x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

The Neighbour Down The Hall

Chapter 13

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You finally see what's behind Bucky's glove

Word count: 2.4k

AO3

As soon as you knew Anna was awake, you texted to tell her your plan had been successful. You got Justin out. You could practically feel her relief through the screen. She wanted to see you after work but you told her you had plans. After forcing you to reveal with whom, she sent many excited emojis before putting her sensible hat on and warning you not to rebound.

You insisted it wasn’t that, he was just looking out for you, especially as he had been around when you kicked Justin out.

Anna didn’t reply after that, her job meant she couldn’t check her phone often, which also meant it was almost time to call in sick to yours. You could count on one hand how many times you'd done that since working your current job. And you felt guilty for each one, including this.

The tea Bucky made had calmed your nerves slightly, so once the phone call was out of the way, you managed to get a few hours sleep on your sofa. When you woke disorientated to find the sun higher in the sky than expected, what happened came crashing down around you again.

You started to cry into the cushion of the sofa. Then it turned into wailing. 

How had your relationship ended like this? How had Justin turned out like this?

It’s all so fucked.

When you could no longer breathe from all the snot, you sat up and forced yourself to calm down to clear your sinuses. But checking your phone to see a text from the man in question set you right off again.

“I’m at my parents and I want my stuff back.”

Through blurry eyes you typed back. “I’ll get round to it.”

He replied immediately. “Today, Jess.”

You started to feel panicky, then reminded yourself of Bucky’s promise. But what if Justin came back when Bucky wasn’t around?

“I need to pack it up,” you typed back. 

“How long will it take?”

“As long as I need. Unless you want to come and get it yourself?” you taunted.

After a solid minute, he typed back. “Fine, I’ll wait.”

A tiny relieved laugh escaped your lips, then you felt resigned to the fact you actually did have to sort out all of his belongings. You groaned as you glanced around the room. The knickknacks, the photos, the memorabilia.

You’d never had to do this before. How would you even decide whose was whose? Would it even be that bad to let Justin back into the apartment to get his stuff? Justin wouldn’t actually hurt you though, right?

You shook your head, it didn’t really matter anyway. It would be easier doing it yourself. You checked the time again, you had four hours. Bucky had said to rest, he even said ‘shopping’. He just didn’t specify where.

You blew your nose again then got ready and dressed into something comfortably decent to wear outside. Ten minutes later you were walking down the stairs. It was weird to be out and about before 5 pm on a Tuesday afternoon. It felt naughty in that sort of truant kind of way. Especially when the bus journey to your nearest B&Q was filled with high school children.

Once safely in the store and away from their annoying antics, you bee lined to the relevant aisle and grabbed as many un-assembled moving boxes you could fit under your armpit, along with a roll of duct tape. You had to circle back when you remembered you should get bubble wrap too. You must have looked ridiculous struggling to carry the items to the checkout. You decided the staff seemed to be getting younger and younger as you awkwardly placed each item down. The checkout boy barely said a word as he scanned everything. You almost gawped when he told you the total however, but being polite, you paid it with a fake smile on your face and thanked him.

“Fifty quid,” you muttered to yourself as you left the shop. “Fifty bloody quid for some bloody boxes. I swear to god this economy’s in shambles.”

You grumbled and made your way straight home, which, laden with a large bag, was difficult on the now crowded rush hour bus. You apologised profusely every time the bag blocked someone’s way or they knocked into it walking past. But two stops before yours, you felt something worse than embarrassment. 

A man who looked just like Justin walked past from the seats behind, and off the bus. Your muscles tensed, your breath hitched, your stomach churned.

This was genuine fear.

But why were you scared? It wasn’t him, but even if it was, why were you scared?

Justin hadn’t done anything to make you scared. Yes he’d grabbed you, yes he'd dragged you, but that was it. You were ready to throw punches in that instant if it came down to it, you weren’t scared during the moment.

So why, if for a split second you thought you saw Justin, were you scared? 

You shook your head and tried to forget about the feeling, focusing on the lovely scenery outside. The lovely overflowing litter bins, the atmospheric flickering lampposts, the tastefully graffitied wheelie bins haphazardly stood in the middle of the pavement. 

You rolled your eyes. Lovely.

You stared at the pole in the middle of the bus until your stop was finally up, then lugged your bag back up to the apartment.

You had two hours until dinner. You spent twenty minutes crying again as you lamented what you’d lost. Then you buried that feeling down and spent an hour making boxes and packing Justin’s shit. You didn’t understand how such few items could fit into what appeared to be such a large box. You’d filled three by the time you absolutely had to start to get ready.

Then you regretted not giving yourself more time to actually decide on what to bloody wear.

It was just dinner, right? Dinner at a friend’s- neighbours- acquaintances? Fuck it, dinner at Bucky’s apartment.

A frantic half hour later and a few panicked texts to Anna seeking reassurance you looked okay, you knocked on his door. When he opened it he looked you up and down at the same time you did the same to him. Yep, you were overdressed. Whilst he was wearing dark jeans, a black jumper and those same damn gloves, you were wearing a long form fitting grey knitted dress coupled with heeled brown boots, and gold jewelry, and the neatest makeup you’ve done in weeks. Whilst he looked casual, with an increasingly amused expression on his face, you realised you were showing off your figure far too much and definitely felt the rising worry on your own face.

“Now I feel underdressed.”

“I feel over.”

He snorted, and stepped aside to let you in. 

You could change. Your wardrobe was less than fifty feet away.

“You look good, though,” he commented as you stepped further in.

You don’t need to change. “Thanks,” you said as the smell of- “What are you cooking?”

“Shnitzel.” 

“It smells heavenly.”

He smiled at your compliment. “Can I get you a drink?” 

“Water’s good.”

Bucky nodded, then walked into his kitchen. You decided to follow. He had already filled a glass with water as you stepped into the room, then handed it to you.

“Dinner won’t be long,” he commented, turning his attention to the stove. It was nice watching him cook. He looked good. It was nice having someone do the cooking and not make jabs about how he’s only doing it because you’re rubbish at cooking that dish yourself. It was nice watching someone who wasn’t slowly becoming a potat- He caught you staring. 

You cleared your throat uncomfortably, looking away whilst he put the schnitzel onto a paper towel lined plate. “How was work?” you asked innocently. 

“Fine,” he replied. You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. 

“Just fine?” 

“Yeah just fine,” he replied as served up the schnitzel. You didn’t push, you watched as he plated the meat along with a side of green beans and fries. Then he picked up both plates. “Grab some cutlery,” he instructed, nodding towards the draws as he walked towards his dining table, swiping a bottle of beer from the counter as he went by.

Wow. There were literally just two sets in his draw.

“I take it you don’t have dinner parties,” you commented dryly as you sat down.

He shot you a look as you handed him a knife and fork. Neither of you said anything until you moaned obscenely loudly at the first bite of schnitzel.

“That tastes so good,” you complimented. “Where’d you learn to cook that?”

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Picked it up in Germany.”

“That’s cool, I’ve been there a couple of times. Which part did you visit?”

“Just here and there,” he said vaguely, digging into his fries.

“What, like, interrailing or?”

“No, I was deployed there for a time.”

Deployed?

“For… what?” you asked, a green bean dangling from your raised fork.

He didn’t reply.

“Come on, you can’t leave me hanging like that.”

A few seconds later, once he’d finished his own bite of green beans, he answered. “I was in the army for a time.”

“You’re ex military? I had no idea,” you murmured. Bucky took a long gulp from his beer bottle. “So should I be calling you Officer Bucky?”

A slightly exasperated sigh escaped his lips. “I was Sergeant. Sergeant Barnes.”

“Wait, Buchanan’s not your actual last name?”

He shook his head, stabbing into his schnitzel particularly forcefully. The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a moment as you digested that piece of information, storing it away for Google later. But before you could ask a follow up probing question, he spoke. “So what’d you do today? Heard from your ex?”

“Uh yeah actually, he wanted his stuff back so I told him I needed some time.”

“And did he accept that?”

“He did once I taunted him to come to the flat to get it himself,” you said, a smug smile on your lips before taking another bite of your dinner. Bucky just snorted. “Other than that I napped and I went to the shop to get some boxes and then I packed three boxes of his stuff.”

“That doesn’t sound that restful.”

“Well I felt like doing it,” you shrugged.

“You know, I’m not sure you deserve dessert,” he said, though the teasing glint in his eyes was obvious.

“Hey I napped okay, I rested,” you said, smiling.

He tutted playfully, shaking his head. “I dunno doll, I wouldn’t class packing my ex’s stuff in a box as resting.”

“Do you have an ex?”

“I’ve been around,” he replied coolly.

You took another bite of your dinner before commenting, “Have you met anyone since moving to London?”

“There is actually someone.”

“Oh?” you replied neutrally, trying to keep the slightly jealous tone from your voice.

“But I don’t think it’ll go anywhere like that.”

“Why’s that?” you answered, praying the hopeful tone of your voice isn’t noticed either.

“Well aside from being a bit of a pain in the ass, she’s got some kinda heavy stuff going on,” he said softly. “And to be honest I think what she needs the most right now is a friend,” he continued, looking up at you. 

Your brows furrowed and you began to frown, feeling bad for the girl. Whereas a bemused expression slowly formed on Bucky’s face.

It took you far too long to realise what he meant.

“Oh…”

He chuckled gently then took a swig of his beer.

“Well one can never have too many friends,” you replied, scolding yourself internally as soon as the words left your mouth for how awkward you sounded. You busied your mouth by taking a last large bite of schnitzel and chewing for a long time, ignoring the continued smirk on Bucky’s face as he finished off his food.

“You going to see your friends soon?” Bucky finally asked, saving you from stewing too long in your own awkwardness. 

You nodded. “Yeah I’ll arrange to see them. Probably have a girls night out.”

“Please don’t get shit faced and locked out again,” he requested sincerely.

You chuckled as you put your cutlery down. “I won’t, promise.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he noted, then stood and reached out to remove your plates.

“No lemme get that,” you reached out too, wanting to help. But in doing so, your knuckles knocked into his forearm, and despite the thin jumper he was wearing, it felt… weird. Cold. Oddly… firm. 

You looked up into his piercing blue eyes for a long moment, trying to gauge his expression. You thought he looked startled, but Bucky didn’t seem the type to get startled. Not from an accidental touch.

At that moment, the pieces seemed to fit together all at once. 

He lost his arm in the military. It must be a prosthetic!

But just as you were trying your best to smile to make him feel more at ease, a second revelation came upon you.

How can it be a prosthetic with the way his fingers move?

Your gaze flitted down to his arm just as he pulled back, shoving his hand into his pocket. 

“So how about dessert, huh?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically uncomfortable. 

“Uhhh, yeah I'd like that,” you replied absentmindedly, your gaze fixed on his arm. “I didn't mean to...”

“To what?" 

You sighed. “But can I ask about...”

Then he sighed. “I lost it, in the army."

You glanced back up at him. “I'm sorry,” you murmured.

Then he glanced away. “It's... it was a long time ago now.”

You looked back down at his arm, his hand still hidden in his pocket. “But your fingers they...”

“It's state of the art.”

You regretted the question before it even finished leaving your lips. “Can I see?”

Was that rude to ask? Were you offending him? Was your curiosity finally going too far?

Your questions didn't matter in the end. Bucky reached down and finally peeled off his left glove, allowing you to view a sleek yet highly realistic dark metal hand.

Holy. Shit.

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

In Another Universe

Chapter 5

Summary: Jane's world comes crumbling down

Word count: 2.6k

Read on AO3

There’s darkness. Then there’s booms, but they’re muffled. Why are they muffled, why can’t Jane hear? What happened? Is that their car alarm? More booms go off in the distance. Jane groans, her body feels like it’s been hit by a truck. They were IN the truck. She opens her eyes, inhaling a painful gasp as she struggles to get up. They’re still inside the truck, but it’s upside down. Jane looks around, one window smashed, one cracked to pieces. Shit, Steven! One of his legs is awkwardly raised against the now roof of the truck. She says his name. No response. She reaches over, grabbing his other leg, and says his name again, and thank god he fucking moves his head.

“Stay right there. Don’t move,” she demands. “Tommy, you okay?” she asks as she looks behind her into the wreckage of the truck.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” her little brother responds. Good. They’re all alive at least. 

She can hear Steven’s pants in front of her, his frightened gasps. She looks over to see his eyes fixated on the horrors outside of the truck. “Steven… don’t look,” Jane says fervently as she grabs his leg, more frightened of the affects on her little boy than whatever the fuck is going on out there. Steven makes eye contact with her now. “You look at me. Okay?” 

Jane starts to move Steven’s leg to try and free him from the debris; she can’t stand him wincing in pain. “I’m sorry, baby, I know, yes, I know. Come here. Put your arms around me,” she says as she goes to embrace him. “Come here, come here,” the relief she feels with Steven finally in her arms is overwhelming. “I got you. I got you… I got you,” she says as she uses her left arm to take his weight, guiding Steven from the wreck. “Got you,” she whispers again as she gets them both out. Steven stands on his left leg, hands still firmly resting on her shoulders, but when he places weight on his right he groans. Jane keeps a hold of his weight in her hands, “Are you okay?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head, clutching onto her shoulders painfully.

“Are you okay?” Jane repeats, needing a definitive answer as to what’s wrong.

“My ankle,” Jane looks down. 

“All right, okay,” she says.

“We gotta get off the street!” Tommy shouts towards them, and she’s glad to see he got out of the truck in one piece. A siren blares dangerously close. “Shit!” he shouts before diving out of sight. The wayward car crashes into the truck; Jane instinctively grabs onto Steven and turns them around to shield him. She watches the inferno briefly before turning to look back to her kid, still clutching onto her arm. He’s still okay, but Tommy’s now on the other side of this fucking mess!

“Tommy?!” Jane shouts as she steps closer to the wreckage, Steven still holding onto her arm. The heat is too much, she has to shield her face with her free arm. “Tommy!” still nothing. 

No. Please no. 

“Tommy!” she shouts again. 

Finally in a gap between the two burning vehicles, she spots him. “Head to the river! I’ll find a way,” Tommy shouts. He seems okay, but she does not like the idea of leaving her little brother at all. She looks around, there must be another way around. “Get him outta here Jane! Go!” he insists before running off. They have no choice. Jane looks down the alleyway they now find themselves in, checking it for obstacles. She turns to Steven, holding onto his waist with one hand, her other snaking around his right elbow.

“We can’t leave him,” he says, clutching at her shoulders with each hand. “He’ll be fine. Can you run?” she asks, trying to sound calm for his benefit.

Steven shakes his head before answering “No.”

Fuck it. She hasn’t trained hard in the gym for nothing. She bends down and scoops Steven up from his knees, thanking his father’s genes that Steven hasn’t had a growth spurt to make him taller than her yet, or this would be almost impossible. Steven’s arms wrap around her neck for stability, and she locks eyes with those big green ones she loves and adores.

“You keep your eyes on me. Okay?” she implores.

Steven nods, “Okay, okay.”

“And don’t look anywhere else.”

“All right.”

Jane’s struggling already with Steven’s weight as she carries him down the alley, he seems heavier than he was mere hours ago. She looks left and right for signs of danger, she has to stay vigilant with an injured kid in her arms and no Tommy for backup. She rounds the corner and stops in her tracks.

People.

Eating.

People.

Jane’s been quiet so far, the crazed or diseased or god knows what maniacs don’t know they’re standing there. She looks around for a way out but notices Steven’s face beneath her chin in horror. She shifts her hand up to guide his face away from looking at the unnatural sight just as an explosion goes off back at their wrecked truck. 

Shit. One of the crazed cannibals sits up. The headlights from the lorry behind illuminate the scene with sickening clarity. No no no, Jane backs away. His head twitches unnaturally. Jane readjusts her grip on Steven and looks around, still searching for a way out. She turns around and runs to the red door straight ahead, kicking it open with one foot. She looks back to see the diseased man sprinting at them, and fear grips her deep in her bones.

She continues through the kitchen to the main area of a diner, her only thought to get Steven out of there. She hears the maniac growl from the room she just left, and runs around looking for the exit, her arms starting to go numb from carrying Steven. She hears the man crash into something behind, but doesn’t dare look back. Steven’s grip tightens around her back frantically as he gasps. Another growl, another bang, closer this time. Jane winds up in another kitchen, the cannibal hot on her tails. He crashes a third time into a tray of utensils, falling to the ground. Thank the Lord she finally finds the exit, kicking it open with her foot once again. She steps out onto a wooden deck area, then there’s nothing but dark fields as far as the eye can see. Nowhere to hide. The man is growling angrily behind them.

This can’t be it. This can’t be it! 

Jane hears his footsteps getting closer and closer as she struggles to jog with Steven in her arms. Just as the man growls right behind her, a gunshot rings out, the unmistakable thump of a body falling provides immeasurable relief. Jane turns back to see the man on the ground, blood pouring from his brain.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re safe,” she says as she looks around for the shooter, their saviour. A bright light shines in her face.

“Don’t move!” the wielder shouts. Jane pauses, confused. It’s a soldier, she hadn’t noticed the tank before in her frantic efforts to escape the monster. 

“My son’s hurt. His ankle,” she explains.

“Stop right there!” he shouts at her.

“Okay,” Jane says calmly, nodding. They do not want to piss off the guys with the guns right now. Jane looks the soldier over, realising he’s still aiming his torch and gun right at them. “Easy now. We’re not sick!” she says. The soldier lowers his gun and torch combo to speak into his radio. 

“I got two civilians by the river, one of ‘em injured,” the radio beeps. Jane stares, waiting. She briefly looks back to the exit they came from, wondering if it’s safe. “Ankle,” the soldier says.

“What about Uncle Tommy?” Steven looks up to ask her. Jane looks out into the dark fields before them, then back to him, as she considers his question. She finally looks at the soldier. He’s gotta help, right? That’s their goddamn job.

“I’m gonna get you somewhere safe first, then we’ll go back for him, okay?” she tells him, his big eyes wide with fear.

“Okay,” he whispers. 

“I’m sorry. Repeat?”, both Jane and Steven turn their head to the soldier, and Jane involuntarily steps forward. “Hey! No-one told you to move,” he commands as he shines the torch back in their faces momentarily before lowering it. 

“Yes, sir,” he lowers the gun all the way back down. “Yes, sir,” he repeats. Jane can hear the faint radio chatter in the quiet of the field. She instinctively looks around again, noting there’s no one else here but the three of them. Fear trickles down her spine as she registers how isolated they truly are. “Yes, sir,” the soldier puts his other hand back on the rifle for a second before instantly raising it up at them. She can see Steven looking up at her from the corner of her eye, deathly afraid, but she can’t take her eyes off the soldier. Not now. Jane shakes her head at him, not fully comprehending that this soldier is ready to fire on them.

“We’re not sick,” she says but he’s walking right at them, gun still aimed. “Sir…  we are not sick!” she shouts just as the gun starts firing. Steven screeches as Jane jumps to the side to dodge the bullets. She trips over a mound of dirt, dropping Steven as they roll down a grassy bank together. When she finally stops rolling and lays stationary on the ground, it’s only a second before Jane hears footsteps approaching. She raises her head from the ground to see the ominous torchlight once more, aimed right at her. Jane scrambles to look up at the soldier face on.

“I’m sorry,” he says. No, no, no! Jane raises her hands slightly in surrender. If she dies, who will protect Steven!

“Please, don’t…” she starts. 

A gunshot fires, causing her to flinch, but she doesn’t look away. The soldier grunts and falls to the ground. Tommy comes into view from over the hilltop, his gun aimed at the soldier. Jane groans as she sits fully up, clutching at the gunshot wound in her abdomen. She lifts her tee to see it’s more like a graze than a hole in her side. A graze going sideways across her-

“Oh God,” Tommy says. And now, only NOW, can Jane hear the distressed gasps of her little boy. Jane looks from Tommy’s fallen face back to Steven. He’s lying on the floor, panting as fast as a wounded animal.

“No. Oh, no,” she says as she crawls towards him. “No, no. No,” she repeats as she reaches his feet. She shushes him as she finally finds his face, ignoring the dangerously large pool of blood seeping through his t-shirt.. “Okay… You’re okay,” she tells him as he looks up at her eyes wide in fear, in pain. “You’re okay. Move your hand, baby. Move your hand,” she instructs as she does the action for him, too impatient to wait for Steven to do it himself. 

The blood is so dark over the spot where he got hit. She rests her hands at either side of his torso, unsure what to do as she stares down at the stained red t-shirt. She hears Steven’s pants getting more frantic, short of breath, and she looks back to his face. She can’t help him here, not out in the middle of a goddamn field. He needs a fuckin’ hospital. 

She bends down to try and pick him up, but the excruciating yelp from Steven makes it impossible to continue the task. He pushes against her shoulder from pain, trying to stop her from picking him up, clutching at her neck in agony. “No, I know, baby. I know, I know, I know, I know. I know it hurts,” she says as he pinches at her neck. Jane keeps one hand on the wound to try and lessen the bleeding as Steven tries to lift his head and look at his stomach. “All right. Don’t look down.” Steven clutches at her arm that’s pressing on the wound, the other fumbling down to reach it too. The blood is still pouring out. It needs more pressure. She puts two hands on it, hoping it will be enough. It has to be enough.

“Look up. Come on, baby. You’re okay, you’re okay,” Jane can feel his feeble attempts to push her off him to stop the pain, but she has to do it. It’s the only way to stop the bleeding. “I know, I know, I know baby., I know, I know. I know this hurts. You’re gonna be okay,” she tells him as his frantic breaths start to come through croaky. 

“All right… Baby, baby, baby listen to me. I gotta get you up, okay? I gotta get you up,” Steven’s shaking his head at her as she puts her left hand behind his neck. “All right? You come on,” she says. She lifts his head slightly, but he groans even louder. “You come on. I know, baby,” she encourages as she sees the sheer effort he’s putting in to help her help him get up. But it’s too much. He lets go and falls back to the ground.

“No, no. I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know!” she shouts louder and louder as she rocks Steven slightly, trying to use momentum, anything, fucking anything to help her get him up. Steven’s still clutching at her neck as she looks towards her little brother. “Tommy, help me!” she begs. He’s crying, still holding the gun, but makes no move towards them. Why won't he come help, Goddamnit?!

“Jane,” he says gravely. 

Why can’t she feel Steven’s grip anymore?

“Come on, baby boy,” she says as her kid has finally stopped fighting her, his arms going slack at her sides. She lifts him up to her chest. “Come on, baby boy, I gotta get you up.”

He’s limp like a ragdoll. “Come on,” she says as she can finally try to lift him from his knees. “Come on, we’ll get up,” she says gently, refusing to look at Steven’s face that’s threatening to make itself known in the corner of her eyes. She keeps grasping under Steven’s legs, but the blood is making it too slippery to find any grip to be able to lift him up. Her throat feels tight.

“Come on, baby boy,” why can’t she just lift him? Why has he stopped fighting? 

“Come on. Come on. Please,” she tries to look at his face, but she can’t, and lets her eyes look up and away into the distance instead.

She stops trying to lift him.

She rocks back and cradles Steven in her arms as she lets go, tears finally shedding as she clutches him to her chest with both arms as hard as she can. She puts her hand into his soft hair as she rocks back and forth, his limp form slipping from her grip repeatedly. She keeps pulling him closer each time he falls from her grasp, as if she can bring him back to her if she just squeezes hard enough. She stays like this for a long time, never wanting to let go.

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

The Weekend - Part 1

So I was on a roll with writing and accidentally blasted like 5k words in the last couple of days. But here's part 1!

Warnings: NSFW, dubious consent, daddy kink (sort of), forced prostitution

Word count: 5.9k

You’re led towards the front passenger seat by the security guard, who opens the door. As you lower your head to get in, a wave of leather and cologne hits your nostrils immediately. You assume the man in the driver's seat is Mr. Gold and wonder if he’s put that much on for you, or if he always smells this strongly? He looks at least fifty years old, with fine wrinkles and thinning grey hair falling flatly against his face. But his features are otherwise… pleasant. His nose is straight, his graying eyebrows not too bushy. And he gives you a smile displaying the false whiteness of his teeth, matching the colour of his shirt beneath his black blazer.

“I’m Mr. Gold,” he states, his pale green eyes lingering on your chest for an obscenely long time.

“I’m Lucky,” you whisper and suppress a grimace as his tongue darts out to lick his chapped lips. He leans towards you abruptly, his lips meeting yours in a kiss. His are still somehow dry, a stark contrast to your glossed ones. Even though you hate lip gloss, Madam Gorski told you to wear it. A preference of Mr. Gold’s. When he pulls back, he reaches across to the glove box in front of you, then hands you a black hood. “Put it on,” he instructs. You gulp, that uneasy feeling in your stomach still present, but comply, plunging yourself into semi-darkness.

He starts the engine, turns the radio on, and you feel the car pull off. Once you’re travelling in a straight line, you feel his hand come to rest on your thigh, squeezing gently every now and then. You take quiet deep breaths and remain obediently silent, you don’t so much as sniff. Half an hour must have gone by by the time Mr. Gold tells you to take the hood off.

It’s sunset. And it’s beautiful. You peer out the window to look at the golden light shining through the burnt orange leaves on the trees. You spot a rabbit dashing across the road, a deer running through the woods. It looks so normal, a reminder of what you’ve lost. Your mind wanders to memories of life before the club, when things like woodland walks and the freedom to have them were taken for granted.

Your stage name, ‘Lucky’, was ironically given to you by Blue, on account of how un-lucky the circumstances of your arrival to the club were. You actively choose not to think about those first few weeks, and even refuse to talk about it to the girls. But you wonder if some sadistic part of Blue knows that the name reminds you of it anyway. If he deliberately taunts you by calling you it sometimes just to watch you squirm.  

You gaze at the setting sun on the horizon, hoping Mr. Gold will choose some other pet name to call you instead. Most patrons at the club often do, which thus began to render any pet name you get called as meaningless. Except for Lucky.  

“Are you excited?” Mr. Gold asks, breaking the silence.

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” you reply obediently.

“Good. I only take special girls to the cabin, you know,” he says, puffing his chest slightly, as if you should feel privileged.

“Thank you for taking me, I’m honoured.”

“It’s beautiful out there. Nothing but nature for 30 miles.”

Nothing but you and him for 30 miles.

“Sounds idyllic,” you reply.

Mr. Gold finally removes his hand from your thigh to turn the headlights on, the bright light bouncing off the dense trees. He turns the radio down, then his hand comes to rest on the back of your neck. Your heart rate spikes. He begins stroking the nape of your neck with his fingertips, causing a shiver to ripple down your spine. His other hand remains on the wheel, steering you through the darkness. Finally, you spot a gigantic wooden cabin in the distance. Three stories high, and twice as wide.

“We’ll have to get a fire going of course, but don’t worry, Daddy will handle that,” he purrs.

You freeze, your stomach dropping. Blue didn’t specify anything along those lines. You don’t know what the protocol is for those lines. You nod and smile gently, wracking your brain for appropriate words but none come out. Mr. Gold’s fingers begin to scratch at your scalp. It would feel good if you weren’t so terrified of doing the wrong thing.

He pulls up outside the dark house, the brakes whining before he cuts the engine. He unbuckles his seatbelt then reaches over to do yours before clasping both of your hands in his and leveling you with a serious look.

“Now. From the moment we enter that house, you are to refer to me as either Daddy, or Sir, do you understand?”

You nod.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he smiles, releasing your hands. You resent the flutter of butterflies in your stomach at the praise.

He gets out of the car and walks around the front to your door, opening it. You step out, your kitten heels sinking into soft dirt as he takes your hand. The twilight air makes you shiver, goosebumps raising along your arms. He shuts the car door behind and locks the vehicle, you daren’t ask about your suitcase.

He leads you up a short wooden staircase to the porch of the building, then lets go of your hand to fetch a set of keys from his black trouser pocket. He unlocks the door, opening it slightly then gestures for you to enter into the almost pitch black house first. You gulp and walk inside as a waft of soot, earth, and damp hits your nostrils.

You hear him flick a switch, and a modest chandelier shines above. Cobwebs dangle from it, and, as you glance around the foyer, you note there’s dust everywhere. Along the mahogany panels, the outdated paintings, the grandfather clock, even the wooden floor.

“It’s been in my family for the last 100 years,” he gloats, closing the front door behind him then walking towards a door to your right. “Come on, you must be freezing,” he gestures into the open doorway before entering himself, flicking the light on as he walks in. It appears to be a sitting room, adorned with bookshelves and more old fashioned paintings. A stag’s head is mounted on the chimney, and you wonder if he shot it himself. 

He removes the white sheets covering the furniture, revealing a few threadbare armchairs and a less than pristine couch. He throws the sheets into a cupboard next to the large sooty fireplace, before removing his blazer and folding it on the back of one of the chairs. Then he rolls up his sleeves, and retrieves some firewood.

“Sit down, make yourself comfortable,” he instructs as he crouches down to place the wood into the hearth. You tentatively walk towards the burgundy couch, smoothing your dress down under your thighs before sitting, the springs squeaking loudly. Mr. Gold lights a match, igniting a piece of paper which he places in the center of the pile of firewood.

He sits on his heels, then looks up at you. “Now, sweetheart, you wait here while Daddy fetches our belongings from the car, okay?” he smiles, then with an old man like groan, stands. He cups your cheek, then places a kiss on your head. “Be good,” he murmurs, looking down at you for a millisecond, then leaves.

In the quiet, tears slowly sting your eyes as you stare into the flames. This is the nicest anyone has been to you in a long time, but you hate that these are the circumstances in which it is happening. You hate the way you feel grateful. Hate the way you long for more niceness, having been starved of it.

But you’re here to do a job. You’re here to please Mr. Gold, and in turn please Blue. Any needs you have must be suppressed.

You flap your hands, trying to dry your tears, and remain seated. By the time Mr. Gold comes back, your mask of serenity is in place.

“Are you feeling warmer now?” he asks, taking a seat beside you. You nod, though you hadn’t paid attention to the growing warmth emanating from the fire. “Good, I’m glad,” he says, putting a hand around your waist. “I’ve brought some food in from the car too, enough for us for the weekend.”

You smile, but as he hasn’t directly asked you anything, you remain silent. His hand rubs your lower waist, and he leans in, his breath hot on your neck. “You smell divine,” he whispers, inhaling loudly. You’re grateful the girls let you borrow the expensive perfume for this trip. His other hand finds its way to your thigh, trailing up towards your derriere above your clothes. But then he pulls away.

“Whilst I prepare dinner why don’t you freshen up, hmm? There’s a bathroom on the ground floor, near the kitchen.”

Mr. Gold takes your hand, guiding you to stand then leads you out of the sitting room, across the foyer, towards the door directly opposite. The light is already on inside, and it’s significantly colder in this part of the house. The kitchen is large, but dated. Your heels click loudly against the tiled floor as you glance around. Pallid wooden cabinets line the walls, the whole room illuminated by harsh overhead lights which highlight the continuation of the cobwebs. The oven stands in the center of the back wall, and Mr. Gold lets go of your hand to ignite the gas.

“We’ll be having stew this evening,” he says softly as he reaches into one of the cabinets and pulls out a chopping board. He places it on the counter top with a gentle thud then retrieves a chopping knife from the draw nearby, before taking an onion from the wicker basket at his feet. He chops the vegetable in half before he starts peeling, then looks back up to you.

“Go on Lucky, go freshen up,” he instructs, the soft tone of his voice at odds with the way he uses the knife to point towards the door. You nod, and slowly walk back to the foyer. “Second door on the left,” he calls after you.

You find the room easily. The handle is ice cold as you turn it, the hinges creaking loudly as you open the door to a rather dark, slightly damp smelling bathroom. You flick the light-switch on, the bulb buzzes and flickers to light - oh god your wash bag is already in here.

You gulp, trying not to think about him going through your suitcase to place it in there. You close the door behind you - there’s no lock!

You sniffle.

Okay. You can do this. You have to do this.

With a shaky hand you open your hand-me-down bag resting on the edge of the sink and begin to ‘freshen up’, not skipping over anything. Even though the mirror is cracked, with black spots of decay dotted across its reflective surface, you can see you look just as pristine as when you left the club. 

You’re not the prettiest girl at the establishment by any means. You’re not the tallest, not the slimmest, definitely not the most popular. If anything you’re one of the more average looking girls there, a wallflower, Sweet Pea once described you as. You’ve only even served a couple of clients so far, you’re that unnoticeable. Both of which were ‘gentle’, according to Amber. Your main role at the club these days after finally being freed from cleaning duties, was to dance. It’s precisely your dancing that got you into this situation. Blue said Mr. Gold was taken in by your ‘air of innocence’. Then he looked you up and down derisively, snorted, and muttered to Madam Gorski ‘but we know she’s far from innocent’. It made your skin crawl, especially knowing he’s right. And the way he said it made you feel tainted. Dirty. So, as if the dirt you feel inside could somehow be seen, and just in case the car journey made any certain body areas less than ideal, you check your whole body over. For good measure, you use the bathroom for its intended purpose too, not wanting to have to ask Mr. Gold later on to be excused.

When you open the door again you smell fried onions,garlic, and meat. It smells good, better than some of the meals you get at the club. You leave your wash bag inside the bathroom where Mr. Gold had placed it, and walk back towards the kitchen.

He’s standing at the sink, drying the knife he’d used earlier, whilst an array of other utensils dry on the rack adjacent. He turns when he hears your heels.

“Feeling better?” he asks. You nod, and he smiles. He sets the knife and pink dish towel down, then walks over to you, taking your hand in his. “Whilst that’s cooking, why don’t I show you around the house, eh?”

Mr. Gold leads you around slowly, taking his time to explain what feels like every single painting in the entire house. You smile and nod politely, the pure image of pliancy. You make sure to stay alert, and attentive, Blue said that Mr. Gold is a man who pays attention to details. A man who expects that same quality in his paramours. 

By the seventh painting on the upstairs corridor you brave comparing it to the second one he showed you downstairs. He beams at you, giving you a slightly patronizing ‘good girl’ with a pat on the back of your hand. “That’s very smart of you to notice,” he continues just as patronizingly. You smile back, pretending to be smitten with the praise. The rest of the corridor continues in that same manner. You make a brief comment about a few more of the paintings, and he praises you as if you’re a toddler learning third grade English. 

Once the paintings in the corridor are done, Mr. Gold proceeds to show you every single upstairs room too. Each contains various vestiges of a bygone era. He doesn’t bother removing the white sheets or opening the curtains, but you can make out that most rooms have four poster beds, large dressing tables, last centuries wallpaper, even chamber pots.

At the final door in the corridor, he pauses. “Now, this is where we’ll be sleeping. I’ve already taken the liberty of unpacking your belongings, and I must say I’m quite pleased with your choices of attire,” he says with a smile, the lines crinkling deeply at the corners of his eyes. A cold chill runs down your back, dreading what sort of outfits Madam Gorski picked out and security packed.

Mr. Gold opens the door to the largest bedroom of the house, free of any protective white sheets. Against the far left wall is a four poster bed, the frame made of deep mahogany wood, a thick woolen cover on top of the mattress. He gently pushes you into the room, and you glance around, taking in the large vanity unit in the corner, the 8 foot tall wardrobe, the thick yet dated patterned rug underneath the bed. Unlike all the previous rooms however, the curtains are wide open, revealing pitch black darkness. It’s too dark to see anything, yet you feel like you’re being exposed. But you look back to face him, “It’s lovely,” you murmur politely. He smiles softly, then the two of you hear a distant ping.

“Ah, just on schedule,” Mr. Gold says. “Come along,” he holds out his hand. You walk back and take it, his grip as firm as ever as he pulls you back towards the kitchen.

The smell is divine once you enter the room. Mr. Gold lets go of your hand, then, armed with oven gloves, pulls the stew from the oven and turns the gas off. 

“Run along and wait in the dining room, I’ll be there shortly,” he instructs softly. You know now where the dining room is after the extensive tour. The dimly lit room with the four paintings of hunting scenes. You nod, and make your way to it, grateful that he lit a fire in preparation. You hover at the edge of the large oak table, the floorboards creaking beneath as you shift your weight, unsure where he would want you to sit. You’ve never sat at a table so grand. You take a best guess, and sit to the left of the head of the table. 

Seconds later, Mr. Gold walks in carrying a tray filled with bowls, plates, cutlery, and glasses. You almost gawp as he begins to place each down, laying the table directly in front of you. You find yourself wanting to help, reaching out instinctively.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides gently, so you pull your hand back. Once he’s emptied the tray, he leaves the room. Then returns very shortly later with another tray, this one filled with bread, butter, a jug of water and a bottle of red wine. He places each on the table, all of those items out of your reach, before leaving, and finally returning with the pot of stew. He sets that down even further out of your reach. He pours you a glass of water. For himself, he pours a glass of wine. Then he picks up your bowl and begins ladling the stew. The steam contrasts starkly against the darkness of the walls, and it smells even more delicious up close, but the portion he gives you is no bigger than what you get at the club. He gives himself twice that. You watch as he butters you a small piece of crusty bread, placing it on the plate adjacent to your bowl, then breaks himself off a larger piece.

You don’t know what to make of all of… this. But when he sits back down and raises his glass of red wine, you instinctively pick up your glass of water.

“To my beautiful, obedient, paramour,” he smiles, then takes a sip of the red liquid. You force a smile back, then sip on your water. “Tuck in.”

Your gaze flits to the still half full pot of stew then down to your small portion, but you pick up your spoon and take a careful bite and oh heavens it tastes good. You delicately dunk the buttered bread inside, soaking up some of the rich moisture, then take a small bite of that. Everything tastes so good but you make yourself eat slowly, ensuring you don’t spill a single drop or crumb and make a mess of your outfit, make up, or lip gloss. By the time you’re on your third bite, the succulent meat melting in your mouth, you realize that despite the unsettling nature of all of this, you haven’t had to do a thing since you got here except look and be good. No dishes to clean, no vegetables to peel, no meals to cook. No dances, no clients. Just… being Mr. Gold’s good girl.

“How does it taste?” he asks.

A genuine smile forms on your face, and you answer honestly. “It tastes delicious. You’re a good cook.”

He smiles back, the red wine already staining his white teeth, “Thank you. I always like pleasing my girls.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all… Maybe, maybe if you are a good girl, maybe if Blue did sell you to Mr. Gold, to… to Sir, then things might be better than at the club.

You eat your portion in shared comfortable silence, and lament when it’s all gone. Then to your surprise, Mr. Gold- Sir, picks up your bowl and ladles you another few spoonfuls. You never get second portions at the club. He even butters you another piece of bread.

“Thank you,” you say earnestly.

“I bet they don’t feed you much back there,” he comments with a sad smile, as if reading your thoughts. 

You’re representing the club. You’re representing me. Blue’s words echo in your head.

“They feed us well enough,” you reply, then take another bite.

“Do you like it there?” he asks. Your loyalty is with the club, you have to remind yourself. Your needs aren't what's important here. So you nod and smile. “I only saw you for the first time last week. You must be new?”

“I’ve been there three months now.”

“I see. Our paths must not have crossed.”

The two of you continue to eat for another few moments of silence. Once your bowl is empty again, Mr. Gold doesn’t fill it back up.

“You were very beautiful on the stage, you know, doing your little number.”

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“Thank you, what?”

It takes you a few seconds to realize what he wants. “Thank you, Sir,” you whisper.

“Good girl,” he whispers kindly. “I think you should know, I brought you out here because there’s something I’ve been wanting to try for a long time. Something Mr. Jones assured me you would do.”

You gulp.

“But I’ll tell you more about that tomorrow morning. Tonight, let’s just relax, and get to know one another a bit better.”

Sir finishes his glass of wine, then stands and holds out his hand. You take it, and he gently pulls you up from your seat, out of the dining room, and back into the warm living room. He walks towards the armchair and sits, still holding your hand. Then he gently pulls you down to sit in his lap. Your legs dangle awkwardly until he lets out a gentle tsk then pulls you up by your thighs, settling you more comfortably in position. He wraps his arms around you, and with a lurch in your chest you realize this is the first time you’ve been held like this in a long time.

“So tell me a bit more about yourself, Lucky.”

“I’m uh, I’m 22. I like to read,” you start, before your mind goes blank.

“What kind of books do you like?” he murmurs as his face nuzzles into your neck. It tickles.

“F-fantasy, I like Lord of the Rings.”

“Ah, really? A girl like you? I’m actually more of a Lewis fan myself,” he says with an air of disappointment.

“I like Narnia too,” you quickly add. “I’ve read all of those too.”

You feel him smile against your neck as he places a chaste kiss against your flesh. “Did you have a favourite character?”

“I liked Mr. Tumnus,” you reply softly.

“I see. My daughter preferred Lucy growing up. She’s a little younger than you by now.”

“Oh,” you whisper, terrified how you ought to respond to that piece of information.

“Sadly I don’t see her often enough. She’s in her last year of finishing school, though I doubt the establishment will survive much longer once my generous donations come to an end.”

“I see,” you nod.

“Do you speak to your parents often?” 

“No,” you whisper. You know Mr. Gold should know that, you know he should know how Blue gets all of his girls. That the likelihood any of you are talking to your families is next to nothing.

“Alas, that’s a shame. Family is all one can truly rely on in this world.”

You internally, and wholeheartedly, disagree, but say nothing. Mr. Gold pulls you higher up on his lap, holding onto your thighs with his left hand. With his right, he reaches out and guides you by the back of your head to rest against the crook in his neck. His hand lingers in your hair, stroking the perfectly set strands.

You hate how cared for the actions make you feel. You don’t want it like this. 

But you let it happen.

Because it’s the closest you’ve felt to this from a man in months.

“You still smell just as lovely,” he murmurs into your hair.

“Thank you, Sir,” you whisper back obediently.

“Now, before we retire for bed, there’s a few rules I must go over,” he says, still stroking your hair. “I expect a certain level of obedience from my paramours. I don’t ask for much, just that you follow some rules, understand?”

He waits for you to reply, so you nod.

“Words.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, patting your thigh.

“The rules are, you are not to touch yourself or orgasm without permission. You are not allowed to talk back to me. You are not allowed to question me. All I want is your obedience. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” you respond quickly. The rules seem easy enough, you definitely weren’t anticipating getting off this weekend. And you know better than to talk back, to question, to offer anything other than obedience.

“In return, if there is anything you truly do not wish to do, your safe word is pomegranate.”

“Safe word?” you whisper. You know what a safe word is, the girls had explained it. A luxury hardly any of them got apart from with a few customers. Though in lieu of a safe word, if something went wrong with one of the clients, to his credit, Blue would step in afterwards. But by then the damage to one of his girls was done, and it was up to them and Madam Gorski to help pick up the pieces. If things went particularly bad, Blue would let the girl have a day or two off from dancing. And if she was physically hurt? Then he’d keep her off the stage until the bruises no longer showed under makeup.

“Yes, the word you can use if you truly want something to stop. But for now, I’d like to just get to know you, as you are,” he murmurs, his hands trailing down to the nape of your neck again. Then, abruptly, he scoops you up in his arms, bridal style. You let out an involuntary yelp, and he chuckles. “See? Not bad for an old man.”

Sir manages to carry you all the way upstairs to the bedroom, though he’s panting a little by the time he places you down on the bed. The room is even colder than earlier, and he quickly walks to the fireplace, deftly lighting it. When he turns back to look at you, the orange flames flicker almost menacingly in his green eyes. 

He wastes no time in reaching down to unbuckle your heels, carefully removing each one then placing them by the door. When he sits back down on the bed, his hands begin to trail up your legs. Higher and higher, until they reach the beginning of your stockings.

He unhooks the clasp, then rolls one down, peeling the garment off before repeating the action with the other leg. Though you’ve done this many times before, your mind wants to block what’s happening out. It’s different here in the cabin. There’s no girls just a wall away. No Madam Gorski. No security. No Blue. You’re now hyper aware if something goes wrong, there’s nothing but you and him for 30 miles. 

And then it clicks. Mr. Gold’s not just paying stupid amounts of money to get the pleasure of you for a whole weekend. He’s paying for the risk involved too. He’s paying so that if something goes wrong… Blue’s covered for the loss of his asset.

You feel suddenly nauseous.

You have to make sure nothing goes wrong.

“Stand up,” Mr. Gold instructs. You do as he’s asked, feeling the scratchy rug beneath your bare feet. He stands too, he’s two inches taller now your shoes are off. He steps behind you, and begins to unzip your dress, then helps guide your arms out from the sleeves before the whole thing drops.

You’re left standing in just your white silk brassiere and underwear, your gaze fixed on the floor. He hums in approval, “Sit back down.” You do. Then he steps closer, and closer… his crotch level with your face. “Look up at me,” he murmurs, so you do. You keep eye contact, the pale green of his iris’ barely visible as you hear him unbuckling his belt, unzipping his fly. You hear the material of his trousers shift down his legs. “Open.” 

To your surprise, his fingers trace your parted lips, tapping gently at what remains of the sticky gloss, then he puts his index finger in your mouth, feeling around inside, forcing you to open wider. Your brow furrows in confusion, but he doesn’t comment. Once he pulls his finger out, he immediately replaces it with his semi hard cock.

You’re thankful that it’s smaller than you’ve ever had before. You don’t even gag when he pushes all the way in, the hairs of his crotch tickling your face. That is until you feel it getting harder. He puts his hand on the back of your head, holding you in place.

“Breathe,” he commands. You try to, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult. You clutch the edge of the mattress, tears begin to sting your eyes. “Keep breathing, girl.”

Finally, when you almost jerk your head away, he pulls out. You pant, drool dripping down your chin.

“Good girl,” he praises. Whilst you catch your breath, you hear him quickly unbutton his shirt, then pick up your dress and place both items folded up on the dresser beside the bed. He kicks off his shoes, then pulls off his trousers, and his white briefs, placing those neatly on the dresser too. He turns back to look at you, his stark naked body on full display. He looks different than the clients you’ve been with previously. More muscular, despite his age. More tanned. More… hairy.

“I take it you know what doggy is?”

You nod. 

“Get into it.”

You turn around and climb onto the bed, the wool of the cover scratching against your skin as you get onto all fours. Mr. Gold pushes you down by your neck, arching your back higher. He pulls your underwear down to the bend in your knees, then you hear a distinctly wet spit at the same time as feeling it on your crotch. You tense. You hear him spit again just before he places a hand on your hip, then you feel him lining up with your entrance.

In one swift movement, he’s inside. 

He moans loudly, whilst you stifle any noise that wants to escape your lips. 

He starts out fast. Pumping in and out of you like an animal rutting in heat. And surprisingly he ends up hitting that spot. Over and over. But before you know it, he whimpers, clutching onto your hips as his movements suddenly come to a shaky stop at the same time as his raspy gasp.

It could have only been going on for a minute.

He pants for a moment before slowly pulling out. “It’s been a while,” he mutters, pulling your underwear back up. Once it’s in place he cups your crotch. The wet sensation you feel pooling down there is vile. “Keep that in there,” he murmurs. 

You have never been more thankful that one of Blue’s ‘policies’ is the pill. Every girl has to be on it, no matter her role. You found that out the hard way after saying no. It was the final straw for Blue and his efforts to make you more obedient. He kept you in that damn cleaning closet for 24 hours. You’ll never forget his sadistic smirk when he unlocked the door to find you rocking on the floor in tears. You block out the ‘little chat’ that happened afterwards in that cupboard. It was Rocket who helped clean you up.

Mr. Gold sits on the bed next to you, then pulls you into his lap. It’s awkward, his quickly deflating wet penis resting against your bare back. He kisses your forehead softly. “Well done, girl,” he whispers, then rests his head against yours, his breath slowly evening out. Then he pats your leg. “Stand up. It’s time for bed,” he says with a yawn.

You stand, and he shuffles back on the bed to get under the covers, his movements sluggish. Christ, is he that drained from that? “Come on, time for bed sweetheart,” he says again as he rolls onto his side, facing away from you. His tone reminds you of how one might talk to a pet. Actually, it's sometimes how Blue talks to all of you at the club.

You awkwardly walk to the other side of the bed, then get in, pulling the scratchy cover over your now trembling body. By the time your head is resting against the pillow, he’s snoring.

And then it hits you.

You could run. 

The man is completely passed out. He has a car.

But you’re in the middle of nowhere. You don’t know how to drive. You don’t even know where the car keys are.

You could walk?

What if you get lost? What if there’s a bear? And even if you did walk you’re 30 miles away from anywhere! They’d just find you again. 

At least the bed is comfortable. The room is warm. You’re not in a dormitory with 19 other girls snoring, or worse, crying. And frankly, you’re tired. Tired from being constantly on edge. Tired of cat fights between the girls and bust ups between the men. Tired of all the work you do for the chance of a freedom you know you’ll never get. These small comforts are all you have right now. You let out a quiet sigh, and roll onto your side, snuggling your face into the softest pillow you’ve felt in months. But the movement makes the disgusting liquid drip from your opening. You desperately want to clean up, but he told you to keep it in. So you stifle your repulsed gag, and just let the mess happen.

You gaze out of the dark window for a long time thinking about everyone back at the club. You wonder if Blondie’s routine tonight went well, if the girls managed to find the prop sword from last time. You wonder if Madam Gorski or Blue performed, you can’t deny he is a good dancer and singer. They both are. You resent the fact you actually enjoy watching their opening number, the way they bounce off each other as performers. A sharp contrast to their dynamic behind the theater curtain. You glance at the small clock on the mantelpiece, they’ll be midway through the show by now. That’s how early you and Mr. Gold are in bed… Not even 10 pm. But you’re so tired. And it’s so quiet. So peaceful here. Your eyelids slowly start to droop. Before you know it, your full belly, the crackling of the fire, the soft snoring of Mr. Gold, and the warm bed all lull you into a sense of safety. Not even the slight jolt of panic as you vaguely remember Sir has ‘plans’ for you tomorrow, manages to prevent you from falling asleep.

Thank you for reading! There will be more Blue in future installments! I promise!

@wilder-fangirl @steven-grants-world

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

So I’ve been toying with writing a Sucker Punch fanfiction but I'm a) not sure how alive the fandom is anymore, and b) it's a lot darker and more explicit than I’ve ever written!

I saw the movie at the cinema and it’s where I first fell in love with Oscar Isaac (let's not think about what me being attracted to Blue says, but we live and we learn)

Anyway here’s a snippet of the start of it below the cut!

“Now, be a good girl for Mr. Gold, and make me proud, okay?” Blue instructs with a smirk as he straightens out the frilly white lace on your dress, his hands lingering too long on your exposed collarbone. You used to feel uneasy, now you’re mostly numb to his little touches. You nod, simultaneously wanting to please Blue yet hating yourself for it.  

Blue has rented you out for the weekend to a wealthy businessman, Mr. Gold. He didn’t entirely want to, he’s never let his girls leave the club before. But the man lives up to his name, the money he’s thrown at Blue for the pleasure of your company is through the roof. Blue said Mr. Gold could buy you outright if he wanted, and that threat alone has kept you awake for the last two nights. You didn’t think Blue was in the business of selling his assets, his girls. The club’s main revenue comes from the deals that get made in the back rooms you’re barred from accessing. Gambling, guns, medications, favours, Blue has his fingers in almost every illegal pie there is. The man’s as greedy and selfish as they get, but if Mr. Gold is as rich as the rumours say, you wonder whether Blue would actually go through with it. Whether if you’re too much of a ‘good girl’ you might just be getting yourself a one way ticket to something even worse.

Despite him frequenting the club numerous times, you’ve never been introduced to Mr. Gold, no idea what he even looks like. But according to Madam Gorski he took a shine to you during your latest dance. Things happened very quickly after that. Less than a week later you’re standing in the obscenely ornate lobby of the club, waiting to be picked up. The intricate chandelier, always dimmed, casts an intimate glow between you and Blue as he sees you off.

“When you’re out there, you’re representing the club, and you’re representing me. Understand?” he says firmly, his kohl lined eyes boring into yours.

“I understand,” you murmur as he places a hand on your shoulder, gently guiding you to turn around. Your heels click softly against the hardwood floor. You spot the plush velvet couches, never to be sat on without permission, then avert your gaze when you’re face to face with the club’s security. Blue’s hands trail down your sides, your waist, trailing lower still as he brushes over your ass. You feel a mixture of humiliation and helplessness as he gives it a quick pinch. It’s demeaning, but you’ve grown used to it.

Then his hands travel lower. You shut your eyes as he lifts the hem of your demure dress. You clench your jaw as his hand travels up the inside of your thigh to your crotch. He strokes the silk material of your underwear, humming in approval. You half expect him to pull your panties to the side to inspect you more thoroughly, but at the same time you hear the roar of a car engine, Blue pulls his hand away.

A little breath of relief escapes your lips as you open your eyes, only to make direct eye contact with the cold hard stare of a burly guard. Smirking. The gravel outside crunches loudly as Mr. Gold’s Bentley pulls into the darkening driveway of the club. In the dim light of the lobby, you clock the packed suitcase containing a few of your belongings by the door. You weren’t allowed to pack it yourself, just in case you ‘try anything’. A further reminder of the helplessness of your situation.

Blue turns you back around to give you a final once over, then smiles. It’s practically sincere. The sight makes your stomach churn. You can practically hear him thinking about all the things he could do with the money you’re about to bring in from this.  

“Be my good girl, hmm?” he murmurs before leaning in. You can’t help but take in a whiff of his musky cologne, your heart unwantedly skipping a beat. You hate the way your breath hitches whenever his soft lips meet your cheeks or on the rare occasion, your lips. Though today he’s more delicate than usual, as if he’s taking extra care not to mess up your make up with the lip balm he would never admit to using.

He pulls back, and your eyes dart away from his, falling instead on his crisp grey blazer with not a single blemish on it. It’s almost surreal, knowing what you do about his temper. He quickly turns you by your shoulders then spanks your ass gently - your cue that it’s time to go. You start walking, your legs shaky and your heart rate increasing further still. You can feel his eyes burning into your body, specifically your ass. You know he’ll be watching you all the way until you get in the car. 

Cold air hits your skin as you step through the imposing double doors of the building. The wind blows through your perfectly set hair, and causes the flimsy material of your dress to billow. You resist wrapping your arms around yourself for protection, you don’t want to do anything that might make you appear weak to Blue. You walk down the stone steps into the courtyard, then two sets of feet crunch against the gravel, the only sound in the deceptively peaceful location of the club. The shrubs lining the driveway look perfectly manicured, with not a single cigarette stub littering the floor. Someone must have tidied the courtyard up as the last time you saw it, there were flecks of red splattered on one of the stone walls. 

One of the security guards from the club picks up his pace to walk past you, then tosses your suitcase into the trunk of the car without a second glance. He thuds it shut, then places his hands in his pockets and stares at you as you continue the final few paces to Mr. Gold.

Madam Gorski has given you some advice on how you should behave outside the club. A couple of the other girls did too, but most are either jealous or scared for you. All of them agree however, you have to put on a good show to keep Mr. Gold coming back for more. The club needs the money to survive. And you need the club to survive.

The Weekend - Part 1

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

In Another Universe

Chapter 4

Summary: Jane tries to get her family to safety

Word count: 1.6k

Read on AO3

“You take seventy-” 

“71, I know,” Tommy interrupts. Jane watches two police cars, sirens blazing, head across the junction towards the city. When Tommy pulls out in the opposite direction, a third and fourth go by. They're going the other way, that's good. Stay away from cities, the radio said.

“Mommy-” Steven starts. Jane can hear the terror in his voice. He only calls her mommy when he's sick or terrified. 

She cuts him off before it escalates, none of them can afford to panic right now. “We don’t know,” she says as she looks back at him.

“They’re saying it’s a virus,” Tommy adds. “Some kind of parasite,” Jane looks at him, wishing he’d just kept his goddamn mouth shut. Why did he have to make her son even more scared by adding details?

“Is it from terrorists?”

“We don’t, know,” Jane reiterates as she glares at Tommy, a silent conversation passing between them as he glares back, worry etched all over his face.

“Are we sick?” Steven asks.

“No. Of course not.”

“Why did things blow up?”

Jane silently curses kids with all their damn questions. Tommy sighs as he fiddles with the truck’s buttons. “No cell phone, no radio. Minute ago, newsman wouldn’t shut up.”

“How do you know?” Steven asks.

“What?”

“How do you know we’re not sick?” Jane hears the tell tale sound of her son holding back tears and finally looks back at Steven again.

“They’re saying it’s mostly people in the city,” Tommy who answers before she can. “That’s why they got the highway blocked off.” 

A tense silence descends in the truck as Tommy drives. The blazing fire they first saw in the distance fast approaches as Jane realizes what's actually on fire. Who’s house that is. The only possible person’s house that could be in a field so otherwise empty.

“God. It’s Jimmy’s place,” Tommy comments as they drive past, the orange glow illuminating his face.

“The Adler’s would take Nana into the city. To the hospital for stuff,” Steven notes.

“That’s right,” Jane has no idea if that’s right. “They would,” Jane can’t even remember when she last saw the Adler’s take Nana into the city. “That’s probably why,” she says as she looks at Steven. If agreeing with his statement is what makes her kid feel even just the tiniest better about whatever the fuck is going on, she’ll cling onto it for dear life.

“But… you’d have to go a lot… right?”

“We’re fine. Trust me,” Tommy says as Jane stares at him. Jane pushes the doubt creeping in down, as far away as possible, as she focuses on the road. They are not sick. 

“All right,” she hears Steven whisper, but she’s too focused on what's ahead to say anything further. A car, trunk open, lights on… its passengers out on the goddamn road.

“Here! Right here!” a man shouts from the center of the road, waving his arms for attention. Jane looks to Tommy then back to the scene as she feels him hit the brakes slightly. “Hey!” the man shouts. She feels the car slow down even further and looks to her brother once again.

“What are you doin’?” she asks, confused. 

“Got a kid, Jane,” Tommy gestures to the family.

“So do we. Keep driving,” she says with a tone of finality, refusing to even look at the family now pleading just a few feet from her window. Tommy listens to her for once.

“We could put them in the back,” Steven tentatively suggests as Tommy revs the engine to speed up and past the scene. Jane feels her brother’s judgmental gaze as she stares straight ahead at the road. 

“Somebody else’ll come along,” she reasons, and steals a glance at Tommy. She could hate herself for it later, if when they get out of this in one piece. But getting her family to safety is all that matters right now. The truck engine revs loudly again as Tommy speeds up towards the highway.

The fuckin’ busy highway!

“Fuck! Everybody had the same fuckin’ idea,” Tommy shouts. A car going in the opposite direction honks their horn as it goes past, and Tommy honks back. Multiple times. “I can’t get through this!”

“All right, all right, let’s think it through, let’s think it through,” she tries to calm him.

“Fuck!” Tommy shouts as he narrowly avoids another car heading the opposite way.

“All right, take the field,” Jane instructs, forming her idea out loud. “We cut across and we pick up on the, on the west side.”

“Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah. West, west, all right. All right, hang on,” Tommy says as he turns the wheel to the right just as he reaches the traffic, the engine roaring angrily as it heads into grassy nothingness. Jane watches tensely as the truck struggles along through the darkness towards a slope. They go over, and the sight before is not one that brings her hope.

“Shit! Fuckin’ army!” Tommy says.

“Isn’t that good?” Steven naively asks.

“It’s good for them, but that’s the highway we’re tryin’ to get to,” Tommy answers as he brakes to a stop. Cars whiz past towards the commotion. Trucks, tanks, even fuckin’ helicopters. They don't stand a chance that way.

“All right, keep moving, head north,” she tells him.

“Could be a lot of people,” Tommy sounds hesitant as he flexes his fingers on the wheel. They don't have time for this!

“Well we can’t go south, we can’t go east, we can’t go west. Hell else we supposed to go?” He doesn’t answer. “Tommy, come on!” Jane shouts. Tommy revs the truck into action, the tires squealing on the grass and mud beneath as he turns towards the direction Jane instructed. A collection of lights shine in the distance; a small town.

“Yeah I know that place. This can work,” Jane says, thankful she’s right.

“Yeah, but then what?”

“I don’t know. Mexico. Just far. Far as we can. How much gas?”

“Three-quarter tank.”

“Go through town, golf course by the river, straight across, we pick up the highway on the other side of the blockade… then we’re out,” simple as that. They can do this. Tommy finally gets the truck back onto the road, and just when Jane feels a little hopeful…

“Maybe it’s everywhere. Maybe there’s nowhere to go,” Steven says. Jane sees Tommy glance at him in the rear view mirror before looking at her, a look of ‘what if he’s right?’ evident on his face. Before any of them can continue that train of thought, the whining of an engine distracts Tommy.

“What the fuck?!” he shouts looking up towards the sunroof. Fucking jet engines?! Before Jane can even process that, more police cars drive from the intersection in front. “Son of a bitch. Gotta go around. Grab somethin’!” Tommy instructs as the police cars pile up ahead. He steers the car to a sharp right down a side road, illuminating hordes of people running across, screaming, away from an unknown danger. Tommy steers them back to the main road, thankfully no police block their route.

“All right, keep goin’, keep goin’,” Jane urges, pointing towards the dark edges of town. A movement in her peripheral grabs her attention, and Jane lunges for the wheel. “Shit. Tommy!”

The car to their left that was on course to hit straight into them honks and halts to a stop. That was a close fucking call. Jane’s heart races as she looks ahead at the pandemonium. People running through the streets, screaming, gunshots firing off too. So why the fuck is Tommy slowing down?

“Tommy, you can’t stop here,” she says, pointing towards the people running across the road.

“I can’t drive through ‘em all!” he gestures to the same pedestrians. 

“Are you serious?! Just keep goin’!” Jane shouts. The cacophony of screams and banging gets louder the further Tommy snails down the road, eventually halting to a stop as the movie theater ahead is now pouring out with people. Jane looks back, searching for another way. But there’s nothing. And there’s more and more people heading straight for them! 

“Go, go go,” she says as she looks forward towards the ever louder screams. “Back, back, back, back, back, back, back!” she shouts increasingly louder as she hits the dashboard impatiently, glaring at Tommy.

“I’m tryin’,” Tommy shifts the gear stick into reverse and checks behind. 

“Tommy, go faster! We gotta go!” Jane shouts, more impatient and anxious to get out of there than ever.

“I’m tryin’! There’s nowhere to fuckin’ go!” he shouts argumentatively.

“Find an alley!” 

“What alley?! There’s people everywhere!” he snaps back.

“Roll the fuck over them! We gotta get off this street! Now!” she demands.

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to do Jane!” 

Jane thinks she’s pushing her little brother too much. He’s in the driver's seat. He needs to keep his shit together to get them the fuck outta here. “It’s gonna be okay. Just keep drivin’,” she says forcibly more gently as she looks at Tommy.

“Mom!” Steven shouts, she hears the panic in his voice and turns to look just before Tommy turns too. 

“Holy shit!” Tommy says as he spots it.

“Move. Move!” Jane says as she swings both arms around back in a futile attempt to help Steven. He looks back through the rear window to watch the wayward fuckin’ plane approaching faster and faster, its wings sickeningly sideways. There’s people running towards them, away from the plane. It’s coming straight at them. They have time, right? They can out drive a goddamn plane, right?! The plane suddenly nosedives down 200 feet away, exploding on impact. Steven ducks down from the blinding orange light, just before a piece of debris shoots past, ricocheting off the building to their right, coming straight towards-

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

The Neighbour Down The Hall

Chapter 12

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: A lot can change in just 24 hours

Word count: 1.5k

AO3

“Will you talk to me about what’s going on now?” Bucky asked, though it sounded more like a demand than a request, especially coupled with the way he tried to step into your apartment.

You pushed the door shut slightly. “Me and Justin had a disagree-”

“Cut the bullshit, I heard every word.”

You didn’t think you were that loud… You bit your lip, then closed your eyes and sighed at the same time, before pulling the door open, allowing Bucky inside. As he walked past you took a peak out into the hallway to see if anyone else was looking, but the place was empty, then you locked the door behind you. Bucky was already in your kitchen by the sound of it, you heard the kettle being filled. You walked into the room, there was one mug and the box of your chamomile tea sitting on the counter. Along with a Bucky, leaning against it, looking sort of out of place. The overhead lights were harsh to your sleep deprived eyes, and and you grimaced a little as you yawned.

“Sit down,” he instructed quietly, nodding towards your dining table.

You did as he asked, for a moment the only sound being the slow boiling of the kettle until you spoke up. “Was that you I heard talking to him out there?”

Bucky nodded, not elaborating further as he made you a cup of tea. He set the beverage down in front of you, and pulled up a chair opposite, his blue eyes piercing yours. You couldn’t maintain eye contact.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, wrapping your hands around the hot mug.

“Are you okay?” he asked surprisingly softly.

You couldn’t help the humourless snort, nor the immediate guilt as you looked up at the obvious concern on his face. “No. I just kicked my boyfriend- correction, ex - out of my apartment.”

Bucky nodded gently. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he said quietly.

“Please I don’t want to hear any of that sort of crap right now.”

Bucky raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright… You don’t want that ‘crap’. What drug was it?”

You felt the confused expression on your face. Had he truly heard every word?

“Marijuana,” you stated, then took a sip of your tea. You started to wonder if you had overreacted, the substance was literally legal in some countries, but it wasn’t just about the drugs. “He was arrested for possession of a Class B drug, and the police came here and they must have found some… and now he's waiting to be summoned to court I think.” 

Bucky nodded slowly. “You smoke it?”

“God no,” you answered quickly. “That would be illegal.”

A flicker of a smirk passed across his face, which rubbed you up the wrong way for some reason. But before you could say anything his expression sombered. “Are you safe from him?”

“Safe? Why would you ask that?”

“He was pretty angry before I stepped in.”

“What did you even say to him?” you asked, then took another sip of the tea.

“Just gave him an idea about what might happen if he didn’t leave and ever dared to come back,” he said nonchalantly, though there was a steely glint in his eyes. 

“And what might happen?” you asked apprehensively, clutching onto your mug tighter.

He shrugged. “That depends on you. So I ask again, do you feel like you're safe from him?”

You nodded. “I think so. I mean… if- if he came back and caused any trouble I could tell the police how he grabbed-”

Bucky suddenly leaned forward. “Wait what? He laid his hands on you?” 

“Sort of, he like, well he dragged me towards…” you trailed off as the dark look on Bucky’s face was making you more scared than you wanted to admit to yourself.

“Finish that sentence,” he demanded quietly.

“He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and dragged me towards him,” you mumbled.

Bucky let out a hiss of anger, looking off to the side for a moment before looking back at you, his eyes roaming down the parts of your body he could see above the table. “Did he hurt you?” you started to shake your head but he continued, “don’t lie if he did. You don’t need to protect him.”

“He didn’t,” you insisted. “I stumbled a bit but that’s all.”

“Has he ever done anything like that before?”

“No, that was the only time he uh, ‘manhandled’ me,” you said, grimacing a bit at the phrase.

“If I see that bastard again,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head gently. You took another few gulps of your tea, the temperature now more tolerable. You tried to avoid Bucky’s gaze, until he asked a direct question. “Are you gonna be okay? On your own?”

You nodded. “Yeah I pay most of the bills apart from rent, but I can get that changed from him to me. It's only just been the first, but he can suck a dick if he tries asking me to cover his half.”

“That’s good… but not quite what I meant.”

Oh…  “Yeah no I’ll, I’ll be fine,” you said, shrugging and putting on a little fake smile.

“You’re welcome to uh… come over if you ever need…” he trailed off. You weren’t 100% sure where he was going with that, but you appreciated it.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, looking down at the mug. The grating sound of your phone alarm went off, and you quickly fished the device to turn it off. “I have to get ready…” you said awkwardly.

“You’re still going to work?” he asked incredulously.

“I can’t just-”

“Are they not letting you have time off for something like this?”

“I haven’t told them,” you admitted. Bucky gave you an even more incredulous look. “They don’t need to know,” you said defensively.

“Jess, you need to take care of yourself, not work yourself to the bone even more and pretend everything is fine.”

You frowned. “My job provides stability and it’s good to get out of the apartment.”

“You need rest. But if you need to get out of the apartment, go for a walk, or take yourself shopping or something else stereotypically… ‘self caring’,” he air quoted. You pushed down the snigger threatening to escape your lips.

“I’d rather just go to work.”

He sighed loudly. “And I’d rather you took time to look after yourself.”

“Can we agree to disagree?”

“No,” he said bluntly, frustrating you. 

“Bucky I don’t need to baby myself,” you scoffed.

“It’s not babying yourself, it’s being responsible for your own well being,” he rebuffed. “I’ll make you a deal. If you spend today actually getting some sleep or at least resting, I’ll make you dinner tonight.” 

That caught you off guard and you practically choked on your own spit. “Dinner?” He nodded. “With you?”

“With me.”

“Dinner?” you repeated.

“Yes. You eat it, right?” he asked a little slowly.

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously but I didn’t think- you want to cook me dinner?”

“Yes…” he said even more slowly.

You narrowed your eyes. “It wouldn't be a date.”

He rolled his eyes. “I never suggested it was.”

“Where?”

“My place.”

You briefly wondered if his sparse apartment even had the utensils to handle that, but you eventually nodded. “What time?”

“8pm.”

"How would you know I actually rest and don’t just pretend?”

“Either the bags under your eyes will look less noticeable... or you can tell me all about whatever adventures you get up to, but you won't be getting any dessert.”

A minuscule smile formed on your face. “Okay… deal.” 

Bucky smiled back gently, nodding, then stood up. “You sure you’ll be okay for the day?”

“Yeah, I’ll ‘rest’,” you air quoted, standing up too. “Are you going off to work?”

Bucky took a few steps towards your front door before he eventually replied "Yeah." Then he hesitated. “If anything happens…” he began, glancing around then picking up the notepad and pen you kept on the little side table by your front door. “Here’s my number," he said, handing you the piece of paper. He had surprisingly cursive handwriting.

"Thank you," you said quietly as you took it, your attention once again being drawn to the gloves he always wore.

Bucky opened the door, walking back to his apartment. "Make sure you keep your doors locked," he turned to instruct you before entering his own apartment. 

You bit your lip, shutting your door gently.

A lot can change in 24 hours, hell a lot can change in just one hour.

Justin had possessed drugs.

You kicked the twat out of your home.

And tonight you were going to have dinner with Bucky with the beautiful blue eyes.

Next chapter

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

In Another Universe

Chapter 3

Summary: Jane collects her little brother from jail, but their night goes from bad to worse

Word count: 1.5k

Read on AO3

Three hours. It took three fucking hours for her to get Tommy bailed from jail. He was right, it was a fucking madhouse in there. People screaming, crying, going on about some virus that’s making people crazy. Jane can’t believe what’s going wrong in the world. She hopes Steven’s still asleep, that he hasn’t noticed her absence. The last thing she wants is him to be worrying about her. She’ll go get a cake first thing in the morning, and pancake mix too. They can watch the movie wide awake, munching on cake and pancakes and whatever the hell else Steven wants. She’ll make it up to him.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy starts as they walk out the doors of the county jail.

“Don’t,” Jane says with a tone of finality.

“It won’t happen again,” he continues.

“Damn straight it won’t,” Jane agrees, turning around to confront him in the parking lot. “How many times have I done this, Tommy? How many times?”

“Too many,” her little brother mutters.

“I’m tired of being your second mom, Tommy.”

“You’re not my-”

“Sure feels like it sometimes,” Jane cuts him off. Noise of a commotion filters through the station’s doors, but Jane ignores it. “You’re in your thirties for Christ sake, you can’t keep doin’ this shit,” she continues. Tommy glances back towards the doors, and Jane swears she hears a woman screaming. She shakes her head, she’s too damn tired for this. “Let’s just get home, we can talk about this in the morning.”

She continues the walk to the truck just as a loud bang echoes across the parking lot, making her jump. She turns to see the station burst wide open, a long stream of people running out. Escaped criminals? Wait- why are they all screaming?

“Get to the truck,” Tommy instructs. Jane hears the fear in his tone.

“What’s wrong?” her heart begins to pound.

“I knew something was not right when I was in there. Get to the truck, I’ll explain on the way." Jane doesn’t need to be told twice, she jogs back to where she parked the vehicle. “Hand me the keys,” Tommy demands. Jane gives him a look. “I’m fine, I had one beer, that’s all,” he insists. She huffs and throws the keys to him, not wasting time arguing. She slams the door behind her as she gets in the passenger side.

“What the fuck’s goin’ on?” she rounds on him as he starts the engine. 

“Whilst I was in that cell there were people who looked sick but they were like, movin’ strange. Officers tried moving them to another cell but one of them attacked and the whole force rained down hell on ‘em, they should have died but they didn’t. They carried on screaming, growling. It took so many bullets to kick ‘em down, Jane. It was a bullet to the head that did it,” he mutters the last sentence quietly as he speeds out the lot and down the familiar Austin roads. 

“And you saw that?”

“Not exactly, but I heard it through down the corrid- shit!” Tommy swerves to avoid hitting a pedestrian running across the road. 

“Watch where you’re going!" she scolds. 

“She came out of nowhere!” he shouts back. 

“Shoulda driven myself,” Jane mutters disapprovingly.

“What the fuck…”

Jane follows Tommy’s gaze towards a man running half naked through the streets. Jesus, he looks rabid. The man growls, running so fast he trips over his own feet, then gets back up again with such staccato movements that it’s almost… unnatural. 

“Tommy, go back to the house,” Jane hears her voice wobble.

“What?”

“Steven! Go back to mine! Now!” she growls as she slams the radio on, searching for the news channel. Tommy revs the engine, putting his foot on the gas as much as the vehicle can take.

“-officials have declared a state of emergency. The Federal Disaster Response Agency is now working to counter the effects of the virus. It is highly contagious, and deadly. Citizens are advised to stay in your homes. Lock your doors. Do not enter cities-”

“Jesus Christ,” she pants.

“Fuckin’ knew it.” 

“You got your rifle?” 

“In the back.”

“Good, you're gonna need it.”

When they finally arrive on their street, a small figure runs onto the sidewalk by the house. No, not a figure. It's Jane’s fucking kid. Relief floods through her as Tommy brakes hard. The truck screeches to a stop and Jane leaps out immediately, armed with a wrench.

“Get in the truck! Right now!” she orders. “Move!” she shouts when Steven’s movements are too slow, grabbing his arms to encourage him to move. A snarl erupts from the house adjacent to theirs and Jane pushes her son ahead towards the open car door. In her peripheral, she clocks Tommy walking around the truck, the rifle in his hands.

Their elderly neighbor, Nana, comes tumbling from the open door in an unsettling, bone crunching, manner, then collapses onto the front patio.

Steven was supposed to go to the Adlers this evening... She sent him there. She sent him to the virus. Jane pushes the idea that if he died it would be on her from her mind, and holds the wrench in her right hand, ready to defend her family at all costs.

She walks apprehensively towards the old woman who raises her head with a snap, wheezing as she starts to crawl closer to them. Within an instant Nana gets on all fours to push herself up to her full height then runs straight at her. Moving just like the others they saw on their way over here.

“What are we doin’ Jane?!” Tommy shouts, no doubt his gun already aimed. Jane backs away initially before using the momentum to launch the wrench at Nana, whacking her in the chest. Her body thuds to the ground at the same time she hears Steven gasp. Nana doesn’t move as Jane looks down at the sight she created. Tommy walks over, gun still aimed at the body. Blood drips from the weapon and Jane drops it to the ground, realizing what she’s just done.

She looks up to see Tommy’s gaze shift from her to behind, to Steven. Jane turns to face her little boy who’s looking down at the body, down at the murder she just committed. He looks up at her with his stupidly big eyes as a lone tear falls down his cheek, his mouth parted. Her insides crawl. Jane reaches her son in two paces, crouching down slightly to his level. She cradles his face in her hands.

“You killed her,” Steven starts.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” she says as she pulls him in close, one arm around his waist, the other around the back of his head, holding onto him tightly. She'd do anything to protect her child.

“Jane, we gotta go,” Tommy says as she lets go. She crouches down to just below Steven’s level again to cradle his face once more as she stares deep into his eyes.

“Steven, listen to me. It’s not just the Adlers,” Steven’s brows pull together in panic. “But we’re gonna be brave and we’re gonna get outta this.”

A green explosion from her right stops her in her reassuring tracks. She instinctively pulls Steven closer to her, shielding his face away from the direction of the blast. 

“Hey. Let’s go. Come on,” Tommy says as he quick marches to the driver's door. Jane puts a hand behind Steven’s back and guides him to the truck. 

“Get in,” she instructs as she opens the door and half pushes him inside before closing it behind. She’s reaching for her own when she notices a woman walking towards them from the house opposite, a lit torch in hand.

“Jane?” the female says. She side steps to the hood of the truck to get a better look.

“Denise, you get back inside the house!” she growls as she aggressively points her finger towards the female in question’s property. “You lock your doors! Now!”

“C’mon, c’mon, get in!” Tommy shouts from inside the vehicle as Jane makes her way inside to join him. She slams her door shut as Tommy drives a full 180 U turn in their cul-de-sac, the tires screeching loudly as another explosion goes off in the distance. The headlights illuminate two more infected in the street. Wait is that-?

“Get your seat belt on,” she instructs Steven. Jane fights off the panic that rises at the possibility Steven had to fight off all of the Alders by himself.

“Hold on,” Tommy says gravely before launching ahead, the engine roaring as the truck rushes towards Mr. Adler. They hit him side on.

“Jesus Christ, Jane!” she hears Denise shout as further explosions go off in the distance. Jane ignores it. They gotta focus on themselves now.

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

This was too good not to share. My best friend got me this blanket for Christmas and let me tell you, I am obsessed to unhealthy degrees

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

In Another Universe

Chapter 2

Summary: Jane's birthday takes an unexpected turn

Word count: 1.8k

Read on AO3

Halfway through loading up the truck with tools, Jane wonders where her damn kid has got to. They're gonna be fuckin’ late at this rate.

“Steven!” she shouts impatiently as she honks the horn twice. Screw what the neighbours will think. 

“Hey, neighbour!” Mr. Adler calls over as Jane grabs two more tool bags from the garage to load up. Is he talking to her? 

“Oh, hi,” she hears Steven respond politely before she sees him, finally ready for school.

“Uh, Connie was askin’ after you, since you haven’t been over in a while,” he says as Jane places the bags in the back of the truck. Steven looks at her expectantly.

“Make ‘em happy,” she quietly instructs. Lord knows those older folks could use some cheering up in their lives with sick Nana to care for. Jane heads back into the garage to collect even more crap for the job. Why Tommy couldn’t help her is a mystery, but it always has been her pulling most of the weight around here. 

“I could come by after school, but just for like, a little bit?” Jane hears Steven suggest as she presses the button to shut the garage door from the inside, giving herself a few seconds to get out. 

“She’ll take whatcha got. Y’all can bake, whatever,” their neighbour replies as Jane walks to the truck with the final crate, smirking at the idea of Steven going to their neighbours to bake. “Speakin’ of… we got a lot of extra here. Y’all want some biscuits?” he offers as Jane rifles through the bags to check they have everything they need. 

“Mom, you love biscuits,” Steven says with a hint of mirth. Jane looks at her son, an unspoken conversation occurring with just a glance, before looking over to watch Mr. Adler push a piece of wayward bread into the mouth of his elderly mother. It’s sad, really, but they don’t have time to socialize. 

“I do. But I’m on Atkins,” she replies as she replaces the tool bag in the truck properly.

“On what now?” he shouts.

“It’s uh-” she begins, but thinks better of it, “you know what? We gotta run, but Steven’ll be by later. He’ll stay as long as you want,” she says as she lifts the back of the truck up, ignoring the ‘what the hell’ look her son shoots at her. “Tell ya all about Atkins,” she adds, enjoying Steven’s internal squirming. 

“Great! I’ll let Connie know,” Mr. Adler shouts back as Jane walks to the passenger door, opening it for Steven.

“Solid,” he says as he steps into the car. 

“Can’t tell you how exciting it was listening to that fucking conversation,” Tommy says dryly as she gets into the car, a lit cigarette sticking from his mouth. 

“Put that out,” she says scoldingly as she fastens her seat belt. Tommy raises his brows then takes another drag before flicking the offending object from the window.

“Happy birthday to you.”

It’s pitch black by the time she gets home. She tries the front door, finding it locked. Huh, Steven rarely remembers to do that. Jane digs her keys out from her pockets and unlocks it, careful not to be too loud in case her son is asleep. When she enters however the sounds of pages turning softly indicate someone is up. She spots him sitting on their brown leather sofa, the yellow lamp light casting a cozy glow. She glances down to the object in his hands, he’s reading his latest favorite magazine.

“You locked the door for once. Good job,” she praises as she walks further into the house.

“Yeah,” Steven answers as he puts down the magazine then turns the TV off. 

With an audible groan, Jane plops herself down beside him. She raises the heels of her palms to her eyes, a headache well and truly embedded in her brain.

“It’s ten,” Steven says, the hint of disappointment doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“I know. They… gave us the wrong size for the headers,” Jane replies as she sits back up to untie her shoes and turns to Steven. “That doesn’t mean anything to ya. I’m sorry,”

“Where’s the cake?” Steven asks as she gets the first shoe off.

“Shit,” Jane whispers, putting her head into her hand. She'd get first place in the Worst Mother of the Year awards.

“Come on, man,” he says. She can’t stand disappointing Steven, yet she keeps on doing it. 

“I’ll get us one tomorrow,” she placates.

“Swear, or you don’t get your present,” Steven half warns.

“You got me a present?” Jane turns to look at him again.

“Swear,” he repeats.

“On my life,” Jane murmurs playfully.

Steven looks at her for a second before clearly deciding to believe her. He turns around to fuss behind a cushion whilst Jane takes off her other shoe. When she looks back up, he’s holding a small grey box. Not quite what she’s expecting, Jane thinks with a look. Is it a guitar pick she wonders as she takes the box from his hand. “Wow,” she says as she briefly examines it before opening the lid. Jane goes stoically still. It’s the watch. Her watch. But it’s-

“Fixed it for you,” Steven says, looking at her with those stupidly big eyes that make him look 5 years younger and adorable, but simultaneously remind her of his walkout of a dad. Jane takes the watch from the box to inspect it, the damn thing looks practically brand new again. Jane has a wicked thought and holds it to her ear.

“Did you?” she asks innocently as she furrows her brow.

“What?” Steven grabs her arm, his face falling as he brings the watch in for closer inspection.

“I don’t hear anything,” Jane continues to tease but Steven has already noticed the second hand ticking. Jane laughs mischievously, she’ll never get tired of winding this kid up. Not now, not when he's a moody teenager, and certainly not when he's all grown up. 

“That was lame,” Steven says. “You’re lame.” 

“Yeah, I know,” she says as she looks over the watch once more. “Where’d you get the money for this?” she asks as she starts to put the accessory on. She doesn't give Steven much pocket money, that's for sure. 

“Drugs. I sell hardcore drugs.” 

“It’s better than what I do,” Jane retorts, fastening the familiar strap on her wrist.

“It was only $20… which I stole from you,” Jane looks at him again, she ought to be mad that he stole from her, but she isn’t. “I could’ve stolen $60, but I put the change back because I’m an honest thief.”

“Mm,” she replies simply, unwilling to reward his stealing, but the warm feeling in her chest prevents her from berating him either.

“Besides, it’s the thought that counts. And you were never gonna do it for yourself, so…” Steven trails off, looking at her suddenly with more years in his eyes than he has had alive on this earth. It pulls at her heartstrings. How does he see so much? She swallows the lump that has formed in her throat.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“Oh! There’s one more,” Jane watches him shuffle excitedly behind the cushion once more, bringing out a DVD. Jane feels her eyes go wide as she lets out a gasp. “Borrowed it from the Adlers.”

“Oh, this is the one with the deleted scene,” she comments as she reads over the back cover of the case. Curtis and Viper 2, god she loves how crappy these movies are.

“Yeah, imagine how bad those have to be. Come on, pop it in. While it’s still your birthday.”

Jane doesn't much care for her birthday but she cares about making Steven happy. So she does as she’s instructed and puts the DVD in the player before settling back down on the couch with another groan. She leans back as Steven settles to rest his head on her arm. She thanks her lucky stars he’s still not reached that awkward teenage stage where the idea of being close to mom is revolting. She's been dreading the day he decides to shove her away and says ‘Ew, don't hug me mom’. The day she has her last embrace with him until he decides it's no longer embarrassing to be held by her. So she'll cling onto these moments for as long as she can.

“Don’t fall asleep,” she says, knowing it's exactly what's going to happen.

“Course, I won’t,” Steven replies as Jane turns the TV on. “It’s too riveting.” 

They’re halfway into the movie when Jane realizes Steven’s breathing is now so deep there’s no way he’s still awake. Damn the kid’s a deep sleeper to not wake up from those gunshots and screams coming from the screen. Jane’s cell buzzes from the table in front. Who the hell is phoning at - she looks at her fixed watch - fucking eleven at night? Jane looks down to check Steven is still asleep on her thigh before reaching over to pick up the call.

“Hello?” she answers softly. 

“Jane, it’s me. Uh, I’m okay,” she senses a but. There's always a but with Tommy.

“Yeah?” she asks apprehensively. 

“But I’m in jail,” there it is.

“Goddamn it,” she whispers, closing her eyes as she leans her head back against the seat. She presses her thumb and forefinger against each eyelid, her headache had only JUST begun to ease off.

“It wasn’t my fault this time. I was at the bar, some guy goes crazy, starts swingin’ at a waitress, I stepped in, knocked him out, cops show up. Look, it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. You gotta bail me out,” Tommy says. 

“Now?!” she whisper growls.

“It’s Friday. You don’t get me out tonight, I’m here all weekend. It’s a fuckin’ madhouse, Jane.”

He’s right, she knows. And as much as she’s annoyed at him for getting arrested yet again, she won’t let him sit in jail all weekend. “Well, which jail? Travis County?” 

��Yeah, on 10th.”

Jane shakes her head minutely. She’s done this too many times to count. “Goddamnit, Tommy.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. Jane sighs as she looks down at Steven, still sleeping. “Please.”

“Okay. Fuckin’ idiot,” she whispers and hangs up the phone. She leans forward to place it back in its spot on the table, careful not to wake Steven up.

It’s been a while since she last did this, but Jane worries each time she does that this may be the last. Not only because he'll get older, but because he'll eventually outgrow her and she won't be strong enough to do it again. So she picks him up, stifling a groan from her aching muscles, and carries him upstairs to his room. One benefit of his deep sleeping is the kid barely even stirs when she places him in his bed and pulls the covers over him. She places a gentle kiss on his head and shuts the door behind. Damn her little brother.

Chapter 3

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

The Neighbour Down The Hall

Chapter 11

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You finally make some decisions regarding your relationship

Word count: 1.1k

AO3

He didn’t come to bed that night.

He didn’t even turn the volume down.

He didn’t even fucking acknowledge you when you grabbed the suitcase from the cupboard in the living room.

You were done.

You didn’t care it was 6 am on a Tuesday morning.

You didn’t even care neither of you had really slept all night.

You didn’t even fucking care that you were about to destroy your life as you knew it.

You wanted - needed - him out.

Everything became so much clearer when you went against his wishes and texted your friend Anna late that night. Thank god she was awake.

You told her everything you knew about Justin’s arrest, which annoyingly wasn’t enough. You told her about the smell of weed, the soil, the dirt on Justin’s skin. You told her how the police had come to your home to search it, how they left suspiciously quickly, as though they knew exactly what they were looking for. Then you told her what he’d been charged with.

She couldn’t believe it.

“Justin? Drugs?” she'd scoffed.

It made no sense. Your friends knew he was a bit of a layabout, but to be charged with possession of drugs didn’t fit his character.

So then you told her some of the ways he’d been talking to you, the way he could be dismissive,  cold... The way sometimes he’d just not give a shit about you, and it made you feel small.

You told her how the arguments you and he had were more intense than what you thought was normal. You told her about the time he made you walk home in the rain after an argument. Then you told her that mere hours ago he’d grabbed you by your shirt and dragged you towards him.

And finally, after some choice words from Anna, you felt for the first time, what could only be described as the smallest kick up the backside to exist.

She'd suggested coming over to make sure you were safe, but you insisted you didn't need it. You could handle him.

So you spent the early hours of the morning tip toeing around, packing up what you knew would ensure he’d leave the apartment. 

The clock struck 6 am, and you decided to pull the trigger.

“What are you doing?” Justin mumbled groggily as you wheeled the large fully loaded suitcase onto the floor in front of him. 

“Get up. And get out,” you said firmly, despite it still being pitch black out.

“What? Why?” he asked, clearly confused.

“I can’t deal with whatever the hell is going on with you, not anymore.”

“You’re kicking me out in my time of need?” 

You almost laughed. “Your time of need? You mean your time of crime.”

“Jess I’ve been over-”

“No Justin! You lied to me! And you stored drugs in our home! My home!” 

“For a friend!” he bellowed as he sat upright. You tried not to flinch.

“What about me?! What about partnership?!” you said, gesturing between the two of you.

“This isn’t about us! I was helping a friend!” 

“You chose your friend over me! Over the law!”

“It’s just a bit of weed, Jess,” he shouted derisively. 

“It’s not about the weed, it’s the lies and the secrets!” 

“What about you and your secrecy?! Always out! Hanging out with who knows what behind my back!” his face contorted with anger.

“Don’t you dare twist this, Justin!” 

“I’m just saying you’re a fine one to talk, Jess!”

“These things are not comparable! At all!” you said, picking up the suitcase handle and pushing it towards him.

“You’re actually for real? You’re kicking me out when I have nowhere else to go?”

“Oh please, you have friends. What about Jack, huh?” you challenged.

“I’m not like that with him!”

“Oh so you’re chummy enough to stash his weed but not so chummy you can’t stay at his place?” you said mockingly. 

“It’s not like that!” he insisted.

“Go to your fucking parents then! I’m sure they’d love to hear about how their son was arrested!” 

“I can’t just turn up! It’s not even dawn!” 

“I don’t care where you go, just get out of my home!” you said, now dragging the suitcase by the handle and wheeling it to the door.

But he stood his ground. “I’m not going.”

“Oh yeah? Well guess what honey, this suitcase doesn’t just have your clothes in it.”

He looked at you in confusion, before looking back towards the now empty space under the TV. “You didn’t…”

A small smirk developed on your lips as you nodded. “I did,” you whispered. Then you opened the door and slowly pushed the suitcase out, the thing rolling precariously into the corridor.

“Please, don’t do this,” he begged, but made no effort to move. He didn’t think you’d really do it, did he.

“Guess what? Your PC and iPad? In there too.”

He grabbed his phone at the same time as he shot up off the sofa. He ran past you towards the precious devices you had neatly packed away for him. And you slammed the door shut behind him, locking it swiftly. 

There was a loud thump against the door. “Jess! Open the fucking door!” he boomed.

“No!” you shouted back.

You heard Justin growl. “I need my fucking keys, Jess!”

You hesitated, then marched to get his keys from the table, deftly removing the ones to the flat from the key chain. You quickly opened the door, threw the keys out, then slammed it shut again. 

“For God’s sake, you’re being unreasonable! Don’t do this!”

For a second you wondered if maybe, you were. You didn’t say anything, but then you heard a few muffled words spoken through the walls. Who’s voice was that? You couldn’t make out what was happening, but you didn't dare check in case Justin barged right back in. A long moment later, you heard the stairwell door opening and closing, before there was silence once more.

He was gone.

“Fucking arsehole!” you shouted, not giving a shit about the early hour.

You kicked your sofa deliberately as you walked back into the living room, cursing as it hurt your foot. You plopped down onto the cushions, still warm from Justin’s presence. You sniffed, tears stinging your eyes as a faint smell of him hit your nose. A few moments later, there was a knock at your door.

Great. You had woken the neighbours.

You should probably open it, should apologise for the disturbance. You put your dressing gown on and opened the door.

It was Bucky.

Next chapter

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

In Another Universe

Summary: A universe where Joel and Ellie are Jane and Elliot

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

In Another Universe

Chapter 1

Summary: The morning of Jane's birthday

Word count: 1.6k

Read on AO3

"Alarm!" a young male voice shouts, bringing Jane into consciousness. No, not any male, her son. And he's just had to wake her up after sleeping through the alarm she can now hear beeping angrily at her. 

"Alarm!" Steven shouts a second time. Jane groans, stretching out her aching arms in bed. She sits up and rubs her sore eyes. She barely slept last night, it was so hot. The fan aimed straight at her and the open windows did little to help with the Texas summer heat. She slides out of bed and cracks her neck, her back, any joint she can find. 

She rummages around the bedroom for clean clothes, her laundry hamper full to the brim. She finds a grey t-shirt that looks sort of clean, and a pair of jeans. That’ll do. The smell of eggs wafts upstairs as she quickly washes in the bathroom; a shower will have to wait until later. She heads downstairs, fastening her belt on the way, the finishing touch to her outfit.

The dulcet tones of Avril Lavigne play softly on the radio as the smell of eggs and now coffee gets stronger - Steven's been pretty busy this morning. She enters their open plan kitchen to see her son rifling through their cupboards. He’s wearing the Halican Drops t-shirt today. Jane never understood that kid’s obsession with the pop star's music, all this new millennium stuff sounds the same to her. 

"Where's the pancake mix?" Steven turns to ask.

"Oh was I... yeah I was… sorry." God that kid is too good for her. She heads towards the freshly brewed pot of coffee, desperate for a pick me up, as her son opens the fridge. 

"I was gonna make you birthday pancakes. I swear..." 

"You know I don't really like pancakes," she says slightly teasingly as she pours herself a cup of the strong stuff, praying it will make her more alert. 

"I know you don't like them. It was for MY benefit," Steven replies. Jane turns to retort but sees him, arm flexed out, glass of orange juice in hand. He poured that for her? Before she even has a chance to reject the citrus drink, Steven says "Vitamin C,” as if in explanation.

Jane puts down the coffee, nodding gently, and takes the drink. She takes one sip, far too sweet for that time in the morning, and goes back to the drink she knows best. It should be her cooking breakfast for Steven, she thinks with a twinge of guilt, not the other way around. That’s what all the other moms do, the good ones anyway. And she wants to be a good mom. 

"You get your uh, homework done?" she asks whilst he attends to the eggs. He looks back at her incredulously. "Fractions?" she continues. Steven chuckles, god how she loves that sound. It’s tough being a single parent, ever since Steven’s dad walked out on them she’s had to be both mom and dad, both good cop and bad. She’s worked her ass off to make sure they have a roof over their heads, food on the table. With no college degree and being female she’s been at a disadvantage her whole adult life. But when the pride and joy of her life laughs, it makes all of it worth it. She wouldn’t have their little family any other way.

Jane grabs the salt, pepper, Tabasco sauce for her, glass of OJ for Steven, and sets each item at their little round table whilst her son finishes cooking their breakfast, unashamedly singing along to whatever male OR female pop star plays on the radio. She thinks he gets his voice from her, she used to like playing guitar when she had free time. Though in between working with her brother and raising Steven, she rarely has any time for herself.

When the eggs sound about done Jane gets two plates from the cupboard and sets them aside for Steven to dish up their food. She takes a comically long sniff, “Mmm, yummy,” she praises and scruffs up his dirty blonde hair, earning her a groan from her pre-teen son.

Once at the table, Jane tucks eagerly into their breakfast - Steven’s a better cook than she ever has been. 

"How old are you again?" he asks as she takes another bite.

"36", she answers, chewing the food in her mouth. 

"Gonna have to wear diapers soon," Steven teases as he looks up to see her reaction. Two can play at that game.

"Who says I don't already?" Jane retorts, twiddling her fork in her hand. Something crunches in her mouth and Jane pauses chewing to inspect the intrusion. 

"Shell," she says as she removes the object.

"Calcium," Steven replies around the food still in his mouth. He then grins, putting on display the full contents of the mushed up eggs hidden inside.

"Lovely," Jane says sarcastically. She hears the garage door whirring in the distance. Right on time. "Is there enough for Uncle Tommy?" 

"Well, there would've been,” Steven says as Jane hears the door to their garage open then close shut. 

"Ay! You're still alive, you old fucker,” Tommy says as he pats her on the back in greeting then walks towards the kitchen.

"Aw, he loves you.”

"He's dependent on me. Not the same,” Jane retorts back in between bites of egg.

“I think it's the same," Steven replies.

“It's definitely the same,” Tommy says as he fetches a plate from the cupboard. "I thought we was havin' pancakes,” he says after inspecting the oven, the disappointment in his voice clear. Jane raises her hands in frustration. Is she a mom to two kids now?

"We’ll pick you somethin' up on the road," Jane replies. They have more important things to discuss. “Concrete guys gonna be there?”

“Yeah they said maybe,” Tommy says as he opens the fridge door. Fuck’s sake, uncertainty with this project is the last thing they need right now.

“Maybe? We can’t frame until we pour. We’re not getting paid until we frame,” Jane replies as she watches Tommy sniffing around the leftover food from their fridge.

“Well we could bring someone else on, get the job done faster,” Tommy says, Jane shaking her head from the moment she knew what stupid idea her little brother was suggesting. 

“No, no. I’m not splittin’ this job. I barely wanna split it with you,” she says whilst using the fork to break apart the eggs further. “We could work a double,” she suggests as Tommy puts whatever leftovers he found in the microwave.

“Literally? Today?” Steven asks; Jane can hear equal measures of disappointment and frustration in his voice.

“I know, I’d be done by 9,” she tries to placate him. She looks over to Tommy for reassurance. “By 9, right?” she asks and nods towards him to confirm. 

“Yeah,” Tommy replies hesitantly before pouring himself a cup of Joe. Steven turns to Jane, a look of warning present on his face.

“I’ll bring back a cake. I promise,” Jane had damn well better keep that promise. She’s already forgot the fucking pancake mix, she doesn't need to do anything else to disappoint her son.

The songs on the radio had paused for the morning news, something Jane usually tones out, but unusually the reports this morning broke through. “...continued disturbances in Jakarta, but are advising US citizens…”

“Jakarta. Where is that? Middle East?” Jane asks Tommy as she brings her cup of already cooling coffee level to her lips. Steven looks between her and his uncle. 

“Doesn’t ring a bell. It’s definitely a country. Or maybe part of Asia?” Tommy replies, leaning against the counter. She wishes she’d paid more attention to Geography in school.

“Jakarta isn’t a country. Being part of Asia isn’t mutually exclusive with being a country, and in fact it’s the capital of Indonesia,” Steven educates them both. There’s her bright boy, Jane thinks.

“Shit. Hope for us yet,” Tommy says.

Jane stifles a proud smirk then takes a final sip of her coffee just as the microwave beeps. She instinctively reaches down to check the watch no longer living on her left wrist, slapping the empty space instead. She fishes her mobile phone from her right pocket for the time instead. Shit, 7:38, they’re gonna be late if they don’t leave soon she realizes as she shoves the cell back into her jeans.

“All right. Finish up quick, we’ll drop you off,” she says to Steven as she collects her dirty plate and cup to take to the kitchen. Tommy’s digging into the leftover chicken wings and fries from last night she sees, noting not to have any sympathy if he gets food poisoning from not heating the meat up properly. 

“I’m still eating my eggshells,” Steven says with a mouthful of food.

“You got seven minutes,” Jane fires back.

“Your t-shirt’s inside out,” Steven points out just as Jane places the dirty dishes in the sink. She looks down then across to inspect the top. Kid’s right, she agrees internally with a slight roll of her eyes.

“Shit,” she mutters as she begins pulling at the collar. The eyes in the back of her head can just see her little brother grinning at her mistake.

“She’s losin’ it,” she hears Tommy say as she puts the t-shirt on the right way round in the living room. Fucking idiot.

Chapter 2

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

The Neighbour Down The Hall

Chapter 10

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Things with your boyfriend go from bad to worse

Word count: 1.6k

AO3

You hastily typed out a long message to Justin, then hesitated. What if the police were going to use his texts against him? Did he even have his phone anymore? The number he rang from was private…

A little sob escaped your lips but you bit into your fist, stifling it again.

You’d just have to wait.

You went about your morning routine haphazardly, but were out of the flat in record time, not willing to spend a second longer completely alone with your thoughts. You were halfway down the stairs when a familiar voice called out your name. 

“I’m late for work,” you called back, lying. You could not bear to look at Bucky. Not when he saw the police officers. Not when he must suspect something.

“What’s going on?” he asked urgently, having reached you within seconds as you stepped into the lobby.

“Nothing’s going on,” you lied again.

He quickly- too quickly- stood in front of you, his blue eyes staring your brown ones down. “It’s not nothing.”

“Fine something is going on but I have it handled,” you insisted.

“Jess.”

“Buck,” you glared at him.

“I saw the officers, what happened?” 

“I don’t- it’s just a misunderstanding with my boyfriend that’s all.”

He gave you an unbelieving scowl.

“I can handle it.”

“No one said you can’t, I’m asking you what happened.”

“You don’t need to know, I’ve got it covered!” you said defensively as you tried to walk past him. He blocked your path.

“Jess, talk to me,” he urged, his eyes wide and pleading. For a split second you considered caving, considered letting him in. But you were too embarrassed… too ashamed. So you shook your head.

“I have to go, I’m late for work,” you said, and this time he allowed you to walk past.

“We both know that’s a lie,” he called after you, causing you to wince slightly as you heard the building door shut behind you.

Your work day was fraught with anxiety. You decided to call Justin’s phone on the journey there, hoping maybe he did have it after all, but it went straight to voicemail. After a hectic morning, your decision making skills so impaired that you almost cost your company tens of thousands of pounds, you took an early lunch. You rang him again. It went to voicemail once more. The digital silence affected your ability to work further still, and by 4:30 you couldn’t take it anymore and left early, promising to make up the time tomorrow.

Silent tears streamed down your face as you bee lined to the tube. You faced the windows as you made your way home, avoiding eye contact with anyone at all costs. The anxiety crippling you as you dreaded what you’d find.

You practically ran from the station to your apartment, only stopping to breathe once you were outside your front door, fumbling with your keys.

You rushed inside. And there he was.

Sitting on the sofa. Surrounded by takeaway boxes. Gaming. 

“What the fuck happened?” you demanded, slamming your work bag onto the table as you stood in front of the TV.

“You’re not even going to ask if I’m okay?” he retorted, pausing his play through of Elden Ring.

“Are you okay?” you asked evenly.

“Doesn’t count now, I shouldn’t have to point it out for you to ask,” he said derisively. 

“Justin! Tell me why the fuck you got arrested for drugs!”

“It was a mistake, okay? I was holding onto them for a friend.”

“Why? Which ‘friend’ of yours is involved in drugs?!” you scoffed.

“You wouldn’t know him.”

“Who.”

He sighed. “He’s called Jack, I met him at one of the gigs I went to with the guys a few months ago.”

“And why the hell are you ‘holding onto’ drugs for someone you only met a few months ago- why the fuck have I never heard of- why did you lie and tell me you were going to Norfolk when you were here in town?!” you screeched.

“Okay, okay calm down,” he said, raising his hands.

You saw red. “Don’t tell me to calm down!” you shrieked. 

“Jess, if you’d just calm down I can explain everything!” he raised his voice.

“The police came to the flat, you know. They searched it. They found something.”

“I know…” he murmured, glancing away.

“What did they find?”

“It was just some marijuana.”

“How much.”

He shrugged. “I dunno, just a small bag.”

Why didn’t you believe him. “Is this why I kept smelling weed? It wasn’t Bucky, it was you.”

He nodded slowly, glancing away. “Yeah, it was me…”

“Are- are you smoking it?”

He shook his head. 

“So you’re just- wait you said you were holding onto it for a friend but I’ve been smelling it...”

“Yeah, and?”

“And… well I also noticed that soil-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake not that again Jess, we’ve been over this!” he snapped, abruptly standing from the sofa.

“You expect me to believe a word you fucking say after you’ve been hiding this from me?!”

He took a step around the table, his dark eyes now inches from yours. “I’m telling the truth!”

“Prove it!”

He glared at you, and took another step closer. “No. I’m telling the truth.”

You wanted to hold your ground, and though your gut was telling you to step back, you replied quietly. “Then I don’t believe you.”

His eyes darkened, and he scoffed. “You just have to make things difficult, don’t you.”

“I’m not the one who’s caused this situation! It doesn’t make sense Justin! Why did you lie about Norfolk!”

“Because you didn’t know Jack existed and I didn’t want to have to explain him because you always ask a million and one questions and I didn’t want to deal with your constant nagging!” he ranted.

“But-”

“No, let me finish. Do you have any idea how much stress I’m under at work? What it’s like coming home to your constant questions, your nagging,” he said, taking another step closer. “Actually, scratch that, for the last few weeks it’s like you’ve been practically avoiding me. Where have you been Jess? With Bucky?”

“What- no-”

“I mean you've spent the night at his bloody flat before! Or is there someone at work?”

“No!”

“Why are you barely home anymore!” he shouted in your face.

He was too close, his face was too close, everything about him was too close. You took a step back. In an instant his hand reached out and grabbed onto the collar of your shirt, dragging you towards him. You stumbled at the sudden motion, the only way you stayed upright was because he held onto your shirt. You could feel his hot breath on your face. His eyes were ablaze. Yours felt wet.

“I’m fed up of this shit, Jess.”

You shook your head. “You’re the one who’s just been fucking arrested!” you said as a tear escaped.

“And as my girlfriend you should be supporting me! Not interrogating me!” he bellowed right into your face. Your breath hitched and your eyes snapped shut. “Look at me!” you were too frightened not to obey. This wasn’t right. None of this was right.

“Let go,” you whispered, trying not to hyperventilate. He glanced down at his fist clutching your shirt, and he slowly let go. You quickly stepped two feet back.

There was an impasse as you sniffed back more tears. He eventually sat down on the sofa, running a hand through his messy hair. “What did they tell you?”

“Nothing. Just that you’d been arrested. They didn’t even tell me what you got charged with, you were the one who told me," you replied, staring at the floor.

"Okay," he mumbled.

"What happens next?” you asked, still too scared to look at him.

“Like I said on the phone, gonna get a date to go to magistrates court, then we’ll go from there.”

“Did you have a solicitor?”

“Yeah… the shitty on duty one.”

“Do we need to find you a better one?”

“Ideally, yeah. I thought that was a given.”

“What about your parents?” you asked nervously, now braving making eye contact.

“What about them,” he said, glaring at you.

“Well they need to know-”

“No they don’t.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Justin, this is seriou-”

“Jess, they don’t need to know, okay? This is my problem to deal with and my thing to tell, and if I don’t want them to know, they don’t know. Got it?”

“Wait can- can I even tell my friends?”

“Your gossipy friends? Of course not. I don’t want the whole world to know I was arrested,” he said, exasperated.

“So I have to just keep this secret?”

“How do you think I feel! I don’t have anyone to turn to either!” he whined.

He had you… “But you caused this…” you murmured.

“I was just trying to help out my fucking friend!” he bellowed, standing up once more. You took another step backwards. He looked infuriated. 

You bit your lip and looked away. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

“Please Jess, I just want some time to decompress. It’s been a long day,” he said tiredly as he sat back down and picked up the PS5 controller.

“But I have more questions.”

“That’s the problem,” he muttered.

“Can we talk in the morning before I go to work?”

“Sure,” he said half heartedly. Then he looked between you and the TV behind you, pointedly. “Gonna get out of the way, or?”

You nodded, like a pathetic obedient puppy, and picked up your bag before walking numbly to the bedroom. You closed the door gently behind you, slinked under the covers of the bed, and began to cry silently into your pillow. None of this was right.

Next chapter

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

The Neighbour Down The Hall

Chapter 9

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Your relationship woes escalate to a whole new level

Word count: 1.6k

AO3

“Is- is he okay? Where is he? What’s he been arrested for? Is he hurt?” you asked in quick succession, the panic overwhelming you.

“I can’t tell you what he’s been arrested on suspicion of until we charge him but he’s okay, darlin’, he’s fast asleep in his cell. We’re in Charing Cross Station,” the officer replied. But any comfort that answer could have given you was overridden by anger.  

“He said he was seeing friends this weekend… he was supposed to be in Norfolk.”

“I see,” she replied neutrally.

“When- when did he get arrested?” you asked evenly.

“Uhh, officers brought him in a couple of hours ago. He gave us your number as his emergency contact.”

“Is it serious… what he’s been arrested for?”

“I can’t give you any details, I’m sorry.”

“What can you tell me?” you asked impatiently. 

“Until we charge him there’s little other information I can give.”

You resisted growling in frustration. “When will he be charged?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t say.”

“Well can you let me know when he is? Is this number the best one to ring you on?” you asked shortly.

“As soon as he’s charged we’ll let you know, darlin’.”

“Alright,” you muttered. 

“You take care of yourself,” she said sweetly.

“Bye,” you said just before hanging up.

Then you dropped your phone onto the couch. Flopped face first onto the sofa. And screamed.

What. The. Fuck.

The next hour went by in a panicked blur. You gnawed at your fingernails, paced back and forth, then aggressively searched through all of Justin’s shit in the flat you could find. You were knee deep in his underwear drawer when your phone rang. You darted for the device, and answered.

“Hello?” you breathed out.

“Hi, is that Miss Peters? It’s PC Davies again.”

“Has he been charged?”

“I’m afraid that’s not why I’m calling darlin’. I need to inform you there’s some officers who need to search your apartment, they’re just leaving the station now.”

“What? Don’t you need a warrant?” you asked, looking around your flat at the state of it, panicked.

“We’ve got one.”

You felt sick. Your heartbeat jumped into your throat. “O-okay,” you mumbled, your hands beginning to tremble.

“They should be there in the next hour or so, alright?”

“Okay,” you murmured even more quietly.

“Alright, take care darlin’,” she said, sickly sweet, before hanging up. 

This can’t be right. This wasn’t right. You needed to speak to Justin. You needed to know what the hell was going on.

Were you supposed to tidy the flat? Would that look like you were trying to hide something? What the fuck was he hiding here?! In your shared home?!

You sniffed back more tears and shakily put Justin’s clothes you dumped on the floor back where they belonged. If you didn’t find anything, how the hell were they going to? What would they even be looking for?

You hovered by the door until the police arrived, picking off even more of your fingernails and even the skin around your cuticles. Finally, a loud knock echoed in your apartment, and you immediately opened the door. Three officers- Jesus three- stood outside, two male, one female.

“Miss Peters?” the closest male asked. He looked to be in his mid 40s, with greying hair and what was definitely a beer belly.

You nodded. 

“My name is PC Forrester, we have a search warrant for the property, if you’d like to step aside please,” he said almost coldly as he raised the warrant to show you.

You nodded again and stepped to the side to let them in. Once they had cleared the space in your doorway, you looked down the hall towards Bucky’s open front door.

Why was he watching? Why did he look so… on edge? Why the hell did it fill you with a deep sense of shame?

You slammed your door.

“Do- do you want anything? A cup of tea?” you asked hesitantly. 

“No thank you miss, we shouldn’t be too long,” the female officer replied in a warmer tone than her male counterpart. “My name’s PC Jones and this is PC Marlow,” she gestured towards the other male. You nodded again and committed the names to memory.

You watched like a hawk as they searched through your flat from top to bottom. It was embarrassing, violating… You weren't sure what to say, what to do. 

“So does your boyfriend often spend time out of the flat?” the younger male, PC Marlow, asked whilst PC Forrester made his way into your bedroom.

You shook your head vehemently. “No he- he likes to game a lot. He sees his friends a normal amount,” you replied, trying to watch what was going on through the open doorways.

“And how’s he been lately?” he asked, trying to keep your attention.

“He’s- he’s been fine,” you replied, despite the memories of the soil, the weird smell-

No…

No way.

“Nothing unusual in his behaviour lately?” PC Marlow asked, his eyes fixed on you.

What do you do? What the fuck are you supposed to do?

“Uhh, no, nothing,” you replied. The officer nodded, then went back to searching your living room.

A few long moments later, the female officer emerged from the kitchen. “How long have you lived here?” she asked.

“Under a year,” you replied.

Were you being questioned? 

“Are you happy here? You and your boyfriend?”

“Yeah...” you said softly, though deep down you knew it was a lie.

This was horrible. What the fuck had Justin done. You were so close to breaking down in tears when PC Forrester emerged from your bedroom and nodded towards the other officers.

“Alright Miss, I think we have everything we need. We’ll be in touch.”

“Can- can’t you tell me what he’s been arrested for?”

“I’m afraid we’re unable to disclose anything further at this time, but as soon as Mr. Bates has been charged, we'll let you know,” he answered as he made his way to your door. It left you with a bitter aftertaste. He opened your door, and the trio stepped out.

“Goodnight miss,” PC Jones said with a soft smile and a nod, before they walked off down the stairwell. You gently closed your front door, slumped against it, and slid to the floor.

That was too quick. They found something… You know they did. They fucking found something.

You started to cry. What the fuck was going on? 

You began to sob. Was Justin doing drugs?

You scrambled to your sofa to sob into the cushion loudly. What was going to happen now?

You stayed on your sofa, crying, for most of the night. You weren't sure what to do. Should you tell someone? Should you wait? Should you phone for an update? Google drugs charges? Try and figure out where they found what they were looking for?

You must have fallen asleep at some point, because you awoke with a headache to the sound of your alarm. You winced as you scrambled to find your phone, almost hitting the snooze button until you noticed how low the battery was. You groaned as you sat up, then it all came flooding back.

You were on the sofa. Justin wasn’t here. Justin wasn’t arrested. It was 6 am and they haven’t fucking called you to even tell you what for!

You started to cry again.

What were you supposed to do? It was Monday morning, were you supposed to go to work? Act normal?

You put your phone to charge, and tried to do just that. You slowly began to get ready for the day. You wiped stray tears as you washed your face. You stifled a small gag as you brushed your teeth. You paced around your flat, too anxious to go to the gym as your stomach churned. 

At 7 am, your phone rang. You dashed to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey…” Justin’s hesitant voice came through the speaker.

“What the fuck is going on Justin?” you demanded.

“They’ve charged me.”

“With. What.”

“Possession of class B drugs…”

“What- what the fuck!? How?! Why?!” you practically screeched as your hand flew into your hair.

"Calm down I'll-"

"You told me you were going to fucking Norfolk!"

"I know..." he said, at least he had the decency to sound guilty. "I'll explain everything when I see you.”

“When you- what’s happening now?”

“They’re releasing me for the time being.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know, they said I’ll have to attend court to plead guilty or not.”

“And are you?” you demanded again. There was a pregnant pause.

“Am I what?” he asked quietly.

“Guilty," you said firmly.

“Jess I’m sitting in the police room I’m not- I can’t… Look, we can talk about this later, okay? I’ll be home soon.”

“So you want me to pull a sickie so I can wait around and hear your story?” you asked scathingly, even though that was what you wished you could do.

“I assumed that’s what you’d do. That’s what I’d have done if you were arrested.”

“I have work- I have that important meeting today!”

“Your work is more important than me,” he said, as a statement. 

“That’s not what I mean! I meant can’t you-”

“No no, go on, go to work I’ll talk to you later.”

“No Justin that’s not-”

“I said we’ll talk later Jess. Bye,” he said, hanging up before you could protest any further. 

“Fuck!” you screeched. You pinched the bridge of your noise, holding back tears, then forced yourself into automatic mode. You couldn’t break down. You had to stay strong.

Next chapter

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

The Neighbour Down The Hall

Chapter 8

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Waking up in your neighbour's flat led to some mildly awkward conversations

Word count: 1.7k

AO3

You winced when you opened your bleary eyes, looking around the interior of Bucky’s flat in confusion. Until last night came screaming back to you.

“Oh god…” you muttered. You spotted a glass of water on the table and two painkillers, a present from Bucky you presumed. Your hand flew out to take them both before anything else. Then you fumbled for your phone and checked the time; already 11 in the morning. Why hadn’t Justin even bothered to message you?

You wiped your eyes without considering how it would smudge your make up, and made your way to Bucky’s bathroom. His bedroom door was shut, but subtle whiffs of shower gel wafted into your nostrils. Droplets of water on the side of the bathtub confirmed he must be up, somewhere…

Once you had finished in there and cleaned up the residue make up on your face, you tip toed back into the-

“You’re awake,” Bucky commented, startling you. 

“Jesus,” you breathed out, then winced as your head throbbed. He stood in the doorway to his kitchen, a cup of coffee in his still gloved hand.

“You sleep okay?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe a little. His hair was still damp, and he smelt good.

“Yeah thanks for letting me crash, again,” you replied awkwardly. He simply nodded in response. “I hope I wasn’t too much of a pain to deal with?” 

“You gonna be okay getting your keys for your flat?” he asked, dodging your question.

You nodded. “Yeah I can head into the uh- the office, go get my stuff…”

Bucky’s eyes gave you a quick once over. “You want any coffee before you go?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” you smiled timidly. You tentatively followed him into his kitchen, watching him as he made the drink. The flat felt warm, surely he didn’t need gloves? Wordlessly, he handed you the hot beverage, your fingertips longing to have touched his through the black material.

“I’ve got things to do today. Need to head out soon,” he said. It took you a moment to realise he was basically indicating you need to leave.

“What sort of things?” you nevertheless asked. When you took a sip of your coffee and he still didn’t answer, you continued. “Sometimes it’s like pulling teeth trying to get a straight answer from you,” you joked.

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Is paying your bills that top secret?” you continued to tease.

“They’re already paid for,” he replied stoically. You continued to look at him, equally confused as you were intrigued. You took another few sips of your coffee as the silence stretched on. Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“What do you do for work?” 

He scoffed, then finished off his cup of coffee as you watched him, frowning.

“That’s not a weird question,” you said defensively. He said nothing as he rinsed his mug out. “What, you an American spy something?” you chuckled. His shoulders immediately stiffened and he let out a small sigh before turning to face you.

“My job is not your concern.”

“Alright… keep your secrets,” you replied, wondering if he’d get the reference as you tried your hardest not to look as unsettled as you felt. His expression didn’t look like he did. You sighed, and put the mug down on the counter. “Thanks for the coffee, and letting me stay again.”

“No problem,” he muttered. 

You bit your lip, hovering in the kitchen, before walking back to the living room to grab your phone. You barely heard Bucky on your heels, only clocking his presence once you heard his front door unlock. 

“Alright well, see you around,” you said with a smile as you left his flat once more. He shut the door behind you without so much as a wave goodbye. You pursed your lips as you made your way down the stairwell, wondering if you’d said something wrong. Was it asking about his job? Or what he’d got planned for the day?

You ruminated on it the whole journey back to your office building, trying to straighten out yesterday’s clothes so you didn’t look like you were doing some sort of walk of shame. You were lucky your phone still had enough battery to pay for your transport, or you’d be screwed. 

Was Bucky offended you jokingly asked if he was a spy? 

What if he was a spy? You don’t even know the man’s full name…

Christ you wished your phone had more battery so you could spend time Googling him.

You avoided eye contact with the weekend security guard at your office, trying to look as professional and not hungover as possible. You held your head high as you confidently made your way to your floor to grab your belongings.

No, Bucky was just a normal guy. It was just your overactive mind again making you paranoid. Just like his weirdly healed black eye. Just like worrying about Justin. It’s all in your head.

By the time you got back to your flat, it was mid afternoon, and you were too drained to do anything else. You finally showered and changed whilst your completely dead phone charged up. Once you were all cozy in some comfortable pj’s, you turned your phone on.

Still nothing from Justin.

You typed out a message, and annoyingly he read it within seconds. Which then became an entire evening of back and forth passive aggressive then actually aggressive text messages with the man. Your dinner half uneaten. Your glass of wine, practically untouched. 

You cried yourself to sleep.

You woke up Sunday morning, the empty bed sending a jolt of sadness through you, only to be dulled as the argument came flooding into your mind. You scrolled through the messages, how he spoke to you was… toxic. But you asked for it. You kept pushing. You brought up the weird soil you found on the floor. You made him mad for being suspicious.

You dropped your phone onto the bed, you didn’t want to ruminate any longer. You forced yourself to leave the warmth, pushed yourself to go to the gym to prevent yourself from falling into a self pitying funk. Your legs and arms both burned by the time you were done, having spent two hours in the small basement facility. 

Once you were showered and changed, it wasn’t even midday. You hadn’t heard from Justin since the night before, but you still had a few hours to kill before he was due home. It was frustrating that on one of your rare free weekends, he decided to visit his mates. More frustrating still that the weekend felt wasted as your mood was so dampened by the awful argument the night before. Insults were hurled left right and centre, snide comments, Justin even dragged Bucky into your argument. So you brought up the soil and his dirty fingernails.

Then, inspiration struck you.  

You grabbed your purse and headed to your nearest Timpson’s. The landlord wouldn’t mind you creating a new key, right? You weren’t sure. Justin was the one to deal with the letting agency and pay rent, whilst you paid for all the other bills. It equaled out eventually.

A third key would prevent you getting stuck outside your flat ever again. Not that you planned on doing it a third time, but it couldn’t hurt to have it in case of emergencies.

A couple of hours later, a box of Selfridges doughnuts in one hand and the freshly cut key in the other, you knocked on Bucky’s door.

“Hi, again,” you smiled, “I brought these for you,” you said as you held both items out slightly awkwardly. 

Bucky frowned as he looked down at them, taking the doughnuts first. “What’s this?”

“A key,” you replied brightly, beginning to regret the impulsive decision.

“To… your apartment?” he asked skeptically.

You nodded. “In case of e-emergencies.”

“You’re trusting me with a key to your apartment?” he asked even more skeptically. His tone made you question the decision, but you nodded anyway. “Why?”

“In case of- well in case anything like Friday night happened again…” you replied, still holding the key out in front of you. He still didn’t take it, so you began to put it away.

“It was a dumb-”

“No I’ll take-”

You both said at the same time. “I can keep it safe for you,” Bucky reiterated, holding his hand out for it. You relaxed somewhat, then dropped the item in his outstretched palm. 

“Thanks,” you smiled, then awkwardly hovered again as Bucky pocketed the key. “I just figured you know, it would make sense for someone close by to have a key. I can’t really leave it in a ‘safe place’ in the complex. Not that I plan on misplacing mine again.”

Bucky just nodded. 

“But umm… thanks. The doughnuts were payment for- jeez no payment is the wrong word. A token of goodwill.”

Bucky stifled a snort and you felt your cheeks flush.

“Well, thank you for the doughnuts. You should get some rest,” he said quietly, then slowly began to shut the door.

“You too!” you automatically replied before you could stop yourself. You sighed gently as you walked back into your flat. “‘You too’,” you muttered to yourself, feeling like an idiot.

You tried to distract yourself from the mild embarrassment and Justin’s radio silence by watching some TV. You'd been sitting on your sofa for a couple of hours when the worry truly creeped in. It wasn’t like Justin to ignore you for this long, not when he was conscious anyway. You stress cleaned the flat, but that didn't take long. Then you stress ate a massive portion of the dinner you’d cooked for the two of you. He was supposed to be home by now… Another long hour pacing back and forth in your apartment later, a private number rang your mobile.

"Hello?" you said apprehensively. 

"Hi, is that Jess speaking?" a bright female voice said.

“Yeah, who's this?”

“I’m PC Davies, I'm calling to let you know that Justin Bates has been arrested.” 

Your stomach dropped. “What?!”

Next chapter

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

Chapter 41 is now live on AO3 for A Knight to Remember!

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

The Neighbour Down The Hall

Chapter 7

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: A night out after work leads to another unplanned stay with your tall, dark and handsome neighbour down the hall

Word count: 1.7k

AO3

Your late nights continued into the following week. You came home that Sunday from a long lunch with a few old co-workers now turned friends, the strange marijuana smell still lingering in the flat. But it also mingled with the smell of fried chicken. It was so bad that after giving Justin a quick greeting, choosing to ignore the dirt underneath his fingernails, you changed into your gym clothes and went downstairs for two hours. Partly to avoid a conversation with your boyfriend which would no doubt aggravate you, partly on the off chance you’d see Bucky, but mainly because you just wanted to be alone.

The first couple of days that week were bad enough, you were tired from staying at work late as well as continuing your early morning gym routine on top of that. You were tired of biting back scathing comments you wanted to make to Justin about why the hell you noticed a bit of soil on the floor of your literally plantless apartment. By Thursday, you felt particularly rough. You arrived back around 11pm, exhausted and coming down from a sugar rush after scoffing an entire packet of wine gums on the train home.

“Seems like this is becoming a habit,” Bucky called up from a flight of stairs below.

“I know, it's late,” you said, slowing down so he could catch up.

“Didn't you leave early this morning too?” he replied, oddly quickly by your side.

“…yeah…” you said with resignation as you opened the door to the corridor and waited for him to go first. He seemed momentarily perplexed at your action before stepping through. You walked towards your own front door, but Bucky followed. You looked up at him, now you were perplexed.

“You’re burning the candle at both ends, Jess.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly at his perception. “It's fine,” you shrugged.

Bucky pursed his lips. “Doesn’t seem fine.”

“What’s it to you anyway?” you challenged, your tiredness making you more argumentative than usual.

Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “It’s not anything to me. I’m just saying.”

“Well… I appreciate the concern but keep your sayings to yourself.”

He sighed. “Alright.”

You hovered, you wanted to talk to the man more, but weren’t sure what to actually say. You inhaled a deep breath, catching a whiff of his cologne. “I umm-” you began. Think of something you begged yourself. “Do you always wear gloves?” you blurted out, regretting the words before they even left your mouth.

“It’s cold out,” he replied nonchalantly. 

“You wear them in your apartment too,” you pointed out quietly. His expression remained neutral, his eyes boring into yours. After too long of a silence, you fished your key from your pocket.

“You should consider slowing down,” he muttered as he stalked off to his front door.

You didn’t understand what that was about, but you didn’t take his advice. 

The next day you were invited for drinks after work with your female colleagues. A rare event, one you for sure wouldn’t turn down. Drinks with Ellie, Charlotte, Lily, and Barbara (admittedly Barbara was a bit older than the rest of you) were always fun. You left most of your belongings and valuables that you didn’t want to carry around behind in the office, locked in your desk cabinet. You even left your coat. You were fully intending on coming back to pick up your stuff. You were just going for a drink, you were only going to be out 2 hours, maximum. The bar was just round the corner. Just one drink.

How that turned into a full night out you have no idea.

You stumbled out of the cab and walked haphazardly into the building lobby, too drunk to notice how cold it was. You groaned as you reached the bottom of the stairs, then stumbled up, snickering to yourself. By the time you reached the top, you were desperate to just sleep. And pee. And drink some bloody water. You stood, or rather swayed, outside your front door, fumbling for your keys.

“No no no no no,” you muttered, frantically searching your pockets. “Not again,” you groaned loudly. You could have sworn you brought them with you to the bar- then you remembered. No… you left them at work, figuring they’d be ‘safer’ locked in the cabinet than in your stupidly shallow trouser pockets.

You sighed and looked around the deserted corridor. You didn’t want to do it… You already felt guilty and awkward after the man let you stay the last time. But it was almost 3 am, and Justin was hundreds of miles away visiting friends that weekend. If Bucky saw you sitting outside the flat again, like this, he’d probably be pissed you didn't ask for help. You quietly approached his door, maybe he would be out? Maybe he wouldn’t have to know?

You knocked quietly, and within a second Bucky opened the door. His hair was slightly disheveled and he clearly needed a shave, but his blue eyes were bright. 

“Jess?” he asked quietly, taking in your appearance.

“Hey, I’m so sorry. I umm… I don’t have my key and yeah it’s a bit ridiculous, my home is right there and I can’t get… so can I…” you trailed off when in the sliver of the door crack, you spotted the legs of someone sitting on his sofa. Female legs. You looked back up to Bucky, his expression unreadable. “If now’s a bad time I can…” you pointed behind you as you began to stumble backwards, awkwardly.

“No, she was leaving,” he said, looking at you even more concerned as you wobbled on your feet.

A petite red head suddenly appeared at the door, smiling slyly as she looked up at Bucky and slipped past. Her black skin tight outfit left nothing to the imagination.

“Remember what I said. See you around Buck,” she said. Another American? She turned and looked you up and down, judgmentally, before sauntering down the hallway. Bucky let out a small sigh, then ushered you inside.

“You’re drunk,” he stated.

“How do you know?”

“You’re stumbling and I can smell it.”

“Oh,” you murmured, then tried to subtly sniff your clothes. It apparently wasn’t that subtle, as you heard Bucky snort gently. You looked up to see his eyes glinted with amusement.

“Sit down before you fall down,” he instructed, and gently put his hand on your back to guide you to the sofa. You plopped down and hiccuped. “How did you forget your keys this time?”

“I left them in the office before-” you hiccuped again “before we went out for drinks.”

“You came home without your coat in this weather?” he gently scolded.

“‘S fine,” you mumbled, waving a dismissive hand. You heard him sigh before you felt something soft being placed over your shoulders. “You own a blanket?” 

“Yeah I own a blanket.”

“Cause your flat’s like super bare,” you drunkenly pointed out. When he didn’t reply for a beat you continued. “Like- like I’d have thought you’d have more stuff by now or maybe if you don’t it means…”

“Means what?” he gently probed. You didn’t detect the shift in his tone.

“I dunno means you’re up to something shaddyyyy,” you replied in a sing-song tone.

“And why would I be up to something shady?” he asked quietly.

You shrugged. “Can I use your bathroom?” you blurted out, then without waiting for an answer you stood up, letting the blanket fall to the couch. You stumbled towards where you thought the room was.

“On the left,” Bucky called out to you as you hovered, staring into the door to his bedroom. It was somehow even more bare, yet neat. But nature called too strongly for you to look any longer, and you practically slammed the door to the bathroom shut behind you. You tried to take in details of the room there too, but your head was spinning and a headache was forming. Once you were finished, you stumbled back to the sofa, and sank unceremoniously down onto it.

“Do you smoke weed?” you asked, glancing around the flat once again.

“No,” Bucky answered, then sighed. “Why?”

You shrugged. “My boyfriend said maybe you did.”

“And where is this boyfriend of yours?”

“He’s- he’s with friends,” you mumbled, lying back against the couch.

“I see,” he replied quietly whilst you pulled the blanket around yourself again. “You really should get a spare key.”

“And who’s gonna keep it, you?” you retorted with a scoff.

“You got no one else nearby?”

You yawned. “Yeah but like the opposite side of the city.” You were finding it increasingly hard to keep your eyes open. “Do you have anyone nearby?”

“No,” he replied quietly.

“Who was that red head?” you asked as you closed your eyes.

“A passing visit.”

“Uh huh,” you drawled, not believing him. “She was pretty.”

“She is,” he agreed softly, and you opened an eyelid. He was gazing out of his window. 

“Is she from back home?”

“I don’t have a home,” he murmured. You frowned at the bluntness of the statement, wondering what it could mean.

“W-what about a family?” you whispered, and even through your drunk haze you knew you were treading on thin ice.

“No family either.”

Your frown deepened and you sat up, opening both eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he muttered. 

After a few beats, you spoke again. “Why did you move here?”

But abruptly, Bucky stood up. “You should get some rest,” he said quietly. 

Guilt settled uneasily in your stomach as you realised you crossed a line. You watched Bucky walk quietly away and mumbled out a ‘I'm sorry’ that you doubt he heard. His bedroom door shut softly and you groaned, hating yourself for your line of questioning as you closed your eyes. You felt dizzy again, and flopped onto your side on the sofa. You tried to think about how you could make things right, why he reacted like that, but you were too drunk still to stay awake, and before you knew it, you passed out.

Next chapter