

When Yori spoke up you watched Bucky still, his entire body frozen. Bucky groaned to himself, taking a last sip of his beer before pushing himself up from his seat, all while ignoring your presence.

You smiled back at Yori, delighted by his offer. “I’d love to, but I’m vegetarian, Bucky would know that, wouldn’t you Bucky?” You said sarcastically.

“Yori, lovely as always—but I’m going to go. Next ones on me!” Bucky said, stumbling out of his chair throwing down a five dollar bill for a tip and brushing past you.

You scoffed, blowing Yori a kiss before rushing after him. You raced after Bucky as he strode down the sidewalk. You had to jog as he was already a mile ahead of you—and his apartment wasn’t too far.

“Bucky, Bucky!” You called, but before you could get his name out for a third time he had already entered the battered building that was his apartment.

“Shit.” You grunted, holding your waist and taking a few deep breaths, because let’s face it you were no super solider.

Composing yourself, you push open the lobby doors sneaking past the landlord who was snoring loudly as a bug landed right on his forehead. Your nose scrunched in disgust—you told Bucky how much you despised this building and if he ever needed another place you had a two bedroom, but he always suggested otherwise. Stepping out of the creaking elevator you made your way down the gloomy hallway, placing yourself onto his welcome mat and banging on the door like a maniac.

“Bucky! Bucky! I know you’re in there! It’s Y/n let me in we need to talk!” You shouted, as you continuously slapped your hand against his door.

You took a deep breath before banging even louder. “James Bucky Barnes let me—.”

“Hey!” A voice called, startling you a bit.

Slowly, you turn your head to where the voice had come from, only to be face to face with a not so happy tenet.

“Some people have to work a twelve hour shift in two hours, so if you don’t mind visiting your booty call later that would be appreciated.” The man snarled

You scoffed, taking a step back. “Okay, whatever.”

“Thanks.” He said rudely, before slamming his door shut.

“Bucky please, I just want to talk to you. I miss you—and I was going to show you Uno.” You knock softly, whispering against his door not sure if he was going to hear it or not.

But Bucky heard every word. Actually he had heard everything because he’d been leaning against his door for the past three minutes. He felt horrible, and it was his own stupid fault that you two were right here. You were like the sibling he never asked for. You were kind and funny—always teaching him about the vast 21st century. You took him shopping and even helped furnish his once barren apartment, and when you two had a sleep over you didn’t judge him for wanting to sleep on the floor instead of in your guest room. Instead you made it the best sleeping arrangement you could—Bucky adored you, he did. But what if the darkness came back and dimmed your light, or what if you got hurt. He couldn’t live with himself. He was already suffering from ptsd, depression, and the massive guilt of killing Yori’s son—he couldn’t live a day if you got hurt on his behalf. So he cut you out, blocking your phone number and avoiding you at the places you two had loved to go together—except it didn’t work this time, as you were right outside his door.

You slide to the floor, pulling a sticky note and pen from your bag. You were a cartoonist and your favorite way to cheer someone up was to make them into one of your “2 minute cartoon skits.” On the sticky note you drew you and Bucky playing uno at his table laughing with glee and chugging beers. At the bottom you wrote ‘this could be us,’ before sliding it underneath his door. You knew he’d see it, there was no way he wouldn’t.

And surely enough he did, Bucky picked up the note between his fingers a small smile creeping on his face as he picked himself off the floor. He figured if he didn’t let you in now you’d stay out there all day—all week if it was physically possible. Bucky took a deep sigh and unlocked his door revealing you, standing there with pursed lips and scolding eyes. You pushed past him and walked inside his apartment plopping onto his sofa.

“Are you serious.” You spat.

“Y/n.” Bucky groaned, pinching his nose with his vibranium arm.

“Bucky you told me that your therapist said you needed to form and keep relationships. This isn’t helping.”

Bucky sighed, placing his hands on his hips as he held his head low. “You don’t think i know that. I’m trying I really am, I’m just—.”’

“You’re just what?” You stand walking towards him.

“I’m scared.” He whispered.

“Of me?”

“Of me.” He said softly.

“Why?” You gasped. “I don’t understand Bucky.” You said, taking his hand and pulling you both onto his sofa.

“Y/n—I’m better off alone.”

You rolled your eyes taking a deep breath, this had to be the fifth time Bucky had said this to you—and every time you proved him different.

“No you’re not! If you didn’t have me who would show you how to work your phone or play just dance.” You spoke.

Bucky chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “I still don’t understand why we can’t just dance to the music.”

“Because I like to watch the characters dance—and it’s a competition, it's supposed to be fun! But that’s not the point, the point is that you don’t need to be alone and you definitely don’t deserve that.” You said. “Bucky I know we've only known each other for a few months, but I care about you and it hurts when you push me away." You cried.

"Y/n." Bucky whispered gently. "I care about you too, but I'm difficult, my life is difficult.”

You squeezed Bucky’s hand, rubbing the top of his palm. “Then let me help you make it easier.”

Bucky nodded. Realization hitting him, he cared for you and he knew you were right. The road from leaving his title as ‘the winter soldier’ and reclaiming his old life as ‘James Barnes’ started here. It started with forming and keeping friendships and he intended on starting with you.

“Okay.” Bucky said firmly.

“Okay.” You affirmed. “So a round of uno?”

Bucky laughed, throwing his head back. “Only if you teach me the real rules and not the y/n rules.”

“Oh you love my rules Bucky.” You snickered.

“I do.” He grinned, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

“I know.”

A/N: This was a cute idea I had for a whileeeeeee, ever since I saw the trailer for tfatws and now I can really do it with more depth and added characters! This is my first character x reader! I do writing for marvel and Harry Potter so if that interest you this is the place to be! Thank you for the support🍄❤️🌈

[everlarkficexchange]

Not today

Written by: @emilia206

Prompt 4: Trope: Jealousy Katniss. Modern AU Katniss Everdeen sees his ex boyfriend as the date of one of her coworkers in the company party. She shouldn’t care, because she broke with him, one year ago and still…. when their song plays, against her better judgements, she finds herself dancing with him. [submitted by @alwayseverlark] 

Rating: Mature

Word count: 8062

British lingo you might be unaware of:

A-Level’s - Last form of examination before students go off to university. 

Ladbrokes - betting shop

Tesco - food store

(If I left anything out, let me know)

A/N: Thank you to my wonderful beta @melting-starlight, on ao3 she’s Starlight_Wren.

Forlorn, she stares down at her lager, it’s the first moment of quiet she’s had since she entered the pub. Plutarch had been the first to drag her away, talking about everything from what his lunch was like to how much the station was missing her shows. She had only been able to nod and smile, making agreeable noises at the appropriate times, but otherwise letting all of his words wash over her. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Plutarch had bustled off through the crowd to go talk to another unsuspecting colleague. She had tried to crane her neck over the other patrons’ head, to see if she could spot either Johanna or Annie, the only reason she had relented and come to this thing. But before she could make any discernible recognition, Fulvia, Plutarch’s right hand woman, had sidled up behind her, saying that they simply must ‘catch up’. Ever straight to the point though, she had skipped pleasantries and gone right to the heart of the matter. What had she been doing this past year? 

The answer was a pretty simple one, but for some reason that escaped Katniss, it needed lots of explanation. She had spent close to forty-five minutes getting her brain picked apart. Trying, to no avail, to explain to the silly woman the exact reason she had uprooted her and left everything behind to travel all over the globe. Meeting new people, not many, but some. Enough people, Katniss thought. At first, there hadn’t really been a point in it, other than she had to get away from the shit show that was her life. Five years she’d worked at that stupid radio station, blathering on about meaningless things that made her mind fog up with the mundanity of it all. And all she had gotten out of it was a small damp flat in the north of London, with expensive bills and an insufferable landlord. Five years of only seeing her little sister once, twice if she was lucky, a year. Five years of shattered dreams and a dead end job. And still, this woman could not understand why she would want to leave. Of course Katniss never said any of this to Fulvia, but it had been swimming around her head throughout the entirety of the conversation. Instead, she had given watered down reasons and held her tongue as Fulvia had gone on to say, “But what about that boyfriend of yours? I remember him being so supportive…” 

She didn’t want to get into that, how she had left him behind. It had been a year and the wound that it had inflicted still ran too deep, was too painful to get into. Especially with nosy, judgy Fulvia. So, she had politely excused herself from the conversation, taking to the bar and ordering herself an overpriced pint. Fantastic. It wasn’t like she was strapped for cash or anything. 

Having given up on searching for Annie and Johanna at this nightmarish reunion, she had found herself a quiet corner in the buzzing room, sitting on a lumpy sofa and setting her drink down on an aged wooden table that had ring marks on the surface from drinks overspilling. It wasn’t often that she thought about Peeta, having long since trained her mind to immediately turn and run in the other direction if any thoughts began leading her down that painful path. But now, with Fulvia bringing him up, and being surrounded by people who had all been privy to their relationship, it was only inevitable that she should think of him. Specifically, the last time she had seen him.

 —————————–

His face had closed off, completely shuttering all emotions that would otherwise flick across his face. And still, as he stood, staring blankly at her, she continued talking. Trying to explain herself, explain why she just had to leave.

“Please Peeta, believe me when I say it isn’t you,” she whispered, “I just feel so trapped in my own life, and I feel as if I don’t leave now, I never will get anywhere.”

“What about us?” he replied, tone blank and neutral, but still betraying the underlying anger and confusion.

She shook her head sadly, tears falling unbidden from her eyes. Desperately wanting him to hold her and tell her it would be alright, but needing him to stay well away from her so that she could do this. Finish this, clean and precise as Johanna had told her to do it. 

“Right,” Peeta said, voice hollow.

They stood there, silence engulfing the little flat. It was never silent in there, the generators downstairs always humming, her boiler constantly gurgling away, but it seemed even these held their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“I think you should leave now,” Katniss said to her feet, not daring to look up at his face. 

She stood in her kitchen, stock still, as if any movement from her would cause her to break and shatter on the linoleum tiles of the floor. She listened as Peeta collected his toothbrush and spare clothes. Katniss flinched at the sense of finality she felt when the door banged shut.

 ————————-

Their break-up had been anything but clean and precise, and it wasn’t a wonder considering that Katniss had been at the helm of it. It was ironic, really, that for five years, her income had depended on her being able to talk for hours about nonsensical things, always upbeat and on the ball for the listeners chiming in, but when it came to her own boyfriend, she hadn’t been able to get the words out right. She had made him think that it was him that was suffocating her, when in actuality it was everything. She was pushing thirty and already she could feel herself stagnating. 

She wished that she could do it again, try not to make such a mess of it as she had done. How could she have known, though, the profound affect it seemed to have had on Peeta? He had always been so supportive of her decisions, only asking that she open up to him and be honest. Of course she hadn’t expected him to be completely OK with her decision, but she had been hoping that he would at least understand her reasoning. Instead, he had been angry and confused, perhaps even rightfully so, before he had completely shut down becoming cold and distant in the moments prior to him slamming out of her little home.

“Penny for your thoughts?” a perky voice said next to her, pulling Katniss out of her reverie. 

Looking up, Katniss couldn’t help but smile at the big brown eyes that were peering down at her. Rue. Her intern from a year ago. She didn’t look much different,  just a little older and worse for wear. But that’s what this job did to you, lured you in with promises of bigger and better ahead, before getting you trapped and very much stuck. 

“You don’t want to know,” Katniss replied, shuffling over and making space for the young woman.

“Oh, and why’s that?” Rue asked, her lips quirked upwards in a smile.

“Neither thinking, nor talking about it will solve a thing,” she mumbled down at her glass before taking a prolonged drink from it. She reveled in the fizz and slightly bitter taste as it washed down her throat. 

“Well, if you’re gonna be all closed off to me, your favourite intern, I’ll let you in on all of my issues to date,” Rue said, taking a sip from her own glass.

Katniss smirked. It was true that Rue was her favourite intern, but that wasn’t exactly a feat. Most interns that Katniss had been given the responsibility of taking care of had been so awful that they were fired within their first two weeks of working at the station. 

“So, remember how you warned me before you left, that this job ‘will suck me dry of all inspiration and motivation’ whilst also ‘dashing my dreams and love for the craft’ but not before ‘restricting what me on what I can talk about, and instead giving me stupid shows that will make me want to die’?” Rue paused, taking a drink from her pint.

“Yes, I do recall telling you all of those things, I assume you’ve come to the conclusion that I was correct and that you should have saved yourself while you could,” Katniss said, trying not to gloat at the fact that she was at least right about something, and it wasn’t just her overreacting and being dramatic.

 Rue nodded her head vigorously, her corkscrew curls bouncing, “Well, I’ll be honest. At the time, I thought you were just being dramatic, or maybe you were bitter about something, but you really were so right. I can’t get anyone to take me seriously or invest in any bigger show ideas, or get them to take on or promote more obscure artists. The sponsors continuously overlook me so that they can pour more money into presenters who have a body to boot. Even though that shouldn’t matter, ‘cause we’re on a fucking radio, nobody is looking at the face or body behind the voice anyway!”

 “And as soon as I try to get Plutarch or Fulvia to give me a recommendation so that I can move to something a little more low key and less industrious, they tell me that I shouldn’t leave, that I have so much potential, and that it would be such a waste for me to go do something less mainstream, because how will I ever be recognised then?” Rue finished with a defeated groan, flopping back against the leather cushions. 

Looking up at the ceiling, Rue asked, “How’d you get out? I mean for me, it’s just an endless cycle of early mornings, playing music that makes my ears bleed, and frustration that after all my hard work, I’ve just become another peppy girl on the radio.”

Katniss snorted at this, “Depressing, isn’t it? After all the analysing of different styles of music and poetry, it amounted to this.”

“Fuucckk,” Rue groaned at the ceiling fans, “It’s depressing because it’s so painfully true. Do you know how many hours I spent holed up in my room studying for my Music and English A-Levels just so I could at least get a seven, and now I’m stuck here.”

Katniss nodded her head, “Only ‘cause I did the same thing though. What were we thinking?”

“Ugh, I know! My mum told me that this was an ‘unsustainable career path’. I hate to say it, but I think she may have had a point.”

A crash came from the other side of the room, effectively interrupting their mutual venting session, a clattering of glasses fell to the floor and shattered, causing both Katniss and Rue to jump before turning around to see what happened. A flustered waiter apologised profusely to a skimpy blonde who looked upon him with narrowed green eyes, and a stain that looked an awful lot like red wine spilled on her yellow dress. The few people who had been applauding the waiters slip up began to slow their claps when they realised that the unfortunate woman who now had a stain across the front of her dress, was not taking it on the chin as it were. In fact, she looked like she was a few seconds from throwing a fit.

“Oof, would not want to be that guy,” Rue remarked, “Glimmer looks about ready to go get his ass fired.”

Katniss turned to look at Rue, who was leaning her chin on the back of the sofa, “How’d you know her name?”

Rue made a face, “She’s a presenter at the radio station, she does the show that Annie used to do.” 

“Shit, really,” Katniss said, blowing air through her teeth to make a low whistling sound. “That show was one of the more popular ones.”

“Still is. Rumour has it that the company hired her to replace Annie, who was making noises to leave, so they sent her Glimmer as an intern. Annie left a week later, claiming that the work environment had become insufferable.”

Katniss had turned back to watch as the waiter bent to pick up the broken glass, whilst so-called Glimmer rolled her eyes impatiently at another waiter who was handing her paper towels to try wipe up the mess on her dress. While watching, Katniss listened intently to what Rue was saying, “People weren’t surprised when she quit. Glimmer is quite literally the epitome of a toxic work environment.”

“Oh well, this just makes me all the more glad that I left,” Katniss said. Annie had emailed her when she’d quit, but hadn’t given a reason why. At the time, Katniss had just assumed it was because both Johanna and herself had already left, but this must have been the breaking point for her. 

“Oh, she’s not even the worst of it,” Rue said, a cynical smile touching her lips as they watched another woman with jet black hair and pinched features walk up to Glimmer, she took the paper towels from the waitress and threw them down to the floor, yelling something unintelligible, “That’s Clove. As you can see, she’s got quite a temper on her. She’s the one who replaced Johanna as DJ. The two of them together are quite… formidable.”

Katniss turned in her seat to grab her drink from the table so she could drink and watch this scene unfold in front of her. She would be lying if she said that it wasn’t just a teeny bit entertaining. Taking a sip from her mellowing beer, she almost choked when she saw who was joining the show. Blond ashen curls, broad shoulders, and a slight limp from a rugby injury that had never quite healed. It was Peeta. Her Peeta, consoling this shallow, pitiful, blonde bimbo. 

She could feel Rue’s eyes on her, watching for a reaction. Katniss swallowed painfully, oblivious to the taste, eyes glued to what was happening in front of her very eyes. Maybe it wasn’t him. It couldn’t possibly be him. There was no way, absolutely no fucking way, that the Peeta Mellark that she had known all throughout secondary school, was even remotely affiliated with such a cow. Deep down, Katniss knew that she was possibly being a little harsh, but jealousy, lots of it, was rearing its ugly green head, skewing her opinions.

“Yeah, and then there’s that,” Rue uttered, “reason number fuck knows what as to why I ‘strongly dislike’ Glimmer.”

Katniss breathed deeply, shoving down the irrational, possessive anger that was overcoming her. She cleared her throat, which had become exceptionally tight in the last two minutes, “Are they… an item?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Rue said, turning around to face the other way again, “as far as I know, they’re just fuck buddies. Who knows, though, maybe he does the wine and dining as well.”

Katniss, following suit, also turned around, sitting stoically, and taking slow sips from her sweating drink. “So he’s fucking her.”

Rue nodded, sighing a little as she did so, “I know it might not be my place to comment-”

“It probably isn’t then,” Katniss interrupted, wanting very much to go back to her hotel room now.

  “But,” Rue continued, “you were really fucking dense to let that man walk away from you. I have no idea what happened between the two of you, but even I can appreciate that ass, and oh my god those shoulders,” she pretended to fan herself, before turning incredulous, “and he’s not even my type.”

Katniss snorted at this, turning around for a quick second, to survey the specimen that was now patting down an incensed Glimmer. She couldn’t deny that he still looked sexy as fuck. He definitely seemed to have fared this year a little better than her. Turning back around, she looked down at what she was wearing. A simple dress that she’d bought from a charity shop when she was sixteen, it was light blue and the material was soft and light, perfect for the humid weather that London summers were, but it did look as if it might be on its last legs. Her hair was loose for once, and hung in ebony waves down her back, but otherwise she hadn’t made much of an effort, as could be seen by her scruffy trainers and mismatched socks. She didn’t need to impress these people anyway. 

“Yeah, stupid indeed,” Katniss muttered. 

They sat there then, silence washing over them, until the unmistakable sound of a speaker system being plugged in echoed throughout the crowded room. Katniss looked up to see her friend climbing up onto the bar, a little wobbly on her feet, but her voice was commanding no less.

“Alrighty, I’ve been asked to do a little set tonight, but because I forgot to set up a good playlist that will please all of you old folk, I’ll be taking requests,” she made to get off the bar, but paused mid-step hollering across the room, “And if I think your song request is shit I won’t play it, feel free to take it personally.”

Katniss didn’t really care much for the offer to request music, she was just relieved to know that Johanna had, in fact, shown up. She had been wondering whether either of her ex-work-colleagues had actually bothered. Knowing that Johanna was here, though where she’d been all night was something Katniss would like to know, meant that Annie was probably here as well. 

Rue, on the other hand, immediately got up. Kissing Katniss on the cheek, she proclaimed, “Oh, I have a song that Jo simply must play.” 

She walked off into the crowd, but abruptly turned back, looking down at Katniss, who was still cocooned in the soft leather of the sofa, “Also, if you get any interesting job offers don’t be scared to recommend me,” with a wink, she waltzed off again.

Alone once again, and trying desperately to distract herself from the ‘pat down’ Peeta was assuredly still giving Glimmer, Katniss gulped down the rest of her pint, before standing to go get another. 

Waiting at the bar for the barmaid to get to her drink, she tapped out a rhythm on the polished wood. Distracted, she almost didn’t notice the familiar opening chords to a song she hadn’t let herself listen to in a year. 

Johanna’s voice sounded over the speaker system, “For all you lovesick idiots here tonight, Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey.”

Katniss’ breath stilled in her chest, this must have been some sick joke the universe was playing on her. Despite herself, Katniss searched the room for the familiar face that she had once danced to this with at prom. Scanning the crowd, her eyes finally landed on a seemingly just as stunned Peeta Mellark, his face so pale and pinched he looked like he was about to throw up. He, too, looked to be scanning the crowd. He couldn’t know that she was here, could he? She knew  that she should probably shrink back into the shadows, or, better yet, vacate the premises and head back to her hotel room, to avoid any unnecessary drama that she most certainly did not need. Yet, against her better judgement, she stood her ground, not actively looking to be seen, but not hiding from sight either. 

Her eyes stayed on him, noticing with a missed beat of her heart that Glimmer and Clove were both conspicuously absent. The song had already passed the first verse when Peeta’s eyes finally locked on hers. His eyes widened in surprise, but beneath it was still the same warmth and affection that had always been. Her sharp intake of breath told her all she needed to know, those baby blues could still make her knees weak, could still make her feel like she was adrift and untethered in a desolate ocean, with him being the only tether to reality. Their gazes locked on one another as the second verse began;

A singer in a smoky room

The smell of wine and cheap perfume

Peeta’s eyes stared holes into her, and for a moment it was as if no time had passed, as if he was standing on the other side of the school’s assembly hall as an entire year group of nervous sweaty eighteen year olds danced the evening away to overplayed 80’s tracks. Katniss was even greeted with the familiar erratic beating of her heart, wishing and hoping that he’d just bottle up the nerve and ask her already!

That night, she had been the one to walk across the dance floor to ask him to dance, but tonight, it seemed it would be Peeta who would take the first tentative steps towards her.

For a smile they can share the night

It goes on and on, and on, and on

 Drink forgotten, Katniss stepped away from the bar, walking towards the people already congregating to dance on a small open space on the floor. The first chorus sounded through the room;

Strangers, waitin’

Up and down the boulevard

Their shadows

Searchin’ in the night

Streetlights, people

Livin’ just to find emotion

Hidin’ somewhere in the night

They met in the middle, and Katniss looked up at him through her lashes. 

“For old times sake,” Peeta murmured down to her, offering his hand.

She tried not to let his remark sting, that their relationship is in fact in the past. That he had moved on from her, that she should too. But falling into his arms, head resting over his breast bone listening to his heart thumping away, letting him sway them to the music, felt so natural and familiar. The tears stung behind her eyes, and she bit her lip to stop herself from sobbing out loud. She didn’t want to be sad, to mar this song with her regrets, when it was accompanied by so many good and happy memories. Of the two of them messing around in his kitchen, or her bedroom. 

So, she swallowed down her tears, and let herself fall back in time to when things were simpler. Letting the music and words wash over her, rejuvenating her weary soul.

Workin’ hard to get my fill

Everybody wants a thrill

Payin’ anything to roll the dice

Just one more time

Some will win

Some will lose

Some were born to sing the blues

Oh, the movie never ends

It goes on and on, and on, and on

She laughed when he spun her, then recaptured her in his arms. He swooped low, before lifting them back up and spinning them in slow circles. 

Strangers waitin’

Up and down the boulevard

Their shadows

Searchin’ in the night

Streetlights, people

Livin’ just to find emotion

Hidin’ somewhere in the night

She took the lead, moving them faster, along to the tune of the song. Pulling away from his embrace, but holding on to his hands, as she spun herself to lean her back against his chest with his arms crossed protectively over her.

Don’t stop believin’

Hold on to that feelin’

Streetlight, people

Don’t stop, believin’

Hold on

Streetlights, people

As the song began to slow again, and Steve Perry ad-libbed his way through the end of the song, Peeta turned her again so that they were pressed chest to chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and their steps became so minuscule they could do it on a pie plate if they wished to do so. She stared up into his bottomless blue eyes, a genuine smile lighting up her face for the first time this evening. 

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Her smile faltered slightly, and she looked down, ashamed at how easily she had let herself fall back into his arms. The moment of magic had ended, and she was thrown back into the icy cold reality of her life. For christ’s sake they hadn’t spoken in a year, and now suddenly they were dancing and laughing on the dance floor!

Don’t stop believin’

Hold on to that feelin’

Streetlight, people 

He turned them one last time. He leant his cheek on the top of her head, sighing quietly as if knowing about the beratement Katniss was giving herself in her head. He swayed them as the song faded out. She pulled away, chancing a glance up at his face. The pain she had inflicted onto him shone through his eyes, and though it killed her to do it, she could only pull further out of his arms, backing away. He watched after her, arms limp at his sides, and she turned, pushing through the crowd.

“Oi, watch it!” Someone called after her as she shoved past people. 

Finally, after stepping on numerous toes and elbowing a few people in the sides, she made it over to the makeshift DJ table. Johanna was leaning against it, chewing on a toothpick as she announced in a lazy drawl the next song. Behind her shoulder she could see Annie leaning heavily into some guy with bronzed curls and tanned skin, Katniss thought that she had seen him before in a couple of Annie’s instagram posts. 

“Ahhh, Brainless,” Johanna called out when she spotted a breathless Katniss standing before the table, “here to make a song request? Maybe another one that you can dance to with lover boy.”

“What the fuck, Jo?” Katniss cried out, “Did you put that song on just to mess with my head? ‘Cause it sure as hell worked.” Katniss ran her shaking hands through her hair, not caring if she messed it up, or if it got tangled. 

Johanna raised her eyebrows in surprise, “Wait, you don’t actually believe I put that song on, do you?”

“Well, who else, Johanna?!” 

“I didn’t even know you were here up until five minutes ago, let alone him!” Johanna spat out, incredulity lacing her voice, “And besides, I’m only taking requests this evening. I did let everyone know,” she sniffed, rolling her eyes.

“Ok fine, if it wasn’t you, then who?” Katniss hissed, “Because I will start throwing arms if I have to, Jo.”

“Jeez, don’t get your knickers all in a twist, it was only a little dancey,” Johanna teased. Looking at Katniss’ bemused face, she relented, “If you promise to not beat the living lights out of her, I’ll tell.”

“‘Kay fine, I promise,” Katniss said, her anger subsiding a little. Whoever it was, it wasn’t their fault that she couldn’t just leave when she definitely should have, “Just tell me who.”

Johanna nodded her head in the direction of the bar, Katniss followed her gaze, eyes greeted with an apologetic looking Rue. Rue grimaced a little, apparently having watched Katniss’ outburst. At least she looked sorry, Katniss thought. 

Her anger having dissipated, the feeling of regret and sadness settled cold and heavy in her stomach. She deflated against the table, feeling very tired all of a sudden, “I need a smoke,” she muttered, “Lighter,” she held out her hand.

Johanna grumbled under her breath, fishing through her pockets for a lighter. “Give it back after,” she warned, slapping it into Katniss’ outstretched palm.

Katniss weaved her way through the crowds once more, being a little more careful to not piss off so many people this time, until she got to the coat rack next to the door. The coat rack itself was leaning over under the weight of all the coats draped over the top of it. After some digging around, Katniss found her light jean jacket and pulled it out from underneath the mountain of others piled up on top of it. Pulling it on, she pushed open the door to the pub and stepped out into the night. 

It looked like the sun had just gone down, streaks of orange fading into the sky as dusk settled over the stinking, sweltering city. It had cooled off quite a bit from earlier, and Katniss huddled herself further into her jacket, trying to leech off any residual warmth from it. She walked down the shallow stone steps,  found herself a place to light her cigarette. Leaning against the cold brick wall behind her, not caring if she got her coat or dress dirty. She fished a loose cigarette out of her coat pocket, and lit the fag, taking a long drag from it, breathing it back out into the cooling air.

“Those things kill, you know,” A voice sounded from behind her. She scowled at how it made her heart leap hopefully in her chest. 

“I know,” she almost growled, wanting him to fuck off back to Glimmer already. She couldn’t deal with having him thrust back into her life, pretending like nothing happened between them. Like she hadn’t irreparably fucked up their entire relationship, just because she felt ‘claustrophobic’.

“I thought you were quitting?” Peeta asked, walking to stand next to her and pulling out his own cigarette. 

She passed him Johanna’s lighter, “You can’t talk,” she snorted as she watched him light his, “And anyway, I am. I just keep emergency ones in all of my coats, and in a few of my trousers.”

Peeta laughed at this, “Yeah, sure does sound like you’re quitting.”

“Hey,” she protested, “I never keep a lighter on me, that way I have to ask someone, and then they’re also accountable for my inevitable lung cancer.”

Peeta’s eyebrows rose at this, and he took a puff from his own cancer stick, “Oh yeah, and how long did it take you do that mental gymnastics.”

Katniss only rolled her eyes, and they both stood next to each other staring out at the street. They watched as a bus pulled up at the stop, and an old man stumbled out, hobbling into the Ladbrokes opposite. A siren blared somewhere in the distance. Two extremely drunk men sat on the steps a good ten metres away from them, but were loud enough for their slurred words to reach the two.

“Listen Katniss, about before,” Peeta started, breaking their comfortable silence, “I didn’t mean to make you feel crowded or guilty, or anything like that.” He looked to her, but she stared resolutely ahead, taking slow small puffs from her cigarette.

“It’s fine,” she finally said, “forget about it. I probably shouldn’t have even danced with you in the first place, what with you being with Glimmer and all.”

“Ah, shit,” Peeta breathed out, “I didn’t think you knew about that.”

“Yeah well, I do,” Katniss snapped. 

Peeta looked as if he wanted to say something, but Katniss cut him off before he could, “I really don’t want to know.”

Peeta nodded his head. They were quiet for a moment.

“I mean, it’s not like you’re not allowed anyway,” Katniss said, scuffing the toe of her already scruffy trainer against the cracked pavement.

Peeta huffed out a bemused, short-lived laugh, “Care to explain that, whilst we’re out here talking civilly?”

“What?” Katniss asked, “Are you asking why I broke up with you?”

Peeta nodded his head once more.

Katniss sighed, “I feel like I’ve told myself and everyone around me the same explanation about a million times, but standing here it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” Peeta whispered.

Katniss sighed, trying not to sound too exasperated. What’s it to him anyway, she thought. “Look Peeta, I told you before, and I’ll say it again. It wasn’t you.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop asking myself if I did something,” Peeta said.

Katniss finally turned to look up at him, as he stared up at the darkening sky, searching it for the few visible stars, “We’re not even thirty yet, Peeta, I’m not ready to settle. I wasn’t last year, and I definitely am not this year. And I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if you told me you weren’t ready yet either, and you’re allowed to be with whoever you want, even if it is someone as silly and shallow as Glimmer. I guess it’s better to get your mid-life crisis out the way now,” she said with a smirk, before sobering and adding quietly, “I’m not completely oblivious Peeta, it’s not like I don’t see her appeal.”

Peeta looked down at her, opening his mouth, she was sure, to deny that Glimmer’s big boobs were the reason. She held up her hand to stop him, “Who knows though, maybe someone’ll convince me to come to this thing again next year, and I’ll see you again. Hopefully with someone other than Glimmer. And just like this year, I’ll steal you for a dance, and then lure you outside for a smoke, and we’ll catch up,” she paused for dramatic affect, stealing herself for what she was going to say next, “After that, you’ll kiss me, right up against the cold brick wall,” she watched as Peeta’s eyes widened at her bold statement.

  Maybe it was her pint of beer that had made her so free and uncaring with her sentiments. Though Katniss would never describe herself as a lightweight, she admitted to herself that it had been a good six weeks since she’d had a proper drink. On second thought, she remembered the last time she drank before tonight being a little over a week ago, and it had been a cider. She grimaced at the thought. Fuck, she mused, when did I become a lightweight? Peeta cleared his throat uncomfortably, prompting her to continue, but unsure of whether she was finished or not. Katniss mentally shook herself before finishing in a low, sultry voice, “Just like you’re going to do this year.”

 “Fuck,” Peeta breathed out, and Katniss watched him visibly struggle to swallow. She tried, and failed, to suppress her smug little smirk, that she could still affect him like this. It eased the green beast within her, the one that had wanted to stamp her foot and cry out earlier when she had witnessed Peeta wiping down the front of Glimmer’s dress. She shook her head. She didn’t want to think of Glimmer, Peeta was out here with her now, that must count for something, right?

“Are you, umm - being serious?” Peeta stuttered, and despite herself Katniss grinned at how flustered he was getting, the pink staining his cheeks betraying how agitated he really was, “Or are you just pulling my leg?”

Katniss took a long drag from her fag, sucking on it until it was down to the stub, “Do I look like I’m joking, Mellark?” 

She watched as his pupils dilated even more in the darkening night, until the blue of his irises were only thin rings around the black pits of his desire. She reveled in being able to do this to him still, after all this time. It comforted her, in a weird, possessive, unhealthy sort of way.

 “No,” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely audible. He dropped his cigarette on the floor, not even bothering to stamp it out before stepping forwards. Large hands came to a rest on her waist, pushing her further back against the wall. She bit back a slight moan at the way he seemed to shelter her, the stark contrast of the cold wall behind her, nipping at the backs of her legs, and the heat that enmantend from his body and radiated onto her. She took a deep shuddering breath, pushing her chest upwards against his. Her hand shook slightly as she stubbed out the remnants of her cigarette against the wall next to her, before letting it fall to the ground as well. 

Their faces were so close now, their mouths only a hair’s breadth apart, all it would take is for one of them to lean in, to close the tantalisingly small space between them. “Tell me you want me to,” Peeta uttered, breath fanning her face. She bit her lip, a sly grin gracing her features.

She leant up on her tiptoes, tracing a path to his ear lobe with her breath, “Peeta Mellark, I want you to kiss me up against this brick wall, until I’m breathless and my knees are weak.” 

 He groaned loudly, and she was about to tell him to be quiet when his lips descended greedily on hers. Knocking the breath right out of her, as he sucked and bit tenderly against first her top and then her bottom lip. She whimpered, admitting to herself that she had missed the way it felt to be kissed by someone who cared. Who didn’t just do it as a way to get into her underwear. 

It was his turn to smile smugly, he pulled away from her, and she chased his lips with her own. Wanting them back, wanting him to plunge and plunder. She huffed out a frustrated growl when he moved even further away. She opened her eyes, taking in his face that grinned with feigned innocence down at her, “What’s the matter Everdeen?” He asked teasingly, “Knees not weak enough yet?”

She glared at him, he knew exactly what he was doing, and she wasn’t having any of it, not tonight. Lifting her hands to his hair, she played with the blond locks, smiling up at him demurely. She would tell him what she wanted step by step if necessary, but she didn’t think it would be. Cocking her head to the side, she mirrored his look of feigned innocence, before tangling her fingers into the shorter hairs at the back of his head, and pulling his lips back down to hers. He grunted against her, and she opened her mouth ever so slightly in invitation. 

It took her all of two seconds to lose all inhibitions, Peeta’s hands moved up from their resting spot on her waist, one cradling the back of her neck and one stroking up and down her back in a motion that made Katniss giddy with desire. Their tongues met in a dance, reacquainting themselves. Peeta’s dove into her mouth, rediscovering everything he already knew about her. 

Peeta placed his leg in between her own, which had opened a little of their own accord, bringing it upwards slightly, daring her to grind up against it. Stubborn as ever, though, Katniss refused to take the bait. Knowing him, he would probably tease her, pull away before she could really get going. But when he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, she relented. She could feel her knees turning into jelly, forcing her to slump down onto his leg. She ground down on it experimentally, the rough material of his jeans rubbing up against her boy shorts. Katniss swore into his mouth, and did it again, letting the motion stimulate her throbbing center. She was almost glad that he couldn’t feel the intensity of the heat that seemed to be pouring from her core, but another part of her needed him to know that he could still do this to her. Could still drive her to do halfway insane things, like letting him ravage her up against a wall with all of her ex colleagues a mere few metres away. Pulling his head down further, she held him there, desperate to drink more of him in. 

“Katniss,” he whispered against her mouth, before diving right back in. 

It was her turn to grunt at the power in which he started almost devouring her mouth, she could only cling to the locks of hair wrapped around her fingers, in hopes that she wouldn’t just crumple to the floor. She was rocking against his leg in a steady rhythm, each stroke of his rough denim trousers against her center making her more frantic, desperate for more. Her nerve endings felt frayed, threatening to short circuit and send her spiralling through the abyss. Peeta continued to busy himself with her mouth, pulling away before delving back in, more thorough and rough each time, so that she could only whimper helplessly into his mouth.

It was when the hand that had been stroking leisurely circles into her spine crept towards her front before meandering downwards, that Katniss came somewhat to her senses. She stopped his hand with one of her own, before it could get to the hemline of the skirt to her dress. She pulled away from his lips that had been stroking soft sublime on hers, and looked at him. Eyes blown wide, lips swollen and red from kissing, blond hair tousled and mussed from all her incessant tugging. She was sure she was mirroring this disheveled appearance back at him. He lowered his leg from where it had stayed resting against her, but his hand stayed trapped between their two bodies. If it weren’t so painfully obvious how much they had missed each other, it would be comical how fast and hard they’d fallen back into heated touches and frantic kisses. 

She took a deep breath, wondering if she should apologise, or at least explain, but her brain was still fogged with arousal, and she was finding it very hard to look him in the eye. Instead, she got back on to her tip toes and brought her arms up around his neck, pulling him close to her for a hug. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he slowly brought his arms around her waist, holding her to him as well.

“One day, Peeta,” she began, talking into his neck, “one day…”

“But not today,” he finished for her.

She nodded and squeezed him tighter, a hundred memories of them together flooding her mind, and for the second time this evening she had to fight back the urge to sob. She could only be relieved that he had understood, understood why she couldn’t let him do that, not now, and certainly not here. 

He squeezed her back, and she swore she felt him inhaling her smell, at any other time this would have turned her on beyond reason, but now it only saddened her. How had she managed to fuck it up again? He pressed a quick kiss into the juncture of where her neck met her shoulder, before releasing her from his grasp. 

She wobbled, still a little unsteady on her feet, but managed to start walking in the direction of her bus stop. As she walked past the two drunk men that were still sitting on the stone steps to the pub, she heard one of them call out to her.

“Is the show over, sweetheart?” he asked, sarcasm along with whatever he’d had to drink lacing his voice, “That’s a shame, me an’ Chaff here were really startin’ to ge’ into it.” 

Katniss turned to look at the man who had said it, scathing reply waiting at the tip of her tongue, but before she could say anything, the other man, Chaff she assumed, slurred out;

“Won’t you give an ol’ man a kiss before you go?” The two men guffawed as he made kissy faces at her.

“Arseholes,” Katniss muttered under her breath.

The man with salt and pepper hair down to his shoulders called after her again, though all traces of amusement were gone from his voice. He sounded surprisingly sober when he told her, “I see the way you have him wrapped around your finger, sweetheart, you could live a hundred lifetimes and still not deserve what he gave you tonight,” he burped loudly and continued, “One day he’ll realise that, he’ll realise that he’s better than tha’, be’er than you.” 

 Katniss tried to ignore his words as she waited at the traffic light for the little green man to pop up so she could cross the road, but they still made her blood run cold, because maybe he was right. She turned her head to the side, waiting impatiently for the cars to come to a slow at the T-junction, when the old man, who had since left the betting shop, added his own snarky comment to the fray. If she had known how many people were watching them, she wouldn’t have let it get that far, or go on for so long.

“When do you think he’ll notice the exact degree of your indifference?” He asked in a voice that was weathered and old, but still demanded her attention. He had posed his comment as a question, but he said it as if he already knew the answer. She wasn’t indifferent, she thought, but doubt coursed through her. Hadn’t she just used him to prove a point? A stupid petty point, that she was better than Glimmer. She shook her head at the notion, it had just been a drunken mistake, nothing more.

She turned her head to face the decrepit old man, biting out a response, “Those are some awfully big words for a filthy old beggar, let’s hope you don’t choke on ‘em.” 

The old man threw his head back and laughed, his cracked voice making it sound more like a cackle than anything. To her surprise the man actually did start choking, on his own blood. He bent forwards, crouching low as he spat blood to the floor. 

“Gross,” Katniss muttered, before hurrying across the road. To hell with the traffic, she thought, she just needed to get the fuck out of here.

 The shame and regret were already starting to curl themselves around her, and she felt almost sick with it. She was once again being reminded of how easily being around Peeta could fuck with her head, how it could make her do things that she otherwise wouldn’t do. That she’d sworn to herself wouldn’t happen again. Because, yes, her drink might have had something to do with it, but it was also him, he was intoxicating. The moment she had noticed he was in the room, she had wanted him, needed him. And it might be true that she could make him feel the same way, but people never seemed to see that he was just as good at it as she was. He was always the sweet golden boy, who had had the misfortune of falling in love with the likes of her.

She looked across the street when she arrived at the bus stop. The pub was pouring light from it’s windows and she heard the music playing. Peeta had already disappeared, and Katniss wondered how much he had heard. She hoped none of it. The old man was shuffling into the Tesco next door to the Ladbrokes, and the two men were still sat outside the pub, drinking from flasks. She looked up at the timetable that the bus stop provided, and cursed under her breath when she saw that her bus wouldn’t be arriving for another seven minutes. 

She was about to start walking down the highstreet, so that she wouldn’t have to stand, waiting like a sitting duck, when her phone vibrated in her coat pocket with an incoming message. 

Pulling it out of the pocket, she read what it said.

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:21pm]: Where are you? I’m hungry and bored, wanna get smth to eat?

Katniss considered ignoring the message, but her stomach rumbled in response to the thought of food.

Katniss Everdeen [Sent 10:22pm]: At the bus stop across the road. Don’t you have a set? 

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:22pm]: Ofc you are. Yh I do, but any moron can do this. These song requests are driving me insane tho, so… food?

Katniss Everdeen [Sent 10:23pm]: Yh alright, what tho?

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:24pm]: I could really go for a kebab… and a smoke. We’re leaving now.

Katniss looked up from her phone. Shit. Johanna’s lighter. Peeta still had it. She watched as Johanna banged open the doors to the pub. Trailing after her was a wobbly Annie and the man from earlier. Katniss looked around her, hoping one of the many corner shops littering the street were still open, but they were all depressingly closed. Katniss glared at the closed signs on all the shop doors as if their existence offended her eyes, because in that moment, they really did.

She’d get that lighter back - she turned and saw the group crossing the road - though, maybe not today.

[sammystep]

No One Lives Forever- CH7

(AO3 link)

Stardust Crusader Wolf Pack AU

[From the beginning- CH1]

<Previous Chapter   Next Chapter>

It took Polnareff some time to cool off from the implications that the mysterious and frankly frightening man he met all those years ago was now behind some other shady business involving wolves, but by the time he reached the vehicles abandoned on the side of the road he was able to focus on the task at hand. Both were unlocked so it was easy to take a look inside the white van first. Opening the back door revealed the cargo area had been partitioned with metal cage sections like those in the backs of police cruisers.

Other gear was scattered around the back near the rear doors for easy access. Some more guns and ammo boxes and an overturned bin of the collar devices that they found on the bodies. Nothing really caught his eye but he took pictures on his phone for future reference. The keys were still in the ignition so he started up the vehicle and moved it off the main road to not draw unwanted attention.

It felt rude to go sniffing through your car, so after a brief look through the windows to confirm the hunters left no surprises, he opened the door and put it in neutral. With a few strong shoves he was able to rescue it from the shallow ditch it had been driven into. Your keys were also still in the ignition and luckily it started, but a few lights on the dash lit up- probably more internal damage than he first assumed from the crash. Driving slow and steady he was able to get it back to the cabin.

The slamming of the car door must have alerted the rest of the pack to his return, he saw Avdol peek through the window as he made his way to the door. Inside he was glad to see you moving about mostly unaided on your own, your wounds must be healing well thanks to Avdol’s expert care. Producing your car keys, he hands them over, “I was able to drive it back, but I don’t think it’s up for any longer distances without repairs. I thought you would want your things back though.”

You sigh as you realize you really are stuck with this pack, not that you mind them but the sudden loss of freedom is disheartening. You thank him as you take back your keys.

���Pol, did you find anything else? Any link to who sent them?” Jotaro asks as everyone stares intently at him, the rest of the pack must have already been brought up to speed on the situation.

“Just more of the same gear. I moved their van off the road so no nosey troopers get involved, at least not right now. Took some pictures of the inside in case you guys see anything I missed.” Polnareff hands over his phone to Jotaro who scrolls through the images before handing it to Avdol. Walking over to the table where the hunters’ things are still laid out Polnareff absently fiddles with the extra ammo before picking one up to examine more closely. “Hmm, that’s odd. There are no makers marks on this?”

“What do you mean?” Joseph scratches his beard as he holds one up as well.

“It’s weird that there’s no markings whatsoever. Silver bullets are always homemade but the quality of these, they look mass produced but have no manufacture marks.” Polnareff’s face is grim as he makes the connection.

“What does that mean? Is that unusual?” You ask as you try to understand the significance.

Jotaro sighs as Polnareff hands him the piece he was holding. “It means this group of hunters is experienced enough not to leave evidence linking to them. And their operation is probably much more complex and much bigger than the group we encountered here. The tech, the mass manufacture of silver ammo…”

“And the van was modified for prisoners.” Polnareff shakes his head and sighs.

“Polnareff, you said before you recognized the smell of one of the hunters.” Jotaro rolls his eyes as Joseph lets out a fake cough that sounds a lot like ‘DIO’. “Ignoring who it may or may not be for now, how do you know that scent?”

“I don’t know how else to describe it other than it smells like magic. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever smelled. There was only one person I’ve ever encountered that smelled like that.” Polnareff sits heavily in the nearest chair as the pack reconvenes at the table. “It was about five years ago now, before I met you Mr. Joestar. I was in New York City for the first time, trying to follow a lead on a case but having no luck. I heard rumors of a man who knew what had really happened to… in the case.” Polnareff gets a little choked up but controls himself and continues. “I was able to set up a meeting, but when I went to the spot, everything kind of… shifted? It felt like I was in a dream: it was hard to move, like weights on my feet. Everything looked just slightly wrong too, hazy like in a fog. I remember there was some sort of party going on, a lot of people everywhere like a medieval banquet or something. That’s where I met him. He introduced himself as Dio and I could tell he wasn’t human but couldn’t place what he actually was. He claimed he had the information I needed, but it would come at a price.”

“What do you mean by ‘investigation?” you tilt your head in confusion as you try to analyze his story so far.

“Ah, you wouldn’t know yet chérie but I’m one of the best private investigators in New York, probably the whole east coast!” Polnareff brags, jabbing his chest with his thumb.

“Focus Pol! What was his ‘price’?” Joseph groans out, exasperated with the younger man’s need to show off. “And why did you even need supernatural help? Not to inflate your ego any more than it is, but you are a good investigator.”

Polnareff looks down to the table, all sense of cheerfulness gone from his face. “The case had gone cold. It’s actually the reason I became a PI in the first place. My family, the whole town… they were murdered!” He slams his fists on the table as he shouts. “And not by just some maniac in the night! It was something inhuman! That’s the reason why I needed his help or whatever info he had on who did such a terrible act.”

You are frozen to your chair in shock with this new information. It seems to have taken the younger members of the pack by surprise too, Joseph and Avdol only nodding along in understanding. “The whole town murdered? You don’t mean…The one north of Quebec City, that was your home?” you say quietly.

Polnareff’s eyes shoot to yours, “Oui! Do you know of it?”

You swallow nervously as all the attention turns on you, “I heard of it, that was about seven or eight years ago right?” Polnareff nods and you continue, “That was about time I left my parent’s territory to try and find or start my own pack. They made me promise to not go that far north to Quebec, they were afraid whatever did that would get me too. They say the whole town was… torn apart.”

Polnareff hangs his head and you can see tears gather in his blue eyes. “Yes. It’s been years now but the pain… I wasn’t there when it happened, I was off in Quebec City partying while my family… When I got back, I was the one who found them. It wasn’t just a burglary gone bad or even ‘normal’ murder. Whatever killed them had used silver to do it. All of them, the whole town,” he chokes on his words trying to get the next ones out, “some of the bodies were eaten. Not by animals, by something almost human. I didn’t rest for days afterward. I swore I would hunt down the thing, the demon that did this to them. Unfortunately, I was not as good a tracker then as I am now, and the trail grew cold fast. So, I became a PI to try and keep looking and hone my skills.”

“That Dio guy, did he help at all? You said his help came at a price.” Jotaro directs the conversation back to the mysterious encounter.

“His price was too steep. He wanted information about other supernatural beings, to keep tabs and report to him directly.”

“Do you think he really did have the information though?” Kakyoin questions as he steeples his fingers together in front of him while he considers the information of Polnareff’s story.

Polnareff shakes his head, “It’s impossible to know now. He was so confident, about everything. I think I surprised him when I refused though. For a moment, it was like I saw his true face through the fog, he was suddenly terrifying and not at all charming. But I figured if he knew something, with all the people he had surrounded himself with someone else was bound to know as well. Whatever secret knowledge he had, it wouldn’t be secret for long. And why pay such a price for something that I could get for free later?”

“Did you ever find out his secret?” Avdol leans in as he asks, enraptured by Polnareff’s tale.

“Non, I don’t even remember leaving the place he brought me to. The next thing I remember after turning down his offer is, I suddenly found myself sitting in my car ready to head back to my motel.” He clasps his hands together and you can see his knuckles turn white from the tension. “I tried to find him again to, I don’t know… stop him? His intentions for the info on other creatures… It couldn’t have been good. And the slip of his façade I saw. The man, that creature is bad news. But he might have well been a ghost. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.”

Polnareff turns to you, “A few years later I got hired by Mr. Joestar to keep an eye on a shady landlord working for him, and I guess the rest is history.” He shakes his head, “Who would have thought joining your pack would lead back to Dio again. Non- this is fate.”

Avdol gives Polnareff a pat on the shoulder before turning to Joseph. “Mr. Joestar, I think you should tell us what you know about Dio, or at least the person you know as Dio. I think it’s time the younger ones hear this.” Avdol says as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.

Joseph nods and runs his hand through his hair before he begins, “Right. Ahh, well,” he pauses to gather his thoughts for a second, “I know this is going to sound crazy but I guess there is no way around it. When I was young, I lived with my granny Erina, my parents were either dead or missing and her husband Jonathan had been dead since before my father was even born. Now’s not the time to get into the details of that but Granny used to tell me all kinds of stories from when Jonathan was alive. And most importantly- the majority of them involved an evil man named DIO! My grandfather’s adopted brother!” Joseph doesn’t control his volume in his excitement and ends up shouting his last sentence.

“Being an adopted son in a werewolf pack was strange enough, but Granny could tell there was something ‘other’ about Dio as well. Then one night, his schemes and plans finally came to fruition! There was a massive fight at the house, Granny said Jonathan would not speak of it except that his father George had died saving him from Dio’s magic and in the fight the manor was set on fire and burned down. Jonathan made it his life’s mission to find and destroy Dio, not for revenge but for the safety of England and the world!” Joseph turns his attention to look directly at Jotaro, “Dio was a changeling child. His actions confirmed it that night. He was one of the last remaining Fae on earth. And apparently not of the good and benevolent kind. So, you see why it could be possible that this man may be the same one my grandpa tried to destroy more than a hundred years ago.”

“That… that’s impossible! The Fae, they all disappeared long before that to Avalon.” Kakyoin is wide eyed as he tries to process the information. “I know some humans still believe in them, but…”

“I know! I know! I thought they were just stories from my granny too!” Joseph exclaims and puts his hand to his eyes, “But one time… I don’t think I was supposed to see it, but I found an old photo album. There was a family photo of my grandfather, his father, and Dio.” He turns to Polnareff, “Pol, the man you met. Did he have blond hair, angry eyes and three moles on his left ear?”

It’s Polnareff’s turn to go pale as he slowly nods.

Jotaro growls as he tilts his hat to hide his eyes before snapping his head up to face the pack. “As impossible as this all sounds, it doesn’t change the fact that someone is hunting down wolves. I don’t give a shit if it is Dio or not, or an extinct Fae or not. We are going to put an end to this.” He looks around the table for a second and you can tell his eyes linger on yours longer than the others. “If anyone has an objection to this say it now. There will be no opportunity later.”

Joseph slams his hand to the table palm down, “I’m in! lets show this bastard who he’s messing with!”

Joseph’s enthusiasm is contagious and you and Polnareff slam your hands to the table as well, surprising the group with the fire they can see burning in your eyes. “Hell yeah! They think they can just take me? No way! I’m going to help tear this guy to pieces! I’m with you all the way!” You say as you look directly at Jotaro. You’re not sure but you think that’s a look of pride on his face as you make your declaration.

Avdol and Kakyoin keep their cool but you can see the determination in their eyes as they nod and place their hands on the table as well. Joseph is grinning like a feral maniac and you suddenly believe his stories about saving the world with how excited he looks to do it all over again. “Then it’s settled! I’ll call Caesar and let him know to gather the Zeppeli pack too.” Joseph pauses as he stands and looks at you, “Oh, and (Y/N)?” you tilt your head at him to continue. “Welcome to the Joestar pack.”

 <Previous Chapter  Next Chapter>

Author’s Note:

Sorry for the slow update! Guess who’s not good at regulating her personal time? This gal! I had to change up the process of how I’m writing this cause just trying to type on my computer had too many distractions and next thing I know I’ve been playing Stardew Valley for  3 hours.

Anyway, I have a favor to ask- I need a name for one of the dead bad guys. So leave a comment with a first name for the guy from Jersey, can be a bad ex, terrible boss, friend you want to embarrass by getting their name in a fanfic (first names only please- no doxing!)

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen: Teardrop In My Eye

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

"Smith, you are being relieved of duty."

"Sir?" Jane stumbled, her smile turned downward.

The man laughed, clapping her on the shoulder, "only for the day, thought it would get you."

She sneered, "always an ass."

"Though," his green eyes sparkled, it was not settling, "you have company."

Fuck.

She pulled the elastic from her hair, attempting to pull her blonde locks from the day-long wear of a ponytail. In the end, it was pointless, she had thrown it up wet- a braid would have to hide the indent. Jane could do nothing for the simple hoodie and slacks she had thrown into her locker that morning. Forcing herself to take a seat, she pulled in slow breaths until her mind took heed. It was small potatoes.

Gingerly, she finished the jaunt outside of the Human Embassy and combination C-Sec building.

Evelyn slammed into her side, a good three inches added to the kid, "we're going to space!"

"We would have rang, but you know," Roy pointed to his wrist, his smile cautious.

Jane had avoided anything technology-related, she would have done it much earlier in her life if it were not for necessity. This was an old game, the response a sheepish smile. It was an act of avoidance. But she was trying to do the moving on thing: she had an apartment and a stable job. Sure, it was working as a guard for the relay that led to the Citadel, but it was moving in a direction she was comfortable... if not bored doing. It involved a lot of people watching, as using the relay was not the most sophisticated way to the station. The last person had fallen in drunk and almost drowned upon arrival. Now it functioned more as a memorial for all those lost in the war. She kept the peace and that was enough.

"Are you here to visit the Memorial?" Jane jabbed her finger toward the building, it would give her an excuse to spend some time with them. To clear the air.

Rahna suggested she may be ready.

"We're here to see you, silly!" Evelyn cooed, taking the woman's face in her hands, "you're a little less glowy."

"You're a little less short."

Evelyn returned with a moderately careful headbutt. Helen didn't look too approving as the child sauntered away but cracked a grin. Roy still couldn't manage a full smile.

Jane needed to clear another thing.

"What did you need me for?" she was careful, trying not to let the statement come out in a bark. These visits would always end in the same question, and it was getting harder to say no.

"We're hoping you'd watch our place while we are gone, " Helen finally chimed in, the stern look had softened over months. The strange silence between them never improved much, "we know it's sudden, but if we didn't have to go through Rahna to-"

"Helen," Roy soothed.

"We got it all approved, and we'd even pay you on top of it."

"I'm sure the beam won't miss you-" he paled at his words.

"I'm sure Harold won't miss you-" Roy tried to diffuse Jane's bubbling before it could erupt. The hand on her elbow gripped tighter as she tugged away. It devolved to his full strength pulling around her as she screamed, pleading that they didn't take the Reaper away. Bargaining became a barrage of hate and seething words, still, he held his recruit tightly until she collapsed.

If it was once, the guilt might have faded.

But Jane was stubborn, requiring steady arms until the derelict ship was nothing but an imprint in the ground. The woman didn't leave the crater left behind for the next day, her gaze avoiding him at all costs.

Jane looked up, if only to avoid the sudden turn of emotion, "I suppose it wouldn't."

When this is over, I'm going to be waiting for you. You'd better show up.

Don't get me wrong, I'm gonna fight like hell for the chance to hold you again.

"Is that a yes?"

His evident enthusiasm worked a giggle from the blonde, "it would probably do me good to get out of this city. I heard the English Bay is nice." Jane offered out a hand to him.

Roy swallowed her into a tight embrace, disregarding if the simple gesture was out of forgiveness or striking a deal. It had been far too long, and his recruit been left far too long without proper fatherly affection. Or he was giddy from good news, it was hard to tell.

"When do we need to leave?"

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Jane examined the scattering of personal items in the apartment. Living light on military ships (excepting pets) followed her through to civilian life. Everything she owned could fit into a footlocker without fancy folding. A knife for whittling if she got bored. Shower supplies, her underwhelming supply of clothing, the M-77 because why not. But her eyes stopped on her bedside.

A blank picture frame and the chit to an omnitool would be innocuous to anyone else. It was everything in the world she refused to touch but couldn't look away from. Was it love for her own misery? Or owning up to herself. That other person knocked. She wasn't ready. Couldn't she be ready?

Her fingers graced over the chit, watching it light and unfold. The device would only unlock for an authorized user, and somehow she was that user. Anderson's face popped in on the screen. The panicked expression was no longer a surprise as he searched for something out of shot from the recording, but his eyes eventually returned to the device.

"Shepard, I-"

Jane cut it off, the device flickering away as quickly as it formed. It was two words further than the last attempt. It would have to count as progress.

The picture frame came next, but not even a jolt of power betrayed a change. It was empty, devoid. Still, as if it was familiar, her thumb caressed over the glass surface.

"Kaidan, I-"

Jane's throat seized, the name was still hard to form, "eight hundred and fifty-one days. Tomorrow will mark eight hundred and fifty-two days."

She had long surpassed the days he had in waiting for her not to be dead. She had kept her promise. She had waited, was waiting. Now, Jane had to go. The landlord given notice, her job with a note of apology attached to a resignation letter. Jane felt afraid.

"I'm sorry."

The picture flickered to life, the bubbling of the tank behind her a dull murmur. It took a few rounds, but she settled into the chair, staring at the frame like it was supposed to do something. Her ear tilted for the door, hoping that it would slide open. Wasn't that how the time before a suicide mission was supposed to go? A last-minute confession, sex to blow off some steam before the genuine threat of death.

Mary was waiting, nor would she question the miracle that would have to bring him here.

"Shepard, I could patch you through," Edi chimed in gently.

Slow breathing, counting, clenching her jaw and releasing it kept her busy for five minutes before she let herself consider it. It was her way to leave him on unread, but is that how she wanted to go out again? Was that immaturity the memory she wanted to leave for Kaidan? In the same thought, a call wasn't mature either, but if she died the shame would be short-lived after all. She wanted nothing more than to hear his voice, to feel something akin to comfort. Mary was afraid.

"Edi, send the c-"

Her tool blipped, "I've already programmed a block."

"Thank you, Edi."

Mary fawned over the code, re-entering it several times until she felt a little less panicked. The first attempt ended a few counts after the tool attempted the connection. She shouldn't. What could her greed jeopardize?

She settled back in her chair, sending herself through another wave of madness. The email running through her mind again. She didn't want that to be the last thing she heard from him. Besides, what was he to Cerberus if she was gone? Her greed entered the number again, this time it patched through. Connecting, connecting, connecting until it timed out.

Mary held back on questioning Edi.

She waited again, promising herself this would be the last try. 'Connection' scrawled on the screen within seconds.

"Hello?"

Kaidan's voice was groggy, his rasp evident that he had just woken wherever he was.

"Hello?" he tried again, with mild frustration.

"Look, this is a secured-," he spat, but his voice dropped, "if this isn't- if this- dammit."

The voice waited, but Mary was frozen. She hadn't planned a word, this was a terrible idea. Stupid.

"This is a little insane," he let out a small chuckle, "and will look bad if this just ends up on the extranet. But, just in case," he paused again, pulling in a steadying breath, "if it's what, who, I think it is. Really, the Omega 4 relay? I-I thought Ilos was bad, that is a whole new level of-"

Kaidan cut himself off, waiting, questioning if he should continue. But it made a strange kind of sense. Who else could it be? She wouldn't call unless it were dire.

"Whatever you are doing, be careful. The galaxy needs you back, I ne- just, be careful."

Both parties lulling to sleep at the memory.

Jane set the frame down, it could be a gift for the next tenant. Perhaps they could program it with something/ The chit slipped into her pocket, her gaze winding to the door. She waited, shook her head, and swept up the handles of the black footlocker. Again, Jane stared at the door. Praying for a miracle.

The rigors of hauling the footlocker at a clipped pace down several flights of stairs did nothing to stop the shaking. Echoes of footsteps turned into the voices of her crew, the bad, the ugly, and all of the good memories. Garrus's mandible quivering in silent frustration as she made the shot atop the presidium, Tali's indignation at the 'induction port' as she tried to slip it into her suit. Liara always deep in thought, scanning over the work of the Shadow Broker, Javik who never got his wish of dying with the rest of his kind. Vega's shock as she decimated his pull-up record, and Edi taking up Joker's hand in a quiet moment. Tears splattered on the steps. Was this the end?

She couldn't stop them as she stepped into the light of day, awaited by three figures.

"That's all?" Roy huffed, taking the luggage from her.

Helen placed a hand on her shoulder, "it will get easier."

The older woman forced Jane to look her in the eyes, dark brown meeting blue, "you should make the call."

"But you-"

"You know Roy won't let it go until you're all settled."

The LT was always worried about her, even if they weren't on speaking terms. Jane knew all she had to do was reach out, but the pang of guilt was too much. It was always this way, and her soul grew tired of the mind that housed it.

This was a horrible way to treat the family that kept coming back for her months after they had returned home to Vancouver. They kept worrying when she struggled to care about herself. They kept asking her to return home with them, to give her a new life. They hadn't stopped loving her after every no, despite her asinine rigidity to an old promise. Despite the lingering secrets she barely kept from them. Jane was sick of herself, too.

Jane nodded, pulling in a deep breath.

"It will get better," Helen murmured, "after you've taken the time to be pissed off for a while."

She didn't fight a grin, nodding again just to make sure she was assured. Leaving the woman to enter the room her fingers didn't hesitate this time. Entering the code she had memorized too long ago.

Three calls later- silence was her answer.

Unable to save face, Jane stormed past Helen.

"I'm sorry for how I left last time," her head hung, but this time she returned the touch, briefly touching the hand on her shoulder.

The older woman shrugged, pointing her at the shuttle.

Jane nodded, wasting no further time by sliding into the back. Evelyn chattered into her ear; Jane tried to keep paying attention but found her mind wandering. The familiar stirring of her stomach starting within moments of take-off. She had grown a little used to a hardsuit that would deliver the meds into her system.

The paper bag landed in her hands without a word.

The vehicle fell silent, save for the buzzing of the radio-

"The Normandy returns to the Citadel after a Victory run spanning over-"

"The Normandy is back?" Jane bleated meekly through the bag.

"Oh- yeah! Our son made it," Roy smiled, but it was partially forced, "sounds like this 'Shepard' wasn't so lucky."

Jane's stomach emptied into the bag, Happy Birthday Shepard.

[moonlit-imagines]

That’s Not Yours...

Peter Parker x reader

Avengers x reader

warnings:

a/n: bare w me here idk what age this would place y/n at before the snap that would make this like, okay. ignore it just ignore it. also peter isn’t here til the end. its abt him tho. this is shit its random

prompt:

When Thanos snapped, it was hard trying to figure out who was safe. It took almost a month to confirm which of your people made it and which ones weren’t so lucky. You were one of the youngest Avengers. And now you were alone.

You already knew that May had dusted. It would be a nightmare trying to tell Peter. If Peter wasn’t gone, too. Last you heard, Pete went to space. Lucky kid.

Captain Marvel offered her services in order to track down survivors, what’s left of the team was able to locate Tony and another survivor from space. His first words to all of you were:

“I lost the kid.” He gulped. With that, you fell to the ground. Peter was gone, and all you wanted to do now was track Thanos down yourself and rip him apart. That was what your whole team want. But I want it more.

“We still have a chance.” They told you. “We just need to find Thanos and make him bring everyone back.” You didn’t think it’d be that easy, but you played along. And along the way, your heart was broken a little more by the minute. Thanos really had won. It was over for your team.

You headed over to Peter and May’s apartment, pulling the key they had given you out of your pocket and trying to put it in the door. Your hands were still shaking, though. They had been for a while. You were terrified of what you’d feel once you opened the door. A couple deep breaths. Just a few.

You opened the door and looked inside. Nobody had come to raid their place yet, which was good. You could clear it out for the landlord and be on your not-so-merry way. You couldn’t take everything, but what really mattered, you would.

First, you took all of Ben’s stuff. You had to. If that was lost, they’d be devastated. Jeez, you’re thinking like they’re still here. Keep it together. Next was May’s room. She had a handful of jewelry you knew was important. You decided to grab her suitcases and fit all of her clothes and other important-looking items into there. Find any family heirlooms that might need saving, check. Find any photo albums you should hold onto, check.

You saved Peter’s room for last. You almost couldn’t bring yourself to go in there. But you did, and you were immediately hit with all the memories you shared with Peter. Tears streamed down your face, hot tears. You missed him. You failed him. You took another suitcase and started filling it up more and more, angrily shoving everything in. Graphic tees, pants, the whole damn underwear drawer, his first two Spider-Suits, all of it. A picture frame with images of you, him, and Tony so very happy together.

There were notes to some of his projects and important Spider-Stuff that you had to pick up. You couldn’t lose that. You walked up to his bed and found some clean clothes he couldn’t be bothered to put away. Any you just chuckled to yourself. Among them were his Midtown High jacket and a few flannels. You picked the jacket up and put it on. You shoved the flannels into your own bag. You took a final scan of the place. Say goodbye to the Parkers.

—————

Five years since the Snap. Five years since you had any hope. And yet, here Scott Lang was at the doorstep of the Avengers, offering his help after you were sure he was dusted all that time ago.

First stop was Tony’s place. You hadn’t seen him since Morgan’s first birthday, so this was going to be a lot. You stepped out of the car and you could already tell Tony wanted you as far away as possible. You kept quiet and let Scott explain his idea. And you listened to Tony completely dismiss it.

“Are you kidding me, Tony?” You interjected, throwing your arms up. “We tried to get them back once.” You stuck your finger up. “One time. Then we gave up. I know that this is a stretch, but I’m not gonna let you sit back and disregard this when there are so many people in need of our help.”

“Wow.” Tony leaned back. “Bold move, kiddo. By the way, is that...is that Peter’s flannel? I think you just need to let it go.” He pointed to you as you balled you fists. “Well, you’re all welcome to stay for dinner.” You didn’t even stay long enough for him to finish that sentence. You stomped over to the car and slammed the door.

—————

“On your left.” Sam said through the comms. You turned around to see the mass of people you had lost finally return to end this battle. You watched and waited for Peter to show up, and then he did.

“Pete!” You shouted. He caught sight of you and swung in your direction, nearly knocking you down in the process. “God, I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I can’t even wrap my head around what happened. You’re...you got taller!” He wrapped his arms around you, completely ignoring the alien invasion going on behind you.

“Avengers...assemble!” Steve shouted. You and Peter nodded to each other and charged, splitting up, but making sure to cover each other. After a gruesome battle, you watched Peter lose his mentor and crumble to a million pieces (metaphorically).

“Peter, hey. Hey, come here.” You sat down and comforted him quietly as he cried. A feeling you had known all too well.

—————

Peter and you went to go find May, then headed back to your apartment to let them stay there for a while. You told them you had a bunch of their stuff you’d saved from after the snap. May was very thankful for that. You and Peter got cleaned up and you subconsciously put on his Midtown High jacket and came out of your room with their bags.

“Thanks.” He paused and looked at you. “Is that my jacket?” Peter asked. You looked down and realized what you were wearing.

“Oh, shit. Yeah, it is. Sorry.” You began to take it off. “I found it when I was packing your stuff and I wanted something of yours. It sounds kind of weird. I have some of your flannels, too.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter chuckled, “it looks good on you.”

[lobsterdex]

beach house living (part 2)

part 1

here’s some more beach au. the google doc is at like. 8k words. oops. but here is just some of it bc i want to share it but i also want to finish it before i post it on ao3. anyways. tagging some mutuals bc give me attention @birlcholtz @tonytangredis @pieplease @fasterthanthemoon @unfairlawyer

.

He’s back in his and Shitty’s room hanging his clothes up in his half of the closet when he hears a loud bang, followed by footsteps and a general commotion. 

“Holster,” someone says, “How many times have I said quit that, you’re going to dent the wall.” 

“Dex can fix it!”

“Fuck you, you can fix it yourself.”

The voices continue, along with what sounds like footsteps going up the stairs and another loud slam that Jack assumes is the front door being closed. A few minutes later after the noise dies down, someone knocks on the bedroom door, and it starts to open before he can answer. 

It’s Shitty, saying, “It’s me, hope you’re not naked.” He catches sight of Jack by the closet and grins. “Nice, yeah, make yourself at home.” 

Jack stares at him. “What if I had been naked?” 

Shitty laughs. “Then I would close my eyes out of respect for you and your beautiful body. We’re leaving in five to go grocery shop, just a heads up.” He starts pulling clothes out of the dresser, so Jack turns back to the closet and hangs up another shirt to give him privacy.

“You ready?” Shitty says behind him. Jack hangs up another shirt before turning around. He takes a moment to take it in. Shitty is wearing cutoff jean shorts and a neon pink tank top that’s so bright it almost hurts to look at. It says, “life’s a beach.” 

Jack remembers Shitty asked a question. “Yeah, let me get my wallet.”

Shitty heads for the door. “Pretty much everyone is in the den, I’ll introduce you before we leave.” 

Jack grabs his wallet from the night stand and follows him into the hall. He wonders how many people actually live here and if his father even knows. Bob had said it was a four bedroom house but not much else. 

In retrospect, Jack should’ve asked more questions.

Again, too late now. 

Shitty announces their arrival by cupping his hands around his mouth as a megaphone and screaming, “Silence!” 

The chatter dies down, and everyone in the room turns to look at them. 

Jack thinks, why. 

“This is our new roomie Jack Zimmermann,” Shitty says, gesturing at him. 

Jack tries not to cower behind him. He doesn’t know if they follow sports, or hockey, or if they know who exactly their landlord is, but no one seems to react to his name. Small miracles. 

“You met Lardo,” Shitty says, pointing. She nods at Jack. 

“That’s Ransom,” he points to a tall, dark skinned guy standing by Lardo, who is sitting on the kitchen counter. Ransom smiles at him. “That’s Chowder and Bitty,” he points to an Asian kid in a sharks tank top - so at least one person in this house follows hockey, fucking hell, who gives him a little wave, and a shorter, blond, white boy with freckles and a tan, who smiles brightly. 

“That tall bastard is Holster,” Shitty points to another blond white boy next to Bitty. Holster grins and nods.“And those two are Nursey and Dex,” he gestures to the brown skinned guy with a tattoo circling his bicep and a third white guy with freckles and bright orange hair. 

Why does no one have a normal name, Jack thinks. 

“Hi,” he says lamely. “I’m Jack.”

“Welcome, dude,” Nursey says. 

“Alright,” Shitty claps. “Anyone who wants to go to the store, up and at ‘em.” 

Jack has just enough time to hope it isn’t a long drive and that they won’t ask him about himself during it before five of them pile into a gold Subaru parked in the driveway. Shitty has the keys and Bitty calls shotgun, so Jack crams in the back with Ransom and Dex. He gets the middle seat, which Dex apologizes for. 

“Sorry we bitch seated you,” he says with a smile. “But since Bitty got shotty, you are the shortest.” 

Jack shrugs, or tries to. “It’s fine.” 

Shitty backs out of the driveway while Ransom and Bitty play rock-paper-scissors for the aux cord. Bitty wins it, plugs in his phone and starts playing pop music Jack doesn’t recognize. 

“Yo, Shits, guess what happened today,” Ransom says. 

Up front, Bitty twists around to face the backseat and rolls his eyes. “Are you going to tell everyone this, Rans?”

“Uh, yeah. I fucking am,” Ransom scoffs. Bitty rolls his eyes again and flashes a grin in Jack’s direction. 

“So this lady comes up to my chair, right. Total white suburban mom vibes, visor and, like, Ray Bans or Tiffany shades or whatever.”

“Oh boy,” Shitty says.

“Oh yes,” Ransom says. “So I’m like, okay, benefit of the doubt, maybe she has a reasonable question about riptides or our hours or sunscreen, I don’t know.”

To Jack’s right, Dex sighs. 

“But no,” Ransom continues. That would be too much to hope for. Instead, this woman--Shits. Guess what this woman asks me.”

“I cannot even begin to guess.” 

“She asks if it’s safe to go in the ocean even if you can’t swim.” 

“Bro,” Shitty says. 

“I know,” Ransom says. 

“Some fucking people,” Dex says. 

Bitty, still facing the backseat, rolls his eyes again. Jack snorts, which earns him a sideways glance and a grin from Ransom. 

“So I’m up there, leaning down to hear her better, and she says that, and for a sec I just fucking stare at her like I’m the idiot. Processing that. Thinking about how to phrase ‘no the fuck you can’t’ nicely. And then I go, ‘No, ma’am, I’m sorry, but it’s not safe to swim unless you know how to effectively stay afloat.’ And then she says, ‘I don’t mean swimming, I just mean going in the water.’”

Jack frowns, and Dex sighs again, shaking his head. 

Up front, Shitty just says, “What.” 

“Right? So I ask, ‘What do you mean by ‘just going in the water?’ and she fucking gives me this look, like I’m the dumbass. And she says ‘I mean just the shallow part, where the waves crash.’ And I try my very hardest not to look up at the sky and ask the gods for help. And I say, ‘I’m very sorry ma’am, but that’s also dangerous due to the currents. Rip tides can be very strong.’ Which like, okay, she might not be taken out by a riptide, but assuming she has kids and shit and no athletic ability herself, she shouldn’t chance it if she can’t even tread water.”

“Lot of assumptions you’re making there, Ransy babe,” Shitty warns. 

“I know, I know. But in terms of safety, I’m trying to play it safe, and she’s the one who told me she can’t fucking swim.” 

“Hm,” Shitty says. “Acceptable. Carry on.” 

“So she says, ‘But what about just the shallow part? Where the waves come up and go away?’ And yeah, okay, she’d be fine above the tide, but again, safety and liability and whatnot. I don’t want it to be on me if she pulls some shit. So I tell her again, no, it isn’t safe. And I fucking shit you not, this lady says, ‘Are you sure? Is there someone else I can speak to?’ This bitch really asked if she could speak to a manager. On the fucking beach.”

Up front, Shitty is laughing. Bitty is grinning and shaking his head. Dex snorts, and Jack finds himself smiling, because what. 

“So I fucking walkie beach patrol, and we wait 10 minutes for Ollie to roll up, and he tells her the same exact fucking thing, and she frowns and gets all huffy and has the audacity to ask us if we’re sure. Like, yeah, bitch, we’re pretty fucking sure. If you’d dug around in your brain a little bit for your common sense maybe you wouldn’t be so mad about it. Jesus Christ.” 

Shitty opens the front door, and Jack realizes they’ve arrived and parked. 

“What’d she do after that?” Shitty asks before getting out of the car.

Ransom opens the door and climbs out, saying, “Well, apparently, she walked to the other lifeguard stand and asked them the same fucking thing.” 

Jack climbs out after Ransom, finds himself saying, “You’re kidding.” 

“Bro, I wish,” Ransom says. “That lifeguard, I think it was April, also had to radio beach patrol, so Ollie went over there to check it out and had to call someone else from beach patrol ‘cause this bitch still didn’t like our answer. Ollie came back and told me about it, ‘cause he’s a bro.” 

“Ollie just loves to gossip,” Bitty says. 

“I said what I said. Guy’s a bro.” 

“I always get him confused with Wicks,” Dex says. 

Bitty grabs a cart from the front of the store. The automatic doors slide open, and they get blasted with air conditioning, which is a relief to Jack. Everyone splits up pretty much immediately, so Jack just trails behind Bitty because he has the cart and Jack has nobody’s phone number if he gets lost. 

Bitty notices Jack following him and flashes another smile. “Guess you’re with me! We’re doing the shopping for the next week or so. Or so we say. Someone always ends up going again during the week for snacks or butter or because they’re suddenly inspired by the food network.”

Jack nods, and Bitty steers them into the fridge aisle. 

“It gets a bit chaotic just because there’s so many of us. But we have a system now, of sorts, Shitty and Lardo shop for each other, Ransom and Holster shop for each other, lord knows they know each other well enough, and Dex or Chowder shops for the other and Nursey. Nursey, bless his heart, always forgets something.” 

It’s around this point that Jack notices Bitty has a southern accent. He also notices that Bitty has dumped about 10 packages of butter in the cart. 

He decides not to ask. 

“I shop for just me, myself, and I, but I also usually end up buying the most. Sometimes the other boys will make a store run for me though, which is nice of them, but they get some of the goods, so it balances out,” Bitty says. He’s talking really quickly. Jack has no idea what that last bit is supposed to mean. 

Bitty puts two cartons of eggs in the cart. Jack’s brain processes the “I shop for me statement” and he adds another carton for himself. 

“All the people that shop for each other have a texting system worked out, I believe. There are so many group chats, I can’t keep track. I know Chowder, Nursey, and Dex have one, which I think is how they cover everything grocery shopping. There’s a whiteboard on the fridge we add to, but it isn’t very consistent. Feel free to add anything you need to it, though, I always take a picture of it before we shop! Is there anything else you need in this aisle, Jack?”

“Oh, uh, no.” 

Bitty pushes the cart onwards, talking as they go. Jack isn’t really following, but Bitty doesn’t seem to be expecting answers, so Jack nods and smiles and adds things to the cart and eventually, Shitty reappears with his own basket full of groceries and he and Bitty settle into a comfortable sounding banter. 

Ransom and Dex find them near the checkout lanes, adding their groceries to the cart. 

The seating arrangement is the same for the ride back, except Ransom gets to play the music this time. He plays different pop music that Jack still doesn’t really recognize, but everyone - save Jack and Dex - is singing along. 

Jack helps unload the groceries. He’s about to escape back to his room when Holster says, “Hey, Jack, we’re grilling tonight, do you want chicken or a burger?” 

“Oh. Chicken is fine.” 

“Nice. We’ll start screaming when it’s ready.” 

Jack blinks at him.

“Or we can just come get you.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks.” Jack takes it for the dismissal that it is and heads back to his room. He finishes unpacking, does some sit ups in an attempt to get rid of nervous energy, and ends up lying in bed staring at the blank Safari tab on his phone. He opens his messages instead, lets his parents know he’s settled in. There’s a text from his therapist letting him know they can do phone sessions. He ignores it for now. 

There are no texts from Kent. Which makes sense. There haven’t been since they fought on the phone a few days after Jack got out of rehab.

Jack can’t decide whether or not he actually wants to hear from him. Can’t decide if he misses him or if he just misses hockey. 

A knock on the door stops that train of thought. 

“Food,” someone says. 

“Thanks,” Jack calls. 

Dinner is burgers, chicken, and grilled vegetables. It’s surprisingly good, better than Jack expected from a bunch of 20 somethings. They crowd around the glass dining table on the porch and it’s loud and cheerful, everyone talking over each other and laughing. He declines the offer of beer, but not everyone is drinking, so he doesn’t feel like the odd man out. He doesn’t say much, but he’s sandwiched between Holster and Shitty, the latter occasionally elbowing him and grinning.  They’re both loud and talkative, so he pretends he can’t get a word in and smiles whenever someone catches his eye.

At some point, Shitty and Holster are arguing over his head, and Jack catches Bitty looking at him. Bitty blushes, but offers a sympathetic smile and shakes his head. He says something that Jack doesn’t quite catch, so he leans forward and taps his ear. 

Bitty meets him halfway. “These boys,” he repeats, and he sounds incredibly fond. 

Jack goes to bed around ten. He lies awake for longer than he’d like to admit, but still falls asleep before Shitty returns to the room.

[mister-fleck]

relax: arthur fleck x sophie

prompt: “Could you write arthur/sophie nsfw? I imagine him as less experienced than her, but so excited and happy to what’s going on.”

Arthur struck his lighter once, twice, three times before taking a deep pull off of his cigarette.

A week had gone by since Hoyt had fired him. That particular phone call still made Arthur’s cheeks burn with shame whenever he thought back on it — which was often. The whole ordeal skyrocketed Arthur’s already prominent amount of stress. Cash had grown tight, not that he had all that much saved up to begin with, and Arthur had been forced to take a step back and reevaluate how to spend what little change he had left. 

And it was imperative that he did so. Arthur didn’t have the greatest resume, certainly no college degree, and the faded homeschooled certificate he kept stapled to it didn’t mean anything when it came to employers. Who in their right mind would hire somebody whose main credentials were clown and nice guy?

Due to the current hardship that life always seemed to throw at him, Arthur had disciplined himself into smoking less. He couldn’t afford the luxury of smoking two packs a day anymore, not with the responsibility of feeding his mother and paying the landlord. 

He had waited all day to smoke this cigarette. Arthur had told himself that he would be rewarded with it at the end of the day, but only if he pushed himself out of his comfort zone to apply for work elsewhere. Interviews were always at the top of Arthur’s list when it came to what made him nervous. And nervousness led to anxiety, which led to paranoia, which led to laughter…

Today hadn’t gone any differently. Nobody even remotely considered him — Arthur had consistently struggled to find the right words to sell himself as a diligent employee. Which was frustrating, because Arthur knew he was a  hard worker. He put his heart and soul into everything he did, especially when there was the possibility of failure. Yet none of this mattered, not when Arthur could only shrug and grasp at his throat when asked: where do you see yourself in five years?

But he had tried. Arthur had gotten dressed, combed back his hair, and put in the effort to further his life in this dreadful city called Gotham, so he deserved this damn cigarette. 

Shoving his cold hands into his pockets, Arthur let the smoke travel into the furthest parts of his body before exhaling it during his walk home. 

“C’mon, we’ve got to hurry it up. It’ll get cold out soon, baby girl.” 

Arthur lifted his gaze from the filthy sidewalk and was met with the vision of a slender woman rounding the street corner, hand in hand with a little girl.

His cigarette nearly fell from between his lips. Sophie.

After their short encounter in the elevator, Arthur had developed a serious crush. He could count on his fingers how many women had offered him the time of day, let alone smile in his general direction — so their brief moment, no matter how insignificant it may have been for her, had been imprinted on his heart. 

Arthur wasn’t proud of how he had followed her to work the day after. He hadn’t planned on it — Arthur had been on his way to the drug store when he spotted her leaving the apartment building, and well… he couldn’t stop himself. She pulled him forward unknowingly, like some sort of unrequited magnet. 

He had even imagined her showing up at his apartment, flirting with him in his door way. Calling him funny. 

And now they were walking in the same direction, the pair a few buildings away, their strides brisk. Sophie’s daughter was holding a red balloon and seemed to be disappearing in the fluffy winter jacket that she was bundled up in. Arthur’s eyes fell to their joined hands and envied the sight for more reasons than one. 

“Gigi, come back here!”

Sophie’s sudden demand pulled Arthur out of his thoughts and he focused on what was playing out before him: the red balloon was now a few feet away from the two of them, most likely having been blown away from the late October breeze, and Gigi’s little feet were pitter-pattering in the same direction, determined to catch it.

Right into oncoming traffic. 

Breath hitching, Arthur tossed aside his cigarette and broke into a clumsy sprint toward the child without hesitation, nearly falling flat on his face in the process, but managed to grab Gigi by the back of her coat and yank her onto the sidewalk before a taxi cab could smack right into the side of her. 

The rest was a blur. Arthur’s throat clenched and unclenched as he knelt on the sidewalk, his lungs burning, his nose pink and itchy from the chill. He heard Sophie scold her daughter somewhere behind him, her voice tight with concern and anger and thick with tears. A soft hand fell against his shoulder soon thereafter. 

“Jesus Christ, thank you so much, are you okay?”

Arthur began to laugh. 

It came out in sharp bursts, loud and jagged, each peal like a bruising kick to his chest. Mortified and nearly hyperventilating, Arthur buried his face in the crook of his elbow and fought off the urge to curl up into the fetal position. He clenched his fist and slammed it once against the pavement as he drowned in his own self-hatred. 

The hand on his shoulder retreated and Arthur’s heart broke. He had to fix this. He couldn’t let this be how Sophie perceived him, not as some delusional sicko devoid of empathy. Anguished, he dug around in his pants pocket until he felt thin plastic and held the card up over his head as he succumbed to more agonizing laughter. 

To his embarrassment, it took Arthur nearly a full minute to calm down, and by then he had accepted the fact that Sophie had probably left him there out of pity. But as he lifted his head, now throbbing and heavy, Arthur saw that she was kneeling beside him, dark eyes wide with worry.

Sophie smiled sadly at him, but didn’t move away. Instead, she parted her lips. “Hey.” 

Arthur, out of his mind and abruptly infatuated, returned the favor. “Hey.”

An hour later, Arthur found himself seated in Sophie’s apartment, perched nervously on the edge of her couch with his hands wrapped around a warm mug of coffee. He turned the mug over and smiled at the messy, painted lettering splayed across it: Best Mommy Ever. 

Arthur’s heart had been hammering away ever since Sophie had invited him back to her place. He had politely insisted that repaying him wasn’t necessary, but thankfully she was insistent on patching up his banged up hand. 

“Thank you for waiting,” Sophie murmured, reemerging from Gigi’s bedroom. “Had to check under the little one’s bed for monsters. You know how children can be.”

With the way Sophie looked in her sweater and leggings, Arthur felt like a little kid himself, dazed and bashful in her presence. He smiled up at her. 

“I used to work with them,” he heard himself admit, knees pressed together and ears heating up. “I’d entertain the kids down at Gotham Children’s Hospital.” Arthur ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. “I’m a party clown.”

Sophie broke out into a bright grin and Arthur could have passed out. “Really? That’s so sweet, Arthur.” She rounded the couch to sit next to him, not too close, but not far away either. “That’s your name, right? Arthur Fleck?”

Please never stop saying my name. “Yes. Arthur.” 

Picking up her own mug from the coffee table in front of them, Sophie leaned back into the couch and crossed one long leg over the other. “I’ve always liked that name.” 

She took a sip. Arthur mimicked her, letting the hot liquid soothe his throat. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. It’s sweet. And distinguished.”

Looking down at his wrinkled jacket and beat up corduroy slacks, Arthur lifted one of his shoulders quietly. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever been distinguished, but I try my best to be sweet.” His voice was small, meek. 

“You’re kind of precious, you know that?” Sophie commented bluntly, her eyes flitting about him. “My neighbor said that you were kind of a creep, but I don’t think that’s the case at all.”

Arthur sagged a little. “They said that?” Hoping to rectify his reputation, he leant forward slightly, earnestly. “I swear, I’m a good guy, I’m just a little…”

“Shy.” Sophie finished for him, still smiling. 

She was the sun. She was the moon, the stars, the unimaginable in-between. Arthur’s pulse skipped. “Yeah.”

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened, but midway through the evening news Sophie had allowed herself to scoot closer, resting her head against his shoulder and lifting her legs up onto the couch as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. He didn’t breathe for a solid two minutes, unaware of what god to thank for blessing him. 

Sophie’s voice came softly, “Is it okay if I…?” 

Arthur looked down to see one of her delicate, feminine hands tugging at his sleeve and he nodded fervently, lifting his arm so she could curl up underneath it. Content, Sophie hummed and went back to watching the weather man on the small television set across from them. 

He could have cried. Arthur didn’t know whether to feel confident or insecure — she had to have felt comfortable around him to be so intimate, which majorly stroked his ego, but did she simply feel obligated to be kind to him, after how he saved her daughter? Did Sophie mind that he smelled like cigarettes and cheap laundry detergent? Was he too thin, too bony to rest against? Was he —

“Your heart is beating so fast.”

Arthur’s thoughts halted. He felt his mouth go dry. “I’m sorry.”

Sophie reached out and squeezed his knee. “Relax. You deserve to, you know.”

“Are you real?” He had blurted it out without thinking, a tremble in his voice. It was a strange combination, Arthur realized, to be smitten and terrified all at once. 

He felt her body shake with soft laughter. “You’re so funny, Arthur.” 

You’re so funny, Arthur. 

Arthur’s heart began to break. He cursed his overactive imagination and squeezed his eyes tight, words tumbling out haphazardly, “It’s just, you’re so kind to me, and you’re beautiful, and I would hate it if you were… if you weren’t…” He struggled to find the right words, as usual. “If I was dreaming.”

There was movement against him, careful and gentle, and when Arthur opened his eyes he found Sophie much, much closer. Straddling his lap. Smirking at him. 

“Does this feel like a dream?”

Both so slowly and all at once, Sophie cradled his face in her hands and captured his mouth in a warm kiss. 

The world faded away. For the first time all night, Arthur allowed himself to turn off his brain and just enjoy her, her company, the way her body fit perfectly in his arms — which were now wrapped carefully, tenderly around her — the way her fingernails felt as they scratched affectionately against the back of his neck before sinking into his hair. 

They kissed for a long time, languidly, unhurried. Not even the opening theme to The Murray Franklin Show could pull him out of this moment, not with how Sophie was beginning to roll her hips and nibble at his bottom lip. 

Arthur was hard instantly, despite how innocently he was maintaining his posture, how modestly he was holding the woman. Sophie must have noticed though, because she pulled back with a vixen-like grin, the both of them out of breath. 

“Sorry,” Arthur rasped, a bit of a grimace on his face as he tried to fight back the urge to buck his hips up into her.

Sophie’s face was flushed as she stole another kiss, her lips brushing against his as she spoke, “You really are precious.” 

Sensing his distress, she reached back to take one of Arthur’s hands and guided it wordlessly down the front of her pants and over drenched panties. 

Arthur’s cock twitched in his underwear. “Oh, god…” 

The both of them sat panting, foreheads pressed together, adjusting to the fact that they were now openly expressing how much they wanted one another in this moment.

“Touch me,” Sophie prompted, a shaky whisper.

Arthur shuddered, swallowed hard. “Can I?”

“Please.”

Horribly inexperienced, Arthur nodded and cautiously dipped his fingertips beneath her panties and let them slide against slick, swollen flesh. He groaned softly and let his gaze fall, hypnotized by the sight of his hand lost behind the fabric. 

Sophie whimpered immediately, hands back in Arthur’s hair. He began to rub little circles right where she needed it most. “U-Uh huh, just like that. Fuck.”

Arthur was flying high. He hadn’t managed to mess up all night, which in turn led him to think that this may still all be some very vivid dream, but the way Sophie’s lithe little body trembled against him, how soaked his hand became as the minutes went by of him teasing her — that was enough to make him feel tall, broad. Like a man.

Soon, Sophie was shaking like a leaf and squeezing at Arthur’s shoulders insistently. “Take…Take my pants off.”

Arthur blinked in surprise, but he didn’t need to be asked twice. He retreated his wet hand — earning him a sharp gasp from Sophie — and helped her wriggle out of her leggings and panties. They were both a little clumsy and began to chuckle, but Arthur’s laughter turned into a moan when her hand palmed at his crotch.

“S-Sophie, you don’t have to—“ 

“Shh,” she cooed. “I want to make you feel good.” 

His chest began to heave in anticipation and Arthur knew he had to be honest with her before they went any further. “I’ve never done this before.” 

Sophie hummed, kissed him hotly. He heard the metallic scratching of his zipper being pulled down. “Then let me teach you.”

All he could do was nod and look up at her, pupils dilated, pulse skyrocketing. He wiped his sweaty palms on the fabric of his pants before scooting back to allow Sophie to pull his throbbing erection out of his briefs. 

“Wow,” Sophie breathed, skimming the pad of her thumb over the tip of his cock and eying the size of him. “Good for you, Arthur.” 

Arthur’s chest swelled with pride, feeling validated and maybe even attractive for the first time in his entire life, but he didn’t let it get to his head. He couldn’t, not with the way Sophie had wrapped her fist around him and was beginning to stroke him lazily. 

A whine tore out of his chest. “I don’t have a condom,” he managed to say, seeing stars and shuddering.

Sophie licked her lips and shook her head briefly, her voice low with lust, “That’s— That’s fine. I’m on birth control.” 

“Oh,” Arthur replied lamely, a bit strangled. “Okay.”

“Arthur?”

Green eyes lifted to brown. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me.” 

Arthur surged forward and did as he was told, and she swallowed his moan when he realized that she was about to straddle him in an entirely different way. He wasn’t sure of where to put his hands, whether it would be impolite to take her by the hips, or too awkward to keep them at his sides, so he gingerly held her face instead and braced himself.

Sophie felt absolutely divine as she sunk down onto him. She was warm — no, hot — and so wet, smooth and delicious and his hips jerked up as a reaction, making her squeak in pleasured surprise. 

They fell into a slow, heady, delicious rhythm, guided mostly by Sophie who seemed to be loving taking control. Arthur’s hands fell to her waist, nothing demanding but enough to express that he never wanted her to stop fucking him. 

“You feel so good,” Arthur stammered, his hot face pressed against her shoulder as she continued to ride him with leisurely rolls of her hips. He lost control a second time, his hips snapping up once more.

Sophie muffled a breathy cry into his hair and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Do… do that again, baby.”

Baby. 

Tightening his grip on her waist, Arthur began to pump his hips up into her steadily now, his brow furrowed as he focused on keeping it together. “Like this?”

“God, yeah,” Sophie breathed, her head falling back in pleasure. “You’re a fast learner.” 

Arthur felt her clench around him and he hissed, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to hold off much longer. He sped up unconsciously, the sound of her ass slapping against the tops of his thighs making him dizzy.

“Sophie, I think I’m going to…” He didn’t know how to explain himself, not wanting to be crude.

“Me too,” she reassured him quickly, matching his feverish pace. The tightness in Arthur’s belly was about to snap.  Her voice grew light and needy, “With me, Arthur! Now, right now! Fuck!”  

Sophie’s pussy spasmed hard around his cock and Arthur’s vision went white as he came inside of her. The ecstasy that crashed over him seemed to last forever, intense and heavenly, and he had to bite down hard on his lip to stop himself from crying out. 

Almost five minutes passed before the trembling aftershocks between the two of them subsided and Sophie leaned back to press her lips to Arthur’s forehead.

“Wanna cigarette?” She murmured, threading her fingers through his hair, still very much on top of him. 

A smile slowly flirted with Arthur’s lips. “Yes, please.” 

[breanime]

Helpless

Part One of the Billy Russo bodyguard AU that nobody asked for... haha, but I figured, since I finished Yellow Diamonds, it was time to start another Billy series. Let me know what you think! This first part is setting up the tension.

Warning: Descriptions of violence

*gif by @benbarnestongue*

You weren’t looking for anything when you’d gone out that night. Really, you just wanted to have a few drinks, maybe dance a little, and go home—alone. It had been a hard week, work was rough, you were behind on your bills, and your landlord had threatened to kick you out again, so you were just looking for a distraction, something to take your mind off of the chaos that was your life. Your goal was to find something cheap and strong to drink, which is what brought you to the dive bar in the first place, and you sat at the bar, ignoring everyone else around you, determined to get in, get buzzed, and get out.

Instead, what you got was Billy Russo.

“This seat taken?” He’d asked you, New York accent oddly pleasing to your ears. You turned to look at him to discover his face was even more pleasing than his voice was. He was tall, thin and lean, with dark hair and darker eyes. He was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, but he wore them well. He was easily the best-looking guy in the place, and he wanted to sit next to you.

You glanced around the bar, noting several empty seats and tables he could have gone to instead, some of which were in the direct vicinity of girls better looking than you were, yet he chose to come up to you. You looked back at him before turning away, feigning disinterest. “Nah man,” you’d said, bringing your lips to your almost-empty glass, “It’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” He sat beside you, and he was almost close enough to touch. You noticed his biceps as he put his elbows on the bar, clocking the muscles in his toned arms. He signaled the bartender and ordered a drink: Jack and Coke, before turning to you. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asked. “You’re looking kind of empty.”

“Sure,” you put your drink down, “Thanks.”

“One more for the lady,” he ordered, making you smile. “What?” He asked, smiling back. He had a great smile.

“It’s not often I’m called a lady,” you said back.

“I’d settle for your name,” he said easily.

“Y/N,” you stuck out your hand.

“Billy,” he shook your hand, and you liked the way he gripped it, “Billy Russo. So,” he leaned back, eyes appraising you in a way that was surprisingly pleasant, “if you’re not a lady, what kind of girl are you?”

You grinned. That was a loaded question. The bartender slid your drinks over to the two of you, and you took a sip before you answered. “Why don’t you take a guess,” you challenged him.

He smirked, leaning in a bit closer. You turned in your seat so that you were fully facing him as well. His eyes washed over you, traveling down your body slowly, leaving goosebumps without even touching you. You felt your heart speed up when he looked back up at you, eyes staring into yours with a sense of confidence and intimacy that was startlingly appealing. “You’re here alone,” he started, “but you’re not trying to pick anyone up, even though you easily could,” he licked his lips, voice dropping a bit, “Lookin’ like that…” He eyed you up again, clearly liking what he was seeing. “I get the sense that you don’t take shit from anyone,” he went on, “and if you didn’t want me here next to you, I wouldn’t be.”

“Well, you did ask nicely,” you’d said back.

“Not that nice,” his grin was really starting to win you over; it was hypnotizing, “You came in alone,” he said, and you wondered how long he had been there to know that. You’d thought that you’d have noticed a man like him watching you, and you were usually pretty aware of eyes on you. Hm. “And I’m guessing your plan was to leave here alone too, right?”

“That was the plan,” you answered, fully aware of what you were implying.

“You’re a take-no-shit, leave-no-prisoners kind of girl,” he surmised, leaning back in his seat with a smirk, “You’re my kind of girl.”

Four hours later, you were lying naked on your back in his bed, sweaty and breathless. Billy was next to you, grinning at the ceiling. You turned your head and looked at him; he really was a beautiful man—and VERY talented in the sheets. Billy looked back at you, giving you a smile that was all teeth.

“So,” he asked, rolling onto his side and putting a warm hand on your thigh, “What are the chances we can do this again sometime?”

You grinned back, legs still tingling from his attentions. “I dunno,” you said, “what are the chances you make me cum again?”

“Three times wasn’t enough?” He asked, already leaning over you for a kiss. You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the kiss. It was like he had been created in a lab for you, exceeding all of your expectations and touching you with the clarity of a long-time lover, even though you’d just met. His tongue slipped in your mouth at the same time his fingers slipped inside of you, making you gasp into his mouth. “It wasn’t enough for me, either.”

You saw him again the next night, and the night after that as well. Every time you were with Billy, you felt your fondness for him grow. He didn’t tell you much about himself or what he did for a living, but then again, neither did you. The two of you were effortlessly compatible, a fact that even he couldn’t deny, and so it was an easy task to be with him. Before you knew it, you were at Billy’s apartment for five days in a row, leaving in the morning as he got ready for work, trading kisses and dirty promises on your way out the door. He was an ex-Marine; he’d told you, shown you a photo of him and his unit in Afghanistan. You didn’t know exactly what he was doing now, because he told you he was no longer on active duty, but he still went to work—or somewhere—every day. You didn’t ask. It was none of your business. You two liked each other, obviously, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you: this, whatever it was, was just for fun. It meant nothing, and there didn’t need to be any feelings involved.

Which is why you didn’t cry when one day Billy stopped returning your calls, and why it wasn’t hard at all to move to a different city once you got prompted at your job. You told yourself it was for the best, and it was fun while it lasted—which it was. You ignored the random pangs of longing that came out of nowhere every now and again, telling yourself it was just because you needed to get laid; you missed the sex, not the man, after all. After the first few months went by, it hardly hurt at all, thinking about Billy.

You were pretty much over it by the time a year rolled by…

…more or less.

You woke up in a bad mood. You’d dreamt of Billy Russo, of his kiss and smile, his long fingers trialing up and down your skin, and you woke up irritated, at both yourself for even having the dream, and at Billy for not being there to soothe you. Your mood hadn’t improved as the day went on; you were annoyed with your co-workers, who were nervous and twitchy as you got ready for your next job, annoyed with the wait, the jitters and what-ifs that came before the rush, and annoyed with your boss for being the insufferable asshole he always was.

“Listen up, ladies,” he said, even though you were the only woman there, “This job is a two-parter,” he was standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, “Tonight we go for the driver; he’s gonna have the routes, passwords, and plans on him. With that, we’ll be able to get in and get out before anyone even knows we’re there.” He looked over at you, eyes hard. “I’m counting on you for this one, Y/N,” he said, “You fuck it up, and we’re all going to prison.”

You didn’t react, just gave him a bored stare. This was common, the pressure he put on you before a job. But you could take it—you always could.

He stepped over to you, boots slamming against the concrete floor. He was armed, you knew, because he was always armed, but you didn’t budge, just watched as he stomped over to you, looking up calmly as he towered over you. “This is where you tell us all that you’ve got it covered,” he growled.

You looked past him and saw the others looking at you. Alex, the tech guy, was at his computer, hacking into something, you guessed. Justin was standing next to Jamal, both of them cleaning and checking guns. Ronnie was supposed to be listening to the police scanner, but his eyes were on you. The new kid, Khalil, was openly staring. This was his first major job, so he hadn’t seen this display before. You looked back up at your boss, Big Joe, and knew what it was he wanted you to say. “I’ve got it covered,” you parroted, “Dad.”

He nodded, stalking off to try to intimidate one of the others, pent up energy going where it always went with him: outward. Newly irritated, you got up and went over to Khalil. He was prepping the bags, making sure the zippers all worked and the handles were sewn on tight. It was grunt work, to be honest, but…the kid was a grunt.

“Are you nervous, Y/N?” He asked.

You liked Khalil. He hooked up with you guys to make some money to pay for his mother’s medical bills. He was a good kid. “Nah,” you answered, taking a bag and helping him check it, “I’ve been doing this too long to be nervous.”

“Yeah…” He looked away before glancing back up at you. It occurred to you then that he was probably just in his teens. He shouldn’t be here. “I, uh… Didn’t know Big Joe was your dad…”

“He’s not,” you put the bag down and grabbed another, “He adopted me when I was a kid, Ronnie, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “Ronnie’s my adopted brother.” You looked down at Khalil; he was captivated. “Joe’s been having me help him on cons since I was 11,” you went on, feeling unusually talkative, “It started out as just some soft shoplifting, dine-and-dashes, stuff like that. Then we graduated to pulling scams on white collar guys, blackmailing them for a briefcase full of cash,” you hated those days, hated having to even be around those stuck-up assholes, have to let them look down on you the way they did, “Ronnie started robbing corner stores and stuff, turns out he had a talent for it, so Big Joe let him in on his big jobs. I wanted in, so I convinced him to let me drive the getaway car,” you smiled, tossing the last bag back to Khalil, “And here we are.”

“I’ve seen you drive,” he said, awe clear in his voice, “Alex showed me some footage from the job you did in Miami, you’re incredible.”

“Thanks.”

“Like, that’s what I want to do,” he went on, “I want to be like you, so badass, make that crazy cash—”

“Listen,” you stopped him, “From someone who’s been doing this for most of her life, let me tell you: it ain’t shit. Robbing trucks on the highway, having to look over your shoulder all the time, never being able to settle down or be completely honest with someone…” Your mind provided a picture for you then, a flash of dark eyes and a shining smile. You pushed it away. “…It sucks, man. It’s shit.” You leaned down so that only Khalil could hear you. “After this job,” you whispered, “you need to take the money, take your mom, and get as far away from Joe as you can.” You stood up, looking him in the eye to make sure he heard you. Then you walked away. It was almost time for the job. And after this two-parter, as Joe called it, you’d take your own advice, grab your money and your brother, and get the hell away from that man as fast as you could.

The plan was simple, repetitive even; you drove the crew up to the target’s truck—an armored truck transporting fresh new bills to a bank, as well as the copy of the next delivery, route, and access codes to several of the company’s ATMs—and Joe led the guys, Justin, Jamal, and Ronnie, onto the top of the truck where they cut a hole in the ceiling. Justin and Jamal were charged with collecting the money, packing it into the bags Khalil had prepared earlier, while Joe and Ronnie handled the driver. Ronnie kept the driver occupied with threats (and violence) if need be, and Joe—communicating with Alex, who was in the back of your van—hacked into the locked case and got the codes and plans. After that, it was all you. The guys would get back in the van with you, and you’d make sure you all got back to the safehouse without having to deal with the cops. From then on, it was only a matter of checking the plans and routes and whatnot, making some plans of your own, and doing one last job. Easy peasy.

But then the driver had a gun, and he was shooting and yelling, and you could barely hear anything in your headset beyond the sound of bullets and screaming. You swerved, moving the truck to the right sharply when the armored truck nearly ran into you.

“What the fuck is going on?” You asked into the headset, trying to keep the van as close to the truck as you could.

“Get ready,” Joe huffed into the receiver, sounding out of breath, “We’re getting the fuck out of here!”

You did as he said, bringing the van right next to the truck, despite the haphazard driving and swerving, and reached up, opening the sunroof for the guys.

“The fuck is up with this driver?” Alex asked, shifting as you had to swerve once again to avoid being run over.

You didn’t know, and so you didn’t answer. You jumped, as you always did, when you heard the crash of a body hitting the van—the boys were coming back. Joe dropped in first, breathing hard. He pulled Ronnie in next, then Justin.

“Go, go, go!” He shouted, climbing into the passenger seat beside you.

“Where’s Jamal?” You asked, looking up at the truck, expecting to see him standing on the roof, ready to jump.

“He’s dead, let’s go!” Joe answered.

You looked into the rearview mirror and locked eyes with Ronnie. His eyes were wide and watery, and you noticed blood on his face and shirt.

“Drive!” Joe’s voice brought you back to earth, and you hit the gas hard. When you looked back at the road behind you, you saw the truck veer off to the shoulder and crash, and you knew why the driver had been driving like that before: he was dead.

No one spoke all the way home, there was complete silence all the way until you pulled in. Khalil was waiting for you all in the garage, ready to go through the bags of cash for any dye-packs or unmarked bills. He froze when Ronnie stepped out. “Wh—what happened?” He asked, voice shaking. He blinked. “Where’s Jamal?”

“Dead,” Joe answered, grabbing one of the bags and tossing it on the ground, “We need to go through these.”

“How did he die?” You asked, voice hollow.

Joe threw another bag on the crowd, back to you. “Driver had a gun. Shot him in the chest.”

“W—we should have taken him with us,” Justin said, eyes overflowing with tears, “We just left him…” He looked up at you and Ronnie. “I didn’t see him die, he could still be…”

“He’s dead,” Ronnie said. You looked over at him. You’d ever heard his voice like that before, so full of anger. His eyes were on Joe’s back, but Joe was still clearing the car out. “Joe shot him,” he went on. Your blood went cold. “He killed the driver, and then walked over to Jamal and shot him in the head.”

Joe stopped moving, but didn’t turn around. He just stood there, his back to his crew, as this revelation came out.

Justin was shaking, and Alex moved away from Joe, as if he could catch ruthlessness from the other man like a disease. Khalil moved closer to you, and you would have felt sorrier for the boy if you weren’t so disgusted by Joe. “You killed him?” Justin asked, tears streaming down his face.

“He was already dying,” Joe said without turning around, “I had to make sure he wouldn’t talk. He was dying anyway.”

“We don’t do this,” Ronnie said, shaking his head. His hands were balled at his side, and you could practically feel the rage coming off of him. “We don’t kill people; we don’t kill our own people…”

“We rob,” you agreed, staring at Joe’s broad back, “And sometimes—sometimes, someone gets hurt, but we don’t kill. We never have.”

“You never have,” Joe twirled around, eyes wide and wild, “I did what I had to do—and I’d do it all over again if it meant I get my money and my life!” His voice echoed in the silent room. “That’s why I’m in charge,” he went on, “cause I make the hard decisions, I keep this operation running! I’m the one who took you off the streets,” he snarled at Ronnie, “saved you from your crack fiend mama and taught you how to thrive,” he glared over at you now, “And I’m the one who took you in when your parents died, brought you up from nothing. So all you bitches can shut the fuck up, dry your damn eyes, and start clearing these bags!”

No one moved.

“You killed Jamal,” Justin whispered, soft and slowly like he was testing the words, “You killed him.”

“That’s manslaughter,” Ronnie said, “Two counts, life in prison.” He shook his head again, disgusted, “You’re done, Joe.”

“How dare you talk to me like that,” Joe hissed, “I’m your father—”

“—You’re not my father,” Ronnie snapped back, “or hers! You’re an old man who’s gonna spend the rest of his life in prison—”

“—How?” Joe asked. “No prints, no evidence—I didn’t leave shit behind!”

“I’m not going down for you,” Ronnie said, taking a step back, “I’m out.”

You opened your mouth, ready to say the words as well, when you were interrupted by a loud bang. You blinked, feeling something warm and wet erupt on your face, and the next thing you knew, you were staring down at your brother Ronnie…

…with a hole in his head.

Everything happened in kind of a blur after that. You vaguely remembered screaming, and you must have touched Ronnie, because later you noticed how bloody your clothes were. You had never felt so helpless in your life as you had as you held Ronnie in your arms, watching him take his last breaths. There was nothing that could have been done, even you could tell that the shot was fatal, and once he finally stopped moving and you felt him go limb, you knew he was dead.

Joe had made some kind of speech then about betraying him, gesturing with his gun and yelling and cursing, but you hadn’t heard it. All you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears. The boys all went back to work, grabbing the bags and going through them, but you didn’t move. Even when everything was packed up, you stayed on the ground with Ronnie, staring down at his lifeless body. You vaguely registered movement from your peripheral and saw Alex and Justin leave. Khalil said your name above you, but you didn’t look up. You heard his soft “I’m sorry” before he left, too. A few minutes later, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You looked up to see Joe. He didn’t look at Ronnie, made an effort to avoid him, actually, as he stared down at you, feigning regret. “I had to,” he said lowly, “I had to… He was my own son,” he shook his head, closing his eyes as if he was just so hurt, “and he was gonna betray me, gonna rat…” He opened his eyes again. “I had to…and I’ll do the same to you if I have to.”

You watched him walk away. Then you got up, knees wobbling and hands shaking, and got in your car.

By the time you made it to the police station, you were all out of tears to cry.

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

Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! I have the next part ready to go if anyone is interested in this plotline. 

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[chelsfic]

Chapter 10 - Inherited - Dracula/OFC - Dracula 2020 fanfic

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine

A/N: The last chapter ended with a door closing. This one will end with a door opening. Also the requisite vampire looking in through the window scene. The chapter *after* this one will have a smut scene, I promise! If you like this and would like to be added to the tag list just let me know! Also, all of my love and respect to everyone who has read, liked, commented, reblogged, sent messages, and just generally interacted with this fic from the beginning. Readers like you are why fanfic writers keep creating. So, thanks!

Summary: An angsty interlude of lovers parted. Dracula works out how not to be a douche. The last chapter ended with a door closing. This one will end with a door opening. Also the requisite vampire looking in through the window scene. 

Each morning since she left Emilie rose from bed with a listless spirit and went through the motions of dressing and preparing for her day. She’d taken a job at the hand laundry workshop in town and she spent long hours each day soaking, scrubbing, drying and ironing. It was exhausting work that left the delicate skin of her hands cracked and her back aching.  She never returned home until after sunset. Emilie supposed it was good to be so busy for she had no energy for anything when she got home other than a quick supper and getting into bed. There was certainly no time to think about the Count. About the taste of love in his blood, the flare of joy she’d felt at the discovery, so quickly extinguished by his...horrible, pig headed cruelty. No, she didn’t have time even to dwell on the confection of emerald green silk that still hung up on the wall in the corner of her room: a ghost of a life that seemed so long ago, so far removed.

She told herself these lies to get through the day. But at night, in the darkness of her little bedroom, she let the tears fall for her love. She still loved him though she was also furious at him. And she felt him still, too, through the ethereal connection that bound them together. His emotions were a whirling confusion of impressions without context that she couldn’t interpret into any meaningful idea of his actions or thoughts. Sometimes she felt waves of lust and exaltation from him. She assumed he must be feeding at those times. But other times she felt his weariness, his amusement, his boredom, his anger...and his sadness. His sadness was like a bruise on her soul. She longed to reach out to him and comfort him. Sometimes she tried, sending her thoughts in his direction and trying to inject them with warmth, comfort and love. She was always met by the sudden slamming shut of a barrier between them. It sent an icy chill down her spine when he cut himself off from her--it felt like losing one half of herself. And it would invariably send her into a black mood of mourning for the rest of the night. In her most desperate hours she prayed to God and asked, demanded to know what she’d done wrong. All she ever did was love and serve Dracula. Why had he forsaken her? But it was not the word of God she heard in response, but her mother’s words echoing back to her from that last day at Carfax. Men of power may play with our lives, our affections as they wish.

***

Dracula rose each night with the ghost of a sob in his throat as if he’d swallowed a suicidal songbird before going to sleep. He knew it belonged to Emilie. He could taste her emotions through their connection just as surely as he’d tasted her blood. Since...that night she tasted like poisoned happiness and bitter regrets. He tried to harden his heart towards her, to occupy himself with pleasure, blood, lives, but she was still there, always. Like an annoying little spark inside his chest that at times burned and other times seemed to suffer and wither. 

He felt her reaching for him sometimes, a psychic assault of goodness and warmth that made his skin crawl in self-loathing. He tried keeping her out, putting up his mental defenses. It did work. But he was weak and each time he shut her out the hollow emptiness on the other end of the connection would unnerve him. It was like she wasn’t there, like she was dead. He always came back, drawing back the curtain just for a peek at the other side. To know she was safe. And each time he felt the black oppression of her sadness at being cut off from him. It was suffocating.

So, in keeping with his recent trend, he ran from the overwhelming emotions. In a fit of stubbornness and to prove to himself that he belonged to no one and certainly not a silly housekeeper, he met with his solicitor to inform him of the cessation of payments to the Andrews family. Renfield was pleased to scratch that expense from his ledger book. The sycophant was always gratified to improve his master’s wealth and cut expenses.

“Very good,” he sniveled, smiling like the cat who’d caught the canary. “And what about the house?”

Count Dracula raised his brows in question, “What house, Renfield?”

Here the solicitor chuckled, “The Andrews’s residence, of course. We--that is, you are the landlord.”

Dracula looked into the man’s eyes, gleaming with delight and greed, and felt the sudden urge to snap his neck. 

“The house, well...they’ll remain living there, I expect. I don’t think the family has designs on moving anywhere else.”

“Yes, but the rent. The rent was included in Miss Emilie’s salary,” Renfield prompted. 

Dracula felt the meanness go out of him. The idea of throwing Emilie onto the street... This whole meeting was a mistake. His shoulders sagged and he waved a dismissive hand as he responded, “Nevermind, Renfield. Forget about this meeting.”

The force of suggestion in his words left the solicitor gazing at him with a look of blank happiness for a moment before he came to his senses again. The Count tutted sympathetically as he led the man out of his office and down the corridor to the front door. He probably should try to cut back on glamouring Renfield. The man was starting to go a little...off.

Before he ushered him out the door he paused and asked, “Renfield, you arranged for company tonight, didn’t you?”

“Oh!” Renfield beamed, “Yes, master, a visiting Countess from France. She has a distant cousin who lives in town but she’s taking her leave of them tonight and departing very early in the morning. So…”

“So,” Dracula agreed. “Very good.”

He stood back from the doorway as Renfield opened it to the daylight and took his leave. Fresh blood tonight, he parted his lips and salivated at the thought. She wouldn’t compare to Emilie, but he’d make do.

***

The Countess turned out to be such a vulgar gossip that if he weren’t weary from his talk with Renfield he would have snapped her neck on the spot and flew off to the next county to find some suitable shepherd boy to sate his appetite. Instead he urged the Countess to indulge in seconds at dinner, hoping to quiet her ceaseless chatter.

“Where are your servants, Count Dracula?” the woman demanded impertinently. “You’ve no one to serve the table? How odd!”

Dracula showed her his teeth in a menacing smile, “I’m between housekeepers at the moment, Countess.”

She lifted a knowing brow, “Ah, yes, I think my cousin may have mentioned something along those lines. One of the daughters of that Andrews woman? You recently sacked her? What was it, theft? It’s a shame we can’t expect virtue in our servant class anymore, isn’t it?”

Dracula put his arm on the back of her chair and clenched his fingers into the wood, “It seems that nothing is beneath your notice, Countess.”

She sniffed haughtily, “I like to get to know the places I visit….You know, I think I saw that girl the other day. Yes, I did! I remember my cousin remarking, ‘There goes the Andrews girl. She’s sorry she lost her cozy spot with the Count now, I reckon.’ And he was right. She was dreadfully thin and worn out looking. Her hands were bright red! From working with those chemicals they use in the laundry houses. Well...she won’t steal again that’s for sure…”

Dracula made it hurt when the time came. He relished the horrible woman’s cries and struggles as he quenched the life from her. All the while his mind’s eye supplied him with the image of Emilie: tired, starved, and maimed from hard labor. When he finished he drew back and let the blood run down his chin and drip onto the corpse’s ashen face. He was the picture of a pagan god feasting on a human sacrifice. He cracked her spine with a twist of the neck and let her drop to the floor in an undignified heap.

***

The Andrews family house was located on the main road in a section of town primarily occupied by merchants. It was a place they’d never have been able to manage without their special arrangement with the Count. Dracula, who came so infrequently into town, had never been inside. He stood across the wide street and regarded the modest brick dwelling. The windows in the parlor were illuminated and cast cheery yellow light out onto the dark street. He could feel Emilie’s presence inside the home and it lent the whole scene an air of fragile beauty. A loving home, glowing with hope and goodness against the forces of the night. Dracula rolled his eyes at his own train of thought and crossed the street. A force of the night coming to call.

Before approaching the door he detoured through the flower bed and stood outside the parlor window looking in. Emilie sat by herself beside the fire. There was a pile of knitting in her lap, but her hands were still. She gazed into the fire and he saw tear tracks on her cheeks. He regarded her critically and admitted that the Countess’s observations had been accurate. Emilie looked weak, thin and tired. Her hands were raw and cracked and her face looked despondent. He had never seen her like this. Not even when she’d first come to him and she was too frightened to stand in his presence without trembling. The Count felt a deep self-disgust that he was the cause of her unhappiness. He did not know at what point he’d begun to care but there was something forged between them that he could not deny.

He turned away from the sad scene and went to the door. He heard a rustle of commotion at his knock. Shortly the door creaked open allowing the cheerful light from within to spill out illuminating the tall, dark form of Count Dracula.

Emilie stood with one hand on the doorknob and the other over her heart. She gasped upon seeing him there, conjured, it seemed, from her own yearning.

“Vlad?” she breathed.

“Hello, Emilie,” he replied, aiming for cavalier.

Emilie took a beat to recover before asking, “Won’t you come inside?”

Dracula grinned in response but didn’t yet move forward.

“If you’ll invite me,” he replied.

Emilie smiled, dimples appearing in her cheeks although her eyes remained sad and guarded.

“Come inside, Dracula.”

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