#when you’re so bad at crime the cops give you tips | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shyphonics · 7 months ago

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Salad Days, Chapter 7: I Used To Be a Baby, Now I'm Just a Criminal.

(babypunk Rodrick Heffley x reader)

chapter directory

I think this is the longest chapter I've written, I broke 6k words!! Also very excited to finally use the most Rodrick-coded song I can think of, please treat yourself to the music video lol.

I've been working on the next few chapters all at once, so they might come out a little faster. :)

Time is our enemy, we’ve had enough

Let’s get together, let’s show them what’s up

1312, ACAB

Es para la gente, pa todo el mundo

Sale del corazón, queremos ser libres

1312, ACAB

You pull up to the front of The Strike, and it’s bad.

Where there was once a giant, beautiful bay window, almost as tall as the building itself, there is now a giant hole. Flyers which previously coated the window are crushed and ripped, the colorful papers poking out under smashed panes of glass.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

You get out to observe the damage, and find Mike sweeping up shards of glass.

“Did you call the cops?” You ask, stepping over a broken barstool.

“They were already here. Didn’t give a shit, of course. Said they had an anonymous tip, but they probably just wanted to go back to doing fuck-all.”

You look around, and notice crude graffiti on the walls.

I burned down the Plainview library on one wall.

And I’ll do the same to this shithole on the other.

RH is spray painted on the mirror behind the bar.

RH…

Rodrick…? You’re pretty sure his last name is something with an H.

And all those cop cars at his apartment…

Either Bryan Kemp is a complete and utter moron, or there’s some other RH out there, and you’ve got it all wrong. One is far more likely than the other.

You head to the back, and find the thick binder of banned IDs.

Before you can open it, the phone rings.

“Strike,” you answer, “we’re closed.”

You tuck the phone into the crook of your neck, and open up The List.

“This is Officer Houston, can I speak to your boss?” A condescending voice creeps into your ear.

“You can speak to me.” You say harshly.

He’s quiet, before you hear a small sigh.

“In relation to the vandalism case at your address, we could not make contact with the perp alleged in the anonymous tip.”

“Because your alleged perp didn’t do it. Rodrick H? Is that the name he gave you?”

“I… can’t disclose that information at this time.” The cop sounds nervous.

“Okay, well, he was with me, all last night and today.” Your voice is low and stable. You really wanna bite this guy’s head off, but you have to stay bare-minimum professional.

“Ma’am, this person was implicated in two separate crimes, with the threat of a third, and we would like to go forward with questioning when we make contact. We will check his alibi when we do.”

You find the most recent pages, with the ID scans from last night. There he is. That motherfucker. You squint, reading his information.

“It was Bryan Kemp, okay? I have his address right here, go talk to him. 452 Spring Hill Lane. On the college campus.”

You hear the sound of a pen scratching paper.

“And your reasoning?”

“We had to kick his ass out of our bar last night for assaulting a performer- assaulting the person he gave you the name of, mind you. He’s lucky we didn’t call you.”

Silence falls over the phone line, save for the sounds of the detective jotting things down. You get impatient, tapping your nails faster and faster on the desk.

“We’ll look into it, ma’am.” He finally says.

You feel anger bubbling up in you, slamming the phone down before you can say something regrettable. Ma’am. Fuck off.

You grab a broom off the wall, and walk back around to the front of the bar. It's a fucking mess.

You duck under the bar to find the stereo, thankfully safe in its little plexiglass prison.

“There’s one thing they can never take from us, Mike.”

“If you’re gonna say our dignity, you’re alone, kid. Mine’s been gone since ‘82.” Mike sits in the middle of the floor, rubbing his temples.

“Nah,” you flip the stereo on, and the typical weekend mix starts playing, gritty and upbeat, “It’s totally cheesy, but I was gonna say the music. Literally and figuratively. Because the stereo still works.” Mike smiles, looking up at the speakers as the room fills with the sweet sounds of T.S.O.L.

“God dammit,’ he sighs, standing up, “C’mere,”

He puts his arms out, and you hug him. It’s comforting, almost parental. You pat each other on the back, soft, then harder. Reassuring, like you’re trying to hype each other up.

“We’re gonna clean this fucking bar up, right?” You say, feeling tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re gonna get all this glass out of here, and- and get paint, fix the window.” Mike sniffles.

“Jimbo has to have a glass guy, have you called him?”

“I’m gonna call him!”

“Hell yeah, you are!”

“Kid. It’s strange to say, but- you’re my best friend.”

You pull away, holding him by the shoulders.

“And you’re the last real punk. What did you always used to tell me? When I was a little street rat?”

“You can do anything you want!” He beams, pointing at you.

“You can do anything you want!” You grin, shaking him slightly.

The two of you are all psyched up, sweeping up glass, playing your brooms like guitars, screaming along to Minor Threat and Adicts and and Stiff Little Fingers.

Other bartenders show up, along with the bouncers. You sit in a big circle on the floor, drinking shitty beer and laughing. Jimbo is up on a ladder- he does have a glass guy. You knew he would. They’re brushing all the broken bits out of the frame and measuring the dimensions. For now, it’ll be plywood, but it’s something. You want to call Rodrick, tell him everything’s gonna be okay, but you realize you don’t even have his number.

You make your way up to the office, and log into your email.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: All good :)

We're getting everything cleaned up over here. Measuring for a new window and everything. I gave the cops Bryan’s address. I think he was trying to frame you. Stupid asshole LOL. I told the cops you were with me all night and day. They’re being jerks, though- kinda their M.O. I guess- but if they come back, you don’t have anything to worry about.

I had a really good time with you.

Call me, okay? 444-7881

You smile as you hit send, and head back downstairs.

You really don't want him to worry- he'd looked so sad when he got out of your car. Everything will be okay. He'll still be waiting for you when you're done taking care of business.

Rodrick sits against the wall, knees to his chest, hyperventilating.

“What does that even mean? Associated with a crime scene- what- what does that mean?”

“Dude, chill out,” Ben crouches next to him, “You didn’t do anything, right? You’ve been with that girl.”

“Yeah, but,” Rodrick puts his head in his hands.

He’s never told anyone what he did.

It was stupid, and reckless, but nobody had gotten hurt. The repairs to that street went over pretty easy, and it never even comes up in the news anymore.

Sure, people assumed.

He'd been the weird kid. Dark hair and eyeliner. Metal band. Nearly a high school dropout. Essentially a pariah. Of course people had assumed it was him.

But they never knew for sure.

There’s no point in telling anyone. He’ll just keep it with him, until one day, it’s barely even a notable memory.

But the bar. That’s on him, as far as he can figure. He could’ve just kept his mouth shut.

“Ben, the bar got fucked up, and it’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have fought back against Bryan, I should have just-”

“Dude,” Ben puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Taken it like I did back home, and now she’s gonna hate me, I fucked up,” He wails.

Sobs rack his body as he sinks further down the wall. Ben sits next to him and stares, agape.

“What are you talking about?”

Rodrick takes a moment to calm down, trying to breathe slow and steady. He wipes his eyes with the sleeves of his denim jacket. He really hates when he cries, especially when he can’t stop it like this.

“Someone- well, Bryan, probably- wrecked the bar, and it’s all my fault, I can never go back.” He hates how whiny his voice sounds.

“Should we go down and see if we can help?” Ben asks gently.

“No. No, I’m never going back there. We can find a different bar, or- or get real jobs. I can’t ever show my face there again.”

“Real jobs? What the fuck has gotten into you?” Ben asks, “That’s not why we’re here, dude.”

“Ward and Chris are at work.” Rodrick pouts, “I just saw Ward. At his job.”

“Yeah. Shit jobs to make rent. We all said we’d get one of those. But you are not gonna sit here and say anything about real jobs.”

Rodrick frowns up at him.

“You gotta calm down, man. I’m sure it’s just a big misunderstanding.”

Rodrick looks down. There’s no way. He’d felt so good before all this. He should’ve known better. He’s not allowed to be happy. He doesn’t deserve it.

He let you down.

You’re probably back at the bar, cursing his name. Regretting ever taking him home, or spending the day with him, or enjoying his company. Letting him write his band name next to yours. He feels like a total fraud.

Ben is still talking. Rodrick isn’t listening. Ben hoists him up, and puts him on one of the floor mattresses.

“You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Rodrick does not feel better in the morning.

His dreams are loud.

He's on trial for arson. Heather Hills is his defense lawyer, dressed in a pink, tweed skirt suit like the blonde woman in that movie his mom liked.

I'm supposed to defend this loser? She laughs. He totally did it, are you kidding me? Just look at him.

The judge laughs at him. The jury laughs at him. Rodrick realizes they're all people he went to school with.

He's beyond help. He's scary. He's crazy! He's a danger to society. Just let him rot.

Rodrick puts his head in his hands, and when he takes them away from his face again, he’s in orange, long sleeves and handcuffs. His hands are shaking. Two men are gripping his shoulders, leading him down a hallway.

Sent to prison, but it looks… abandoned. Like the ones he's seen on those ghost hunting shows. The walls are filthy, and crumbling. The guards trip him and jeer as he walks by.

He’s thrown into a tiny, concrete cell, with only a tiny window on the door.

He sees his mom’s face through the window. She shakes her head.

Then his dad's voice, He's better off in there. It's better for all of us.

He's buckled into a straitjacket, and a psychiatrist is sent to see him. It's you, dressed in a white doctor’s coat, glowing and angelic against the drab concrete. You have no idea who he is. He tries everything to get you to remember.

C'mon. You know me. From the bar! We played a show together, you took me home and we spent the day together. I'm not dangerous, I just… I fucked up! I didn't hurt anyone. You know me!

Your eyes are cold. You sit with a clipboard, legs crossed, scribbling down notes. Like you're observing a science experiment. He's sobbing, begging for you to say something, but the more desperate he gets, the faster you write. You say nothing. He struggles against his restraints. Maybe he really is crazy.

He wakes up in a cold sweat.

Ben and Ward are standing over him. He jolts up.

“Fuck,” he pants, “what the hell are you guys doing?”

“You were freaking us out, dude.” Ben sits on the couch, looking at him.

“Yeah, you were twitching and talking and shit.” Ward walks back to the kitchen, pouring a mug of coffee.

“I had a weird dream.” Rodrick sighs, rubbing his eye.

The doorknob turns, and Chris walks in.

“Did you guys hear about what happened to The Strike?”

Ben looks at Rodrick. Rodrick panics.

As Chris moves to the kitchen to tell Ward, Rodrick escapes through the front door.

“I’m going out,” he mumbles.

Oh, what happened to my little boy?

It's so fuckin’ sad

He used to be a little baby

Now he's just a criminal

You adjust the neckline on your top, weighed down by a lav microphone. The news crew buzzes, and Mike nervously paces back and forth. You stand in front of The Strike, the boarded up window in view. With the police being seemingly no help, you and Mike had decided to call the media. Mike would rally, you and Jimbo would stand in as support. Local punks of all ages had heard what happened and were milling around on the street, a sea of black leather and bright hair.

The news anchor flashes you a fake smile, smoothing down her coral blazer, and running a hand through her long, brown hair.

“Are you excited to be on TV?”

You grimace, raising an eyebrow. Excited? Is she kidding?

“Yeah…” you answer, choosing not to pick a fight before you’re on air.

Mike can be a very impassioned guy. You’re slightly worried about what he’ll say and do on live TV, but you can’t say you won’t support it. He’s instructed you to do two things: stand next to him, and look angry.

The camera operator starts to count down from 5, pointing at the anchor on 1.

“Hi, I’m Sadie Shaw, Port Hanna Channel 7. I’m here with local bar owner, Mike Morello, and two of his employees. Their bar, The Strike, was vandalized early Saturday morning, and they’re putting out a call for justice.”

You try your best to look alive, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.

“Well, Sadie, I wanna take you back to San Francisco, 1978…” Mike starts, his voice more pronounced than usual, still with its nasally twinge.

Here we go.

“Dan White assassinates Harvey Milk and George Moscone. Milk, a gay icon and a friend to the punks, Moscone, an ally to both. Got a pathetically small sentence because he used to be a cop. We made it known that that was not appreciated.”

The news anchor’s eyes go wide.

“Dianne Feinstein takes over the city. Punishing us because of what they did to us! The cops are putting padlocks on the Art Institute before an Avengers show! They’re coming by the Mab, and the Deaf Club, and 330 Grove and beating up kids who weren’t doing anyone any harm!” He raises his voice, pointing ardently at the camera.

“Uh…” Sadie stutters.

You nod firmly, staring into the lens. A few cheers of yeah! and woo! erupt from the people on the street.

“But we didn’t sit back and take it! We fought back! And we’re not gonna let some frat boy take punk away from us, just like Dan White and Dianne Feinstein tried to take it away from us 30 years ago!” Mike shakes his fist at the sky, like he's making a promise.

People are cheering behind you. You crack a sly smile, still staring into the camera.

“We know who did this! We have his name and address in our ban list! We told the cops! Did they believe us?” Mike looks towards you.

“Nope.” You say, matter-of-factly.

“Of course they didn’t! Look at us! They don’t want anything to do with us! They just want us to shut up and deal with it! Meanwhile, this little douchebag threatened to burn down the bar! So I’m here to tell the cops- do your jobs!”

People laugh and yell behind you, oinking like pigs and parroting Mike.

Do your jobs! Do your jobs, piggies!

“Support your local bars, your local bands, and your only local radio station that hasn’t been taken over by the robots, 98.7!” Mike yells over the noise of the crowd. “And when we're open again, we promise to be more of a nuisance than ever!”

Sadie, with panicked eyes, turns towards the camera.

“Alright, well… you heard it here first! I’m Sadie Shaw, Channel 7.”

The crew starts to put the camera away, looking relieved.

Your microphones are taken off, and after a cold goodbye, the news crew drives off in their van.

As soon as they’re gone, you find yourself bursting into laughter, high-fiving passerby as you turn to follow Mike into the bar.

You check your cell phone, hoping for a call or a text from Rodrick. Hoping he got to see the chaos, too. But there’s nothing. You frown, but you’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts as Jimbo hands you a paint roller.

“Got a perfect match for the old walls. Guy at the store said the color is called 100 MPH.” He grins, flashing horns at you, “Sounds like me on my bike.”

You laugh, taking a peek at the paint lid. It’s the exact same jarring red as before, and the name makes you smile. You mirror Jimbo’s horns and walk inside.

Meanwhile, Rodrick drives aimlessly.

His eyes are dry from crying, and he can barely focus on the road. The radio is off.

He’s getting further and further out of town, and he realizes… his autopilot is taking him home.

He doesn’t want to go home.

He shouldn't even still be calling it home.

But there he is, passing his high school. The diner. And then he’s pulling up on his street.

He sees his family piling out of the car, just getting back from church. He slowly pulls up outside the house, and he sees Greg in the window, his eyes widening when he realizes who it is. He gets out of the van, slowly walking up to the door before knocking tentatively.

“Rodrick, you’re alive!” His mom wraps her arms around him when she opens the door, “You didn’t have to knock!”

“Jesus, mom!” Rodrick recoils slightly as she embraces him, “What? Of course I'm alive. Why wouldn't I be alive?!”

As he sits at the dining room table with his family, he's overcome by a sense of familiarity. He feels like his old self.

“Greg got an A on his geometry final,” His dad says.

“Ha! Dork.” Rodrick lightly punches Greg on the shoulder.

“Rodrick, how was your concert?” His mom grins across from him. He notices his dad looking away.

“Good. Great!” Rodrick smiles, recalling the noise of the crowd and the praise they'd gotten, before everything went to hell.

“Did you get paid?” His dad asks, still not looking at him.

Rodrick gives a pointed look to his dad, waiting a few seconds before answering.

“Yeah, we did. $200, plus we sold half the shirts we had.” He crosses his arms, “And the girl who got us on the show said we should have a lot more offers from other places by this weekend.”

He feels a twinge of guilt, knowing all that probably won't happen now. Knowing you probably hate him, and have already warned the other bars not to book his band. Even if they do get another show… he's too much of a coward to show up, anyway.

Proving his dad wrong comes above everything, though.

Frank scoffs out a laugh.

His mom smiles nervously, looking from Frank to Rodrick.

“That's great!”

“Yeah, great,” Frank rolls his eyes, “Two of the neighbor kids are starting medical residencies, and one is studying for the bar, but… you got $200! That's great!”

“Frank-”

“No, Susan, that's just fantastic! My son is being paid to hang out with bums!” He laughs, a high cackle, slamming his hand on the table.

Everyone is silent. His dad gets up, and disappears into the basement.

"Its, like... a third of our rent." Rodrick mutters, looking down.

“Greg,” his mom says after a minute, “Take Manny and go to the living room, would you?”

Greg looks at Rodrick for a minute, then back at his mom, brows knit in worry.

“Mom…?”

“It's cool,” Rodrick looks at him, smiling as much as he can manage, “Go on.”

Rodrick sits at the kitchen counter with his mom. She takes out two stemmed glasses and fills them with generous pours of sweet white wine.

“Don't listen to your dad.” She slides the glass to him.

“What?” Rodrick’s voice comes out weak.

“Sure, maybe for a while, I wanted you on a different path too, but… you're happy, right?”

Rodrick looks down into his glass. That's a big question. He decides to lie. Pretend that Saturday never happened. He takes a long sip of the wine, wincing at the sweetness.

“Yeah,” he nods, looking up at her, “I am. We… we got accepted, like, right away. Everyone liked us.”

His mom beams, leaning on the counter.

“People said we were really good, and- and we're on the list of bands that can open for big bands now. Like, touring bands.” Rodrick feels his heart skip a beat, knowing he's lying.

“That's great,” his mom puts her hand over his, “As long as you're happy, and you're alive, I'm happy. As for your dad, it might take a while, but I think he'll come around.”

“Mom, I…” he pauses. He wants to tell her everything. Everything. He almost does, then the urge is gone, “...I love you.”

His mom walks around the counter, hugging him tight. This time, he lets her.

He leaves without seeing his dad, giving Greg a noogie on his way out.

The drive back to town is quiet, but more peaceful than the drive in.

On the outskirts of town, he notices the liquor delivery plant he and the guys had visited a few days before, with a giant HIRING sign out front. He stops.

How do you know what my best interest is?

How can you say what my best interest is?

What are you trying to say, I’m crazy?

When I went to your schools?

I went to your churches?

I went to your institutional learning facilities?

So, how can you say I’m crazy?

It's late. You’re on the last leg of one of the most active radio shifts you've ever worked. People have started dropping money in the mail slot for repairs, and you’d had the idea to tell any future donors to include a note with a name and a song request with their cash. You're calling it Donation Roulette.

CDs and tapes sit scattered around you, covered in sticky notes with names, play order, and track numbers.

A song ends, and you get on the mic, picking up CD number 20, track 6. You pop it in and skip ahead.

“Number 20! Big thanks to Dennis Hall for your donation, and a request for one of my all time favorites, ‘Institutionalized’-Suicidal Tendencies. This is the last one before I sign off for tonight, and we’ll have a DJ back on roulette duty first thing tomorrow.”

You smile, finger hovering over the play button.

“All of us here at 98.7 thank you for your support. We can’t do any of this without each other.”

You hit play, and the riff kicks in as you start shutting down. The CDs and tapes are stacked in order for whoever has the morning shift, and you’ve placed a basket underneath the mail slot in case more people drop off money. There’s already another bundle lying on the ground. $20 and a request for Search and Destroy by The Stooges, with the name Marie Parks attached. Your eyes linger on the note for a while, before you add it to the stack with the CD attached, slipping the money into a metal cash box underneath the radio board.

Doesn’t matter, I’ll probably get hit by a car, anyway.

The song comes to a close, and you shut the board down, then the lights, one by one. Quiet. Dark.

The drive home is short, and you unlock the door to your empty apartment. Quiet. Dark.

You'd thought after such a busy day, filled with talking to people and working, that quiet and dark would be what you wanted.

You sit back on your couch, realizing that’s not the case. The absence of people and noise is jarring. Your brain is buzzing. You flip the TV on. You can’t sit still. You check your email and phone, and find nothing from Rodrick on either. You sigh. You don’t want to think the worst, but… what else can you think?

You sit, trying to focus on the mindless sitcom in front of you. Flipping channels, again and again. Nothing catches you. Back out you go.

You walk over to Pyramid, and it’s completely full. This place tends to trend more traditional goth, and the music is proving it. Moody, pumping bass, and girls with teased hair swinging their mesh-sleeved arms.

You see a group of people you recognize, and they yell when they see you. You yell back. As you sit at the table, the doubts start to fade away. You just need people around you right now. And these are good people. Good, good people. Some of the first people you met in this town.

A band called Put Down. Five guys, about five years older than you, Joey, Jake, Gabe, Marcus, and Nick.

They greet you warmly, making room at their table.

Nick- a tall, tall guy, with a high, bouncy sprout of black, curly hair and a beard, grins at you.

“You were so fucking cool on TV.”

“Aw, c’mon, I said one word.” You wave your hand dismissively, bashful.

“Still fucking cool.” He smiles.

A martini glass with a deep purple, glittering liquid is placed in front of you.

“This is called a Musidora. You gotta try it. These goths know what they’re doing.” Joey smiles, a small, stocky ginger with a nose ring.

You sip it. It's incredible. It tastes… purple. You don't know how else to describe it. You finish it, and order another.

Before you know it, you’ve had… 4, maybe? You can’t even remember. You’re having too much fun. It seems like every band in the city got the memo that this was the place to be, and everyone is up and swishing their arms like the goth girls.

You laugh, spinning, the purple lights of the room glinting around you. Every face is familiar, and you feel the best that you have all day. There’s one face that seems to be missing, though. You look for him, but he isn’t there. Your spin slows, and you still your movements, dizzy.

As the bad thoughts start to creep in, you’re saved by someone grabbing your hand and delicately twirling you. You sigh with relief. He’s here, you knew he’d show up eventually. Plus, the two of you actually pulled off a spin!

“I was waiting for you, why didn’t you call me?” You shout over the music as you turn towards him, and his arm coils around you.

A drunken grin spreads across your face as you land against his chest, in his arms, and…

It’s not him.

You frown, looking up.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to.” He smiles.

Your eyes widen. It’s your ex.

“...Andy?”

He grins. You start to wiggle out of his hold.

Andy is the first person you'd ever dated in this town, all the way back in your borderline crust punk house show days. He’s a beautiful man, with turquoise eyes and tan skin, a sharp, stubbled jaw. His hair is different; what used to be a high pompadour is now a feathery, chin-length cut. He looks down at you lovingly, and for just a second, you let yourself remember the good times.

You’d been a wreck in your younger days, and as much as you tried to discourage him, he seemed fascinated by you. He just kept following you around, and eventually, you let him in. Late night walks down to the water, 40z beers in hand, running from the cops. He’d kissed you for the first time in the woods, underneath a full moon, and made you feel like a person again.

Then the betrayal.

It started with little whispers all over town.

You got your first job, and your co-worker couldn’t stop gushing about her boyfriend, Andy.

It had to be a coincidence. It's not like Andy is an uncommon name. Yeah. You were being crazy.

But then it happened again. And you were so scared, so hesitant to cut one of your only lifelines in this town.

Then you caught him.

He’d given you a spare key to his apartment, which is really a stupid move if you’re gonna cheat, and you came in late from work.

You saw them, right there on the couch. Undeniably nude bodies, shrouded in shadows. The girl screamed when you opened the door.

You’d burst into tears on the spot.

Fuck you, you bastard!

She'd realized what was happening and laughed at you. Andy didn’t say a thing. You ran off, slamming the door, and you never saw him again.

Until now.

“You looked hot on the news today,” He smirks.

You wrench his arm off of you, mouth twisted into a sneer.

“Get away from me.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he reaches for you, “You were excited a second ago.”

“Because I thought you were someone else.” You hiss, slapping his hand away.

You feel something threaten to break within you. You’ve worked so hard over the years to form this calm, stable shell. You pride yourself on staying cool and getting shit done. Seeing Andy, combined with expecting Rodrick, and 4 or 5 of those purple martinis, just put a crack in that shell.

“I miss you,” He gives you a sad look, “C'mon, let's just hang out, no pressure.”

“No fucking way!” You laugh, bitter, feeling shakier by the second.

“I’ve changed.” He takes you gently by the shoulders.

“I don’t care.” You push him away from you, “It’s been years.”

“I just thought it had been long enough to try again.” His eyes are so sad, but you don’t buy it for a second.

You cross your arms, staying silent, frowning at him.

“Are you really with someone else?” His face drops.

“Yeah. Well, kinda. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. Either way, I don’t want you anymore.”

He looks down, his expression hurt. Good. When he looks back up at you, there's a smug look on his face, and a meanness in his eyes.

“So, what I'm getting is... you met a guy, maybe even slept with him, and you want to be with him, but he hasn't called you? And you're totally freaking out, because you're worried you're letting him walk all over you?”

You stare at him, arms still crossed, still slightly wobbly. You narrow your eyes.

“Shut the fuck up, Andy.”

You disappear into the crowd, hearing him yell wait!, but you don’t go back.

It can’t be true. Rodrick is not walking all over you. It’s only been one day, and something is clearly going on with him, anyway. Andy has no idea what he’s talking about, even if he had been scarily accurate. He hadn't been there. You nod, stumbling through the crowd as you try to convince yourself in your mind. One by one, you find all your friends and let them know you’re leaving.

You exit the bar, and see Nick leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

“You heading out?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, walking up to him.

He reaches out to give you a side hug.

“Alright. Hey, festival’s on in a month. You're in. We're gonna put you late in the day on Saturday.”

“For real? Hell yeah,” You smile, his words breaking you out of your funk.

“I'll let you know when everything's all worked out. See you around, D.”

You wave as you walk back to your apartment, trying to get Andy and Rodrick and whatever else out of your head and focus on the positives.

Even if Andy was right, even if Rodrick never calls you again…

You're playing at a music festival in a month. No dumb guy can take that away from you.

“Welcome to the team, kid!” The man who runs the plant, Buck, claps Rodrick on the back, “Now comes your initiation.”

“My… what?” Rodrick looks up, putting his paperwork on the top of a stack on Buck’s desk.

“You gotta come out with us!”

Buck is a large man, hairy and menacing, dressed in a worn-out old work shirt over a ratty white tank top.

“Out?” Rodrick gulps, “I’m kind of trying to avoid, like, the bars downtown and stuff…”

“Downtown?” Buck spits, “No, no, we’re not going downtown. We go to Johnny’s, it’s on this side of town. It’s for the guys, not those weirdos, you know what I’m sayin’?”

Rodrick frowns.

“Weirdos? They’re not weirdos, it’s just-”

“Ricky.” Buck takes him by the shoulders.

“Rodrick,” He corrects.

“I’m callin’ you Ricky. And all of those people down there? Grade A weirdos. Trust me. Now c’mon!” Buck shakes him.

Rodrick hesitates, looking at Buck’s red face.

“Uh… okay, fine.”

“That’s the spirit, buddy! Follow me, it’s not far.”

Rodrick pulls up to a cinderblock dive bar in a dirt lot, with overgrown brush sprouting up around the edges. The neon sign is green, half-dead, and flashing. Inside, it’s dark. Dollar bills hang from the walls, with profanities and funny faces scribbled over the markings. Old blues rock blasts from the speakers. Rodrick sits at the end, next to Buck, and guys in various work clothes line the rest of the bar. Everyone chatters, yelling and laughing, and Rodrick tries his best to pretend he’s paying attention whenever Buck nudges him. When they’re not looking, he finds himself staring at the bubbles in his beer mug, feeling completely out of body.

This feels weird. It feels wrong. He thought this would just be a job, but now he’s hanging out with these guys? These guys, with their sweaty beards, barking like dogs at the bartender? At the vintage beer ads with pinup girls that line the walls? He can't believe Buck had really had the nerve to call other people weirdos. He makes sure to tip the poor girl behind the bar as much as he possibly can, hearing your voice ring painfully in his head, flashing her apologetic looks.

“She looks pretty wild, eh, Ricky?”

Rodrick looks where Buck is pointing. It’s an old poster of a woman with feathered hair, in a low-cut top and daisy dukes, sitting with a beer bottle in between her legs. He doesn’t answer right away. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say.

“Uh. Yeah, she looks pretty, uh, wild? I guess?” He grimaces.

The guys around him all hoot and holler at his answer. Rodrick looks down the bar, bewildered. Is it really this easy? To be a… guy, as Buck had said?

He keeps downing mugs of watery beer, as the men keep cheering. Soon, he’s drunk, in a game of pool, against a guy who is absolutely schooling him.

“We’re not gonna put any money on the line, Ricky, we wouldn’t do that to you.” Buck laughs.

Rodrick sways, lining up his cue on the table.

“Now, once he gets his first paycheck, that’s a different story!”

Everybody laughs.

He sinks one ball, then fails horribly, as the men around him laugh. Hours seem to go by, as everybody kicks his ass in pool. Maybe this is what Buck had meant by ‘initiation’?

Eventually, he finds himself giving his keys to a large man in overalls.

“You said you lived downtown? I’ll drive you, don’t want the cops on your ass.” His voice is deep, grumbly.

Rodrick nods, nearly passing out as he’s driven home in his own van. The man parks outside his apartment complex.

“I’m Vaughn, by the way.” Vaughn tosses Rodrick his keys, laughing, “I’ll see you tomorrow, if you’re up.”

Rodrick gives a weak wave, shoving his keys into his pocket and stumbling up to his apartment.

“Where have you been?” Ward sits on the couch, legs crossed.

“Got a job.” Rodrick slurs, hanging up his jacket by the door.

“Dude, your girlfriend is so cool.” Ward doesn’t seem to notice, instead grinning at the TV.

He freezes, feeling his heart jump out of his chest.

Rodrick is stunned as he sees you, almost letting himself smile. Then he sees the rage burning in your eyes, looking straight into the camera as Mike rambles and a crowd cheers behind you.

It feels like you're looking right at him.

Guilt washes over him, and he wobbles on his feet.

“She's… not my girlfriend.” Rodrick walks off, shutting himself in the bathroom.

She tries not to shatter, kaleidoscope style

Personality changes behind her red smile

Every new problem brings a stranger inside

Helplessly forcing one more new disguise

tag list: @crumpets-are-better-with-jam

#SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG #I'm having a lot of emotions writing it lol #i just want it to be good #rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick x reader #doawk rodrick #rodrick heffley fanfiction #doawk rodrick fanfiction #salad days #my stuff

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afteriwake · 2 years ago

Text

Moments In The Life Of One Daniel "Danny" Messer (1/10)

So here's my old fic for the day! It's a 100-drabble drabble collection that I divided into ten chapters of ten drabbles (I'll post a new chapter every day along with another fic until it's done). They're all little moments in Danny Messer's life.

Moments In The Life Of One Daniel "Danny" Messer - A series of drabbles depicting moments in Daniel "Danny" Messer's life.

Read Chapter 1

Title: First Conversation Prompt: #1 - Beginnings Characters: Danny Messer & Mac Taylor

"You the guy I'm supposed to talk to?"

"Depends on what you're here to talk about."

"Job at the crime lab."

"Then I'm the man. Mac Taylor."

"Detective Messer."

"You have a first name, Detective?"

"Daniel. Everyone calls me Danny, though."

"Messer..."

"Yeah, I'm related to the Messers with the family connections, if that's what you're thinking."

"So...why are you a cop?"

"Someone's got to take them down. Might as well be me, you know? I’m the black sheep of the family anyway."

"Why?"

"Because...because I actually believe in doing more than they do. I want more than they do."

---

Title: Hours To Go Prompt: #6 - Hours Characters: Danny Messer

He was trapped. Hours to go till he could get out, till the panic room opened up. Hours.

God, if he wasn't claustrophobic before, being trapped with a dead body overnight was more than enough to push him in that direction.

Hours. If he concentrated on the hours, kept looking at his watch, talked the hours away on his cell phone till the battery went dead, maybe he'd make it. Maybe he wouldn't lose his mind. Yeah, he just had to remember that every hour that passed was one less for him to be there. Then he’d be long gone.

---

Title: Bad Jokes Prompt: #11 - Red Characters: Danny Messer & Don Flack

The blood spilled across the floor, bright red on pristine white marble. Danny whistled. Lots of blood for one body. Probably meant the victim had either completely bled out before being moved or there was more than one victim...two of them, probably.

"How many vics you say there were?"

"Two," Flack answered. "One Margaret Walden and one Thomas Kettering."

He whistled again, pulled out a camera, snapped a shot of the red stuff. "Bet you they’re drained," he deadpanned, flashing a grin at Flack, who just rolled his eyes.

"Stop it with the bad jokes, Messer. You’re killing me here."

---

Title: Blue In My Eyes Prompt: #16 - Purple Characters: Danny Messer, Stella Bonasera & Lindsay Monroe

"Purple suits you."

He glanced down at his shirt. "You think?"

"Brings out the blue in your eyes." Stella shut her locker. "Remember I told you if you ever needed beauty tips..."

Danny grinned. "I still can't believe what waterproof mascara does to your lashes."

"Yeah, well...price we pay."

He watched her leave, then looked back at his shirt. His grin got bigger...he did look good. Not that anyone would notice his eyes, since they were behind glasses, but...

"You look nice, Danny."

He flashed a wide grin at Lindsay. "Apparently, the purple brings out the blue in my eyes."

---

Title: Have Been, Will Be Prompt: #21 - Friends Characters: Danny Messer & Aiden Burn

"Hey! Wait up!"

"Leave me alone."

"Hey, Aiden...look, I'd give up my job and leave for this, for what happened..."

"Someone's got to stay and look out for my case."

"You know I will. That's what friends do."

"So we're friends?"

"Have been, will be."

"So, as friends...feel like buying me a beer? Or three?"

"What, you're gonna try and out-drink me? Never."

"No, I'm going to try and forget about what just happened."

"Give me your keys and the tab's on me."

"My keys?"

"So I can make sure you get inside your apartment and not left outside. Keys?"

---

Title: Pick-Up Prompt: #26 - Teammates Rating: G Characters: Danny Messer & Don Flack

Danny looked at those guys at the pick-up basketball game. He didn't see Flack anywhere, and everyone else was getting impatient. "Fine. Cook."

"Swann."

"Parker."

"Brown."

Finally, he saw him. "When his lazy butt gets over here, Flack."

"Why do you always pick Flack for your team?" the other captain said.

"Because he's good. And I want the good guys on my team."

"Fine. Robb."

Flack bounded over. "On your team?"

Danny nodded. "Grogan," he called out.

"Friedman."

"Let's get ready and play," tossing the ball to Flack. "Ready?"

"Ready." Flack passed the ball back, and the game was on.

---

Title: New Day Prompt: #31 - Sunrise Characters: Danny Messer

He hadn't been up to see the sunrise in a while. It had been a long night, trying to piece the case back together for the D.A. He was just taking a break, looking out the windows as the sun rose. It was gorgeous...the light came up gradually, chasing away the shadows, and bringing the city back to life.

He took another sip of his coffee and watched the new day coming. His day wasn't busy, not yet, but taking a moment out to see the sight woke him up and energized him a little more than he had been.

---

Title: Shampoo Prompt: #36 - Smell Rating: G Characters: Pre-ship Danny Messer/Lindsay Monroe

He was standing behind her again, his head near hers, and the smell of her shampoo wafted up. God, she smelled good...she always smelled good. That was how he knew she was around, by how she smelled. But he'd been left to wonder what it was exactly that she smelled like.

"What kind of shampoo do you use, Montana?"

"Why?"

"Just wondering."

"Um...Garnier Fructis." She shrugged. "I think it smells nice."

"Yeah." Instead, he just inched a little closer to her and took another breath. Time for him to switch shampoos...

Messer, you got it real bad for her...

---

Title: Fuzzy Outlines Prompt: #41 - Shapes Rating: G Characters: Danny Messer

He could see without his glasses on. He just...after a while, all the shapes seemed to blur and become fuzzy. Sometimes blinking a few times took care of the problem, sometimes he had to find his glasses and put them back on.

Now, with his glasses on, his eyes were making things fuzzy and indistinct shapes. This wasn't a good sign.

He took his glasses off, shut his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was time for someone else to take over computer duties for a while because if this kept up, he was gonna be pissed.

---

Title: King Of The Dead Prompt: #46 - King Rating: G Characters: Danny Messer & Sheldon Hawkes

"Hey, Hawkes. Tell me what it's like to be king of your domain."

Hawkes looked at him. "I'd rather be out in the field."

"What, and have us lose the best coroner we've had? No way." He laughed a bit, then saw the look on Hawkes' face. "You're serious."

"Yeah."

Danny went across from him, one dead body between them. "And give all this up?"

"I want to help people. Before they end up here."

Danny nodded. "Then give the kingdom to someone else."

"You want the job?"

"Me? Be king of the dead? You’ve inhaled too many chemicals, Doc."

#csi new york #csi ny #csi: ny #danny messer #fanfic #fanfiction #danny x lindsay #mac taylor #don flack #aiden burn #stella bonasera #lindsay monroe #sheldon hawkes

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juniminabloom · 2 years ago

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can you write a spider mobster x reader who is shy and gets flustered easily. the reader can be in the mob or not doesn’t matter to me

A/N: Of course!! (Oh my god I wanted to write this so bad thank you) I didn’t know if you wanted headcanons or a oneshot, so I’ll be doing a oneshot :D I hope you enjoy! I’ll also be using @yanderes-of-inkwell ‘s headcanon names for the Spider Mobster and Light Bug. Charlie is the Spider and Lorie is the Light Bug. (In this oneshot, Charlie and Lorie were never married, only business partners.)

Spider Mobster X Reader: “My Bottle o’ Moonshine” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1:30 AM. Early morning in the city of Inkwell Isle 4. The city is peaceful, and at most times safe, except for when the cops go after the infamous Moonshine Mob. They own an illegal distillery business. They put most of their alcohol into their dough, which was sold to people who paid top-notch cash for it. Whenever the cops get into a scuffle with the mob, weapons are usually used in the middle of the streets, and in alleyways where the drunks hide out. Those are the times where the streets aren’t the best to be in- but it rarely ever happens. The mob is good at keeping secret. This morning, nothing seems to be going out in the streets. Mostly everyone is asleep and the city is quiet. As someone who has trouble sleeping, you decided to take a walk outside and get some fresh air. The smell of cigarettes and spilled booze lingers in the air, but you’ve become so used to it from living here for so long. You only press the tip of your shirt to your nose and hold your breath when the smell is incredibly strong. While taking your walk, you find an empty alleyway close to your apartment. There’s no noise, no bad smells, and it’s not particularly dirty. So, you decide to take a trip in it before heading back to your apartment to try and get some rest. While walking, the only sounds that can be heard are your footsteps, and your breathing. Quite relaxing.

As you near the end of the alleyway, only now you notice that it was a dead end. There was no fork at the end allowing you to go left or right. Just a brick wall of another building. Well sh*t. You didn’t bring anything with you, like pepper spray or a pocket knife. At this point, you feel scared, and incredibly stupid. Of course you should have brought something to defend yourself, you’re literally living in a city with mobsters! You need to calm down. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, getting your thoughts together, But that’s all broken when you hear something rattle behind you.

You whip your head around and see a shattered bottle a few feet behind you. Strange, that wasn’t there before... Conveniently, there’s a dumpster next to the mess, so you decide to clean it up, being careful not to cut yourself. As you finish up moving the glass shards to the dumpster, you close the lid and turn around to be booped by a big red nose. “What are you doing here so early, angel face?~”

The spider mobster, Charlie, stands there eerily close to you, a wide grin spread across his face. He seems to be awaiting your answer. “I- I, uh, um...” You stutter. You can’t make out a full sentence, out of your shyness, but mostly out of fear. Sure, they didn’t cause big crimes like murder, but it’s still not a good thing being this close to one of the most feared in the Isles.

His smile drops, and he backs up a bit. You still stand there, backed up against the dumpster, fearing for what he might do. He looks you up and down and meets your stare again, his smile returning. “So you’re not gonna answer me, huh? How cute. You scared or somethin’?” You slowly nod your head, and he gives you an almost sympathetic look. “Oh, doll, I don’t mean to scare ya. I wouldn’t hurt ya’ either.” He steps closer and reaches a hand out to caress your face, but you slightly shrink down. He pulls his hand away, losing his sympathetic face and replacing it with an irked grin. “Fine, you win this time. But this ain’t the last you’ll see of me, sugar~” And he scurries away. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After you’ve headed home, you can’t take your mind off of the encounter. Strange. And what was with those nicknames..?

Not wanting to think about it, you finally decide to get some shuteye. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So you finally talked to them? How did it go?” “It went well enough. They got scared though, and lost their words. I rate the first meeting... an 8/10.” “8/10?” Said the light bug, Lorie. Lorie was also a part of the mob, and a good friend to Charlie. She knew about the feelings he held for Y/N. “Yeah. Not much said, but I got to finally see them.”

Lorie smirked at him, which made his cheeks burn. “Well, are you gonna see them again?~” “I- I don’t know how. That was only pure coincidence. I also don’t know why they were up so late.” “Hmm, they were in an alleyway, right? Maybe you could head back there and wait? If they end up back in the alleyway, you can try and strike up a conversation!” Lorie said optimistically. Charlie smiled, clearly liking the idea. “Sure Lorie, I’ll give it a try. Thanks.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1 AM. You still can’t get some sleep. You decide to go on another walk outside. And while doing so, you keep thinking about him. About Charlie. You strangely want to see him again. So you walk in the direction of the alleyway where you two first met. You peek your head around the corner, but it’s too dark to really see anything. You cautiously walk in, looking around frantically in case there’s any dangers- like the city drunks or kidnappers. This time, you brought some pepper spray, so you were prepared. As you walked, you got closer to the dumpster, and you noticed a piece of paper left where the glass pile was. Squatting down to examine it, you noticed your name in the top-left corner, in scribbled handwriting. It was a letter. With hearts on it? You picked up the paper, still squatting down, and you read it. “Y/N, So our first meeting must’ve been a bit shocking to you. I’m sorry if I had scared you. I just wanted to have a conversation, but I guess we had to call it short. I have something I’d like to tell you in person. I promise I’m not gonna hurt you. Try not to lose your words. I’d just love to talk. <3″

Not knowing what to say or how to react, you just sat there, clutching the paper, your heart beating faster than every before, a calm blush covering your cheeks. Gathering your thoughts together, you were determined to find this mystery-man. Although, by the things written in the letter, you had an idea of who it could be.

So you stood up, and started slowly walking to the end of the alleyway, looking around for anyone. But no one was on the ground. They’re on the wall. “There! They’re walking to the end, go, go, go!” Lorie whisper-yelled. “But what if I screw it up? What if they run away?” Charlie asked, clearly nervous. “Just play it cool. I’m sure everything will go fine.” Lorie told him. “Now go!”

So Charlie slinked down quietly from the wall to the ground, sneaking up behind Y/N. You didn’t notice, being that he was a very quiet fellow- when he needed to be.

*Ahem* “How are you o-on this fine m-morning?” You whipped your head around, shocked at the sudden voice. But it was him. You let out an internal sigh of relief and turned to face him. Examining his facial expression, he was flustered, but trying to play it cool. It made you smile.

“Um, uh, I-I’m good. Is there a reason why y-you’re here?” You stuttered. “You got the letter, r-right?” You nodded, and held up the sheet of paper. His cheeks started to turn a shade of red, and it made you slightly giggle that such a tough mobster got flustered talking to you.

“Then, uh, I have something to tell you. Even though this is our second time meeting, I’ve always seen you from afar. When you walk home from work, when your eating out, I’ve always seen you. Sometimes, it’s made me sad that I couldn’t stop and talk to you. I had a job to do. But when we met face-to-face last night, I couldn’t help but fall. You just seemed, in my eyes- perfect.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I think I’ve fallen in love with you, Y/N.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You gave him a shot. And it was beautiful. It’s been a year, and today is the very day you two tried it out. He still works for the mob, but whenever he doesn’t have business to do, he makes sure to spend every moment by your side. He cares for you so much. When you headed out of your apartment door for work, there was a note in the same adorable scribbled handwriting. “Hey doll, It’s a special day today, isn’t it? I’d like to take you out for a treat. Meet me in the place where we first met at 6 PM. I love you~ -C”

Your heart swelled with joy and love upon reading that. You were excited to know what he had planned! But it was time for work now. So you stuffed the paper in your bag and headed off, blowing a small kiss on your way out, hoping it would find it’s way to him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turning into the alleyway, you could see him already there, and when he laid his eyes on you, his cheeks were as red as his big button nose. You couldn’t help but smile. “There’s my sweetheart!” He exclaimed, and he rushed over to you, wrapping you in a soft and loving hug. “Hi honey!” You giggled, planting a small kiss on his cheek, he returned the favor, peppering kisses all over yours. “Do you wanna see what I have prepared for us?” He asked, his eyes twinkling. You nodded your head, and he walked over to a record player, and placed a vinyl in it. It started to play.

Charlie headed back over to you, grasped your hands, and the two of your started to dance to the melody. It was a song you knew well- “If I Didn’t Care”. The two of you danced, never breaking eye contact, never losing a smile. A small tear slipped down Charlie’s eye as he saw how lovely you were. You made his life so much better. “I love you, Y/N.”

#Cuphead #cuphead x reader #cuphead dlc #moonshine mob #spider mobster

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shorkbrian · 4 years ago

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Ahh hi uhh I love your work!! Okay can you do hero Kirbaku on patrol when they run into their villain darling who tries to attack them. Of course they can overpower her in a heartbeat but they entertain her by letting her run and get a head start 👀

Here’s the thing -

She’s not really even a villain, at best a petty criminal who commits dumb crimes like theft and the odd mugging here or there. Nothing too big, nothing too serious.

The hero duo wouldn’t even be assigned someone like her, she’s the type of criminal that’s delegated to interns or new sidekicks. Kirishima and Bakugou would just be in the area in civvies, out to do some shopping, and they catch you shoplifting in the store they’re browsing.

(Warnings, NSFW, dubcon, noncon, public sex, slight predator/prey)

In civvies, you doesn’t realize who they are, just think they’re two random meat-heads trying to play hero. You’re confident that she can slip by and get away with your new items if she surprises the two men, who’ve cornered you in the store.

They’re so dumb too, you thinks, trying to apprehend you themselves without even telling an employee what was going on. It would be bad if they called the cops, almost an assurance of jail time, but you’re a bit glad they had such seemingly high opinions of themselves.

It was easy to charge them, slam into the redhead’s chest and scratch at his face with sharp nails, aiming for eyes. He recoiled, and you twisted for the blond, ducking as he reached out for you. A quick kick to the nuts had him groaning, knees buckling as he gripped at his groin.

And that was all you needed to run, slipping out of the store, pulling your hoodie low.

You didn’t get far before getting cornered again, by the same two (now irritated) men. The blonde was kicking his feet, hands shoved in his pockets as he stared you down, grinning. The redhead was rubbing at his neck, bright red eyes scrutinizing you, a frown on his features.

Something was said about you returning the items, them not pressing charges. You refused.

The redhead offered again, before giving up, sighing as he seemingly handed the conversation over to his blond partner.

The blond was significantly more reckless and crude than the redhead. Cussing on every other word, his very stance screamed confidence. He gave you a quick explanation of “rules” - you get a fifteen minute head start, but once they catch you, they get to pick a punishment for you not only stealing from the store, but trying to assault two pro heroes.

Color drained from your face then, taking a closer look at the men, gulping as you realized it was Red Riot and DynaMight, the devastating duo in the hero world. They complimented each other perfectly, worked together seamlessly. You understood why DynaMight had said when they catch you, and not if.

Fifteen minutes of racing through the streets passes quick, breath ragged and burning through your lungs, legs tired and wobbly. It had started raining at some point too, your clothes sticking to your skin, cold and uncomfortable.

Five minutes after your head start was up, the two men had you in their grasp.

You don’t know how they had found you, but they did, the redhead stepping out of an alley as you tried to run past, so you ran straight into his hard chest instead. When you moved to back up, another hard body was trapping you, crowding you against the redhead.

Trying to dash away had been useless, you had gotten three steps after escaping from the sandwich, before your hair got yanked, a hand holding the strands in place.

They’d dragged you down the road a bit, under a tree where there was a bench, mostly out of the rain.

You’d gotten shaken down, patted down by Red Riot, who the presented the stolen items to DynaMight as he found each one.

His pat-down was entirely out of bounds, fingers skimming over places they shouldn’t, large palms kneading softly at areas strangers weren’t allowed to touch.

But when you tried to voice this observation, Dynamight had just scoffed, cutting you off with some vague explanation that made no sense.

Then it was time for your punishment.

Punishment consisted of being bent over the bench, wet jeans worked tediously down your legs, Red Riot eventually getting frustrated with the fabric and ripping it straight from you with a growl.

You were pushed into DynaMight’s lap, who was sitting on the bench, relaxing back casually. He had his dick out, stroking it, cradling it in his hands to protect it from the wet, chilly air. He protected it further by burying it into you warm cunt, spitting insults the entire time about your lifestyle.

Red Riot appeared behind the bench, unbuckling his belt, barely pulling his cock out. You were fed his girth cock, his thumbs hooking into your mouth and hardening slightly so you weren’t allowed to bite. Internally, you briefly thanked whatever higher power existed that DynaMight was the one nestled in your pussy, moving your hips in a slow grind, and not Red Riot.

Red Riot would break you.

He hurt your jaw, keeping it stretched so wide. He fucked in and out, hands gripping your head to guide you along his cock like a personal fucktoy, sometimes drawing back to shallowly thrust his tip into your mouth, enjoying your heaving gasps for air.

Being in public made you burn with humiliation, bare ass on display for whoever to see. Wasn’t this dangerous for their reputations? What if someone saw the two heroes? Would they get in trouble for assaulting a civilian? They would, right?

But the street was seemingly empty, devoid of all human life.

No one came to save you from the brutal pounding, from being choked and gagged, from having your insides rearranged.

Dynamight laughed when he rested a hand over your stomach, grabbed one of your own hands to feel the same thing he was feeling - his cock stretching against the skin of your tummy.

It made you burn even hotter with humiliation, although you didn’t know why. Maybe it was just the thought of how lewd you must look, being bounced in one man’s lap while being forced to suck another one off over the first man’s shoulder.

You had to wonder if DynaMight minded the suckling, slurping, and gagging sounds you made around Red Riot’s cock, the act being carried out right next to DynaMight’s ear.

They were quick, brutal, and uncaring. You were left with a belly full of cum, and a pussy wet and bare, jeans and panties in a torn heap at the side of the bench.

Red Riot was kind enough to take off his jacket, wrapping it around his waist before hefting you into his arms bridal style, his eyebrows furrowed.

As the three of you left the street, you saw the sign you had missed during your mad dash for freedom, the one stating that the street was closed to all civilians, even foot traffic, due to a villain related incident earlier in the week.

That would explain why the street was seemingly abandoned, why the two hero’s felt no fear in fucking you in public.

You weren’t done being punished, they told you.

They had some stuff back at their apartment, stuff that’d be fun to use while playing with the stupid, slutty little criminal as they delivered the rest of your punishment.

And then maybe after, DynaMight would consider letting you cum.

#yandere Kiribaku #kirishima #polykiribaku #kiribaku #kiribaku x reader #yandere kiribaku #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #bnha kirishima #tw dubcon #tw noncon

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waitimcomingtoo · 2 years ago

Note

hi! i saw that you give some advice on your ask? i’m not really sure who to talk to rn so i hope it’s okay to pop onto your ask like this :’) sorry to dump all of this on you. you don’t have to read or respond to this if you don’t feel like it! i know these things must take some energy too. i hope you’re having a wonderful time. happy new year! <3

so i may be looking for some reassurance rn? bc i just feel quite scared and anxious about the new year. it’s really bc i’ll be moving to a whole new area away from my parents for college since i’ll (finally) be attending in-person classes. the area is quite... it’s very intimidating, sorts of crime happen but i have no choice since that’s where my college is and i do live quite far as well. it’ll be a really huge adjustment for me, especially considering the fact that i am also heavily introverted and i haven’t really made any college friends as well through online classes, so i really don’t know anyone. i’m also expecting a lot of different personalities when i meet new people. i just feel very intimidated. anxious. i’m not as excited as i was last year during the new years, i’m really expecting so many difficulties this year and i’m scared. i’m scared i’ll be traumatized at some point and go back into the depressive state i was in before, again. i want to be happy and invincible but i’m afraid this year won’t be good to me because of all this. i’m not sure how i can calm myself down, i’ve tried my usual ways but i just keep coming back to this. would love and appreciate your thoughts on this, if you have the time. thank you so much <3

oh and btw, you’re one of my favorite writers. it’s always so exciting to see new updates from you. i absolutely love your works and i definitely can’t wait to see what you have in store for this year :) i appreciate you, thank you.

You have a lot of valid feelings and it’s totally normal to feel anxious before a big change. But don’t convince yourself that you won’t make friends or will be traumatized or have a bad time. If you tell yourself these things before you get there, they will come true. You won’t know what it’s like or what sort of people you will meet until you get there. And you’re definitely not the only one feeling the way you’re feeling. I would go in with 0 expectations and just learn the ways of your college for yourself. I promise college isn’t as scary and daunting as it seems. It’s a lot of big changes but most of the changes are really good. Just always remember that whatever happens is meant to happy and will eventually lead you in the right direction.

I also lived in a city when I was in college and had to walk 40 minutes from my apartment to campus, sometimes in the dark. It’s gonna be sketchy at night no matter where you are so here are some safety tips I used

Avoid walking anywhere alone if you can. If you have no one to walk with, catch up to strangers who are walking the same direction and walk close to them. It’ll look like you’re in the group or at least reassure you that you’re not alone

If you’re walking and totally alone, pretend you’re on the phone. I would usually pretend I was talking to my boyfriend or dad and loudly tell him I was on my home to him so anyone e listening knows there is someone in expecting me home

I would also mention something about the fake boyfriend/dad being a cop if I had to walk past a group of men

If you have keys, put them between your fingers like wolverine so if you have to punch someone, it’ll hurt more

I had a rape whistle on my keychain as well as mace on me at ALL times. I kept them in an easily accessible place so I could use them as soon as I need them

Keep your head down when walking past strangers bc making eye contact with them usually invites a conversation

If someone tries to stop you to talk to you, don’t stop. Keep walking. You can answer them but say you’re late and have to go

If you order food to where you live, call inside “foods here” so the delivery person doesn’t think you’re alone

I hope this helps. Good luck!! 💗💗

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years ago

Text

champagne problems

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: smut

a/n: oooo smut. the next chapter is the last and i’m depressed about it already

TOLERATE IT - TIS THE DAMN SEASON

Bustling crowds or silent sleepers, you’re not sure which is worse ...

Her shift dragged; it seemed as if the clock was stuck and moving only a minute after three hours had passed and even though there was the same sea of people coming through the doors of the club, the shift felt slow. Everything was in slow motion and her eyes daren’t move from the bar. Bobby was still on holiday and as such it as merely her, ignoring everyone and every word which came her way and ignoring Edward who kept nagging her about Mr. Barnes, a person who she didn’t want to look at.

She didn’t understand how one could just pretend to be entranced by another one and just turn it on yet she would also not debate her mind about what her feelings were for her boss, the same boss she was supposed to betray. She was supposed to betray him and yet she didn’t know how or even if she wanted to. Why should she? They clearly had sent Edward in and him being the spineless vermin he was, she was sure he’d quickly join his group by quickly sleeping with the woman who surrounded the mob boss. The women ... the women were always so beautiful, beautiful enough to make Y/N want to make herself up before she came up to the bar, feeling too bland next to the gorgeous women who paraded around him. Beautiful dresses, spotless faces, beautiful makeup, beautiful hair and here she was, in her old cardigan cleaning the bar with dirty rags stinking of a mix between bleach, peanuts and booze.

Once the lights were up and every single glass was washed and placed on their due shelf for tomorrow she was out. Bag hanging from her shoulder and books against her chest, she took the backdoor. The front door always had freshly drunk or high people whom she wanted no problems with. As she pushed the door open, she saw him, smoking in front of him car looking so effortlessly cool, chic even. It was pouring, raining so harshly it would drench anyone who dared step foot in yet he just stood there unbothered, cigarette still somehow burning, water drops rolling of his trench coat. Usually she would’ve entered the car and allow herself to be driven home; instead she turned her head to the side, pretending she hadn’t seen him. He, however, had seen her.

- Wanda picking you up today, petal? - he said in a mocking tone, throwing the butt onto the bin.

- No, sir. - she stopped, still not daring to look at him. - I thought about walking home alone.

- At night? When it’s pouring? Sometimes I think you like to get hurt, petal.

- With all due respect, Mr. Barnes, I think I should go by myself.

- Please. - he sighed, hands on his hips. - Get in the car, I’ll drive you the fastest I can. You don’t even need to look my way.

Her lips tightened. It was pouring rain, her clothes were already as drenched as they could be and she had been less than 10 minutes. She sighed, walking through puddles of water towards and away from him and inside his car, setting against the leathered seats. Bucky chuckled, watching from the side of his eye as she crossed her arms across her chest like a kid, avoiding his gaze as if he were the devil. Maybe he was, but he would never act like it in front of her.

She watched the rain fall down the window like waterfalls. It was bad, bad enough she could start seeing the water almost pool on the asphalt of the road. As they kept driving through the darkness, only the headlights giving light to the dark road until blinding lights came into their front view. Police came into view with their lights but all she could see was the bar barring the only way into her road. Bucky pulled the window down, charming smile as the cop realised who he was speaking with. She looked at her knees, perfectly knowing who it was, perfectly knowing if he discovered who she was so would James and she was locked in a car with him. Not a good combination.

- Evening, officer. What seems to be the problem?

- Mr. Barnes, sir. - she tipped his cap at him. - The road is flooded. We feared this and warned all residents to be at home before 5PM.

- I understand, officer but you see my employee here lives just down the road. Can’t I walk her in? Come on, you know I always pay you back, double even.

- It’s up to your knees, sir. You’re better off in a hotel for the night, m’am. Safety protocol.

James turned around his car making her look his way as he started driving away from her home. What was he doing? How was she supposed to go back home and how was she supposed to calm down when he was driving her away from her home. Was he going to drop her at a hotel? Was he going going to drop her, she didn’t know. She opened her mouth, waiting for words to come out but nothing came out. She didn’t know what to ask, what to say other than yell at him to let her out yet she didn’t. Y/N didn’t want to yell at him.

He noticed this, slowing down the normal fast pace at which he liked to drive, only now hearing to both of them breathing and the water drops of rain hit the windows. He could see her, through the mirror, her face leaning against the window, eyes reflection a sort of fight he was sure never to completely understand, only partially knowing. His eyes returned to the road ahead, the lights of each house dimming as everyone prepared to hold each other tight, hold their loved ones as the storm continued. He could only look at himself, almost as his vision refused to notice she was right there but she was. Both locked in the same car.

- You can stay at my place tonight. - he mumbled. - You’ve been there before. I’ll drive you back first thing in the morning.

She didn’t replied, instead letting her own eyes close momentarily, head laying against the water stained glass. She listened to the rain, considering all her life choices or what she was even doing. Was she okay with becoming this close to the mob boss? Becoming part of the inner group of females who followed him, just another name in a big list. Was that the question she should be asking? No. Did she really want to ask herself the question she had to? Also no. It was much easier to tell herself it was business. It was much easier to lie than tell the truth.

Y/N opened her eyes once again as the car slowed down and the sounds of rain drops were no longer around heard. They were parked inside his garage, one which she had seen before. He was the first one out the car, opening the door before walking away. She made haste to get off the car, almost power walking after him as he pressed the lift’s button to open the doors. The doors slide open and he stepped in, her following behind.

- I’ll be sleeping in a hotel down the street so you can calm down.

- You can stay if you want. I mean, it’s your house.

- Why should I? So you can freak out about the possibility of me killing you?

- That’s not it.

- Afraid I’m going to force myself on you? - he scoffed. - You know what, Y/N? I’m just not gonna be there and you can do whatever you want without blaming me for whatever theories you have.

- Why are you so mad suddenly?

- I’m not mad.

- Yes, you are. - she crossed her arms. - Excuse me if I don’t feel comfortable around you when you have more than two hundred kills blamed on you, when you’re constantly surrounded by girls and the rumours and the guns you always carry.

- I’ve killed two people in my whole life. Two. - he pointed his finger at her, making her take a step back. - They deserved it and I’m so tired of trying to make you feel safe. I get you a job and you’re upset, I get you a job waitressing so idiots won’t treat you like shit and you think I’m being the bad guy. I drive you home every single time and you still look at me as if I’m going to kill you. You can think whatever you want, I’m done.

She was going to rebuff him, tell him he was wrong but that wasn’t true. She couldn’t say he was wrong out of principle and because once the doors slide open, he disappeared into his big apartment. Y/N stayed behind, heart heavy as she threw her soaked bag onto the couch, sitting on it with a huff. Like a kid she put her hand under her chin, she knew he was right. Of course she knew. But she was the captain’s daughter, she was the one who’d heard tales and seen photos of terrible crimes on the kitchen table when she came in to show her dad her drawings. She knew it, she just didn’t exactly knew what he did. It was all very hush hush, mostly rumours, which ran from people to people and like the game of the broken phone, things got distorted.

She was the captain’s daughter but this wasn’t her. It wasn’t her identity. She knew better not to judge someone by rumours and gossip, her mother had taught her better than that yet she wanted to have her little walls. She wanted to be surrounded by that wall, that wall which said she felt absolutely nothing and that she was doing a good job. Y/N knew, she knew way too well what having those walls crumbling would mean. It would mean she was a woman infatuated with a man. Plain and simple, except it wasn’t and it wasn’t just a woman and just a man, it was the captain’s daughter and the mob boss. She knew not to slap labels on things but this is what it was, this was what she had been her whole life, not Y/N, not the nurse student, not her last name but the Captain’s daughter and him, him it was the same. She could count the number of people who knew his full name or even his first name in one hand. He was the boss. The mob boss, Barnes. Never James Buchanan Barnes.

She sighed, looking to the chess board in the table in front of her. However, unlike everything else in the room which was absolutely spotless, organised and unseeingly unlived in, the chess board was still in the same position they had left it. Her fingers grazed the black chess king, holding it up to her eyes. The piece she had won.

His shoes hit the linoleum floor making her look his way. He had a small leather carry on, something quite stylish and refused to make eye contact with her instead walking straight to the elevator.

- Mr. Barnes. - she perked up from the couch, getting his attention instantly. If she only knew. - Can you entertain me for a second?

- I’m leaving, Y/N. What do you need?

- Sit down. - she pointed at the couch in front of her. Bucky scoffed, for someone who was afraid of him killing her, she sure didn’t mind ordering him around. Her. The bartender. - Play with me.

- Play with you? - he dropped the suitcase to the floor, walking slowly to the chair in front of her. She sat against her own chair like a throne and so did he, standing in front of her. - You should be careful with your word choice.

- You should be careful with me winning again.

- I’ve learned all your moves, petal. I’m an observant player.

- I doubt that.

Bucky leaned over, setting his pieces as she did the same. Soon enough they were back to playing. Bucky observed her, watching as every play was so calculated, never by chance, lip in the middle of her teeth as she smoothly moved her pieces around almost like a ballet dance. Bucky remembered playing against more experienced players. “Chess is the game of the mind, James. You need to almost control and predict them to win” his teacher would tell him. She was impossible to read, always looking deep in thought yet so calm and collected, he guessed she needed that for the field she was in.

His pieces were dropped on her side, her taking what was his without any doubt until she stole his queen. Now, James’ knew not to play anymore. It was a courtesy of chess, yet she still didn’t look or carried the air of someone who had just won her game. Instead she looked at him, waiting for his move. Bucky leaned against his chair.

- You won. I should be leaving, it’s late.

- Wait, just .... why don’t you stay for a bit? We could talk, I’m not that tired yet.

- Petal, it’s late.

- I’ll fix you a drink.

- You can’t fix a scotch if your live depended on it. - he chuckled. - How about I fix you a drink? What’s your poison?

- Can I get some tea?

- Sure. - he shrugged. - Which one do you want?

- You have more than one type of tea? - she smirked, legs crossed over one another, the old wool dress still clinging to her skin due to the soaking wet fabric. James tried not to eye her, instead turning his back before he could be blamed of checking her out. - You don’t strike me as the type of person to like tea.

- Maybe I’m just trying to impress you.

- Then in that case you should have biscuits. - she turned around on the couch, knees of the cushioned seat as she stared at him in the kitchen. He looked exactly like the type of man on the cover of an IKEA magazine, those ones were a shirtless man is holding a coffee cup like every morning after sex fantasy of every woman.

- I do have biscuits, petal. Which ones do you want?

- Which ones do you have?

- Try me.

- Chocolate covered digestives. Only one side chocolate.

- An educated choice. - he opened one of the many drawers of his kitchen, pulling an acrylic container fulled to the brim with the same biscuits she had described. A man of taste indeed. He handed them a plate with three biscuits followed by the one tea cups he had which were his coffee mugs, always spotless white. She envied how pristine everything was in his home. In her flat, half the cutlery was hers, the other half Wanda’s and none matched with one being bright blue and the other one bright red.

As for him, she knew what he drank, always the same, always the same old scotch. At this point she wondered if he liked it or if it was a power symbol. Big powerful man drinking the most expensive scotch in the world. At least it was the most expensive scotch when she researched it on her laptop on a particularly boring lecture. Yet, it somehow wasn’t the drink which gave him that untouchable appearance. It was him.

- I have a question. - he moved the glass away from his lips, pinkie finger pointing at her. - How come you ended up dating my cleaning boy?

- We didn’t date. - she snorted, completely forgetting who she was speaking with. - His mother and my father dated for a long time after my mum died .. to be honest, I think it started before my mum died. Anyway, she had this awfully annoying kid, first time he came in he broke the head of my doll.

- Oh no, petal. Should I break his head? - James joked, downing whatever was left of his scotch.

- I would take you up on that. - Y/N rolled her eyes. - Dad always liked him, he once told me he was the child he never had.

- Ouch.

- Well, he wanted a boy. - she leaned against the cushioned coach. - I don’t know why he said we dated, I would never.

- Good.

- Why do you ask? - she leaned her head against her shoulder

- You have potential, petal. I thought maybe being around him would make him want to get back together ... I mean, you’re going to be a nurse.

- Don’t trust him. - she held the mug against both her hands.

- Pardon?

- Don’t trust him. Edward, I mean. Don’t tell him anything, don’t say anything, just don’t trust him.

- You know something I don’t? - he put both his hands on either side of the couch’s handles.

- Promise me.

- Petal ...

- Promise me. - she cupped his face, looking him deep into those baby blue eyes she had gotten so used to see every day. - Promise me, okay? Just ... you don’t need to know. Promise me.

- Petal, I’d do everything for you. - he rested his hand against her warm cheek. She reacted to his touch, leaning against his rough palm. Her eyes travelled towards his, looking at him like someone she’d knew from. Like an old friend. He leaned towards her, nose against hers.

Her eyes flustered, cheeks warm and she no longer knew if it was due to the apartment’s heating or because he was looking at her that way. She closed her eyes, listening to the small sounds of the environment surrounding her. Bucky kissed her forehead as her eyes opened and the world seemed to stop for a while as if she was living her own version of a 1950′s romantic movie. Her finger caressed his cheek.

- Well, you shouldn’t do everything for me. I’ll break your heart.

- Already broken.

Y/N’s lip quivered at those words. It was if he had been meaning to say them but had held them in for so long, forceful forbidding himself to even think it and it broke her heart to hear it. She leaned her forehead against his, looking at him with a look Bucky didn’t remember seeing. God, he was so used to seeing fear in other’s faces that he almost forgot what ... it didn’t mind anymore. He’d done that mistake once early this day and he wasn’t going to do it again. She didn’t want him and he wasn’t going to try and convince her. She doesn’t belong in his world and she doesn’t belong in his.

- Kiss me. - Bucky didn’t think twice, immediately kissing her as if his life depended on it.

He pulled her away from the couch’s rest, pulling her towards him and caging her in his hold as her hands fell from his face and rested upon his shoulders. His jacket was discarded to the corner of the room, leaving the mob boss only in his soft black dress up shirt. His hands pulled at the hem of her dress which peeled off her body almost perfectly, the sheen on the water on her beautiful skin which made him want to run his lips over it. Her fingers grazed over the dark buttons of his shirt, pulling them off their own fabric rips to open his shirt which slide down his perfect physic. Her dress hanged by her hips as he raised her to lay atop his lap, throwing the chess board to the floor as his hands roamed her back. The pieces fell to the ground, some breaking, some rolling but none of them really cared too lost on each other.

Bucky turned her around, laying her atop the coffee table before sitting in the same couch she had been sitting. He could just look at her forever - warm damp skin, lips half open, irregular breathing, innocent knowing eyes. He could look at that forever and be happy yet all he wanted was to feel her, kiss her skin, sense the faint smell of the Daisy perfume she would reapply behind the bar every once in a while. He smirked, leaning over her body, one hand gathering both her hands above her head while the other held her waist, lips leaning from her jaw to her neck. She whined, fingers moving and wrists turning as she tried to free herself from his grip, wanting to hold him but he didn’t allow her. Instead, Bucky started sucking on her pressure point, wanting to leave a mark for others to see before moving to her collarbones, down her perfect swells and to her belly button.

He smirked as he reached where her dress was hanging. He pulled it slowly out of her legs coming face to face with her beige underwear with a little bow up top. A little present for him to open.

Y/N could feel his finger grazing her skin, dragging teasingly. He was so close, so close to her core and yet so far. All she wanted to do was push him to do it but he had her hands tightly caged in his hand. She looked at him with pleading eyes, almost pouting making him chuckle at how needy she was. He would’ve toy with her had he not want to feel her for so long.

He dragged her underwear down her legs, throwing it across his living room before setting himself on his knees in front of her. There he was, the most powerful man in the town kneeled in front of her, kissing her leg from her ankle to the apex of her thigh. All she could feel was his soft lips contrasting with the rough stubble he had which made the mix of emotions much more interesting. It was slow yet hungry at the same time and she expected him to keep at it until his lips moved to her core abruptly. She held it a moan on her throat, oxygen punched out of her lungs as she moved her head to the side.

Bucky hooked both her legs over her shoulders, getting the access he so wanted, getting her where he’d always wanter her. She moaned uncontrollably as his tongue teased her entrance, lips suckling her bud. Y/N wanted to hold onto his head, pull on his hair and her fingers kept contracting as she fought his handle of her hands. It was too much, so much she could feel herself start to cry, not remembering the last time someone had paid this much attention to her. She tried not to focus on him eating her out, feeling like if she did she’d come down from her high as fast as she had gotten there. Once he started moaning against her core, the vibration drove her over the edge yet he remained there licking and lapping at whatever she had to offer as she regained her breathe.

- You okay there, petal? - he rose, leaning over to kiss her, releasing her hands. As if they were magnetic, she cupped his face, feeling his skin against her fingers. He pulled his lips away from her, expecting an answer but she only nodded, hands leaving his face to travel to his trousers to try and push them down. Bucky aided her with that, pushing his trousers down and pulling her closer.

He could see his eyes look into his, so beautiful yet so lustful at the same time. God this woman, he thought to himself, this woman is gonna end me. His hand searched for hers, intertwining his fingers with hers as he slowly started to enter her, her walls accommodating him like they were made for each other. She forcefully shut her eyes, the sting being the first thing she felt, not used to being stretched out like that.

- It’s okay, petal. - he kissed her forehead. - We can stop, do you wanna stop?

- No. - she moaned, the sting started to fade as pleasure gave way. He got her signal and started to slowly rock in and out of her, eyes glued to were they were both connected. Dear God. He couldn’t help but pick up the pace at the sound of her lustful moans, leaning down to kiss her as he lost control over what pace they were at, instead going by instinct.

She could feel and hear everything; her walls tightening around him, milking him for what he was worth it, the groans that sounded like moans that he would let out, his lips never leaving hers no matter how messy the kiss became, the slapping sound of their skin meeting. The room was hot, filled with sighs and groans and moans, something pornographic.

- Come on, petal. You’re gonna come undone for me, yeah? Just for me. - he tried to get a grip on himself as she started to clench on him more often. His hands came up behind her back, slowly raising it from the coffee table as he quickened his pace, still panting but not stopping as if he had been possessed by an incubus. How could he stop? How could he stop when she looked like that, head thrown back, lips swollen and open, fucking perfect.

A high pitched moan made the room go completely new, it was almost as if she were high, white spots crowding her view as she let her muscles relax and fall back. James held her, throwing himself to the couch behind him, her on top of him as ropes of white spurted inside of her and spilled onto the couch. Fuck, he wanted to keep those stains so he could remember. Her head rested against his shoulder, breathing returning to normal as he kissed her hair.

- If you wanted me to stay so badly, you could’ve just asked. - he grinned, kissing her head once more.

- Shut up. - she giggled, turning her head to look at him. - Hi.

- Hi. - he smiled. His hand blindly searched for one of the many useless blankets that adorned his couches to wrap her in. Once he found one, he drapped it over her back, managing to get up and walk to her room.

She wanted to stay awake, she wanted to stay awake and spend the night talking to him but once the blanket draped over her back, she was good as gone.

The morning rose with its cloudy skies, the dim lighting awaking her up as she rose her head from the bed, hair made into a tangled mess. He had an arm over her, face to her back, softly sleeping. She wondered why it was so surprising to see him like that, even mob bosses sleep but he just looked so peaceful, so ... so normal. Almost as if they could be a regular couple just like everyone else. She shifted in bed, to look at him, her slight moves immediately awaking him but he chose to keep his eyes close, not wanting her to worry about waking him up.

- I know you’re awake. - she said, voice laced with sleep as she noticed his breathe pattern change as well as his eyelids twitching. - James.

- Bucky. - he corrected. - You can call me James when I’m fucking you but I prefer Bucky.

- Bucky. - she repeated. - I like that.

- Do you wanna have breakfast? - he opened his eyes. - Anything you want.

- You’re gonna cook me breakfast or are you gonna force the shops to open at ... - she looked at her watch, colour draining from her face. - 10AM. Holy shit, I’m late.

- Y/N ... - he laughed as she got out of the bed, bed sheet wrapped around her body as she searched his room for her clothing. - It’s drying in the bathroom, petal.

- I’M LATE. I’M LATE TO THE ONLY CLASS I LIKE. - she rushed over to the bathroom, almost tripping on the large sheet. Bucky stood on his side, watching her with a silly grin as she pulled the dress over her body along with her underwear. - STOP STARING, YOU’RE DRIVING.

- You’re calling the shots now? - he cocked an eyebrow at her.

- I’m late. - she kneeled on his bed, trying to push him out of it. - Bucky, c’mon.

- No, petal. You’re already late, just stay the day with me. I’ll even give you the day off.

- I have to graduate first. - she crossed her arms.

- Okay.

Bucky was quick to get dressed, grabbing his car keys from the hook on the door before taking her down to the garage and into the car. Y/N pushed down the mirror, trying to fix whatever mess he had done to her. There was not much she could do but try and comb her hair and push her dress’ neckline up to try and hide the hickeys. She kept looking at her watch, wondering if she’d make it and as he parked in front of her department’s building, she only had 5 minutes to go. It felt more like a one night stand but desperate times called for desperate measures and besides she was working this night so she could explain to him that she wasn’t trying to bail.

- I can’t drive you home tonight, petal. Gotta receive a shipping by the docks. Sam will probably drive you, I’ll speak with him at the club and I’ll let you know before I leave.

- It’s okay I can ask Pietro or Wanda.

- Go on before you’re actually late for it. - he opened her door and she sprinted like a mad woman.

As she walked into the lecture hall, most of her colleagues, including Wanda, were already sat on. She shamefully hide her head, climbing up the stairs to the middle row where Wanda had kindly saved her a seat and was probably wondering where she had been and why she hadn’t called. Once she sat, down, the questions ran down on her.

- You look like hell, Y/N. God, why do you even have a phone if you don’t call me or Pietro?

- I’m sorry, they had blocked the road.

- Did they block your phone signal?

- No. - she sighed. - Hey, you think Pietro or you can pick me up today? Mr. Barnes is receiving a shipment tonight.

- He’s receiving a shipment? Do you know where?

- Uhm ... yes.

- Good, that means you can tell your father and you can finally quit that god awful job and behave like regular Y/N.

She had forgotten. She knew where the shipment was, she had the smoking gun, she was done, right? Why did it felt so heavy? That was what she was put into his life for, to get information yet she couldn’t find herself to send the text to her father. The rest of the day she stared at her phone, at her father’s number, her fingers hovering over the keypad. She knew the answer, docks. Five letters, one word. There was only that place yet writing those five letters seemed to be the hardest thing in the world. She had time, she told herself. She had time to send her father the message so she spent the day ignoring it.

As she walked on the cobblestones that led to the bar, her resolve only broke looser. She didn’t want to send that text, he didn’t deserve that, he didn’t deserve to have her stab him in the back. She didn’t want to stab him in the back, that was not her. Maybe that was what they wanted of her but it wasn’t her and it was not going to be her. As she stepped inside the already half full bar, she turned off her phone. Nobody needs to know, nobody will know. As she told herself those words, someone pushed her arm, throwing her onto the supply cupboard. She looked up to see Edward locking the door behind them.

- What the fuck? I have a job to do. - she tried to push past him but he stood there. - What do you want?

- The waiters said they saw you get in the car with Barnes.

- So? - she crossed her arms. - He drives me home.

- I knew you shouldn’t be in the case. I mean, you’re a wannabe nurse and you think you’re in the big league.

- What is that supposed to mean? I was put up to this way before you were.

- Wonder why? You’re doing a shit job and now you’re fucking sleeping with Barnes? I always knew you got what you wanted but I never knew you were a mob boss’ whore now.

- Oh fuck off, Edward. - she tried to push him once again but he pushed her back and further into the cupboard.

- Where’s the shipment, Y/N? Do the right thing and you can go back to sucking him off.

- You can go to hell.

- WHERE IS IT? - he pushed her against the wall but she spat on his face. - Fine, you know what fine. Guys like him are never gonna go to prison, he’s just gonna buy his way out. If you want things done, do them yourself.

- Don’t do anything stupid, Edward. - she pleading, following him as he walked to the door. - You’re not gonna win. Just give up.

- I hope you fucked him goodbye. - his hand went into the hem of his pants, she knew damn well what he was about to grab and about to do. She rushed to the door but he locked it on her face. Her heart raced as she started to punch and kick the door, screaming at him to open the door.

- Bastard! - she mumbled, looking over the cupboard and at the small window up the top. There was a series of creaky shelves under them. Hopefully it was open. Carefully, she moved the stuff out the shelves and started to climb them until the last one which gave her enough room to push the window open. As she reached for the latch, the window didn’t move. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She looked around, looking for anything to break the window with but everything was merely brooms and old rags. She wrapped an old vodka smelling rag around her hand and sighed. It’s okay, you’ve seen it done in the movies besides it’s an old cupboard, old window. It’s gonna be easy. She bite her lip and swung her hand towards the glass which shattered into her hand, a few pieces lodging into her palm. It was a hole small enough for her to put her hand in and open the latch from outside. As she done it, the window creaked open and she jumped into the small space, wiggling out of it and falling onto the ground.

Once she found herself in the alleyway she ran over to the employees door, opening it and rushing into the dance floor. Her eyes scanned the room, his usual table was empty and he wasn’t either at the bar. Her best option was to try and find him before Edward did. Although she harboured a grudge against him, she could not overpower it. She mixed with the rest of the club goers trying to look for Bucky until she spotted him moving through the crowd. She pushed a few people away, trying to reach him by yelling out his name but the music was too loud. Luckily for her, the crowds were easy enough to overcome and she finally reached him, tugging onto his jacket before he could leave.

- Hey petal. You’re on your break? - he asked, smiling down at her.

- Bucky, I need to tell you something.

- What happened to you hand? - he noticed her bleeding hand. - Did you drop a bottle? Did someone hurt you?

- Bucky, wait, I ...

- BARNES! - a voice interrupted her. The crowd screamed and stepped away as Edward held a gun up. Bucky put his arm over her shoulder to push her behind him but she stepped in front of him.

The sound of the gunshot went off, everyone was screaming and running out of the club but all she could hear was a beep. Her breath seemed to falter once to quicken again as her muscles lost force and she felt herself falling. She awaited to hit the ground but someone held her.

- FUCKING KILL HIM! - she could hear Bucky’s voice in slow motion almost as everything went darker than the club she was in.

She would’ve made such a lovely bride, what a shame she’s fucked in the head

taglist: @lookiamtrying @mariamermaid @sebastianstansqueen @unmagically @buckybarnes1982 @mela-noche @lowercasegenius @randomweirdooo @projectcampbell @sebbystanlover-vk @jevans2 @hollarious @itsallyscorner @tcc-gizmachine @saiyanprincessswanie @stuckysavedmylive @vicmc624 @sebstanfan123

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painful-pooch · 3 years ago

Text

Loyalty's Price for a Saber's Worth

For @amonthofwhump's Mafia Madness!

Prompt: Snitches and Stitches

Tagging the crew: @ocean-blue-whump, @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump, @gottawhump, @ocean-blue-whump, and @winedark-whump

Referencing @ocean-blue-whump 's Nessa because she and Farkas are a bad couple!

CW: Pet whump, BBU, lady whump, organized crime, conditioned whumpee, derogatory language, gun violence, knife violence, bondage, death threats, mentions of past abuse and torture, mentions of drugs, Faraday and Farkas deserve their own warning, and death (not a major character)

~~~

Saber stood to the side of the room, closest to the door, her eyes locked dead ahead while Faraday and Farkas, his nephew, both were roaring at a man that had gone to blab to the police about some shady shit happening at one of the warehouses by the pier. Their screaming always terrified her, but she couldn’t let that show.

She was built to handle it all and trained how to be a good Abernathy dog, worthy of a special collar that separated her from the domestics and romantics, but… not like it mattered when it came to Farkas. She was scared of him the most, especially if Nessa, his girlfriend, was around too. They both knew just how to make her miserable, and she knew that she couldn’t let the pain be shown unless they wanted it obvious. They’d make sure of that at least.

“Really?! You thought the cops were going to put you in some witness protection shit, Winston? Are you fucking stupid?!” Farkas asked, slapping the man who was tied up, his hands tied up above him with chains. Saber used her peripherals to see that the man was stripped down to his boxers, his torso covered in splotches of black and blue, red accented wherever it managed to find the canvas that was their unmarred skin.

A laugh came from Faraday and he held a knife under Winston’s chin. “I have half a mind to send your ass to WRU, have them wipe you, and give you to your wife, so she can see what a disgrace you became. At what cost, hmmm? You thought you were going to one up me or something? How about I just get rid of your entire bloodline and have you bury them?” He inquired, digging the tip of the blade in, the poor man sobbing and looking up at his torturer.

Saber tensed at the mentioning of that place, of the Handlers that turned her into what she was now. She knew she didn’t have much purpose until the Abernathy family took her in and taught her how to be her very best. At least what was what she had felt at first. Now, she was wondering what life would have been like if she had been free- A deep pain in her head kept her from continuing the thought. Bad dog. You’re being bad… You need to behave or they will hurt you.

“Sir, I didn’t want to tell them anything, but they were offering me so much and I wanted to-” Winston got stopped by Farkas, who struck him so hard, red flew from his face and Saber wasn’t able to stop herself from flinching, which Faraday noticed.

While Faraday went up to her, she heard Farkas shout, “You betrayed us for money?! That’s it! You are going to be a fucking example for everyone who works under us! Uncle, can we use the drugs on him?” There was a moment of silence before he piped up again. “What did the mutt do?”

“I think the mutt is going soft for a traitor. For a snitch. Do you really think that fuck gives a shit about you, mutt? You’re not worth anything unless I say so. Am I understood?” Faraday questioned her, his hand around her throat and holding her against the wall, his purple hued eyes boring into her own.

“Yes, Master,” she breathed out, not making a sound when she was slapped again and again, the stinging in her cheek driving her mental. Farkas grabbed her too and threw her to the ground in front of Winston, kicking her in the stomach and placing a boot over her chest. It was getting harder to breathe and that was only them getting started.

“Going soft? Really? Uncle Faraday and Mother paid good money to buy a bitch like you, and you are going soft? They paid for your loyalty and we trained you ourselves! Now are you fucking loyal or do I have to make you see your worst fears again?!”

No, anything but that. Please, I can’t be alone with you and Mistress Nessa…

“N-no, I didn’t mean t-”

“Speak up! Don’t you fucking say no to me,” Farkas snarled, Faraday crouching beside her, a knife at her neck, digging it in to make her heart rate go up.

“Saber, you know your place. Winston here betrayed us all, including you. They would have taken you away from us and then what? You would have been tossed to some shitty owner that wouldn’t give a shit about you. You know where your loyalty stands. Do you want to make it up to me and Farkas? Well? Make a choice, mutt,” Faraday spoke in an even tone, his Scottish accent ringing in the room

“I want to earn my worth, Master,” Saber whispered, repeating herself when the knife cut into her. She stared up at the iconic purple eyes the Abernathy family had, hoping they would show some ounce of mercy to her.

“Good. Farkas, how should she earn her worth once more?”

Farkas smirked and that sent a shiver down her spine, feeling sick to her stomach. Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to enjoy it at all, but if it meant her owners would love her more and prove her worth, she would do it. “Let’s have her deal with Winston. Saber, Uncle Faraday is going to let you up and you are handling the punishment for this traitor here. Grab your brass knuckles and beat the ever-loving shit out of him until I say to stop. I don’t care if he dies. We don’t stand for snitches in this family.”

Everything was a blur for Saber, but she was finally standing face to face with Winston, her brass knuckles on, gripping them tightly as she raised her fists. She couldn’t show any emotion whatsoever. She was an Abernathy too, and she was as loyal as they come. Even if they hurt her… and abuse her… and make her wish she were dead, this was better than suffering.

She held back her tears, fears, and regrets when she was given the order to attack the defenseless man. Time didn’t even matter anymore, her fists connecting for blow after blow. It felt like an eternity…

It was an eternity. And Winston stopped breathing after that eternity.

#amow mafia madness #snitches and stitches #pet whump #bbu #box boy universe #lady whump #derogatory language #gun violence #knife violence #tw death threats #death #drug mention #izzy writes

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a-simple-gaywitch · 4 years ago

Text

Embers to Ashes

hotch x unsub!reader

Summary: When (Y/N) leaves the BAU, she doesn’t expect to get wrapped up in a crime spree

Word Count: 2609

Warnings: abusive relationship, pregnancy & mentions of childbirth, typical criminal minds violence

“The real monsters are humans without conscience.” -Robert E. Keller

Your decision to leave the BAU was not an easy one, but it was what was best. After your mother fell ill, you decided to move back home to care for her, as she was alone. Your team protested, not wanting you to leave, of course. Penelope fought for you to stay the hardest. She was like the sister you never had.

The team followed you to the airport to see you off. Hugs went around, followed by promises that you’d call when you land. The only person who didn’t hug you was Hotch, which you found weird for a number of reasons. Even Spencer hugged you, and he wasn’t big on physical affection. And you’d always thought you and Hotch were close.

“Hey, promise me you’ll keep in touch,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah, of course,” you said.

“Oh, I need another hug!” Penelope said, squeezing you tight again. She’d been crying the whole time and her mascara was running. “I’m gonna miss you so much, Peaches.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, Pen,” you said. You glanced at your watch. “Okay, I really have to go now. I love you guys so much.”

You were grocery shopping for your mother when you ran into him. Nicholas Gully, one of your old high school friends.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N) (L/N)?”

“Nick! Hi!” you said, tossing the box of pasta into your shopping cart. “How have you been?”

“Oh, great. What about you? Big FBI agent out at Quantico.”

You laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah, uh, I actually quit.”

“What? Why? All you talked about in high school was getting into the academy.”

“Uh, well, it’s because of Mom actually. She’s sick. I quit to move back out here and help her until she… Well…”

“Yeah. Well, I’m here if you need to, I don’t know, let off steam?” He handed you a business card. “Here. My number. Give me a call, we’ll go out for drinks or something.”

You smiled. “Thanks, Nick. It was good seeing you.”

Your mom died about a month after you moved home. You were an only child, so it was your responsibility to handle all of her affairs. It was stressful, and you felt isolated. Alone.

You looked at all the funeral plans spread out on the kitchen table, and before you knew it, you’d called Nick and asked him to come over.

What happened next was a blur. You buried your mother next to your father, Nick stayed by your side the whole time. While your mind was clouded with grief, you thought the only good thing to come of it was your new relationship with Nick.

He was nice. He treated you well and helped you through your grief. Only, he didn’t like how much you talked to Penelope and Emily, saying that it was unnatural to be so close to your ex-coworkers. So you stopped talking to them.

Nick moved in with you not too long into your relationship. He said that living in your mother’s house alone wasn’t healthy for you. He helped you sort and pack up her belongings, taking the things you weren’t keeping or throwing out to the thrift store.

You were together for about 8 months before your relationship changed.

You hadn’t been feeling well and you had your suspicions. You took a trip to the drug store and bought a few tests while Nick was at work. You took all of them, trying to rule out a false positive.

When you heard Nick come in from work, you decided to tell him.

“Hey, Nick? I have some news,” you said after he put his work bag down on the couch.

“What’s up?”

“Um, you know how I haven’t been feeling well lately? Well, I went to the pharmacy and picked up some pregnancy tests. They were all positive.”

“Are you serious? You’re pregnant?”

You nodded. “I’m calling my doctor first thing tomorrow to schedule an appointment.”

Nick’s tone should have tipped you off to his true nature. But you were in too deep.

A few months passed. You were showing significantly, though your doctor was worried about your health. The bags under your eyes grew, and you were showing up to your appointments with more and more bruises on your arms. One day you came in with a poorly concealed black eye.

One day, you came home from a doctor’s appointment to see Nick packing some bags.

“Nick? What’s going on?”

“We’re going on a trip,” he said. “Roadtrip, it’ll be fun.”

“Nick, I’m 7 weeks away from my due date-”

“You’ll be fine,” he snapped, thrusting a bag at you. “Get in the car.”

You headed outside, Nick’s hand firmly on your back. He steered you away from your old clunker towards a shiny new SUV. “Did you buy a new car?” you asked.

“Sure, buy. Let’s go with that.”

“Nick, what did you do? What did you get us into?”

“Don’t worry about it. Get in.”

“Nick-”

“I said, get in.”

“Des Moines PD has a case for us,” Penelope said. “As do St. Louis, Louisville, and Charleston.”

“Carjacking?” Morgan asked, flipping through the case file. “Why are they asking us to come in?”

“It’s the same MO,” Hotch explained. “It’s a couple, a man and a woman, presumably his wife or girlfriend. They find a home just outside the city and take the car at night, leaving the previously stolen car.”

“They’re active at night? How do we know it’s a team?” Spencer asked.

“The second victim had security cameras installed. They caught glimpses of the couple, but not enough for us to identify,” Penelope explained.

“Why are they only bringing us in now?” Emily asked. “It says the first theft was over a month ago.”

“Because this one ended in a murder and assult. The surviving victims are at the hospital. Wheels up in 30,” Hotch said.

When the team landed in West Virginia, Hotch divided the team up between the hospital, the crime scene, and the coroner’s office. Hotch and Emily took the hospital to interview the victims. One was a woman in her mid-30s, and the other was her 6-year-old son. The husband had been the murdered victim.

“Hi, Mrs. Foster? I’m Agent Hotchner,” Hotch said, taking a seat next to the woman with Emily. “Would you mind answering a few questions for us?”

“Well, I’m-I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to remember but…”

“Anything you tell us can help us catch these two,” Emily said, gently patting the woman’s hand. “We’re going to try something called a cognitive interview, to see what your subconscious picked up, okay?”

The woman nodded. “Okay.”

“Go ahead and close your eyes,” Emily said. “So, it was late. You and your husband were getting ready for bed. Then what?”

“Neil heard a noise,” she said. “He said it sounded like a man. He grabbed Micah’s little league bat from beside the front door. He told me to wait inside. Micah had fallen asleep on our couch and came to see what was going on. I-I heard Neil yell and I heard a gunshot. I ran outside and I saw a couple. A man and a woman.”

“What can you tell me about them? What did they look like?”

“I didn’t see the man too well, but the woman, well, I only saw her face. But she looked bad.”

“What do you mean?” Emily asked.

“Well, her skin was sunken and sallow. She had bruises all over. She looked like she was ready to drop at any second.”

“Okay. What happened then?”

“Neil was bleeding on the ground. I-I ran over to him and felt for his pulse. It was already gone. Then the man hit my head with the gun, and I fell to the ground. But Micah- I didn’t know Micah followed me. The man pointed his gun at Micah. I was terrified. I thought he was going to shoot my son, too. But then the woman stood in front of the gun. She started pleading with the man. I was fading in and out of consciousness, but I heard her.”

“Nick, don’t!”

“What did I tell you? You don’t get to call me that, whore.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir. But, please, don’t hurt him. He’s just a boy.”

“He saw our faces. You know the police are already on our trail. We can’t have a kid squealing to the cops.”

“No, I… I won’t let you.”

“You won’t let me?”

“He hit her,” Mrs. Foster said. “Hard. It was so hard I thought he shot her, too.” She shook her head. “After that, he knocked me out. I don’t know what happened next. I just remember waking up here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Foster,” Hotch said. “This was very helpful.” Hotch and Emily got up to leave.

“Wait, Agent Prentiss,” she called after Hotch left the room. Emily turned around. “When you find them, go easy on the woman.”

“Why would you want us to do that?” she asked.

“I work at a battered women’s shelter. I see women like her all the time. She’s profoundly abused. She’s not a criminal, she’s a victim.”

Micah Foster was able to give a detailed description of the man to the sketch artist. Thanks to his description, they were able to track him down outside of Charlottesville, Virginia. What they weren’t counting on was seeing you, in the passenger seat.

Nick didn’t want to go down without a fight. But his idea of a fight was to use you as a human shield. He held you in front of him, his arm bracing against your throat. He had a gun in his other hand, training it on the team.

“You shoot, you hit her!” he said, pressing harder on your throat.

“Okay, okay,” Morgan said, holding his gun up in surrender. “We won’t shoot. Just let (Y/N) go.”

Nick turned the gun and pressed it to your temple. “Why are you so concerned about her?

“Because she’s a person,” Derek said, trying to negotiate. “She doesn’t need to get hurt.”

A gunshot went off. You screamed and stumbled forward, Morgan catching you. Nick fell to the ground, dropping his gun and gripping his thigh. Hotch had snuck up behind and shot him in the leg.

The next thing you knew, you were in an interrogation room with Hotch and Emily.

“(Y/N), what happened?” Emily asked you, her voice gentle. “You look awful. What did he do to you?”

Your eyes were trained on the table. “Nothing. He treats me with nothing but respect. I did this to myself.”

“(Y/N), we all know that’s not true,” Emily said. “Talk to us. You know us.”

You kept your eyes on the metal table and you stayed quiet.

“Damn it, (Y/N)!” Hotch yelled, slamming his hands on the table. You flinched back, closing your eyes and wincing like you were bracing for a hit. Hotch took a step back. “Prentiss, take over.”

He left the interrogation room and stormed over to the second room where Morgan and Reid were interrogating Nicholas.

“Hotch-”

“What the hell did you do to her?” Hotch nearly screamed, his blood boiling.

Nick smiled. “I didn’t do anything, she did it all to herself.”

“We both know that’s not true, you piece of-”

“Aaron!” Rossi said, cutting him off. He then proceeded to pull Hotch from the interrogation room. “What the hell is going on with you?”

Hotch took a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his face. “You saw her, Dave. You saw what that asshole did to her. You saw her flinch away from me. That’s a woman who has faced down some of the worst humanity has to offer, and she’s been so badly abused that she’s…”

“Aaron, you know what abuse does to people. We’ve seen it more times than I ever want to count.”

“But it’s never been someone we know. It’s never been someone we love.”

“Ah. So that’s what this is about.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Why don’t you sit this one out? Prentiss and I can handle it.” Rossi walked into the room and sat next to Emily. Emily had given you a glass of water.

“(Y/N), why did you save the mother and her son?” she asked you.

“I don’t know,” you said, twisting the glass around in your hands.

“(Y/N).” Emily reached out and put her hand on yours. “You specifically looked out for the boy. Why?”

A tear rolled down your cheek. “Nick made me leave mine,” you whispered.

“What?”

“He said she would slow us down, that she was a burden. He made me leave her at a church. I didn’t even get to hold her.” After that, you broke down sobbing. Emily slowly crossed to the other side of the table and cautiously put her arm around you.

The team worked out a deal for you with the DA. You would be acquitted if you testified against Nick, and you would be closely watched by the team.

“She can’t keep sleeping on the couch in the conference room, Hotch,” Rossi said as the team gathered in the bullpen. You were asleep and the team wanted you to have peace. “She can come stay with me. Lord knows I have the space.”

“Wait, why should she stay with you? She’s my best friend,” Penelope argued. “She can stay with me.”

“Babygirl, you don’t have a spare room,” Derek reminded her. “I can take her in.”

“She just spent the better part of two years under the thumb of an alpha male, do you think she’d feel comfortable staying with another one?” Emily said.

“Did any of you think maybe she should make her own choice?” Spencer piped up. “I mean, she hasn’t been able to make her own choices, I think we should at least give her that.”

“Reid is right,” Hotch said. “We should let her make the choice. And please, don’t pressure her. She’s not the same (Y/N) she was when she left. She’s been through hell and back.”

In the end, you chose to stay with Aaron. Something about him made you feel safe. Slowly but surely, you started warming up again. You spent your days taking care of Jack when Hotch was on cases. When Aaron was home, he spent time with you and Jack. The two of you grew closer and closer.

You’d stayed with Aaron for a few months before there was a shift in your relationship. You weren’t sure when it happened, but you and Aaron were closer. You became more comfortable with physical contact, and you found yourself curling up on the couch with Aaron for movie nights after Jack went to bed.

You kissed Aaron first. He’d come back from a case with a book he knew you’d been wanting to read. It was something simple, but it meant the world to you, knowing there was someone who listened to you and wanted to do something nice for you.

Your relationship blossomed from there, and Aaron made sure to show you he respected you and never wanted to hurt you. Of course, there were bad days and there were days you argued, but Aaron never raised a hand against you. He never wanted you to experience the pain Nick caused you ever again.

“The difference between the right word and the almost right word is like the difference between a lightning bug and the lightning.” - Mark Twain

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #x reader #em's fics

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cherryrogers · 4 years ago

Text

➸ protector

pairing: bucky barnes x reader | mob au

warnings: swearing, mild violence + assault, stalking, mentions of illness + death, fluff.

word count: 7.4k

synopsis: Ironically, the man with blood on his hands and a permanent target on his back was the one you’d never felt safer with.

a/n: mob au’s are top tier so of course i had to write one at some point. i hope that this one is even a smidge as good as every other one out there !! please enjoy and any feedback is appreciated !!

A dark blanket had encompassed the city; swallowed the highest of skyscrapers and narrowest of alleyways. Engulfed shamrock green parks and swept through empty office buildings. Allowed for the busy city to sleep, ironically — this was New York, after all.

Below it, along a quiet street bordering Central Park, walked an unlikely duo. One who’d only ever known violence. The other hoped never to come across it. Yet under the deep ink sky, indulged in each other’s company, no two people seemed to harmonise so well.

“I thought you were walking me home, not taking me down every street in Manhattan.”

“What, have you had enough of me for the night?”

Furrowing your brows, you stopped in your tracks. “Is that what you’re doing? Stringing out the walk back so that the night doesn’t end so soon?”

Bucky looked back at you, a grin pulling at his lips. “Maybe.”

You smirked, poking a finger into his chest. “Tell me, Barnes — do your mob friends know that you’re such a sap?”

Eyes glimmering under the moonlight, Bucky shot a glare your way before slinging an arm back around your shoulder. “I guess I better get you back then — obviously you have better things to be doing...”

“And a drama queen,” You teased, leaning into his embrace. “Some big bad mob boss you are.”

“Yeah, yeah — give it a rest.” He rolled his eyes, only pulling you closer.

It wasn’t often in his line of work that Bucky met someone who could make him momentarily forget about the life he led. In fact, you weren’t in his line of work at all, and that’s why it was so easy with you. Frankly, everyone around him either worked for him or wanted to kill him; it was difficult to find anyone between the two that he could simply be himself with.

While he had power over Hell’s Kitchen, that didn’t mean it was safe for him to roam the streets freely. Ever since he was a child, his father had told him to always assume that he was being watched, whether it was by the cops or members of other mobs looking to cause trouble. Everyone he ever associated with became a target; a weakness. Someone whose death would throw him off his game. That’s why he never made friends, always sticking to the few ones he had who’d been in the crime world as long as he’d been.

Following a messy run-in with another mob on a night which felt like centuries ago, Bucky wandered into a random bar in hopes of clearing his head with as much whiskey as the cash in his pocket would pay for. But the bartender that night, well, she wasn’t having any of it. As it turned out, a conversation lasting until 2am with her did more for him than the strong liquid in his glass had ever done.

That night, he decided that perhaps he could have one none-criminal, none-mob, none-person that has a weapon on them at all times friend. Just one; just a friend.

He was honest with you about his work. At first, he wasn’t even sure you believed him. Because why would you? You couldn’t count the amount of times guys had made up horribly unbelievable lies about their occupations in an attempt to make an impression. ‘Mob boss’ would certainly be a new one, but not any more or less convincing than a supposed world-renowned doctor or a highly successful entrepreneur that had trouble adding up their bill total.

There was certainly something different about Bucky; in the way he carried himself, in how he talked. Plus, his eyes tended to always drift back to the entrance, as if he was anticipating someone’s arrival. While a doctor is a more common career for the average man than a mob boss, if anyone happened to be one, your guess would be the guy that was able to drink on weeknights without worrying about having a hangover for work the next day.

“It’s pretty dark around here, that’s all,” You shrugged, eyeing the star-scattered sky. “And muggers don’t make exceptions for the mob, unfortunately.”

“You don’t think I could take on a mugger? What do you think I do for a living?”

“You know, you’ve never actually told me...” You shifted your gaze to him, watching as his brows pinched together and the smile slowly disappeared from his lips.

Any knowledge you had of mobsters and gangs was from the movies. All the crime, killing, money — it seemed insane to even speculate that it was happening right under your nose. You’d only known Bucky for a few months, not once had you even questioned his work because you’d convinced yourself that it was better not to. That you liked the person he was with you, and whoever he was at work wasn’t any of your concern.

It spiked your curiosity, though. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done anything that’d horrify you if you saw it on the news. Being a bartender, you met new people almost every day — you had a skill in distinguishing good and bad people. Bucky had a good heart; there was nothing about him that signalled as a red flag. He genuinely cared about you — why else would he walk you home from work every chance he got? As well as being the reason for your full tip jar most nights, and simply spending most nights with you when he could be anywhere else in New York City.

A sigh fell from Bucky’s lips as he stopped the two of you under a lit street lamp. He brought a hand to your face, gently tucking your hair behind you ear. “It’s complicated, dollface.“

“Is it?” You asked quietly, uncertainty evident in your expression. “Or are you afraid of telling me in case it’ll scare me away?”

Bingo. A guilty grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Not many people can read me like that.”

You let out a laugh. “Well, not many people have the pleasure of talking to you for hours almost every night.”

“Yeah, you’re a pretty lucky girl.”

Scrunching your nose, you softly whacked at his chest. Honestly, picturing Bucky as a leading mobster in the city was difficult sometimes. Almost always, there was a smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes — nothing like the stereotype at all.

Within moments, he’d pressed his lips into a narrow line, tracing his hands down your arms before clasping your hands in his. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, or about this city. If you asked, I’d explain it all to you, but I don’t think you want that on your conscience. I was born into this life; I do what I do because I have to and it’s nowhere near an easy job. It’s a scary world to get caught up in, babe — one that I’ll protect you from for as long as I can. That is, if you’ll let me.”

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you let your eyes drop to his chest, covered by the white dress-shirt and dark blazer that he always tended to sport. It occurred to you that his work had to be far more dangerous than you’d imagined. Truthfully, it worried you. What was so bad that he didn’t want on your conscience? Who would want to hurt you if you happened to get caught up in his world?

You agreed with him; it was a scary world, and you were a completely stranger to it. However, something else occurred to you as well. In the time that you’d known Bucky, that he kept you company on your late shifts, that he walked you the distance from the bar to your apartment every time without fail, you never once questioned your safety with him.

There was a time when you’d spend most of your tips from the shift you’d just finished to hire a cab to take you home, afraid of what hid in the shadows on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Alternatively, you’d wear a large winter coat on warm summer nights so you could carry pepper spray in your pocket and access it easily, not to mention the hand cramp you’d develop from carrying your keys between your knuckles for the entirety of the journey back.

With Bucky, you never needed to worry about being vulnerable, being a target — you’d happily let him protect your from the terrors of the world for the rest of your life.

“Bucky, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for walking me home every night.”

“You thank me all the time, and I always tell you it’s not a bother—”

“No, I mean really thanked you,” You cut him off, giving his hands a squeeze. “I used to dread leaving the bar every night. The thought of having to walk back to my apartment alone in the middle of the night, every night... it made me feel sick. And out of nowhere, this really gorgeous guy starts showing up at the bar every night and gets me home safely without fail. I— I don’t think you realise how safe I feel with you, Bucky. I feel so safe that I couldn’t ever be scared of you. You’ve looked out for me for this long out of the kindness of your heart — you’re a good person, you care about me. Your work might be scary to me, but you’re not, and I’m not planning on losing a good guy who happens to be caught up in a not-so-good world.”

Panic flared in your chest when you stopped speaking. You and Bucky weren’t exactly... an item, yet. Yes, he cuddled you to his side when he walked you home, he made you laugh like you never thought you could, he called you pet names that had your heart bursting with adoration. But between his hesitation about getting too close to you and your fear of asking him questions that he didn’t want to answer, an invisible boundary had set its place in the middle of you. Perhaps you’d been too forward, he only asked if you’d let him keep you safe and then you went on an unnecessary tangent—

Oh, he was kissing you. Okay, okay.

His careful hands cradling your face felt like the only thing stopping your legs from giving out; Bucky was kissing you. And fuck, it was a good kiss. One you’d been anticipating since the first time he walked you home. God, if your mother knew you were kissing a mob boss right now—

It didn’t matter — not to you. The job didn’t define him, even if everyone else around him told him that it did. You’d make sure he remembered that; you’d protect him in your own way.

Bucky pulled back first, anxious to see your reaction. It was impulsive, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when you were telling him how safe he made you feel, not when you said you didn’t want to lose him. Because he didn’t plan on losing you either.

“Listen, I’ve done things in the past that I’d rather forget...”

You shook your head at him. “Bucky, you don’t have to explain anything—”

“Please, just one thing,” He urged, watching you give him a nod before continuing. “I don’t— I don’t kill for fun, or steal from anyone out of greed, or hurt anyone just because I can. I know a lot of people who do all three without remorse; those guys are the ones I’m trying to take down. I just don’t want you thinking I’m some sort of monster—”

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” You offered him a genuine smile. “I think... you’re doing the best you can with the life you’ve been given.”

In a rare moment of demureness, a light blush coated Bucky’s cheeks; he couldn’t have put it better himself. A kiss was pressed to your forehead before he was tugging at your hands.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.”

* * *

To put it lightly, you were not happy.

It was a Sunday; the only day of the week where you were able to spend the evening binge-watching nearly half a season of a show in the comfort of your own living room. The only day that you could spend alone — no social interaction whatsoever. After a week of dealing with (usually tipsy) strangers, God knows you needed a day to wind down.

However, this Sunday night, you were right where you didn’t want to be — behind the bar, pouring out another glass of rum to a man who really should’ve just started a tab, waiting for the blessed hour of 2am to arrive because a co-worker called in sick at the last minute. To top it all off, Bucky wasn’t there to accompany you. You’d thought about calling him, but your mind told you he was probably busy with ‘mob stuff’, whatever that was. Plus, he spent almost every other night at the bar with you; you could survive one night alone.

It wasn’t such a busy night; Sundays never were at such a late hour. By the time you were closing up the place, there was only one person who’d stayed the whole night. He left without a fuss when you asked him to, which was reassuring. It was going to be your first time walking home alone in months — you didn’t need something to be paranoid about.

Still, you’d came prepared — a can of pepper spray hid in your left pocket, while your keys remained between your knuckles in your right one. Sometimes, you wondered if you were being dramatic. When you walked home with Bucky, there was barely anybody on the streets, never mind anyone that was looking to attack someone. But your paranoia won over that rationale; you could never be too sure.

You didn’t take the long way home like Bucky tended to have you do. Unlike with him, you wanted to get home as fast as possible, not waste time dawdling around the streets.

And still, within minutes of your departure from the bar, you felt someone’s eyes on you.

Surely, the odds weren’t that against you. It was your first time leaving work alone in months — it couldn’t also be the night that something... bad was going to happen because of it.

Don’t think like that, you thought to yourself, huffing quietly. A few more blocks and you’d be at your apartment building. Nobody was watching you, nobody was following you. Paranoia was unnecessarily powerful; it had to be your mind playing tricks on you.

However, after a short internal argument with yourself, you decided that it couldn’t hurt to take a glimpse behind you — just in case. And maybe sometimes trusting your paranoid thoughts was the right thing to do.

Because with one look over your shoulder, your heart rate had doubled in speed — there was someone following you.

The man from the bar, you were sure it was him. Not that you were good with remembering faces, but you’d just seen him not even ten minutes ago. Is that why he waited till the end of your shift? To follow you? You specifically?

He was around fifteen feet behind you, purposely keeping his distance. Fucking hell; what did he want? What could you give him that forced him to sit in the bar for hours waiting to get you on your own?

Bucky was going to kill you, but you’d rather that than, well, someone else having the chance to before him. Within moments, you were dialing his number, ignoring the sense of helplessness you felt in your chest.

The phone rang, and rang. Too many times for your liking.

...

“_____?” Thank fuck.

The sound of his voice alone was reassuring; it’d be even more so if he was there with you. He didn’t sound groggy, at least you hadn’t woken him up. “Are you okay?”

“Hey...” You let out a nervous laugh. “Where are you right now?”

“Just at home, dollface...” He answered cautiously, obviously sensing your unease. “Are you alright?”

Approaching the corner of the street you’d been speed-walking down, you took a left turn, eyes darting behind you before you disappeared down the next street. He was still there, still close behind you.

Bucky heard your breath hitch. “Babe, what’s going on? Where are you?”

Fuck. “I’m walking home from work.”

“What? You don’t work on Sundays.”

“Someone called in sick, I got called in last minute,” You gripped the pepper spray in your pocket impossibly tight, fear coursing through your veins. “Bucky, I think someone’s following me.”

There was a moment of silence; you worried he was already mad. But soon enough, you heard the fumbling of boots against a wooden floor. If you weren’t so terrified, you would’ve told him that coming to find you was unnecessary.

“Stay on the phone, okay? I’m gonna come and get you. Keep walking, don’t go down any alleyways,” He instructed, as you heard the click of a front door shutting over the speaker. “Do they know you’ve seen them?”

“I— I think so? Fuck, I don’t know...” You uttered, panic laced in your voice.

The sound of a car starting up provided you with some relief. He’d find you soon; Bucky would keep you safe. “You’re okay, I’m right here. How far away from the bar are you?”

“Uh...” You quickly took in your surroundings — hopefully you weren’t appearing as panicked as you felt. “There’s a nail salon on my right. Next to an Italian restaurant, and there’s a Starbucks on the corner.”

Luckily, Bucky knew Hell’s Kitchen inside out. His boots pressed hard on the gas instantly. “I know where you are. Just keep moving, I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, too afraid of provoking the man who was following your tracks. Was he even still there? You couldn’t bring yourself to check.

You imagined Bucky must’ve been breaking speed limits left and right on his journey to you, considering that it’d barely been five minutes since he’d got in his car before you heard a vehicle not far behind you.

Working up the courage to take a look back, you noticed that the man following you had been distracted by Bucky’s car. It was a large, sheer black SUV with blacked out windows; the perfect car for someone in his profession. Perfect enough that your stalker of sorts realised he was in for it, and immediately spun around to walk the other way.

However, he wasn’t getting off that easily.

The car door flung open, making you flinch even from where you were stood fifteen feet away. A figure dressed in a black hoodie and dark jeans jumped out, catching the man by his jacket sleeve before he could make his escape — Bucky. He mustn’t have had time to switch to his regular attire. In different circumstances, it’d be nice seeing him in such casual clothes.

Within seconds, the man was slammed against the brick wall of the bank you’d just passed, Bucky’s hand wrapped around his throat. All you could do was watch, paralysed with shock.

Coughing and spluttering, the man looked up to identify his attacker; his eyes widened. “B— Barnes?”

“You know me?” Bucky asked through gritted teeth, his grip on the man not wavering in the slightest, even when he nodded furiously. “You’re sure as hell not one of my guys — who you do work for?”

Stupidly, the man continued to squirm, desperate to get out of Bucky’s clutch. His throat was only clasped tighter. “Tell me who you fucking work for.”

“P— Pierce! I work for Pierce,” He panted.

Fucking hell. “Did he send you here?

“Yes.”

“Why?” Bucky growled, yet again tightening his grasp when there was a pause in conversation. “I swear I’ll crush your fucking windpipe—”

“The girl,” He answered breathlessly. “Someone told him you’d been seeing a girl— one that wasn’t part of your mob. He— He thought he’d be able to get to you through her, so he sent me to spy on her, work out who she was to you. I was just following her, I wasn’t gonna hurt her—!”

“But Pierce is planning to, isn’t he?” Son of a bitch. This, this was exactly what he was afraid of. Pierce has been looking for a way to take him down for as long as he could remember. But with no outside connections, no obvious weakness to him, it was impossible. You were just what he’d been waiting for — a loose screw in the framework, a crack in the pavement. Someone that would throw Bucky Barnes right off his game if you were dragged into the mess that he was trying to keep you out of.

But he’d made a promise to keep you safe; he wasn’t planning on breaking it.

Jaw clenching, eyes narrowing — Bucky rammed the winded guy into the wall for the last time. “If I see you around here again, you won’t live long enough to report back to your bastard boss.”

God, he could just do it. Squeeze this bonehead’s throat until he was unable to grant his lungs the pleasure of a singular breath of oxygen. Leave his pathetic ass unconscious on the ground for someone else to find — for Pierce to find. He’d be furious, but he’d be scared. Scared of how easy it was for his nemesis to take out one of his men. Scared of what lengths he’d go to ensure your safety.

But you were still there, watching him, unsure of his next move. If he could help it, he wasn’t going to let you be the witness to a murder, especially one on his part. The one pure thing in his life — he wasn’t going to ruin you.

With reluctance, he snatched his hand back, letting the man fall to his knees and instantly gasp for air.

“Get the fuck out of here, or I’ll change my mind on letting your sorry ass live.” He snarled, not waiting for a response before he began jogging in your direction.

Lips parted, brows furrowed, eyes glossy — you looked like you’d seen a ghost (or just heard that a mob boss was planning your murder).

Concern contorted into his features, Bucky quickly approached you, stopping himself from grabbing your face in his hands in fear that his touch wasn’t what you wanted. Had he just ruined everything? Even though you’d claimed that he could never scare you, he wasn’t sure that after that performance that your statement still stood.

Your eyes zeroed in on his chest, cogs working in your mind to try and process what the hell was going on. And Bucky worried that this was it — he’d dragged you into something you never wanted to be a part of and now, there was no getting out for you. You hated him for it, didn’t you? Fucking hell.

But after a few moments, his doubts were proven false when you crashed into his chest, enveloping his waist and shoving your face into the crook of his neck. He’d saved you, just like you knew he would.

Letting out a breath of relief, Bucky drew you closer by encircling your shoulders. Behind him, the pathetic man who he’d just about let live scurried away from the scene, allowing you to peacefully bask in the safe place that was Bucky’s arms.

Still, he feared that being out in the open wasn’t such a good idea. Pressing a lingering kiss you the crown of your head, he pulled back to meet your glazed eyes. “I’m taking you back to my place, is that okay?”

Without a word, you gave him a nod. If whoever was keeping tabs on you knew where you worked, there was a chance that they knew your home address too — the thought sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine.

The car ride back to Bucky’s was quiet. Buildings blurred together as your eyes remained glued to the window, a dismal look on your face. In the driver’s seat, Bucky stole glances at you — he’d never seen you so silent, so down. The crime world was not something he was a stranger to. Being at the top of someone’s hit list was nothing new to him. Nobody could get rid of him; that’s why he was despised by so many, and he didn’t care to mind these days. Shooting his way was a waste of bullets, men sent to find him with knives and crowbars in hand were using their time poorly.

But you weren’t him. No, you were the bubbly bartender that got whisked into his mess simply because you’d been nice enough to ask him about his sullen mood the first night you’d met. This life was never meant for you. Only a sick, emotionless person would’ve sought to harm you, even to spite their worst enemy. Even as ransom, as a way in to seek out Bucky’s weaknesses. He’d told you little about his work, and for good reason. The less you knew, the less important you were to those against him. Knowledge was power in this business.

A clanking noise emerged from in front of the car, managing to pull your eyes from the window. The car had stopped momentarily to allow a grand, silver gate to open, cushioned between the start and end of the black metal fence surrounding the land. Bucky had reached a hand out of his window to punch a code into the keypad next to the gate without you even noticing.

You knew that Bucky was well-off, but fuck.

The house was smaller than you’d imagined. Definitely still large, especially in comparison to your studio apartment. But taking into account the designer suits he styled every night, the stupid amount of money he’d tip you for a single drink, even the confidence he carried at all times — not cockiness, but self-assurance — had you thinking that when he went home at night, that it was to a multimillion dollar mansion. All glass, taking up acres upon acres, all for one man to live in.

However, it wasn’t that at all. It had a maximum of two stories, along with a garage to the left of the main building. It was modern, for sure. Monotonous with its black front door and window frames, the rest blinding white — more subtle than celebrity mansions shown off on social media. It was very Bucky; impressive and eye-catching, but not too flashy.

He opened the car door on your side, allowing you to climb out of the SUV, taking his outreached hand even though you didn’t quite need it. You would’ve uttered a joke about chivalry being dead if it weren’t for your dull mood; perhaps another time.

On a more positive note, you definitely felt safer enclosed in the towering fence surrounding Bucky’s house. At home, you’d be scared to blink in fear that it would declare you vulnerable to an attack.

It wasn’t long before he’d guided you into his home, tapping another code into another keypad as you entered the place, examining it in awe. The scruffy black boots on your feet juxtaposed the gleaming checkered flooring underneath them. A silver chandelier spread light across the foyer-like area, making you squint after the drive through the dark night.

Bucky watched as you took in your surroundings, noticing the way you crossed your arms over your chest, bowed your head — you were curling in on yourself, as if you didn’t belong there. He didn’t like that.

But after a minute or so, you diverted your gaze to him, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “This place... it’s amazing.”

You’d only seen one room, sparse of furniture and lacking personality, but you didn’t need much more convincing of its splendour.

As confident as he walked, Bucky couldn’t say he took compliments well. It was the modesty that he didn’t even realise he had. Flashy watches and perfectly tailored suits littered his closet, sure — but not to reel in ego-feeding comments. He wasn’t the one who tailored his clothes, or carefully sculpted his wristwatches; he merely had the cash to splash on them. Many could only dream to have what he did — they’d take it in a second if it was offered to them. But for what? To maintain by being on the wrong side of the law and trusting that you woudn’t mess up? To be constantly looking over your shoulder, constantly having a target on your back?

He had a good life, he wasn’t denying that. Fear wasn’t the issue; he wasn’t scared. But he wondered if this was all there was to his life. Being someone’s enemy, the object of another’s hatred. No sense of normality to cling onto when things began to get messy. Maybe that’s why he became so attached to you; his sense of peace, a normal life. Which was ironic, since there was nothing normal about you. If you were normal, you’d be forgettable. And that, you were not.

As a thank you, he shot you a grin, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do you need a drink? Or somethin’ to eat?”

You shook your head. “I’m okay, thanks. I’m more tired than anything, honestly.”

“I’ll take you upstairs then.” Usually, he’s take hold of your hand, or wrap an arm around you to escort you somewhere — he had a feeling you needed your own space right now, so instead, he let you follow his steps up the sheeny marble staircase.

It was true, you were tired. Exhausted, even. But you didn’t want to close your eyes, or be left alone, be left vulnerable again.

Bucky led you into a darker room, one that clearly wasn’t used so often. Still, it was large for a bedroom. A queen sized bed was pushed against the far wall, draped in royal blue sheets which complemented the grey cushions sat atop of them. A closet built into the wall took up one side of the room, and a plain, white wooden desk sat under the window on the other side. The door to an en-suite bathroom just peeked out next to the closet. Minimalistic, but lovely nonetheless.

“This is the guest room, usually where my sister stays when she visits every once in a blue moon,” He commented, moving to switch on the lamp standing on top of the desk. “There’ll be some clothes you can change into in the closet.”

A sister; you were even aware he had siblings. That was something he’d never talked about — family. Neither did you, so much, but it was as if Bucky didn’t have one at all. He said that he was born into the mob, so you assumed that his parents (or at least one of them) led the same life that he did.

With a small smile, Bucky acknowledged your thankful nod before leaving you to your own devices. It was obvious he didn’t want to pry, ask you questions that he already knew the answer to.

And you weren’t exactly sure what to say to him either. The situation was completely out of your control; if someone was after you to spite Bucky, how were you supposed to protect yourself? You couldn’t just move in with Bucky to ensure your safety, and it’s not like your apartment building with its rusty locks and lack of security detail put you out of harms way.

Sighing defeatedly, you stripped out of your work attire and kicked off your boots before taking a look in the closet. There weren’t too many nightwear options anyway, but you decided on a faded vintage Metallica shirt, cracks in the logo from the amount of times it’d been washed, along with a worn pair of baggy sweatpants. Not exactly an outfit that you were eager for Bucky to see you in, but given the circumstances, that was the least of your worries as you stepped out of the bedroom. You’d been alone for barely five minutes, but an uneasy pit was still beginning to form in your stomach.

The mob boss came into sight once you’d wandered back downstairs. Freshly poured glass of whiskey in hand, lounged back on a pristine white couch through an archway to the right of the foyer. Probably a lot more expensive that what he chugged down back at your bar, shipped directly from Ireland or Scotland. He didn’t notice as you stood idly in the archway, simply taking in his appearance — comfortable clothing, still sporting an extravagant Rolex (of course), slightly disheveled hair that’s been brushed back by his fingers — before slowly approaching the couch to take a seat next to him.

“You’ve never mentioned your sister.” His eyes flit to yours upon hearing your voice, tentative in case it was a sore subject.

The corner of his lips curled, not used to seeing you in anything other than washed-out jeans and a simple black tee. Shuffling along as you seated yourself, Bucky let out a breath. “She’s lived in Syracuse with my mom since she was barely a teenager, her name’s Rebecca.”

It brought you a sense of relief that Bucky still had family; since he never spoke of them, you worried that he’d lost them because of his lifestyle. “Does she visit much?”

“Nah, only a couple of times a year,” He shook his head, swirling his drink around in his hand. “It’s safer if she keeps her distance from the this part of New York. I used to never let her visit at all, but then— then my dad died a few years back, and after that she insisted on coming down here from time to time — said she couldn’t handle losing me too.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the job that killed his father. Lung cancer did it before another eager opposer ever got the chance to. Bucky had never been a smoker; never saw the appeal, especially after witnessing his father go through packs upon packs of cigarettes with the purest tobacco he could find to deal with the stress of the job.

And of course once he’d passed, it was up to his son to take over an organisation he wasn’t at all prepared for. Gone too soon, his father hadn’t been able to teach him everything he needed to know. Everything he needed to survive. Luckily, the Barnes kids were smart — Becca currently working on her nursing degree and Bucky, well, learning how not to die in his occupation.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” You sympathised, not wanting to keep pressing. There was a reason he’d been so intent on keeping you safe — his sister had already been driven away from the dangers and risks of being close to the mobs of Manhattan. He didn’t want that for you too. Not when this was your home, when he didn’t feel like he could lose you along with his sister because of the life he led. “I— I hope you know that tonight doesn’t change anything.”

His brows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

Fiddling with you fingers in your lap, you met his eyes dubiously. “I’m not scared— well — getting followed home from work by a guy sent by a mob boss to spy on me was pretty scary. But it hasn’t scared me away from you.”

Admittedly, he was happy with your words. The last thing he wanted was to see you running in the opposite direction. He wouldn’t have taken it lightly, even if he understood exactly why you wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

Throwing down the rest of his drink, almost numb to the familiar burn in the back of his throat, Bucky discarded the empty glass on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Pierce has been after me for as long as I can remember; he was after my dad before that. He’s a coward, I can tell you that. Gets his men to do his dirty work. Carries a gun but never uses it. He won’t hurt you, but he doesn’t have a problem ordering every guy he knows to do it instead.”

A timid smile tipped your lips, as your clammy palms pressed against your thighs. “Is this supposed to be comforting?”

He huffed out a chuckle, but apologised upon seeing the worry behind your eyes. He’d been desensitised to violent threats and things alike; he wouldn’t let that happen to you. “I’m sorry, dollface. What I’m trying to say is... those guys are puppets on strings. They’re not smart; they don’t think for themselves. None of them have enough brain cells to get past me, which means they’d never be able to get to you.”

Your expression seemed to soften at that. Good, that meant you trusted him. Because he’d never lie to you. When he said he’d keep you safe, he meant it wholeheartedly. Now that he knew Pierce was meddling in his part of town, that made things a little easier. He’d let the rest of the guys know in the morning. Form a plan of action to force them to stay the fuck away.

In truth, Bucky wasn’t afraid. With his whole chest, he’d say that he had a higher IQ than all of Pierce’s men combined. And he’d say the same for you. Having a gun in your pocket of a knife slipped into your boot didn’t make you clever; it didn’t inherently make you a threat. Not when your target was never in your line of sight, never able to be spied on unknowingly. You’d known you were being followed within minutes, and you had Bucky in the phone not long after the realisation. You trusted your gut, always — that’s what was going to keep you safe. And him, of course.

“I believe you,” You reach a hand across the lavish couch, curling your fingers around the top of his hand. “I really do trust you, Bucky. I hope you don’t doubt that. I meant what I said the other night, about feeling safe with you.”

He tensed slightly in his seat — he really was a big sap, wasn’t he? The head of a mob who had a countless amount of blood on his hands was getting nervous at a woman’s touch. Your touch, however.

“I know,” Bucky eyed you fondly, savouring they warmth of your hand cupping his. “Just... please, next time you’re covering a shift, call me—”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you grinned. “I knew that was coming. It was one night, I didn’t think—”

“But look what happened—!”

“And what would’ve happened if you were walking me home?” You quirked a brow. “That guy still would’ve followed me from the bar, he might’ve even followed us to my apartment and— and tried something once you’d dropped me off.”

You were right. It seemed like they only knew where you worked, not where you lived. Bucky would’ve liked to think if someone was following the two of you that’d he’d notice, but he couldn’t lie — an elephant could’ve followed you down the street one night and he still wouldn’t have realised because he was so caught up in you.

A crease formed between his brows; what if they had found out your address? Without him knowing, which worried him even more—

“But I don’t wanna think about that,” You added, seeing his features falling. Feeling brazen, you shuffled closer, your thigh pressed against his. His breath hitched; you noticed. Heat pooled in your own cheeks. After all, you’d only kissed him once. Being in such close proximity to him still had your heart pounding. “What matters is that I’m here, and I’m with you, and I’m safe.”

Like music to his ears, your words put the shine right back into his eyes. And again, he couldn’t resist pulling you into him — kissing you. Tugging you by the hand still clutching his, basking in the feeling of your other hand moving to rest against his jaw, and moulding his lips with yours. A perfect fit, he thought.

The bitter tang of whiskey was prominent on his tongue; you’d never been one for spirits, but the taste on his lips was impossibly addictive. Something you could get used to. Under the soft pads of your fingers, his jaw was freshly trimmed, dark and rough. Lips honey soft in contrast.

He took you upstairs after that. After you’d both pulled away, lips swollen and eyes hazy, still holding hands like letting go was a crime — the only crime Bucky would shy away from. You were tired, he could tell. If you’d been at home, you would’ve fallen into a slumber long before now; that was if no one had been following you back. While he trusted that you felt safe in his home, it was clear you were still a little shaken. Even more so when he guided you to the guest room, closing the curtains for you as you scrubbed your teeth in the en-suite bathroom.

You felt like a child again; hurrying to spit and rinse so that you could escape the cold, tiled room and fall back into the arms of someone you felt safe with.

By the time you were done and padding back into the bedroom, Bucky had changed into yet another outfit you had yet to see. Now in a white shirt that clung to his torso and biceps, along with grey sweatpants matching yours, he looked... he looked gorgeous. Maybe you were being dramatic; the suit was certainly attractive, but seeing him in his casual wear— it was so domestic. It spread a fuzzy warmth from your fingertips to your toes.

As you pried your eyes from where he was stood in the doorway, shooting you a gentle smile, you began to curl up against the headboard of the large bed. And before a ‘goodnight’ could leave his lips, you hesitantly asked—

“Can you stay with me?”

Brows raised, Bucky swallowed nervously. Of course, he wouldn’t say no. “If you want me to, sure. I can set up on the floor—”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Bucky,” You grinned, knees pulled to your chest. Always a gentleman, he was. “I’d... prefer it if you were next to me.”

Sparkling with hope, your eyes pierced into his. If anything, he was sure you’d want to be alone for the night. Gather your thoughts, consider cutting him out of your life for getting you involved in something so dangerous. That was his doubt talking — he knew that you trusted him. And if sleeping next to you would put your mind at ease, he’d never let you sleep alone again until you felt you could.

Moving under the thick quilt, you observed Bucky as he tentatively made his way over to the bed, suppressing a chuckle.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He questioned, just about to pull back the quilt on his side.

A smirk played on your lips as you reached forward, pulling the sheet back for him. “We just made out on your couch; I’m okay with you lying next to me. Are you okay with this?”

He scoffed softly. In that moment, he knew that a bullet to the chest or a knife in his stomach wouldn’t be the death of him — you would.

“Just making sure.” He sighed, eventually climbing into the bed beside you, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

The pillow underneath your head felt like a cloud as you laid down on your side, Bucky mirroring your position soon after. He’d left the lamp on; the dim light casting a shadow over his features. It hit his eyes perfectly, however. Ocean blue, inviting you to drown in them — you’d do so in a heartbeat.

“Thank you.” You murmured, eyelids already heavy. If you weren’t drifting into unconsciousness, you would’ve pressed your lips to his yet again, craving the taste of that priceless whiskey. As a thank you, another one — you couldn’t thank him enough.

All those nights he could’ve spent in his million dollar home, drinking the purest of spirits on his plush couch, perhaps with company that was a little more used to his lifestyle. All those nights he could’ve spent in the safety and comfort of his own abode, he spent in a cold, austere bar drinking alcohol less expensive than his shoelaces, with you.

And he’d do it every night for the rest of time to watch over you, make you laugh, smile — ensure that such a vibrant girl was never exposed to what truly lurked in the shadows of Manhattan. He’d do it because without you, he’d be lost in those shadows. Trapped in a life of crime and violence and misery. Nowhere to turn to simply breathe.

Finding your hand under the silk sheets, Bucky pulled it close, brushing his lips against it ever so softly. And he replied with a smile. “You too, dollface.”

Watching as you fell asleep, gentle breaths hitting the pillow beneath your cheek, lips still a little swollen, hand grasping back at his ever so slightly — he sighed. One of relief, of content.

Your Bucky, always watching over you. But you — you were protecting him too. Protecting the worn-down soul of a complicated man from being truly lost in such a brutal world.

For that, he’d be more thankful than you could ever imagine.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes reader insert #mob!bucky #mob au

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imjustwritingg · 4 years ago

Text

maybe it was fate: chapter 2

Thank you so much to everyone who has read and sent love for this story! It really means so much and I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Happy reading!

Chapter 1 || AO3 || FFNet

She wakes with her heart pounding in her chest, a sheen of sweat covering her skin and her body shaking. She takes deep breaths and tries with everything she has to regulate her breathing and bring herself back to reality, telling herself it was just another nightmare. That she’s safe in her bed. That she’s okay.

It’s been three and a half years and despite the work she put in during therapy from back then the memories still invade her mind and make her toss and turn when she least expects it. She blinks her eyes against the slight darkness of her bedroom and glances over at the half open curtains hanging over her bedroom windows. The sun is just beginning to rise.

She reaches out a hand for her phone charging on the nightstand next to the bed and squints at the brightness of the screen when she checks the time. She groans out and drops the phone back down in its place.

It’s almost seven. Her alarm isn’t set to go off for another thirty minutes, but she kicks the covers off anyway and swings her legs over the side of the bed. It’s not like she would be able to go back to sleep even if she tried. She stretches her arms out and rolls her shoulders, bones cracking as she does, and then she stands from the bed and heads for the bathroom connected to the bedroom.

She takes a shower as hot as her skin will allow, trying to scrub away the remnants of memories that suffocated her in her sleep. By the time she steps out of the shower stall the bathroom is filled with a thick cloud of steam and her skin is red and tingling. She dries herself off and pats her hair dry with a towel before she pulls a brush through her messy blonde waves, and then dresses for the day.

It’s only when she grabs her badge and gun from the locked drawer of her nightstand that she notices how quiet it is throughout the house. Almost too quiet. She clips her star to a loop of her jeans and then makes sure the safety of her gun is switched on before she holsters it to the left side of her waist. She grabs her phone and stuffs it in her back pocket before leaving the room and heading downstairs.

When she enters the kitchen she can’t help smiling gratefully at the sight of a post-it sitting on top of the coffee machine.

All ready for ya. Just hit brew. See ya tonight. xx

She presses the brew button and grabs a mug from the cabinet above the machine. As the smell of caffeine hits her nostrils and the sound of dripping coffee begins to fill the silence around her, she steps to the refrigerator and glances at the calendar sheet for that month held in place with a magnet.

She surmises the quiet house and the post-it note to the fact that it’s Thursday, and remembers how Tuesdays and Thursdays are early days for the time being. She runs a hand through her still slightly damp hair and then pulls the door of the fridge open to grab the half and half. The machine beeps a moment later signaling to her that the coffee is ready and she quickly makes up a mug before returning the creamer to the fridge, and then taking a seat at the island. She sips on her coffee for few moments until the silence envelops her again, a little too tightly, and she can’t help thinking back to what shook her awake.

The light is blinding when she cracks her right eye open. She attempts to open the left, but groans out at the pain that shoots down the side of her face when she tries. The recognition of the fluorescent lights above her makes her realizes she’s in a hospital and before she can stop them, the memories of how she got there begin to fill her head.

The case and being undercover. Booth on top of her, hitting her over and over. Garrett.

“Hailey?”

She hears his voice from beside her and forces her good eye to open completely to see him sitting next to her.

“Garrett?” She mumbles.

“I’m here babe. I’m here.,” he assures her.

She feels his fingers cover her hand and she hates the way she jerks back, flinching at the contact of his warm skin on hers. She watches as he pulls his hand away and leans back in the chair he’s sat in to try and give her some space, and then his eyes meet her good one.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe,” he tells her.

She has to remind herself that it’s him. That he wouldn’t hurt her. She reaches her right arm out towards him and opens her hand palm facing up at him. He gives her a small smile before placing his hand in hers slowly, carefully, not wanting to scare her again.

“Do you remember what happened?” He asks her a second later.

“Mostly, but some of it’s fuzzy. The party and we were in the office and Booth - he was hitting me, there was yelling,” she says.

And then the details of what transpired in that same office hit her and she’s having trouble breathing. Her body begins to shake and tears form in her right eye.

“He was - he - did he?”

She can’t say the words, but he can gather what she’s thinking and he shakes his head at her quickly and gives her fingers a gentle squeeze.

“No, no he didn’t.”

She blows out a deep breath and tries to calm herself down, and feels him squeeze her hand again as if he’s pulling her back to him and anchoring her in place.

She remembers the fleeting moment back in the office when she thought she saw his scruffy bearded face above her and it’s her who squeezes his hand then.

“You were there. You stopped him from - I thought I was dreaming. You got him?”

He nods slowly, confirming her thoughts.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I went to find Ty. He was passed out in a bedroom upstairs. I was barely gone five minutes. I came back downstairs and the office door was locked. Had a bad feeling.”

“He must have locked it. He kept hitting me and I just wanted to sleep,” she says.

Garrett nods at her, confirming her suspicions again and she notices the way his jaw clenches and the apple of his throat bobs as he swallows.

“I kicked the door down. Saw him trying to pull your jeans off and you were bleeding and completely out of it. All I saw was red. I lunged for him. Scotty came in a few moments later, pulled me off of him and took him out of the room.”

“Does he know who we are? Where is he?” Hailey asks in a panic.

He shushes her immediately, trying to calm her down and leans in closer to her. “He’s in jail. We got him and most of his crew on the meth distribution. He can’t get to you.”

It sounds so simple the way he says it and she wishes it would be enough to make her feel better, but it doesn’t. All there is, is disgust and anger and pain. So much pain.

Her body is aching. She can’t open her left eye or lift her left arm. Her throat feels like it’s on fire and she feels as though someone is beating the inside of her skull with a baseball bat.

“How bad is it?” She asks, needing to know, and she hears him sigh in some sort of pain of his own.

“Fractured left wrist. Your left eye is swollen shut; the doctor called it a blowout fracture. Piece of shit hit you really hard. Bruising on your forehead, under your other eye, your chin, handprints around your neck, and a split bottom lip. You got a pretty nasty concussion too - the doctor was worried about a brain bleed earlier, but all your tests came back okay.”

She sticks the tip of her tongue out to her lip and winces at the residual taste of copper and the onslaught of discomfort. She can feel the stitches with her tongue and pulls it back into her mouth.

“How long have I been here?” She wonders.

“Four days. Serge already called it. You’re on leave for at least eight weeks until the doc clears you and you pass a psych eval with flying colors.”

If she could roll her eyes she would, but all she can muster is blowing out a breath of annoyance.

“What about the case?” She asks because despite her current location and situation, she’s still a cop and she has a job to do.

“Given the circumstances, Rafferty made the call and decided to leave your name out of things. He convinced the DA too, so that your cover isn’t blown with any of the other unknown players. It’s been passed off to narcotics and organized crime. You won’t testify Hailey, you can’t. As far as any of those bastards know, Kelly went back home to Iowa after everything went down.”

“So what? We just pretend the last four months didn’t happen? Pretend that party didn’t happen?”

“Hailey.”

She can hear it in his voice the way he breathes out her name in a near whisper. The worry. The fear. And she knows.

“You made that call. Not Rafferty.”

It’s not a question or even an accusation. Just a simple statement of realization, but it only fuels her annoyance and then it quickly turns to bubbling anger. She pulls her hand out of his and gives the tiniest shake of her head in disbelief. She watches him out of her good eye as his eyes leave her for a moment to look at the floor. He leans back in the chair and uses his now free hand to run it over the back of his head.

He takes another deep breath and then his eyes are back on her. “Do you really want Booth or any of his contacts knowing you’re a cop? You’re safe this way, Hailey. You stay alive this way.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make Garrett!” Her throat screams at her in protest as she raises her voice, her words cracking with her exclamation.

He shakes his head at her as he stands from the chair and starts to pace back and forth from the end of her bed to the window at the other side of the room. They’re both stubborn to say the least and the gravity of the situation and stress of the last few months mixed with the events of the last week are ready to boil over.

He stops mid-step in the middle of the room and turns to face her again. She’s only seen him cry once in the last few years they’ve known each other, but here he is looking back at her with his shoulders sagging and his eyes glazed over in some resemblance of defeat and anguish and frustration.

“You’re damn right I made the call Hailey! Because I knew you wouldn’t. Because you’re my partner and the woman who I’d kinda like to spend my life with. So yeah, I made a call that would keep you with me and keep you safe. And if that makes me selfish or possessive or it pisses you off, I gotta tell you I don’t really care as long as it means you don’t end up with a bullet between your eyes.”

She knows he’s protective over her and on some level knows he’s right too, but she can’t help the way her body jolts at the volume of his voice and makes her recoil just a bit further into the pillows behind her.

“I would have - “

“No, you wouldn’t,” he tells her with another shake of his head. “You wouldn’t have. You would’ve seen this thing through until the end, until you ended up dead. I know what he did to you, what he was going to do to you, and I hate the guy too, but I couldn’t let you fall down that rabbit hole. He doesn’t deserve anymore of your time or energy.”

“I can’t just forget about it.”

“And I’d never ask you to Hailey. All I’m asking you to do is let the department push the paper on this prick and you just focus on you. Focus on your recovery, on healing.”

He makes his way back over to the side of her bed and takes a hesitant seat on the edge of it. He reaches an arm out, extending his hand to her, but she doesn’t take it and instead keeps her hands firmly placed in her lap. She shakes her head slowly, not wanting to further aggravate her pounding head, and looks up at him.

“Can you go?”

“Hailey, - “

“Please, Garrett. I just need to be alone right now.”

He sighs and drops his head, and stands from the bed begrudgingly. He leans down over her and kisses the top of her head, whispering “I love you” into her hair.

She gives a short nod of her head in recognition of his words as he takes a step back and walks to the door. She feels his eyes on her, but she can’t bring herself to look at him, and then he’s gone.

The vibrations of the phone in her pocket brings her out of her thoughts and she reaches back for it, seeing her partner’s name on the screen. She quickly swipes to answer.

“Upton...”

XXX

Of all the cases for Intelligence to get pulled into that day it had to be one where initiation day for gang bangers meant the gang rape and murder of a teenage girl.

By the time the team tracks down the offenders they find them dead and castrated, leaving each member of the team in a simultaneous state of relief and shock. The rapists were gone, but now they had to find their murderer. It was a grotesque turn of events that turned their offenders into victims. The world could cruel be cruel sometimes.

The team chases it down though. They find another girl who had almost been brutalized in the same way and with the help of one of Antonio’s CI’s they’re led to a neighboring sisterhood gang. They have the CI set up a drug deal with the gang and wait it out, and can only hope their lead pays off so that they’re able to close the case and put it behind them.

Hailey and her partner have been sitting in the truck for nearly an hour waiting for the deal to go down, but nothing had popped off yet. Jay sits in the driver’s seat as he usually does and Hailey takes up the passenger seat, both looking out over the dash through the windshield and surveying the scene around them.

She can feel her partner’s eyes on her, has been feeling them on her on and off since they started their stakeout, but he doesn’t say a word to her and she’s grateful. The early morning events that had her struggling to breathe and remembering her own traumatic past, and then finding the bloody body of a teenage girl a few hours after had her mind reeling throughout the day. She couldn’t say she wasn’t relieved when her and her team had found the bangers dead though. It was a sweet return of karma that would have had her smiling if they weren’t now trying to run down the person or persons responsible for their deaths.

She’s so lost in her own thoughts that she doesn’t hear Jay calling her name. Only when he places a hand on her shoulder does she respond and it’s a reaction of flinching so hard she bumps her elbow against the window of the door. He pulls back fast, holding both of his hands up at her in a surrendering gesture.

“You good?” He asks with worry dripping from his voice.

She’s not sure when her breathing picked up or when her heart started beating relentlessly in her chest, and she has to remind herself where she is and who she’s with. She gives a quick nod in reply, but doesn’t say anything.

“You sure? You zoned out on me. Look like you saw a ghost.”

“I’m good,” she says finding her voice and offering a small smile to assure him.

He looks at her curiously as if he doesn’t believe her and rests his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry for freaking you out.”

“It’s fine. Guess I just got distracted,” she tells him.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Hailey shakes her head and smiles again. “I’m good. Just these cases ya know? Hard to handle sometimes.”

He nods because he does know. Between his years serving in the army and serving on the police force, he has seen his fair share of evil and wrong doings. Maybe too much.

“Antonio’s CI said three o’clock right?” She asks him then.

He knows she already knows the answer to her own question, it not being lost on him the way she attempts to divert the conversation, but he doesn’t call her out on it. Instead he takes a quick sip from the cardboard cup of lukewarm coffee he’s got sitting in the console between them before he turns to look back at her.

“Yeah, which means five, maybe six if we’re lucky.”

“Well if you’re looking for punctuality don’t date a CI. Or an Italian for that matter,” she tells him with a smirk and getting a response of raised eyebrows from him in the process.

“I dated a guy from Rome once,” she supplies.

Jay shakes his head as he looks at her, a smile of his own peeking out from the corner of his mouth. “Ya know, we’ve been partners for almost six months now and the more I learn about you, the more I realize I have no clue who you actually are.”

“Good, my plan is working,” she smirks again. Her blue eyes are shining again and smiling feels a little easier now that she’s not caught up in her own thoughts and memories. Her conversation with Jay being a good distraction and she’s grateful.

“Antonio’s plan though, I’m not too sure. Girls are tough to flip,” Hailey tells him a moment later.

“Tougher than boys?” Jay asks.

“Way tougher,” she says.

“So women are more loyal than men?” He presses.

Hailey turns her head and stares back at him with a sure look in her eyes. “Absolutely.”

Jay gives a short nod, taking in her words as a comfortable silence fills the cab of the truck. She thinks over his previous words of how long they’ve been partners for and she’s suddenly taken aback in disbelief. It’s only been six months of them working together, but some days she could swear it feels more like six years.

Jay Halstead had quickly proven to be a great partner to her, had become an unexpected friend, and he was damn good police to boot. She hadn’t been too sure of how things would work out when he got mixed up in dating a drug dealer just a few weeks into their new partnership. She had given him a not so subtle ultimatum of having to find a new partner if he wasn’t going to go to therapy and take it seriously after everything went down. It was the sort of tough love he needed at the time, but he heeded her word and put in the work of facing his own demons and working on himself and opening up to her in the process. It made them a strong pair of partners. It made them better.

There’s a sudden churning in her stomach as she remembers the things he doesn’t know about her and what she carries with her each and every day. The sacrifices she’s had to make and the things she keeps so close to the vest, the secrets she’s been holding back. She realizes she might not have been as good of a friend to him as he’s been to her over their short time working together as she recognizes the knot that’s taking form inside of her is feeling a lot like guilt. There’s a fleeting moment where she wonders if she’s the one who needs to try therapy again.

She doesn’t have time to fester over it long though because Antonio’s CI finally arrives and the drug deal goes down. She clears her mind as best she can and forces herself to focus on the task at hand. They have a house to raid and a murderer to find.

XXX

By the time the case is finally closed and she makes her way home, it’s a little after eight at night and Hailey is exhausted. Her bones are aching, desperately in need of another hot shower and the comfort of her bed. She turns the key in the front door, pushes it open, and is immediately greeted by the smell of food. She sighs in grateful relief as she closes the door behind her and locks the deadbolt. She pulls off her jacket and hangs it on a hook on the wall, and then kicks off her boots in the entryway.

When she enters the kitchen she spots another post-it on the door of the microwave.

Dinner :)

She smiles at the note and catches a glimpse of light coming from the living room. She makes her way through the kitchen to the living room and leans against a wall, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes land on the couch where someone sits cross legged with a thick textbook in their lap and several notebooks scattered open around them.

“You and your post-it notes,” Hailey teases from the wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

“You love ‘em,” the other says without missing a beat and not looking up from their lap.

Hailey pushes herself off the wall and steps further into the living room, dropping down to a chair and folding a leg up underneath her.

“How was your day?”

Hailey shrugs. “Pretty bad case, but it’s over now.”

“I’m sorry babe.”

Hailey shakes her head. “Tell me about your day. More studying I see.”

“Damn bio midterm. My professor has it in for me I swear.”

“Vanessa, you’re one of the smartest people I know. You’re gonna do great just like you always do,” Hailey tells the young woman.

The brunette looks over at Hailey and grins back at her, her brown eyes shining. “You’re the best hype-woman, ya know that?”

Hailey returns the smile, but shakes her head again. “I only speak the truth.”

Vanessa waves her off, blushing at the compliment, and nods her head towards the kitchen. “You should eat. I bet you haven’t done that yet today.”

“I swear sometimes you’re more like my mother than my friend-slash-roommate-slash - “

“Just go eat, will you? I hate dealing with a hangry Hailey.”

Hailey scoffs as she stands from the chair. “I do not get hangry.”

Vanessa just hums knowingly in response, returning her attention to the book in her lap. She looks up again a moment later when Hailey calls out to her and points above them.

“I’m assuming she’s asleep,” Hailey says.

Vanessa nods her head. “You know how the early days go. They wipe her out.”

“Yeah,” Hailey says quietly with a nod of her own. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” Vanessa tells her and then she goes to leave the room.

A beat passes before she hears, “Hey Hailey?”

The blonde turns back around to face her friend, a curious look on her face.

“You can’t do this forever ya know?”

“What’s that?” Hailey asks even though she’s sure she knows what’s coming next.

“Hide her from the world,” Vanessa says simply and a look of something mirroring regret washes over Hailey’s face instantly.

“I know,” Hailey tells her. She takes a step back and lifts a hand up in a short wave. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Vanessa calls back before burying her face down into her schoolwork again.

Hailey retreats back into the kitchen and heads for the microwave, but the idea of food no longer excites her. She just wants to sleep and ignore the feeling of guilt that starts churning over again in her stomach. She blows out a deep sigh and opens the door of the microwave. She pulls out the Tupperware container waiting for her and moves it to the fridge, grabs a bottle of water for herself, and then heads up the stairs.

She stops in the hallway outside of a closed door just two doors down from her own bedroom. She opens the door carefully, being as quiet as she can be, and steps inside. There’s a nightlight on one wall casting a soft yellow glow throughout the room and a twin sized bed against the opposite wall.

She makes her way to the side of the bed and immediately feels the stress from the day begin to roll off her shoulders as she looks down at the little girl burrowed under blankets and sleeping soundly. She can’t help smiling at the sight of messy blonde curls splayed out on a pillow and the stuffed teddy clutched under a little arm.

Her mind goes back to Vanessa’s words and her earlier thoughts of her partner, how she hasn’t been as forthcoming with him as he’s been with her, and she lets out a quiet sigh. It’s been six months of keeping certain parts of herself closed off, of keeping secrets from her partner and fellow team members, and she wonders if maybe she can actually trust him – them, with the most important thing in her life, with the biggest part of her.

Hailey pushes the thoughts from her mind for the time being as she brushes a finger over the little girl’s cheek, and then leans down to press a gentle kiss to the child’s forehead.

“Mama loves you,” she whispers.

#upstead #upstead fic #hailey upton #jay halstead #chicago pd #my fic

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palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Look Upon the Light

(Chapter 8: Terrify)

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, angst, general melancholy

Word Count: 7765

“I know who you are.”

Shigaraki lifts your console up, turning it this way and that, ignoring your declaration. “The facing got knocked off,” he states, his four fingered grasp lifting it up for you to see. His eyes catch yours, the crimson ensnaring you. “I don’t think it’s going to fit back on. Lucky you, you don’t really need it to operate the machine.”

His pinky comes down against the plastic, joining the rest of his finger pads. The plating is gone in an instant, dissolving into a fine dust and drifting to the mats beneath Shigaraki’s feet.

Moving to Japan has been an absolutely terrible life choice.

Notes: Not beta edited, so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Chapter 1: Encounter || Chapter 2: Observe || Chapter 3: Hello || Chapter 4: Intoxicate || Chapter 5: Taste || Chapter 6: Teeth || Chapter 7: Polaroid ||

Terrify ter·ri·fy /ˈterəˌfī/ verb cause to feel extreme fear.

In hindsight, you should have known. It was too quiet.

The moments that stretched between Tomura’s visits narrowed and shrank. You’d come to expect him whenever you walked into your living room, your bedroom, your kitchen. He stuck to your ribs, pulled at you, wordlessly asking you to stay close. You’d wake to his warmth, his touch, the reds and whites blurring together.

Despite these moments of tranquility, he was tense. Thrumming with an energy that made you shake.

It was dangerous.

But, you’d always known that, even if you pretended that the tiger at your door was as gentle as a kitten. Something was closing in. It felt like the calm before a storm, the air pulling back and pushing forward, misting over the pliant ground.

Neither of you acknowledged it.

Like the best ghost, it only made its presence known in the chill of pre-dawn. Slipping over your sleeping bodies and seeping into your skin, slowly tarnishing, rusting out.

You wake one morning to see Tomura leaning over you. He isn’t touching and is barely breathing, his exhales coming out in little puffs of air. His eyes rake over you like coals, smoldering as they set you aflame.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice heavy with sleep. He doesn’t answer, just continues his silent introspection. There it is again, that creeping sensation that’s been nagging at you. You don’t question him further. Instead, you roll toward him, pressing your cold hands into his warmth.

Something unspoken has been drifting above the two of you for weeks. You knew that you could give it a voice. But, you were unsure if he could. You wanted to tell him about it, to make it solid by speaking it into existence, but you didn’t know how he would react to your declaration. And provoking an unknown reaction out of Tomura was never a wise move.

Did you even need it to be said when you’d already accepted it as fact? You loved him.

And, he loved you. You knew that, you’d never doubted that. His walls had come crumbling down with yours and Tomura was nothing if not passionate and possessive. He couldn’t help himself. He might disguise it as something else, tell himself that it was another thing he was entitled to, but you knew the truth. You clutched at it, keeping it safe, holding it to you so he could never tear it away. Even if he left, even if you never saw him again, you would keep that small piece of him.

You could feel that love when he came to you like this. He would soften, his voice and touches lingering, tender. He wouldn’t let you go. Insisting that you hold onto him, that you come to him. He was at his most desperate in these moments.

Running your hands along his bare legs you look back up at his face. He is leaning closer, practically bent in half as his hair trails against you.

“Come here,” you whisper, arms lifting to pull against his neck. He doesn’t resist and you tug him back to you, trying to leech some of his warmth. He lays his head against your breasts, his low breathing making you shiver. Your hands tangle in his white hair, cascading the tendrils against your palms.

His eyes finally drift closed as the sun peeks playfully against your curtains. You should get up, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him alone in the bed. Burrowing against his slackened form, you fall blissfully into sleep, content to let your whirling anxieties still.

******

It was the little things that tripped the two of you up.

He’d been careful, and you’d been protective of his presence, keeping your movements to a minimum. But, it had always been a matter of time. He wasn’t infallible and you, well, you couldn’t stop time.

At first, the extra patrols made you feel at ease, especially when you were returning to your apartment late. There was a new hero in the area and she seemed determined to make a name for herself. Although you had never run into her, the shops and local papers were chock full of her name. She had brought along two sidekicks, kids really, but between the three of them, the crime rates had steadily decreased.

Then, you remembered what Tomura had told you once, “Guess this prefecture isn’t important enough for any hero to deem it worth their while…I doubt anyone will notice a villain respawning in the vicinity.” Now, the patrols just made you jumpy and you couldn’t help but worry for him each time he stepped out your door.

Tomura became even more inscrutable as the days wore on. He was practically seething, a deep rage bubbling over him and tipping, spreading. It tainted his voice, his movements. However, he was careful to not take his brittle aggression out on you.

No, he was never rough with you, at least, unless you wanted him to be. But, that was a different sort of dynamism he would retreat into. And it was one that you welcomed. Often, it could pull him from the brink of his restlessness.

Even with the distractions, Tomura was still on edge. He’d always worn his emotions in his eyes and body language. You could map every inch of him now and that power never brought reassurance. You didn’t question his anger.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, you just knew that it was a part of him. It sat against his heart, beating in tandem with the muscle. But, it wasn’t his budding aggression that set things in motion.

Instead, something more insidious crept in.

******

A knock at your door startles you, your pen dragging against the drafting paper, an unseemly line etched across the design. Shit. You look at your phone. Although Tomura didn’t text every time he came by, he usually kept his travels to and from your apartment to odd hours, like pre-dawn, or the dead of night. According to your device, it’s just after noon. No, something isn’t right…

The knocking comes again, louder, insistent.

You stand, gulping down your shaking nerves. It could be nothing, you tell yourself as you walk to the door, your feet padding against the wood, just calm down, (Y/N).

Two men stand outside your doorway. They are wearing professional, dark suits and they look like bad fucking news.

“Miss (L/N)?” the shorter one asks, removing his hat and bowing to you.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, your heart beating tightly against your chest.

“I’m Detective Ito and this is Detective Yamashita,” he gestures briefly to the taller man, who gives you a cursory bow. “Sorry to bother you during the work day, but we have a few questions for you. Do you mind if we come in?” his voice is liquid and you distrust it immediately.

“Right now? I’m in the middle of a project, is there any way I can get a card and possibly meet with you later?” You try to make yourself stand up straight, projecting a calming lull over your tone. Come on, (Y/N), you’re not bothered by this, if anything you’ve been preparing for this. Handle them and don’t let anything slip, you have nothing to hide. Except for the villain who haunts your bed. No, don’t think that. You’ve got this...

“I’m sorry Miss (L/N),” the taller gentlemen, Detective Yamashita, presses, stepping toward you. “It can’t. This concerns some delicate information and we need to make sure we can clear you. While you’re not being accused of anything,” he amends, catching sight of your narrowed eyes, “we do need to make sure we’re covering our bases.”

“And my rights as an American citizen?” you press, holding your ground. You have a feeling it will be a null point, but it’s worth a shot.

“I’m afraid your visa doesn’t grant you any special privileges. Now, I’ll ask you again, may we come in? Or, do we need to come back with something a little more…stringent?” He lets the final word hang, a warning. Detective Yamashita is clearly playing the role of bad cop in this little interrogation, that’s not an interrogation. Yeah, right.

You pause, biting your lip, thinking. If you push back, then you might find yourself in more hot water, besides, as far as you can tell, you aren’t under arrest. That means they don’t have anything concrete, for the time being.

You bow, “I apologize gentlemen, I don’t mean to be rude, I just don’t understand what two detectives could possibly want to question me about. Please, come in.”

They seem placated by this response and follow you into your living room. You offer them a seat on your couch and bring your work stool around to sit in front of them, hands folded in your lap. Here’s hoping the demure act will work in your favor…

“It’s no problem Miss (Y/N), I know you haven’t been in Japan long. I’m sure it’s unsettling to see us. Now, before we proceed, would you please show us your U.S. passport, work visa and residence card?”

You nod, keeping your face neutral as you gather your paperwork, holding them out to Detective Ito, who takes a small flashlight to them, scanning for any forgeries. Satisfied, he hands them back, a small smile on his lips. Still doing that good cop routine, you think irritatedly, tossing the papers on your media stand.

“We’ve heard that you’ve found a boyfriend while you’ve been here,” detective Yamashita pries, crossing his legs and leaning toward you. “Where is he?”

“Not sure I’d call him that, he’s more of an acquaintance. He lives in another city,” you lie. Keep things simple and to the point, don’t supply anything you don’t mean to.

“Which one?”

“Esuha City,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the detectives.

“Your landlady said he has very distinctive features,” Detective Yamashita pauses, writing something down. Then, his eyes lift, waiting. He’s not going to let you slip past this query.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your head tilting questioningly.

“She said he had white hair.”

You tap at your chin, pretending to think. “Oh, I believe he did. He dyes it a lot.”

“What color is it now?”

“Not sure, I haven’t seen him in a while.” Well, you think snidely, that one is partially true, it had been about a few days since you’d last seen Tomura.

“A co-worker of yours, Mr. Suzuki, also mentioned something interesting about your, er, friend,” Detective Ito pipes up, and you arch an eyebrow at him, not answering, holding back.

“He said that he acted strangely when he came by. Apparently, he was very aggressive. Mr. Suzuki said he felt threatened.”

It’s really shitty luck that interaction has come back to bite you. “Oh,” you feign remembrance, “well, my co-worker, Mr. Suzuki, had decided to walk into my apartment unannounced and without knocking. Naturally, I thought he might have been a burglar. I’m sure my landlady has told you that my unit has been burglarized before?”

“She did,” Detective Yamashita replies, his eyes finally drifting away from yours. “While this might be a long shot, we would like for you to look at some pictures.” He snaps open his briefcase and pulls a collection of images out, pressing them into your hands.

You can feel them both eyeing you carefully as you shift through the images. Some of them are Tomura, some are others, and most are blurry. You lift one curiously. It’s the image of a man standing on a train platform in a dark trench coat. Squinting, you try to see the station name. You can just make out the lettering, Musutafu Station. It’s the one that is close to UA. Taking another look over the others you see the same station tiles, your heart feels like it’s floating away.

Maybe they really are just checking leads, they do seem a bit bumbling, but that could also be an act. Something that makes you drop your guard, something that could put both you and Tomura in danger.

“No, I’m sorry. Although,” you tug out one of the pictures that is not Tomura, “this one looks a little familiar. I just can’t think where I’ve seen them before…”

“That’s the League of Villain’s leader,” Detective Ito provides, and Detective Yamashita glares at him, his eyes darkening.

“Oh! God, is that who you’re looking for?” you ask, eyes wide.

“We’ve been canvassing the area, asking questions of some of the locals. A girl in downtown Tokyo thought she saw him the other day, like I said, just covering our bases.” Detective Yamashita admits, taking the pictures from you.

“But, that doesn’t explain how I ended up in your investigation. Is it because my friend had white hair? I mean, not to be rude, but that feels, vague…”

“Since Shigaraki was seen near the train, we traced other CCTV cameras in the station. We noticed that someone similar to his description was seen exiting at this station, as well as several stops in Tokyo a few months ago. Your, uh, friend, as of now, fits a similar description. We’re just checking the area for anyone who has been in contact with persons similar to Shigaraki.”

“So, no recent sightings?” You opt to ignore that last bit of information, it would make more sense for you to be worried about the bigger picture.

“It’s terrifying to think that a villain might be lurking around. After the burglary, I really considered moving to another complex. I was hoping that that new hero would turn things around.” You duck your head, trying your best to look flustered and scared. They aren’t hard emotions to reach for, given the circumstances.

“He hasn’t been seen in a while, ma’m, please, don’t worry,” Detective Ito says encouragingly, earning him another glare from Detective Yamashita.

“I just, I don’t understand something, why talk with my co-worker?” you ask, your voice low.

They're hiding something. Suzuki could have reported his minor encounter with Tomura to the police, or maybe these men approached him. It was frustrating and frightening. It’s something so small, such a tiny slip in time. You’d honestly forgotten about Suzuki’s visit, so much had happened since then. But now, thanks to Suzuki’s report, there are detectives sitting in your living room. There’s no way you can plausibly deny Tomura’s presence in your apartment. Both Suzuki and the apartment manager had seen him.

“We have reason to believe that he might have-” Detective Ito is cut off by Detective Yamashita’s throat clearing, a rasping sound that reverberates in your small apartment. You gulp, pulling yourself from your musing, your hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Ito, please. I’m sorry ma’am, we aren’t able to give that information out at this time. At present, we have no further questions for you Miss (L/N), but, before we go, do you mind if we take a quick look around?”

“Um, of course,” you smile weakly. What else could you do? The more you resisted, the more suspicious you looked. Your stomach drops as they stand and you feel like you are going to be sick.

These detectives knew about Tomura, there’s no way they didn’t. They might be checking now, but they’ll be back. And the next time they might not…

No, you can’t think about that right now. Just go along with what they want and get them out of here. You can figure out a plan of action when they’re gone.

The detectives are already pacing around the rest of the living room when you finally stand from your seat. Thankfully, this part of their investigation should be easy.

The most Tomura ever kept at your place was the two pairs of sweatpants that you’d bought him and those you can easily explain away. You’d also kept your food purchases to a minimum. Lately, he hadn’t been eating much of anything, so you’d saved on the grocery bill. Thank God for that.

Overall, your apartment looks like it just housed you.

The two detectives putter around for a few minutes, opening drawers, examining shelves and closets. They even peek in your bedroom, but Detective Ito had practically closed the door on Detective Yamashita’s nose when he poked into the dark room. The smaller detective shook his head, aghast at the very thought of entering something so feminine and private. And odd reluctance, for a man who called himself a detective.

Concluding their search, they head back to your front door and you trudge after them, feeling numb.

“Well, Miss (L/N), thank you for your time,” Detective Yamashita bows, followed closely by his compatriot. “If you hear or see anything out of the ordinary, please, don’t hesitate to give us a call. We’d also like to hear from your…friend if he drops by again.”

“Of course,” you demure, bowing back, praying that this is about to end.

“Have a pleasant day, we’ll be in touch.” Detective Ito grins and the two men make their way to the next apartment floor, their feet heavy against the carpet. Once your door is shut you fall down into the floor of your genkan, your heart pounding and hands shaking. Oh God, you have to…Wait, should you text him? You’re not using his name on your phone, but what if they’re already tracing it? Can they do that?

You pull yourself to your feet, your legs wobbly, and drag yourself back to your drafting desk, snatching up your phone. Your fingers tremble as you type in your message. You don’t know if you should put it in some kinda vague, coded wording, or if you should just toss the damn phone out the window and resort to smoke signals. Damn it.

[You: 1:13 pm]

Hey, some men came over. They were asking questions.

Well, it certainly doesn’t seem like a vague text, you think, looking over the message and hitting send. No, it looks like it’s screaming that you’re harboring Tomura Shigaraki. You move to your floor, back braced against the wall, waiting. It might be hours before he texts back. But, you didn’t want him coming over and then finding himself immediately captured by the police.

You bury your face in your hands, a low groan wracking out of your lips. Worst case, he won’t answer at all and all you’d have left of him are memories, not even realizing that they were the last interactions that the two of you would share.

The sudden vibration of your phone snaps you out of your head, and your hands shake so badly they send the device skittering across your mats. You tumble after it, lifting the screen and breathing a sigh of relief. He answered.

[Tenko: 1:23 pm]

5-2 Kusunokicho 7-chome

It’s an address. You highlight the text, hit copy, and paste it into the mapping app on your phone. It looks like it’s a tea shop. You stand, legs still trembling, and grab your purse and jacket, heading for your door. You poke your head out, into the hallway, and gather your strength. If you are going to do this, you need to look natural. Besides, if they are following you, hopefully Tomura would know what to do.

You gulp as you lock your door behind you, a morbid thought jumping into your mind. Well, here’s hoping that knowing what to do didn’t mean killing anyone.

******

The tea shop is busy. It’s raining, so that might have contributed to the bustle inside the shop. You pull the hood of your jacket higher, trying to shield your face from the freezing droplets. Tomura hadn’t texted again and you didn’t feel like it would be a good idea to ping your location on your phone.

In fact, you think belatedly, you might as well switch it off. As you power the device down, you hear a low whistle from the alleyway across the narrow street.

You turn your head slowly, the rain pattering against your face. There is a figure loitering toward the back. It isn’t distinguishable as anything other than dark. Well, fingers crossed you aren’t about to be murdered.

Splashing across the street you duck down the alleyway, thankful you’d thrown on some heavy boots for this excursion. The figure is stationary and you pause a few feet back, waiting. He lowers his hood, red eyes still focused on the street behind you. You almost run to him. You have to tense your legs to resist the temptation, your nails digging into your palms.

“Were you followed?” he rasps, watchful, his eyes flashing at you, the street, and finally, back to you. You shake your head.

You’d taken a route similar to the one you’d transversed when you came to the clinic to drop off the diagram for that prosthetic. Each time you’d switched trains or busses you had discretely studied the faces around you, looking for any repeats, anyone who might be tracking you. You’d even drifted into a few other shops before reaching this street, often ducking out a back door and taking the alleys to the next street over.

You’d been careful, you just hoped it was enough.

“This way, stay alert,” Tomura murmurs, his hands still firmly in his pockets. He leads you down another street and into a smaller back alley. He’s doing his own weaving now, taking you over some of the pathways twice, his eyes always peering over his shoulder, observant and sharp. Finally, he pauses in front of a dilapidated door and shoves his way inside.

“Come on,” he calls back to you, holding the door open, allowing some space for you to slink past him. He follows, yanking the metal closed, sealing you both inside.

You shrink back against the darkness, your eyes struggling to adjust. You can hear Tomura moving toward you, his breathing a low scratch against the silence. He stops at your side, the warmth of his body close.

Neither of you move for a time. You’re both listening. The only sounds you can make out is the rain and your own heartbeat. You close your eyes, your head thumping against the door. “God,” you whisper, your voice thick with disuse.

The sound makes Tomura shift closer, his arms pulling you to him, away from the cold metal. He presses a quick kiss against your temple and tugs you further into the room.

It looks abjectly barren.

There’s an old mattress in one corner and a smattering of trash, mostly cans and takeout containers, strewn over the greasy floorboards. It looks like it’s operating as his bedroom and the thought makes your heart squeeze. It’s fucking disgusting. No wonder he used you as a place to crash in the beginning. No human should live like this.

He flops down to sit on the mattress and pulls you after him. The two of you perch on the uneven surface and you let out a long sigh, overwhelmed. Tomura senses this and doesn’t press you. He lets you catch your breath, welcoming your leaning touch. Once you’ve shaken off your jitters, you begin.

“They were detectives. They said they saw you at a Tokyo station, so they checked CCTV and traced you to the stop by my apartment.” Tomura is silent and you gather your breath to continue.

“They talked with the landlady and they talked with that idiot coworker of mine, you know, the one who tried to come in the apartment that one night. It was vague shit, I tried my best to ask more than I talked.

One detective kept trying to get the other to stop telling me details. He finally shut down the whole thing, saying they’d be in touch and for me to give them a call if I saw anything. I…I just hope this doesn’t fuck things up for you, for-for us…I don’t...goddamn it…” You bury your face in your arms, a sob stuttering from you.

Tomura is quiet, but he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around your quaking shoulders.

******

He isn’t sure what he wants.

It’s not a sensation he experiences often and he’s finding it hard to grapple with. If he’s thinking selfishly, he would keep you with him. He’d drag you to hell and back if he could. He doesn’t want to give you up and he isn’t even sure if he can. A deep welling of possessiveness had overtaken him. You were his, just as he was yours.

It was strange to admit that.

He wanted to break everything to pieces, to decay it into nothingness, but, over the last few months, he’d come to adjust those goals. Not just with you, no, the same leniency applied to this league of his. They should have what they wanted, too.

So, he let you cry against him.

He wants to know what giving is like. To tell you that he could give you something of his. After all, he’d stripped you down to nothingness, taking and taking until you had finally lain bare and open in front of him. You’d started the process naturally, giving coming as easily to you as breathing.

He knew he didn’t want you around the league.

You were too different, too removed from that sense of desperation and fanatical idealism. And you didn’t deserve it. He doesn’t like seeing you in a place like this, dilapidated and crushed, sobbing against his chest, your warm tears soaking into his skin.

No, you deserved to be comfortable. You weren’t a fighter. You would try if he asked, he knew you would. But it wasn’t you. Besides, what did you want?

He would have to let you go. He’d known it from the first moment he’d felt your lips running across his. Still, it had come too soon. Perhaps that could be his gift to you? Letting you settle back into normality.

******

“What should I do?” You ask him, lifting your head from his chest, eyes puffy and tired. His gaze is clouded, the red murky, unfocused.

“Whatever you want,” he says, his voice hollow.

“Tomura,” you admonish, “I...I just don’t want you falling into some trap. Not because of this stupid…I don’t even know what to call it. I thought we were careful...I-I don’t know. I’m just so fucking mad.”

He smiles at your outburst, his scar lilting up. “What do you want to do?” He presses his forehead against yours, exhaling heavily, waiting for your answer.

“Move,” you reply, tipping your fingers up to trace along his jaw.

“Then move, it should be easy for you to get back to the U.S.”

You sigh, pulling your head back. “No, I don’t want to do that. I just mean, move somewhere that’s safe for-”

“The league is regrouping soon. We’ve caught wind of some…information. It’s going to take us farther out of the city. I was going to tell you tonight. I don’t know how long it will be. Could be months…” He speaks slowly, his voice lulling, soothing you, even as you take in what he’s actually saying. I’m leaving, get out while you can.

There is a long silence following his announcement, and you lean against him, burying your face against the rough fabric of his trench coat. So, just go home? Go back to the states? There has to be something that you’re not thinking of…

Tomura tilts your face up, craving contact. He runs his rough lips over yours, carefully letting his hands tap over your neck.

His kiss is light. The fleeting caress makes you press against him, your fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer. You moan when he tilts his head, sliding wetly across your lips. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth and you open, tangling with him. Tomura grunts at your eagerness and his nose bumps yours, his exhaled breath shaky, wanting.

You sigh. How were you supposed to just say ok? How could you be ok without having him like this? What if you wanted to try and remain at his side...could you ask that of him? What if…wait…wait…that’s it!

You pull back from him, gasping and he gives you a disgruntled look, a frown creasing his features. “Oh...that’s it! I know what to do!”

“Keep your voice down,” he reprimands, as you lean back to reach for your purse. You dig in the scattered contents and emerge with a small business card, a beaming smile across your face.

“Nico! He said to call him if I wanted to take him up on that job offer. He said I could draft for him. He’s at that clinic, and he said they work in a grey area, but they have some serious connections. It’s perfect. It lets me slip away, I’ve just got to be careful how I do it.”

Tomura snorts at your enthusiasm. “So, you just get a new job and all your troubles go away?”

“No, I tell my job I’m transferring back to the states and I pack up my apartment. It won’t be the cheapest thing I’ve ever done, but if I can pull it off, then it’s the perfect solution. I can find some place else to live, and slip into a new life, one where you can still come and go.”

He stares, his eyes wide in that childlike manner, the pupils blown. You smile and fling your arms around him, kissing along his neck. He grunts and presses you back, pinning your arms to your sides.

“Stop squirming,” he growls and you still obediently, not wanting to agitate him.

“Come on, don’t be like that, Tomura. It could work. At least let me try.” You plead, watching his face, trying to see if you could get a read on him.

“You actually are insane,” he sighs, rolling his eyes and turning his head to look away from your stare.

“No, I love you.”

It just tumbles out, but it’s too late to unring the bell. Besides, you stand by it.

He freezes underneath you, his head whipping back to yours. His eyes are sharp and his lips are lifted in a deep scowl. It’s an intense look he’s giving you, almost raw, dangerous. It makes your stomach flip, uncertainty pooling in your gut. You find yourself looking away and biting your lip, “I mean it, I-”

He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else.

He’s pulling you against him with bruising force, his hands trembling as they press into your skin. He can’t even seem to focus enough to land his lips on yours. He tries again, then stops himself, his face lifting away, but he won’t let you go.

His arms are wrapped around you, his grip tightening and relaxing. He tries to look at you, but ends up ducking his head once your eyes catch his, burying his face in your neck, panting against your skin. He can’t stay still. No, he’s groaning, so brokenly against you that you’re worried he’s going to shake himself to bits.

You lift your arms, belatedly, to wrap around his neck. You try to hold him to you, desperate to seep a little reassurance, fuck, a little sanity into his trembling body. Tomura shakes his head at the confinement and shoves you down, against the mattress.

You squeak as your back hits the musty sheets, but he’s pinning you under him before you can protest.

“What did you say to me?” he finally snarls, his lips curled over his teeth. “No. I know you didn’t just fucking tell me that. How could you even- How? I’m a monst- I-I...” He can’t string his words together. His head dips to your neck, his lips rough against your skin. He can’t catch his breath and he won’t keep still.

You’re gasping under him, trying to hold him. But, it’s impossible to control him. You just shut your eyes against the emotions that he’s pulling from you and let him seethe above you.

“Look at me,” he growls, his voice hoarse and ragged. You try to wince your eyes open, but you’re too overwhelmed, you just can’t, you can’t look.

Why, you think distantly, why can’t you look?

You tell him you love him and now you can’t look at him? Are you afraid of what you’ll see? Afraid of the rejection that you know is coming? It doesn’t change anything, you tell yourself, even if he tells you to get out, it doesn’t change what’s happened between the two of you. No. If this is what you want, then tell him that. He has to...he has to hear it.

“Fucking look at me, (Y/N).”

“T-Tomura,” you try, a tear of frustration, of fear, slipping down your face. “Tomura, I mean it. I lov-”

“Stop it,” he moans, his breath hot against your cheek, his lips following the path of your tear, pressing the salty wetness away. He’s straddling your hips and his hands are curled, pressing into the bed.

“Don’t you fucking dare. You don’t mean it. You can’t-”

“Stop it, Tomura. Just, stop. You think I don’t mean it? How can you say that? After everything we, no, God, how can you fucking say that I don’t love you? When I’m right here, telling you that I do? You don’t get to dictate how I feel. What gives you the right to say that I don’t?” you ask, your voice an angry whisper. You can feel him shaking, his body wracked with his shivers and the realization gives you the courage to open your eyes. Your anger melts away at the sight that greets you.

He’s hunched over, his hair draped across his face and his eyes are clenched shut. He looks like he’s ready to fall apart. One of his hands lifts to scratch at his neck, dragging red lines down the scarred skin.

As if they have a mind all their own, your own hands lift, tugging free of his weight to cup around his face. He tries to yank his way out of your grasp but you just tighten your hold. He’s not getting away that easily.

“Tomura,” you call, keeping his face captive in your hands, forcing him back to you. “Tomura, I love you.”

He sags.

His whole body seems to shrink and his eyes finally meet your steely gaze. The red is bright, wild, gleaming in the darkness. You gulp and furrow your brow, a trembling exhale falling from your lips. You have to say it now. There’s no going back. The world is shattering, splintering to pieces above you, but he has to know. Before you lose him, he’s gotta at least know that one thing in this world that he hates so much, cares about him. Fuck, loves him.

“Sure,” you begin, still gripping your fingertips into the side of his head, slowly slipping up to tug at his hair. “I’m insane. I’ve fallen in love with someone who wants absolutely nothing to do with what I can offer.

It’s not going to work Tomura, I know it’s not. But, goddamn it, at least let me try. I know I don’t get to keep you, I don’t even know what you’re fucking planning to do. You could want to burn down the world for all I care. I just...I just want to hold on a little longer.”

He’s slack jawed and his eyes are wide and unfocused. He’s still panting but he’s not fighting against your hold anymore. Finally, he closes his eyes and lowers his head, his forehead coming to rest against yours.

“Say it again,” he requests, his voice muted, thick with longing.

“What? The whole thing?”

He lets out a wheezing laugh and you slowly start to breathe again.

“You know what I want,” he murmurs. You lift his head from you, tilting until you catch his eyes.

“I love you, Tomura.” A low shudder echoes up his spine and his eyes drift closed again.

“Fuck,” he rumbles, tugging his head from your hands. He doesn’t go far. Instead, he flops to his side and drags you over, draping you across him, his arms latching around you, keeping you in place.

You sigh, relieved, dipping your head against him, feeling for his heartbeat. You’re both quiet and the room stills around you. Your fingers are tracing lazy circles over his crossed arms, careful to avoid his clenched fists. He presses his nose against your hair, inhaling deeply.

“Stay,” he says above you, his breath stirring across the top of your head.

You smile against his chest and duck into his warmth. His grip on you tightens, lean muscles coiling, holding you to him. You can feel his lips as they run along the top of your head, tapping soft kisses into your hair.

Ok, so it’s not the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard, but you wouldn’t have wanted him any other way.

******

Your new apartment is nothing to sneeze at. Nico hadn’t been joking about that pay raise. He also was so much more than you were expecting. Not in a bad way, just in a, hey, I know some shit just went down, are you ok, kinda way. He didn’t pry, but he’d gone out of his way all the same.

The rest of the team at the clinic has also been absolutely stellar at helping you to get set up. Need something moved? On it! It’s like a big family and you can’t wipe the smile off your face most days.

As for your old job, they had been disappointed, but they understood why you wanted to get back to America. However, the American side of that job hadn't been so thrilled at your resignation, but you had received a glowing review from your old boss stateside. You liked to pull it up on your new laptop, reading over the words of encouragement and shaking your head at just how seriously you’d taken her advice.

Your Japanese work buddies were heartbroken, Hanabi most of all. But, you promised to keep in touch. You hadn’t quite figured out how you were going to do that, but that was a problem for another day.

All in all, things were going to plan. You had asked Nico for a little bit of extra help with the paperwork, explaining some of the details to him, and he had been quick to get you set up with a new passport, visa and residency card. It was like the old you was just a blip. You’d just need to keep your head down for a while, check the news, and see where all the extra precautions took you. It wouldn’t be easy, but what part of life was?

Tomura had stopped by after you finished setting up your new tv and console. Appropriately, he’d said he wanted to try it out and had then proceeded to ignore you while you set up the rest of the room. You didn’t mind.

The two of you were trying to make the most of the next couple of days. That lead he’d mentioned was somewhere on the outskirts of Tokyo and he wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. He’d reminded you of that fact, over and over, until you’d finally told him to shut up and let you enjoy the time that you did have with him.

“Hey,” you call, unboxing the last of your new dishes, “got you something.” He tilts his head toward you, eyes still glued to his game. Rolling your eyes at his inattention, you wander over, leaning over your new couch to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Pause it,” you demand, dropping a kiss against his temple. He grumbles, but you persist, nibbling on the shell of his ear when he tries to prolong his session.

“What?” He lifts his head up to look at you, his hair falling back against your arms.

“I want to give you something,” you reply, pressing your lips to his forehead before unwinding your arms and stepping around the couch. He eyes you suspiciously as you perch on your coffee table. You lift a key up, wagging it beside your face.

“It’s a key,” you taunt. He smirks and snatches it from you, pocketing it and tugging you forward.

His kiss is soft, so achingly soft that you melt into his arms immediately, flopping against his lean chest.

“Stop being so dramatic,” he grumbles, shifting you to a more comfortable position across his lap. Your legs straddle his hips and he holds you against him, his fingers warm against your hips.

“Can’t say I never got you anything,” you tease, leaning back and grinning down at him.

“Same,” he huffs, reaching into his pocket again and tossing a small phone at you. You fumble to catch it. He snorts at your scrambling and you pout.

“It’s not like you’re throwing it at a normal angle or anything.”

It’s small in your hands, almost obsolete in this modern age. You flip it open and already see a contact programmed in: Tenko Shimura.

“So you don’t bring any more cops around. It also can’t be traced.” His voice is hushed, almost embarrassed. It makes your heart flutter.

“Awe, a burner phone. I’ll cherish it always,” you jab and tilt his chin up, so you can keep kissing him.

******

A low vibrating wakes you. Blearily, you check your phone, only to be greeted with a normal screen, no missed messages or emails. Huh? The vibrating continues and you suddenly realize what it is. Flinging your feet out of bed, you rush to your charger, unhooking the old phone Tomura gave you.

[Tenko: 2:23 am]

Out of the city. Found a new friend.

There’s a picture underneath the words and you click the buttons until it lets you highlight and bring up the image.

It looks like he’s in a forest and you’re shocked he has a signal. But…what the hell is that?

There’s something nestled between all the greenery and it looks ominously like a man. If it’s real, it’s practically a giant, no, actually hulking would be a better word…

It’s practically a living, hulking mountain. Unsure if your sleepy brain is playing tricks on you, you exit the image, deciding that 2 am is not the time to unpack this particular phenomenon.

[You: 2:35 am]

Looks, uh, interesting? Be safe & Love you.

- Fin

Author’s Note:

Ugh, this was such a bittersweet chapter for me. I wrote this fic in its entirety back in the last few weeks of August. I had time before my classes started again and I leapt at the opportunity. In many ways, I identified more and more with the reader insert as I tried to pour out my ideas. I wanted to hold onto this tiny story that I’d outlined, to see if I could make something like this work after such a long break from writing on this scale.

So, out came Look Upon the Light.

It was like a fever dream. I couldn’t stop now that I’d started. After I reached the 8th, and final, chapter, I spent the next two months pouring over what I’d written, editing endlessly. I wanted to make things feel just right.

I went from this bombastic climax to something more subdued. Why not let it be an anticlimactic ending? Life often works that way and sometimes things just, well, end.

Tomura, in particular, has changed so much over the course of this journey.

There were days when I felt like he sounded terrible, nothing like the complex character that I loved so much. But, with my sister's wonderful edits and suggestions, main ideas & patience and countless read-reads of the manga, I got a handle on him and I am so proud of how he’s come out.

Canonically, I feel like this gap in the main story is the only time something like this romance could happen to him. Tomura is in a fragile place. For the first time in his life there’s no one looking over his shoulder and he’s become a character who is worlds away from where he started.

His goals are finally solidifying and he acknowledges that the members of his league deserve to have what they want too. Inside, no matter what has been stripped from him, he’s always been Tenko Shimura: that little boy who wanted to play with the outliers, to make sure that he was letting them feel included too. I indulgently like to think that if someone like the reader existed, their relationship might help him to come to terms with this part of himself.

Finally, this wouldn’t have been possible without you, dear readers. I have cherished each and every kudo, comment, subscription, like, and reblog. I was so scared to put this out. There are so, so many talented writers for this fandom and I was nervous. It had been so long since I’d written anything on this scale, would it sound ok? You all have been so supportive and welcoming and I love you so much. The response I received from posting this let me feel confident enough to explore some of my other favorite characters.

So, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I mean it when I say that you all are amazing and I wish each of you so much joy.

While this won’t be the last time I write for Tomura, there are other facets of his personality that I want to explore, I will wait a bit to do any updates to this story. I want things to catch up and settle within the manga itself before I toss the reader back into Tomura’s life. I do hope that they can come together again, as I have become their biggest fan.

In the meantime, The Gap in the Door will explore some of their other interactions. Some take place around the time of the chapter Polaroid, but some will look into other parts of the story. If you have a prompt, or want to see another glimpse into anything that happened, let me know. These two are so much fun to write and I enjoy head cannoning how they could fit together.

In short, thank you again for all you’ve done for me and take care of yourselves.

Tags: @inumorph, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @possum-person, @akutaguagua

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muchtohope · 4 years ago

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ON THE NOTE of self preservation, can we PLEASE talk about the devil’s foot episode, I have like. a handful of thoughts, first and foremost being that sherlock holmes absolutely Did Not need to run that experiment on the root powder. that was COMPLETELY unnecessary, it was, in fact, purely extracurricular, and that is what I’m trying to talk about here.

obviously the inclusion of holmes quitting coke in this episode is unique to granada and didn’t happen in the book, but I’m obsessed with that choice as it runs parallel to the events of the story, like there really could not be a better episode to have him do that.

so here we have sherlock holmes finally in a place where he’s willing to look directly at the consequences of his addiction, the fact that it is an addiction, the fact that he’s a human person with a body that can and will deteriorate regardless of how smart he is, and most impactfully maybe, the fact that he’s been stressing watson the fuck out for something just short of two decades at this point. so he quits, absolutely cold turkey, and the ensuing days are basically just watson seeing him through his withdrawals.

enter The Case, which will always find them, because vacations are literally impossible when you’re sherlock holmes, you are an unsolved crime magnet. long story short, our perpetrator poisoned his family by burning a toxic root powder in the fireplace. by the time holmes figures this out, the official cops have arrived and they ask him to leave. he gives his client a tip to pass on to them about the powder, snags a sample of it for himself and dips.

AT THIS POINT, he ALREADY KNOWS that’s what killed them. HE KNOWS. he knows. I’m screaming. this man is at least several days clean, neck deep in withdrawals, looking for some sort of fucking substitute, and that is A HUNDRED PERCENT all this is. this is sherlock holmes placing all of his stock in being too smart to get hurt, dragging watson along with him because somehow he still fails to recognize that his man is LITERALLY ride or die. there is really practically nothing to be gained as far as the case goes by experimenting on himself to understand the effects of the root. like PLEASE SIR you already know the effects, there are two bodies and two near-vegetables to show for it.

and like watson absolutely knows what the root is, he has the same information holmes does and it doesn’t take a genius to put together that this substance holmes took from the crime scene is what killed two people. the fact that watson agrees to stay is because he KNOWS if he leaves that there’s an extremely high likelihood holmes will die. he should be pissed as hell at holmes for it, I’m losing my mind that in the book watson just happily forgives him. I’m super glad that they at least gave him some chiding remarks in the granada episode, like it doesn’t make sense to not have SOMETHING to say about it because that sure was a choice holmes made.

also maybe worth mentioning on that note that in the book, we see watson’s hallucinations instead of holmes’s, which are about what you would expect, AND THEN we see watson literally strong-arming his way through it!! when he realizes holmes is in a bad way, because the protection instinct overrides EVERYTHING.

anyway the point is that none of that needed to happen AT ALL and imo it’s absolutely a byproduct of quitting coke. I love this entire episode as sort of a lesson on mortality for holmes now that he’s a bit older (because clearly almost being tossed into a waterfall didn’t do the job) and also HOPEFULLY a lesson in not abusing watson’s loyalty, which like, the fact that he needed a lesson on that at all is probably a little indicative of the mental low he’s at here.

WOW that’s a long post THAT’S IT THOUGH that’s the gist of it hope everyone is having a great night 👌

#granada holmes #devil's foot #long post #SORRY #I have feelings they have to go somewhere

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brinconvenient · 4 years ago

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Green Egg and Fam

You know what? I'm just gonna go ahead and do this...

So a few years back, I was talking to another trans woman who is very familiar with the DC Universe and we were trying to figure out who is Actually An Egg, and after a few suggestions back and forth, I galaxy-brained the answer. She heartily agreed and we talked about it a bit: 1. Artsy 2. Serial Monogamist who is a Relationship Disaster (Big "Do I want to Be With Her, or Be Her?" energy) 3. Becomes best friends with every ex-girlfriend 4. Noted Respecter of Women in Very Terrible and Awkward Ways 5. Chronically allergic to self-reflection and introspection, but also addicted to it in much the same way lactose intolerant people talk about how they can't give up cheese. 6. Just a complete and Utter Messy Agent of Chaos. 7. All too willing to adopt Other People's Expectations and internalize them as a Sacred Duty. 8. Just constantly Marked By Tragedy - both external and self-created.

It's Kyle Rayner, kids.

Torchbearer,

Honor Lantern,

Erstwhile Ion/avatar of the power of will

Kyle "I will be the Last of the Green Lanterns and yet keep trying to ressurect this entire Corps of Space Cops that I didn't even know existed until some Blue Dude showed up to give me jewelry and I guess marry me into the Corps? Because I guess that's just my job now and that will become my whole personality" Rayner.

After the conversation, this - the only fanfic I have literally ever written popped out of my head fully formed. It's intended to really be Chapter 1 of Several which are basically conversations between Kyle and one Ex-Girlfriend per chapter as Kyle finally accepts herself and transitions.

Eventually she reveals that the name "Ion" comes from her real name "ImOgeN" because she read Nevada and Was Impacted and she's just that extra.

But, honestly, despite getting started on the Alex chapter ages ago, I never have drawn the energy to go back and finish and/or write more, so I'm just gonna share the first chapter of what I am calling:

"Green Egg and Fam"

Putting the actual content behind the Read More because I've already rambled too long.

“It’s just exhausting, you know? Every few years it seems like I have to pick up the pieces of my life, my memory, my self and figure out who the hell I am! Every time I get a handle on things, someone or something comes along and shakes up the snow globe,y’know? I’ve tried to talk to Diana about it and, like, she’s compassionate and cares and offers sympathy, but most of the time, my whole relationship with her is just one more flake in the globe and I never know who we’re going to be to each other. Somehow, though, you’re always my favorite ex-boyfriend. It’s weird, right?”

Kyle patted Donna’s arm reassuringly. He glanced from Donna’s face to the view over Lake Michigan. There was no more beautiful view of the lakeshore than the roof of the John Hancock Building. He could just about make out the lights of the small shore towns across the lake in Michigan, and he could see the industrial Indiana towns along the round tip of the lake.

“I’m not positive I like that descriptor of our relationship, but I am happy to be some kind of constant for you,” he said with a rueful smile. “Donna, you are one of my dearest friends and I always want to be here for you. I know you didn’t need my help with Dr. Psycho here, but I’m glad I was Earthside to help you out anyway.”

They’d taken the diminutive psychic menace to the Chicago Special Crimes Unit, who had training and facilities for telepaths and telekinetics. They found this perch when Donna said she just needed a little bit to settle down before heading back to the Titans Tower in New York.

“No, I had him just about handled - a Lasso of Persuasion is pretty useful, after all - but I’m glad you swung through, all the same,” Donna said. “I’m glad to have a friend here. Psycho was really messing with my head this time. He kept dredging through my memory, pulling out bits and pieces of lives lived and people lost. He made me relive the loss of Terry and Robert and Jenny, over and over, replayed the tortures of Dark Angel, dragged me through that whole mess with the Titans of Myth, and I’m actually not sure which of any of those actually happened in this reality anymore.”

Donna’s breath was getting ragged and tears were falling down her face, twinkling in the moonlight.

“You told me about Terry and the kids when we were dating, so since I still remember them, they must still have existed and they still loved you and you still got to love them. I’m a little fuzzy on the Titans of Myth, so I can’t be sure about that stuff. But you’re here now and that’s what’s important right now. Just take a sec to enjoy this moment, this view, this night and see how you feel, ok?” he said.

They sat in the quiet, next to each other, watching the waves reflect and distort the moonbeams. Donna’s breathing calmed down and she straightened her back, half a head taller than Kyle even while sitting.

“Thank you, Kyle. I’ll be ok now, I think. I appreciate you listening. You have a good heart. If you’d only learn to actually fight without that ring, you’d make a pretty decent Amazon. Well … if you weren’t a man, of course.”

Kyle coughed and thanked the stars that Donna couldn’t see him blush. Suddenly Kyle felt like there was lava beneath his skin and he couldn’t sit comfortably.

He didn’t want Donna to catch on, so he stifled his squirming and whipped up a quick construct of a miniature green Kyle in an Amazonian uniform, breastplate, Spartan skirt and calf boots. For added effect he made sure to widen his shoulders and used Hal Jordan as a reference for a jaw far more square than Kyle’s real life chin.

“I’m not sure I can pull off the uniform. Guess I’ll stick with green and black for now. Ha!” he said. He hoped it didn't sound as forced as it felt.

“Oh I don’t know. You’ve got great legs, Kyle! Maybe you should start wearing shorts when in uniform. Besides, you had those over-the-knee boots for the longest time. I think you’d be just fine!” Donna said, laughing.

“Give me a hug, Dick just texted me to meet him in Blüdhaven. Take care and fly safe back to Oa!” she said.

After a quick, warm embrace, she turned eastward and flew off over the lake. Kyle watched her fly out of sight. He looked down and saw little Amazon Kyle, slowly spinning in the air. He drew the construct up to eye level and returned the shoulders and jaw back to his more slender and softer reality. It didn’t look that bad actually.

He’d been trying to make Donna smile, and deflect from … something before, so he exaggerated those features to highlight the incongruence, but he didn’t hate this more realistic image.

He continue to finesse the construct’s features. Like most artists, he never really considered a piece finished, he just stopped working on it. He smoothed the musculature, narrowed the shoulders a little further, pulled the hips out just a bit more, and left the waist alone. The ersatz Kyle’s face got softer still, the brow less pronounced, the nose narrower, the chin just a bit more rounded. He watched the chest muscles soften and breasts form to fill out the breastplate better.

Finally, he lengthened the construct’s hair to shoulder length, adding some wave and curls like Donna’s somehow-always-perfect hair.

And there she was. The woman who’d been haunting Kyle’s dreams as long as he could remember. Slowly spinning in the air was a woman who could easily have been Kyle’s sister, wearing Amazonian garb (or at least what he remembered from seeing Donna’s while they were dating so many years ago).

He didn’t know how much time had passed since he started fiddling with the image, and he didn’t know how long he’d spent staring at the final form. Sister. Yeah, right.

With an angry wave he flashed his hand through the construct, dissolving and dispersing the light particles that he’d given form. He hastily looked around the roof to make sure no one had seen him or, specifically, seen the construct. The burning sensation of shame returned instantly and he immediately flew into the sky until the buildings looked like so many light-speckled building blocks.

He took himself through a calming exercise he learned from Kilowog to help him center himself and sling his ring “like he wasn’t a complete Poozer and deserved to wear it.” Kilowog had no appreciation for just how hard it was for other people to feel calm when he was around. Still, Kyle found it helped when the pink giant wasn’t breathing down his neck.

“My will is strong enough to carry the torch for the entire Green Lantern Corps, I can stop these feelings. I can make all of these thoughts go away. I can stop this. I’ve got too much responsibility to keep indulging this … this nonsense” he thought, trying to ignore the sting of the tears fighting their way free to fall down his face, ignore the pain in his heart.

“I don’t want to lose my friends - what would Donna say? Would she think I was a pervert, or making fun of her somehow? I definitely don’t want to lose Hal’s and the guys’ respect. I don’t want to lose my whole life just because I’m some kind of freak. Get it together, Rayner. No one else is feeling sorry for themselves because they don’t fit in.”

He pulled a hand down his face and pointed his right fist with it’s gaudy, shining green ring on the middle finger toward the Milky Way and flew into space. He hoped the cold solitude of the transluminal conduits would help him regain his composure before he faced Guy, Hal, John and Kilowog for the Honor Lantern meeting. For the millionth time, he wished he could just be more like them, have just a sliver of their easy and effortless masculinity. They made it look so simple.

“Bet they don’t spend half their life trying to figure out what is wrong with them,” he thought. He tried so hard not to envy them, but it was really hard sometimes.

Especially nights like tonight where his resolve had failed him yet again and he gave in to his most hidden thoughts. He entered the transluminal conduit between Saturn and Jupiter and closed his eyes.

He traveled faster than light, but it still took time to reach Oa, so he tried to sleep and hoped that his dreams wouldn’t betray him again.

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mediocre--writing · 4 years ago

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Favorite Crime

S- I was your willing accomplice, honey

Bad news. Bad news, bad news, bad news.

Nobody had a single good word to his name, besides a praise for his party facade or his skills in bed.

But there's always a deeper story behind a headline, or that's what Nancy had always told him. That this unflattering headline covered a hurt, poor person who was, more than likely, being villainized for a story. That's what happened with Jonathan, right?

Bad guy has a shitty family life and it turns out he's not the villain at all, just different in a way people don't yet understand.

But how can someone so cruel and crude have a deeper story than just being a jackass?

Turns out, it's always more complicated than calculus homework Steve still doesn't understand.

A short word from Max itched a scratch inside Steve's head that had been bothering him since the first day. The way he sauntered, never just walked, nor did he ever cower, the way he always looked so fine, so perfect, so okay.

Just like Steve does, he guesses. The focus on his hair and his clothing and how he's perceived, it doesn't matter to him how he looks, he just wants people off his back.

So, it's not surprising that it was an uphill journey, more like a completely vertical wall standing between them, but they somehow made it to the top, made it together.

Somehow, despite the fights and denials, despite the reluctance and the running, it was rough, and it seemed like gravity was strongest at the top, trying to pull them down the closer they got together. They're standing at the top, this once unattainable point that seemed like the top of the world where the sun shined brightest on them and only them. Nobody else.

Except there's always someone else, isn't there?

It's not always someone falling in love with someone else or falling out of love with the one they were destined to be with, sometimes there's pressures you can't fight on your own, sometimes they're even too strong to fight with someone else. Sometimes you can't defeat your enemy like the knight slays the dragon. Sometimes you don't live happily ever after with the princess and she just stays locked in her tower until someone can actually save her.

B- Doe-eyed as you buried me

The eyes, the lashes, the soft glances in the hallway and the sweet smiles shared during practice. They all pile up over time, creating this deep, strong warmth that keeps your body warm. The warmth that you don't notice until you're separated from it for a second too long.

The fire ignited in a once ice cold heart that gives meaning and light to a corrupted soul begging for help.

Those big, brown eyes that were once referred to as "ugly cow eyes," a statement that Billy couldn't disagree with more. Because even if they were cow eyes, they were sweet, beautiful, innocent eyes that were so willing to love.

Eyes that opened his own, opened his eyes to a bright, new future he didn't even know existed before.

It was smothering, the feeling, which he hadn't felt in almost ten years now, one he didn't realize he'd forgotten what that love felt like, what being cared for felt like.

He fell into love like a poor, unexpecting animal would fall into a hunter's trap.

It was like he knew it was happening, he noticed he was falling and tried to grab onto the sides of the trap, try to claw his way out, but he inevitably fell to the bottom, laying on his back, but he noticed that this trap wasn't so bad. He could still feel the sunlight on his cheeks and there was someone there, laying next to him who offered great comfort as they waited for the predator to kill them both.

But it felt safer when there was dirt being put on top of him to keep the burning heart warm, it was like the predator wouldn't be able to spot them if they hid for long enough under this false hope, because they were still stuck in the bottom of the trap and they were only digging themselves deeper.

S- And now, every time a siren sounds, I wonder if you're around

Steve's favorite color was always purple. He liked the harshness of red and the calm of blue and purple always seemed to fit the blend. It was a strong color, something he'd associated with his best days and reminded him of this innocence he loved.

He doesn't love purple so much anymore.

The neon signs above shops and restaurants, composed of this beautiful red and dashing blue turned the dark mall into a bright purple.

The fireworks bouncing off the walls and their faces glowed in bright yellows and greens and blues and reds and purples.

And that purple hue covered everything that night. Not a single light was burning brighter than that purple color.

The red blood gushing down his chest wasn't beautiful and the sight of his dashing blue eyes closing was more horrifying than any sight he'd ever been forced to watch.

He hated purple. He hated the mix of blue and red and he hated the beautiful purple color that highlighted his face while he struggled to breathe, while he searched for Steve’s eyes and reached out for his hand before he just--stopped.

And the sirens, God, the sirens.

They were loud and blaring and the god damn red flashing lights were mixing with the blue lights from cop cars and Steve was so fucking sick of seeing those colors everywhere. So fucking sick of that loud blaring noise, but that also could have been a result of the concussion and blood loss he’d experienced within the past 48-ish hours.

And, he gets it, that sometimes people just don’t get lucky enough to make it.

But it’s been close to three months and every time a cop car or ambulance passes him, he just wants to sprint after it, like he wanted to that night, just to see him one more time before the inevitable ends it for good.

The inevitable, isn’t it always funny that you can stop it? Or--could have stopped it. There’s always a solution that could have prevented this “unpreventable” event, yet people pretend it isn’t so. That people die because it’s “meant to be” and not a tragic fate that no good person deserves.

The inevitable, isn’t so inevitable, turns out, on a day in November when Max admits a hidden truth.

And they meet again, but it feels the same. They missed each other unlike any person they hadn’t seen. They just sit for hours, barely talking but just holding hands, squished on this tiny hospital bed where a, supposedly dead, teenager and his boyfriend sit and silently cry.

And as they hear an ambulance pull up outside of the hospital, Steve doesn’t tense like he has been for the past months, he just squeezes Billy’s hand tighter and feels his breathing from where they’re touching.

B- But I say that I hate you with a smile on my face

The camaro, the doctors warned him that he may not like driving it, some form of PTSD from the night and the accidents that had occured, but Billy felt more released from his problems as he drove the car than when he had to sit in a hospital room or talk with his step sister and the nerd herd about...well, anything.

And the sunrise, how beautiful sunrises were above treelines as you release your problems with a loud rev of an engine.

He’d done his morning like he always would, made coffee when he woke up, got dressed, poured an extra cup for Steve, kissed him on the forehead when he left it on the nightstand, then lounged around the living room for a while.

Except today was different.

Billy wasn’t getting up at 6am, he was getting up at 5.

And he didn’t get dressed and lounge around, he got dressed and loaded his favorite things into his car.

But he was making the cup of coffee for Steve to wake up to when he got up at 7, it just probably wouldn’t be as hot as it usually was.

There’s a new step, but just for this day. He rips off a piece of paper from the notepad that they left by the phone.

He rips off the corner, enough to fold in half so it sits upright on the nightstand.

He draws a sloppy heart, one Steve always said just looked like a fat ‘X’, and signs a little ‘B’ in his “fancy prince handwriting” as Steve always called it.

He set the paper next to the cup of coffee, pulled up the sheets on his side of the bed, pushed Steve’s messy bed head back and left a soft peck on his forehead, then one on the tip of his nose. Steve’s pink, chapped lips moved into a soft, dopey smile as Billy pulled the blankets over his chest more, it was starting to get cold with October approaching.

The camaro roared under him as he started it up and pulled out of the driveway, working his way West, all the way to California: somewhere where his abusive dad wasn’t around and neither was the pressure to hide himself.

He hid everything, his sexualities, a majority of his home problems, his mental issues, how he’d see things, things that weren’t there and never had been. He’d continue wearing himself thin trying to keep up this facade, it was like he’d pushed himself down so far he forgot what he was supposed to like, what he used to hate.

For the best. This was better because he didn’t feel like Billy, he felt like different versions of some other person who was acting the role of Billy. Felt like his personalities didn’t match from person to person, lost the cathartic feeling of exposing all his thoughts to Steve, it made him feel guilty.

And Steve didn’t deserve that. Never did.

Billy was never good for him. He split everything up. Split up his own parents' marriage, he was the cause of most of their fights, and he ruined any and every relationship he’d ever been in, even the ones with Max or other people his age that he could have been a real friend to.

He still thinks about Steve, often. Thinks about him with a fond smile but hates how he was around him. Hated that feeling of hiding who he really was any time he was with this person who was supposed to be the best thing for him.

Hated the way Steve made him feel the need to pull at the reins to stop but made him want to go faster, faster, faster.

Hated Steve. Hated the way he loved him, but he just couldn’t force himself to be that happy.

Well, I hope I was your favorite crime...'Cause baby, you were mine.

#lots of symbolism and stuff and lots of confusing spelling mistakes but im kinda proud of it #also it switches perspectives between the lyrics #stranger things #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #mediocre—writing #mw harringrove #billy x steve

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