#ofc his parts have to be the worst to color just blue and red lights dsgsdg

[lovelessdagger]

Starlight - Prologue: Before

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC, Din Djarin x OFC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Explicit Language, Trauma

Words: 2000

Summary: What's past is prologue.

There's a new trend since the fall of the Empire, everyone is rising from the dead.

She's haunted by memories of the Empire that abandoned her, he's plagued with thoughts of what if and doubts of the future. The stars align in a string of constellations which guide them to their fates, decided long before them. 

Tortured with echos of before, they're alone in an endless galaxy. But orphans have a funny way of finding each other, and the gods have a sick sense of humor.

Read on AO3 Here

Tatooine was the galaxy’s own personal hell, Mustafar at least had the pleasure of fauna. Demonic nightmarish fauna that was more than likely poisonous, but fauna nonetheless. Tatooine? Tatooine was a barren wasteland that had gone to the dogs, and even the dogs had decided they wanted no part in its misfortune. At least on Mustafar she could go inside and be relieved of the heat, at least Mustafar could be considered home. 

Or at least it used to be, before.

“Maker,” An assassin mutters, crossing over a sand dune. The red tracking fob in her gloved hand sounds, it’s light flashing a similar color. To her relief, she was close. The sooner to the target, the sooner she could leave and never set foot on sand again. 

She could count the total number of visits to Tatooine in her lifetime on one hand. The first she couldn’t have been more than fourteen, then again at an older age to meet with the Hutts. Nine years ago, her father had sent her on a reconnaissance mission to some abandoned moisture farm. It had been terribly boring, full of memories of family dinners and old beaten up droids.

The irony that that very mission essentially caused her to lose everything wasn’t lost on her.

Five years ago she sat in the very cantina she walks to, warned to run away. A mere twenty-one years old—give or take, her birthday after all was a random day chosen by her and the waking sun. There was no telling her true age, so with her knowledge of human anatomy and development, nine years ago she decided on being seventeen.

“Why seventeen?” He asks her. Entering hyperspace she sits behind him, tracing passing stars on the window.

“Because,” she begins matter-of-factly, “Seventeen is a completely insignificant year to be alive. Sixteen is old enough that I won’t be questioned for traveling alone, but still too young to be taken seriously. I’m not quite ready to be an adult yet, but next cycle I will be. So I am seventeen now, so that I may be prepared to be eighteen later.”

Eighteen hours later, the first Death Star exploded. 

The events which follow guide her on a fragile string of stars throughout the galaxy, the culmination of which lead her back to hell. Or Tatooine, as the New Republic liked to call it.

Maybe if she had listened things would have been different.

Or maybe they would be worse.

Either way she would be here. The designer of her cruel fate and dictator of her misery have decided this long ago. Forever would she be trapped in hell with her memories.

And everyone else’s.

Condemned to relive the worst of what humanity had to offer, over, and over, and over again. It wasn’t so bad anymore, it’s easy to get numb to that sort of thing when your entire life was filled with it. Still, out of all the places in the galaxy, why did it have to be Tatooine?

She could understand the appeal for those on the run. Away from the New Republic’s oversight, moisture farms as the only viable landmark, and everyone being too overworked to give a damn. Theoretically it should have been easy to hide, the only issue was every criminal in the Outer Rim had the same idea. Originality be damned.

A detached hood and mask shield her identity, not that she believed anything with a penchant of life would be anywhere near. All that surrounded her was sand, rocks, and sand. Still, she could never be overly cautious. Walking up to the cantina, her eyes roll. It was like they wanted to make her job difficult. She could only assume the bar would be crawling with other criminals. Defected imperials, thieves, murderers.

It could have been a family reunion.

Eyes fall on her entrance, the suns backlight her into a silhouette. She becomes the one cascade of darkness in the light of the desert. 

“Boys,” she greets, walking in. Her eyes scan the room, there couldn’t be more than ten men. She counts the passing of ten seconds before one approaches her. Within those seconds her mind remarks on the state of the bar, essentially unchanged. Same busted chairs, same creaking floors, same hideous decorations. 

“What’s someone like you doing here?” a man grunts, stalking up to her. The most she does to acknowledge him is an eye roll. He grabs her arm, holding her in place. “Does your daddy know you’re out here?” he asks, leaning down to her ear.

She mocks a laugh. “Does yours?”

The man spits at her boots. “Bitch,” he says, walking away from her. His spit slowly rolls off her toe, leaving a glimmering streak along the leather in its wake. She pulls her blaster out, pointing the gun behind her, she shoots the man in the back of the head. He drops, his body heavy with a thud. 

The cantina falls to silence. Nine bodies are now watching her. No one makes a move, even the bartender stops his clinking glasses. She’s almost inviting them to try her next.

“No?” She asks, holstering her gun. “Pity,” she mutters. 

She walks up to body number seven, he sits in the same spot she had all those years ago. She places her soiled boot on his seat, grabbing his attention. Motioning for him to stand, she barely makes eye contact.

 Her fingers run across the tables’ wood, rubbing over permanent stains and rotting cracks.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he says. He always worried too much about her, “Whatever he’s planning, you won’t come out of it.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she says. “I can take care of myself now.”

“I know. That’s what scares me. You’re not safe anymore,” he replies.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been safe.”

Seven stares at her incredulously, slurping his liquor.

“Come with me,” his voice echos around her. If she closes her eyes it’s like he’s still sitting in front of her. Pleading.

“I don’t like making messes inside, it’s bad manners,” she says, reaching for her blaster. “Get up.” 

“Am I supposed to be scared, girl?” Seven asks. He scans her appearance and truth be told she was no Rancor, certainly no Hutt. While her build was athletic, her height physically left her the smallest in the room.

“You owe a lot of credits—” Seven stands, “—That’s better.” She drops her foot. “Now—“

“Step aside,” a modulated voice speaks behind her. She catches a reflection of the intruder in the glass of the framed artwork above Seven’s head. A Mandalorian, covered in pure Beskar, stands a whole head above her. Of course a fucking Mandalorian would show up right now, this had to be his doing. Even in the grave he had to fuck with her.

“Mando,” Seven laughs, he wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers. “I was uh, I was just talking to the missus here,” he grabs the girls shoulder. “Say, now’s not really a good time so how about we—“ 

“I don’t have time for this,” the Mandalorian says. He drops a bounty puck on the table, in blue holograms Seven’s profile appears.

WANTED: EDI MOURI 

“Let’s go,” Mando says.

The girl shakes herself from Seven. “Listen Shiny, I was here first so move along.” The Mandalorian’s head tilts.

“Are you with the guild?” He asks.

She picks up the bounty puck, examining the emblem. “Not yours.”

Mando’s head turns to One’s fallen body on the ground, a growing pool of blood by his head. 

“Your work?”

“You could say that.”

Seven clears his throat. Whispers of bets trail within the crowd. “In fairness. She did find me first.”

The pair are incredulous in their stare. “You want to go with the assassin?” Mando asks, a slight twinge of amusement escapes past his modulator.

Seven’s face turns to ice, his deep emerald skin becoming a pastel like hue. “On second thought. I always loved the Mandalorian stories I heard as a kid, I’m a big fan. Let’s go big guy.” He takes a step towards Mando, the assassin pulls out her blaster, pointing it to his head. At the same moment Mando pulls out his own, pointing it to her.

“Drop it,” he says. “I need him alive.”

She cocks her head to the side, pressing her forehead against the barrel of the gun. “Do it,” she purrs. 

He’s motionless.

She grabs the Mandalorian’s wrist with one hand, striking the bend in his arm with the other. A blaster shot fires, Three falls to the ground with a hole in his head. 

Mando lifts her by her neck and slams her into the table where Seven sits. Her vision flashes white and she groans on impact. Her hands fumble across the wood in frantic search of anything to defend herself with.

“Wait for me, I’ll come for you in two days.”

She smashes Seven’s plate against the table, shattering it. With a jagged edge of porcelain she slashes the Mandalorian’s arm, staining the edge with his red blood. In his stumble back she rolls off the table.

Harsh stabs are swung to the openings between the pieces of armor, he easily blocks but her movements are quick in succession. He ignites the flamethrower on his arm and she flips out of range.

Six isn’t so lucky.

She lands on his table, he’s charred and slumped over. She grabs a baton resting against his chair, cringing at its touch. Jumping of the table she strikes his helmet. The tune of impact horrifically melodic. 

Brought to his knees, Mando grabs her leg sweeping her onto her back. The baton falls out of her grasp. They tumble on the ground, scathing for any advantage they could find on the other. She slaps a taser disk on his armor, the shocks malfunction the electronics.

The Mandalorian lays on the ground, emitting heavy gasps for air. Sounds of passing credits come from a back table. She straddles him, pulling out the knife kept in the welt of her sleeve. It’s metal presses against his capes fabric gathered around his neck.

A smile twinges under her mask. “Not bad,” she pants, leaning down over him.

The cantina doors automate open, in perfect eye-line, a green little creature. It waddles in, cooing with bright eyes at the patrons, greeting them all. It locks eyes with her, head tilted. The veil of her mask conceals her dropped jaw. 

The Mandalorian takes the chance of her distraction; flipping their bodies over, he straddles her waist, pinning her hands above her head. The assassin’s chest rises and falls heavy from under him. “I told you to wait outside,” he grunts. The green thing coos, waddling to the pair. It reaches out for her. “No,” he says next, raising a scolding finger to it. It whines, plopping on its rear. 

Past the visor, his eyes lock onto hers, he clears his throat. Suggestive positioning aside, he had claim to victory. Though, had it not been for the child he would have been a dead man, throat slit under her knife. 

He could still kill her, his blaster was in reach, so was her knife. 

He should kill her.

But he doesn’t.

“Hey Mandalorian,” she breathes. “Where’s your bounty?” Seven’s seat empty, table broken, shattered porcelain fallen on the floor.

“Fuck,” he swears. He stands, pocketing the knife she held. He picks up the creature, sparing her one last glance. “Stay out of my way,” he warns. Exiting the building she’s left on the floor. 

The surviving witnesses avoid her glare. There are holes in the flooring, broken furniture, blood stains splattered on every surface.

So much for not making a mess indoors.

She scoffs, picking herself up. Her muscles ache, bruises are forming under her clothing, her head pounds.

Carelessly, she shoots Five on her way out.

It’s a redemption of sorts.

Officially, Tatooine was worse than hell.

Chapter One: The Meeting

#Mandalorian #the mandalorian #Din Djarin #din djarin x original character #din djarin x original female character #din djarin x oc #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #Starlight #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x oc #mando x ofc #mando x original character #mando x original female character #din djarin x female oc

[itstheanxietyforme]

The Set Up: Part 1

An introduction to Ella Evans, the (willing and totally consenting) sacrificial lamb to my #getmarcusmorenolaidchallenge (see my Set It Up drabble) 

Summary: Seeking an experienced teacher to lead an exciting new classroom! Grades K-8, all core subjects, experience with gifted students a must. Ella Evans just wants this interview to go well. Fate had other plans. 

(Eventual) Pairing: Marcus Moreno x OFC (I am categorically terrible at 1st person writing, thus the creation of this character)

Rating: PG-13 lite. 

Warnings: light swearing, OFC checks out Marcus because duh. Second-hand embarrassment from foot in mouth. Eventual fluff and smut, but slow burn here. 

Ella Evans checks herself over in the bathroom mirror of her modest apartment for the umpteenth time. She had managed to sweep her unruly thick hair into a low bun, though a few waves have already escaped, and her makeup is simple; a little bit of blush and mascara to frame her green-grey eyes. Dressing for an interview always resulted in her agonizing for hours, trying to land on what struck a balance between professional without being overdone. After trying on every combination of skirt, blouse, dress, and dress pant she owned (which was admittedly a small selection but enough to make problematic combinations), she landed on a knee length navy pencil skirt with a crisp red blouse. The only thing that Ella didn’t struggle to narrow down was a pair of sleek black flats; tripping over her own two feet because she attempted to strut in heels was not how she wanted this interview to go. And Ella would be the first to admit that she is far from graceful and with a profession that required hours on her feet, there was no sense in suffering unnecessarily.

The job itself was exciting enough, assuming of course she made it past the first interview. A one class, all subjects K-8 position with highly competitive pay. Given the range of ages and the discretely advertised “excellent teacher to student ratio,” Ella knew it likely meant some intense behaviors or needs amongst the kids. But then again, those had always been the kids that Ella loved most: the ones other teachers “couldn’t handle.” It was hokey, but those were her babies. The fact that the position would also be another 10 grand a year was huge, and would be the push Ella needed to go back to school for another masters. Maybe she could even save up to travel. No getting ahead of myself, she chides herself gently. 

Casting one last nervous glance in the mirror, Ella steels herself with a reminder: I’m a good teacher, and I can do this. On the way out, she grabs her work bag, a worn leather tote with lesson samples, extra copies of her resume and a few other essentials. The details that the school head, a Ms. Granada, has sent her were vague at best, enough so that Ella had briefly entertained the idea of this being a scam. A quick google search though had yielded enough information though to explain that it was a newer program for tweens and the application process posted was impressive. Worst case scenario? She would bolt for doors. Considering her current work environment, more specifically the human slug of boss she had endured for over 5 years now since moving to the area, anything would be an improvement. Hell, I’d work for an alien at this point, she thinks sullenly. 

It only takes a half hour for her to arrive at the coffee shop where the interview was taking place. “Due to massive renovations to our campus taking place this summer, we are unable to hold interviews at our site. We will be holding all interviews off-site and appreciate your understanding.” That’s what the follow up email had said when Ella learned she had an interview. Truthfully, Ella is almost relieved for a more informal environment, especially considering how nervous she is. So when Ella strolls into the small cafe a solid 15 minutes before her scheduled time, she takes a deep breath and tries to calm her nerves. 

Glancing around, Ella can’t see anyone she imagines to be the interview team. She spots a handful of children perched in a booth with mugs of chocolate milk and stacks of coloring books spread out; the booth to the left hosts five women, slowly sipping their drinks and laughing lightly as they glance over every once in a while. The sight makes Ella smile. Several teens or possibly even college students are scattered around, headphones on all of them as they stare mutely at their variety of devices. Beyond that, there are only a few other strays in the small shop, none dressed so formally as to make her assume they’re here to hire. It’s enough time to order a drink and try and calm her nerves. 

As she winds her way up to the counter to order, she is a mere four feet away the bar when she manages to trip on, well, nothing really. A hot flash of adrenaline spikes through her chest as she sails forward, but the panic settles slightly when she inexplicably doesn’t fall. The shock of the near miss reels back, just in time for her to notice what saved her. Or more specifically, who. Two hands are sealed to her arms, and slowly, she is pulled backwards and righted to her feet. It takes Ella a minute to calm her racing heart enough to turn and meet her savior, but the face she finds really does nothing ground her. No one should look that damn good on a Wednesday morning in a freaking coffee shop. And have lightning fast reflexes to boot.

Rich, warm brown eyes study her carefully, dark brows knit in worry. Even behind the glasses he wears, his gaze traps her on the spot as he looks her over carefully. And Ella, almost involuntarily, returns the favor. Dressed in a pair of nice jeans, a pale blue button up, and a leather jacket, he’s the picture of confidence, though the gentleness in his eyes puts her at ease. His skin is golden, and his strong jaw and full lips are dappled with a line of dark hair. He’s distractingly handsome, and it takes longer than is decent for Ella to realize that he’s speaking to her. 

“Miss, are you okay? Can you hear me?” Ugh, even his voice is nice, she thinks ruefully, but then the bell hanging by the front door of the shop chimes and Ella snaps back to reality. Her head snaps up suddenly and she cranes around the Adonis of a man in front of her to see a gorgeous woman stroll in. She’s dressed impeccably in a white skirt suit, complete with terrifying black stilettos and an impossibly nice leather attaché in tow. 

“Oh shit,” Ella mutters, much to the confusion of the man who is still very much so holding onto her arms. “I am so sorry!” She finally manages to say, looking frantically at the clock on the wall. Her interview is in 3 minutes. “I’m so— I mean, I mean thank you,” words spill from her lips as she watches the elegant woman take a seat at a large table near the window and immediately take out a stylus and tablet. Double shit. She looks back to her rescuer, whose eyes are crinkling in a mixture of confusion and mirth. “Seriously, thank you, and I’m sorry, for the, for swearing,” two minutes until her interview, “it wasn’t at you, or anything, it’s just...I just have this big interview in a few minutes and now my nerves are completely shot all to hell.” The confession falls off her tongue before she can stop herself, but she’s silenced when the man suddenly drops her arms. Those dark brows suddenly crease in the middle and the pouty mouth grimaces a little. A look of pity, she thinks, as she has succeeded in making a fool of herself in more ways than one. Before Ella can wedge her foot even more firmly in her mouth, the stunning woman in white appears beside them quite suddenly. 

“Ah, Marcus,” she speaks, her voice sultry and sure. The man, Marcus, returns a tight smile and then glances back at Ella with sympathetic eyes. “I see you have already met our candidate, Ms. Evans.” All of the blood drains from Ella’s face then, and the pit that settles in her stomach is a heavy thing. Suddenly, she wishes she had just knocked herself out cold on the coffee shop floor. In absence of reasonable injury, Ella settles for closing her eyes for a quick moment and saying a prayer to be struck down by lightning. The woman, Ms. Granada, waves a manicured hand to the small table she procured across the shop. “Shall we?” 

#the get marcus moreno laid challenge #i volunteer #we can be heroes #pedro #pedrito #pedro pascal #get Marcus Moreno laid #marcus moreno/OFC #granada #that's a mighty fine looking alien #pray for lightning #poor ella

[boogiewrites]

Never Break the Chain Pt. 4

Part 4 of 5

Characters: Javier Peña x OFC

Summary:  Esme is left with the harsh reality of her feelings with Javi and what loving him means. Lead by her heart and her gut she leaps into action to try to secure her hopes of having a future with him. But in their line of work, things can take a turn for the worse in a second.

Warnings/Tags: Injury. Canon Typical Violence. Life or Death. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

To hold herself together in times of distress Esme had to fall apart from time to time when she was alone. Tonight was going to be one of those times. She secluded away in her small hideaway in the mountains. She had always enjoyed her own company, knowing the difference between being alone and being lonely, but the latter was heavy on her back as she sat red-eyed on the bed, looking out the plantation shuttered double doors in her bedroom.

Her mind couldn’t decide if talking to Javi had been a mistake or not. She felt every buried emotion in a rush that left her a sloppy, blotchy mess. There was no one around for kilometers to hear her, so she let it all out. The rosary she’d mentioned to Javi was occupying her hands as she bounced her legs, full of anxious energy.

Before, the consequences of knowing Javi were something she could deflect, although the coincidence of knowing a cop from over four thousand km away from her childhood would be a hard sell, she hadn’t worried drastically about it. The more intricate reality of how she felt about him was what she was wrestling with. The fact that she had seen him, touched him, talked to him were no longer what ifs’ or fantasies but hard facts. The fact she was struggling with most intensely was that she was still very much in love with him. Before he was a memory, a myth, a story to be told over drinks. He was now the man in the next town over, sharing her same sentiment in both love and life. They weren’t kids anymore, he’d been right about that. Which meant seeing their lives for what they were in the harsh light of day and not through rose-colored glasses. Where they had wanted to be was no longer a thing to strive for, it’d become a prison of their own making.

She didn’t know if it was her body getting worn or the years of repressed emotions that made her feel so damned exhausted. The thought of going back into the den of the same men that wanted her one love dead suddenly wasn’t as easy to sit with. There were real consequences now. For both of them.

Perhaps it was paranoia, but it’s kept her alive this long. She had her bug-out bag by the bed, rosary wrapped around her wrist, and slept with her shoes on. She rubbed the wooden beads like a worry stone; even though she hadn’t been sure what she believed in for many years. Especially not after the things she’d seen, or the things she’d done. There was a strange comfort knowing Javi had a similar sort of experience. Even if she wouldn’t have wished it on anyone. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he was just as tired as she was. Maybe… she had some hope for a future. She had to talk to him again. This time with a purpose, to ask him to leave with her instead of abandoning him again.

———

As she had following every breakdown, she’d dusted herself off and got back to it the next morning.

In a dress and heels that said, ‘Don't fucking question me.’ She walked into the stone-columned entryway in a powerful man's home. It was a nice morning, not a trace of her collapse the night before remained on her face. She sat poised, with understated jewels glinting in the sun. Yet, her favorite accessories were hidden in places the sun wouldn’t hit, those were her weapons.

She had been establishing herself to get to this client, networking, and performing feats to gain trust in a trust-less circle. Playing it cool, she kept her face set into a lovely neutral but curious. It was a grand promise of cash. She found herself in the right spot for the rule as old as time; supply and demand. If she could seize the articles that had been taken from their owners, she would be compensated with a bigger payday than she’d ever encountered. The sentimentality of the pieces, the danger in the retraction, and the previous failures of those that had come before her secured the pay to be something someone like her could not resist.

“They were in my family... generations ago… before their family decided to fuck over mine we were joined by marriage, then by blood. We have not been able to get them through legal or... other means. But you, Estelle, I believe you have a chance to be successful.”

It was flattering but she was already decided by her motives. Enough money to run. And far. Not to mention a comfortable life on the other side when she sold what she’d accumulated over the years and combined with her savings. She’d played it smart the last few years and pulled the plug on the extravagant lifestyle that had beckoned her to this sort of work in the first place. She saw it as a sign, a dazzling neon one directing her to do it. So with a smile and a handshake, she did.

These people she operated with were not the cartel, but that did not make them just as dangerous. They had their hands in every sort of money stream and political influence. They couldn’t go into this location she was to infiltrate guns blazing, they had to have more finesse and mystery. Which is why they hired out. No connections made for less chance of blowback and made it easier to deny the job was them. And by the time they had to worry about such things, she’d be long gone.

She was being personable, enjoying a cocktail by a sapphire-blue pool and eavesdropping on the conversations around her. While ignoring the guy trying to impress her that had perched next to her she was tuned in to the young man that had a two-way radio by the stone fence that enclosed the pool.

They spoke English from time to time which she found unusual. But if they were looking to not be understood it wasn’t the worst approach. The staff here wouldn���t be able to understand them. Most of the men presumably wouldn’t recognize it either. Esme however spoke fluent English. She was raised by a Mexican mother who pushed her to speak English to fit in in Texas. At home, she was one person, a fluent tongue, and outside she was the brown girl that was berated with “HABLA ENGLAISH?” By every white woman she ran into. It had saved her more than once; when she was younger and especially now.

“The pigs are out today.” A statement she knew wasn’t about the animal was caught.

“Pigs are out every day.”

“They think they’re up to something.”

Esme knew that the people that were being referred to were the drug runners. These mining types didn’t pay much mind to cops, they paid them off when they needed and they were mostly left alone. When you have the foresight to build a public image with legal means of income, it’s easier to hide the sketchy shit.

“The gringo is asking questions.”

One of the white boys must have been trying to gather intel in the force. It could be Javier's partner but she couldn’t know for sure.

“Boss? Do we need to let the boys in town know? Is there going to be anything we don’t want them getting mixed up in?”

He thinks for a moment, Esme seeing him out of the corner of her eye, a squint down the mountain and onto the sprawling city below. “Our boys are in the east today, yes?” a pause and a nod of acknowledgment. “Tell them to come home.”

With that order, her jaw tightens. Esme knew something was going to happen. These men might not be narco’s but they certainly knew them, and ordinarily, they would tip the other off to trouble. Business going as usual was best for all involved. Normally she’d head back to her hideaway, let it all play out. But she knew if there was some trap that Javi’s partner might be falling into, that meant trouble for Javi. She couldn’t stand by idly and wait with that knowledge.

She remained composed, finishing her drink before a schmoozy goodbye, a promise to catch up as soon as plans were made. She acted nonchalant until she was past all the checkpoints, she knew better than to act in any sort of rush. Her little cabana was tucked away out of sight from the road between the deeply nooked mountain homes of powerful men and the city. She tried calling into town, a risk she was willing to take while she scurried to change her clothes and add a gun to her ensemble. She asked for Pena first. When she was informed he was not there she asked for his partner, and the same answer found her. She hung up swiftly, heavily armed but light on information. She knew the east side of the city would be the smallest area she could narrow it down to. She hoped her mind didn’t fail her at calculating where to go.

On her motorbike she darted about the streets, eyes peeled, heading by Javi’s place and finding his car gone, and the oil spots now dry, in its wake. He hadn’t been home in a while. Was it the smartest idea to break into an officer’s apartment? No. But was she? Yes. Javi had always been a researcher, if they were going to be zeroing in on a place, he would’ve been to it already. He was an active learner, not passive. He’d never be satisfied with being told what to do, he had to get in and see, touch, taste, and smell for his own opinion to be formed. She took a quick loop around, finding nothing out of the ordinary and circling back to the front door. The place was nicer than she’d expected, it did smell like liquor and cigarettes but so did he off hours. A little mirror and a catch-all basket by the door on a small table was her target, and inside were matchbooks, places she’d watched him go before buried beneath but one she wasn’t as familiar with on top. A pool hall, which wasn’t Javier’s style, sat like a sore thumb. She took the hint, this must’ve been the place they were headed, or at least close to it. She pulled her hair back and looked at herself once in the mirror before a nod to reassure herself and once again she was back out among the busy streets.

She pulled up and parked by a small marketplace, a casual place to leave her bike while she set off on foot, eyes behind her glasses ready to pick up any little nuance. Sadly seeing a guy with an automatic rifle wasn’t automatically a tell for narco behavior, this part of town was rough, you had to defend yourself. The uptick in the number of guys sauntering in the streets with them did however raise a red flag. She took to the rooftops with light feet, sneaking about and hopping from ledge to tin roof, shimmying up pipes and broken walls to scan. Not many were out on their rooftops, making it easy for her to cover lots of space fast, but that was also a bad sign. Like before a natural disaster happens, the animals clear out. The sentiment was the same.

She found a nice place to camp out, shaded by the sun and out of sight of the street on a corner near the pool hall. She could hear the static of a two-way radio a few buildings over from time to time, each time it made her jolt and she was growing impatient. The only thing that kept her calm was that she hadn’t heard any gunshots, and even that was grasping at straws. She eyes a few streets down, higher-end vehicles in red and blue, one after another. This meant one of two things, narcos or cops. She leaves the safety of her cubbyhole and crawls about to find a way to move quickly. She wasn’t being the most stealthy, leaping from ledges, but she had to follow the cars. Her instincts had been right.

Men in and out of uniform pile out, talking quietly, moving swiftly. Now she had to worry about staying out of sight as she got closer. She saw men on the rooftops she hadn’t noticed before, with sights on their guns and she would bet itchy trigger fingers. The static of a distant radio blurts out, a hushed voice in Spanish says “They’re here. Moving into position.”

It was a trap. The situation made her stomach drop and her pulse quicken. She wanted to be close, to warn them… well, to warn Javi. She was about to insert herself into the narco’s game and that would put a huge target on her back. It would potentially ruin her chances of booking this career-ending job she’d landed. She pulls out her gun, switching the safety off, and lowering herself with burning thighs as she used all her slyness. She could get away with it if she was smart about it... and killed all the witnesses.

She knew between the choices of standing by and watching Javi die, or intervening and getting ousted, she could only live with herself in one of those situations. Better to go out fighting for someone she loved than to be a coward and die with regrets. She jumps ahead, closer to where they seemed to be funneling to, various bursts of static around her as she studies to keep a close eye on not coming across anyone lurking.

She sees that shiny, coiffed head of black hair she’d wanted to run her hands through just days before, the lean build and tight jeans wrapped up in a bulletproof vest. His head was on a swivel, she knew he could look after himself but wasn’t about to take chances. She finds a man on his stomach, gun through a small slot in the wall, and aimed in their direction. She takes her moment patiently, padding foot over foot closer and closer with her gun drawn and her knife at the ready in the other hand. He wore no identifying markings, he wasn’t one of them, he might’ve heard her if he was. He was too zeroed in, potentially coked up so she had to act discreetly. She paused until that coke nose of his itched, hand off the trigger for only a few seconds before she latched and covered his mouth, head back and stabbing in deep to keep him making any sounds. It’s not that she wanted to kill him, she just saw no other way for this interaction to go down.

From here she had a better vantage point and was trying hard to look away from Javi and keep her eyes on every alley and rooftop. She lines up her eye with the scope, seeing it was aimed right at the group, she notices a man across from her, just a slight bit of an angle, an accomplice she assumed. The group moved forward, inching closer to being in between the two guns' direct line of sight. There wasn’t even a need for the sights at this point, a spray could take most of them out in a few seconds. These were calculated kills.

“Dibs on the gringo.” a crackle over the radio in Spanish, then another, “Which? There’s so many.” a hiss of laughter and she hears it from the other side of a half wall. They must’ve had multiple men camped out, she knew they intended to kill as many as possible. She couldn’t scream out, she couldn’t shoot them, she had to find that millisecond between when they would shoot and let their position be known. “When they get to the cars. Wait. Then fire.”

“What if I don’t fuckin’ want to? I want to shoot this smug look off this mother fucker’s face.”

“We won’t get them all if you don’t wait.”

She had pieces of information and tried to see the whole picture. She believed in the car there was a remote bomb being held by one of these sicarios. It’d take a good piece of them out and render them blind. It was a plan that had worked many times, but this time she’d be happy to fuck up a well-laid plan.

“Get the white boy, he’s been snooping. I got the mustache. Asshole fucked my sister.” If this had been any other situation it would’ve made her laugh, or at least crack a smile. But now it gave her a target, a plan of action.

“Maybe if your sister wasn’t a whore.” one laughs then a hiss follows throughout the rooftops among the static.

“Fuck you, man. Shut up or I’ll make sure you get shot today too.”

She moved as quickly as she could, having to backtrack to not be seen and climb over the wall to sneak up on the boy who was claiming Javi as a prize. She hunched over him, taking a chance at being seen, but since she couldn’t make out the placements of any of the other voices, she took her chances. A tension-filled hush fell across the street, no one but the cops out now. She waited for the man to readjust his arm, a sure sign of pulling the trigger shortly. They were holding their breath for the bomb, and she was assuming it was the double-parked cars, waiting for the group to get between them and hit them from all angles.

He swallowed, then popped his neck, settling down, face away from the hole he aimed out of and she took only a second to make up her mind. She shot him in the head as he braced himself.

“TRAP!” she screamed with all the force she could manage, tasting blood as she hit the ground, the cops now on high alert to the rooftops, and the guns fired. She’d given them enough time to duck for cover, having to take out the gunfire from one side of the street herself. She heard the bullets whizzing by as she hunched and ran down to the street, an alleyway where Javi had huddled down a moment before she saw the men barrel down the stairs opposite them. They’d had the same idea. “JAVI!” she screams, gun out and trying to peak from behind a dumpster.

His eyes were wild for the second he met hers. Confusion is all that read on his face, unable to answer under the gunfire.

“FOLLOW ME!” she shouted, firing off rounds to cover him as she motioned him towards her.

“You wanna explain-?” He’s caught off by the bombs in the street going off, knocking him back.

“SHUT UP AND RUN!” she shouts, shoving him forward, “You’re surrounded. Head West!” it’s all they needed, him hitting the pavement as hard as he could and her grabbing him by the vest to jerk him the way she needed. She hoisted him up against walls, all while hearing the men shouting and the stray spray of bullets hitting the corners they’d just passed. She knew they weren’t concentrated west, the men would instinctively run east towards the station, towards the backup, but she knew better.

She raced ahead, a small blocked-off space high up is what she yanks him down into. They don’t speak for a moment, catching their breath and her pushing him down to look out to see if anyone had been able to keep up with them.

“Now can I ask a fucking question?!” he rasps out.

“I got wind of something going down in the east today. So I came. And you should be kissing my ass for saving yours!”

“We were about to-”

“About to get blown the fuck up. Whatever you thought that was, it was a trap.”

“How did you know?” his eyes narrowed at her accusingly.

“I know that look and no, I’m not working with the narcos. I overheard some cronies at my meeting this morning. I narrowed down the options, ran across town and scoped it out, took out two guys, and then...lit the keg and ran.”

He blinks rapidly in response, processing the information.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. They wanted to kill you and your partner pretty bad.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Apparently you fucked one of their sisters?”

"I stand by my response.”

She smiles at him, something he doesn’t expect. He doesn’t have time to react until a few stray bullets hit something near them causing them to hunker down again.

“You could’ve gotten killed you know.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” she rolls her eyes.

“I’m serious.” he grabs her wrist. “I have to deal with you being with these other... assholes and not the ones I deal with. Don’t make me worry twice about you.”

“I’m a big girl. I can handle it. I promise. I wasn’t about to let you walk into an ambush.” she states defensively.

“I’ve made it out before.” he huffs defensively.

“You will until one day you won’t.” when she meets his eyes again, after seeing his soot-covered knuckles wrapped around her wrist, she adds “If I can keep your ungrateful ass around long enough to make up for all the shit I put you through I’m gonna do it.”

He looks her up and down, but not how he had countless times with women, but biding his time to figure out what about that statement he wanted to ask her first. “What do you want me around for if you’re not gonna be there?” It was direct and hurtful, but also a fair point.

She stops looking out and meets his dark eyes to hers, she looked almost offended. “I want to be around,” she says softly. “I just wasn’t sure how.”

“Stay with me. Stop running. I’ll keep you safe.” he moves his hand from her wrist to interlock his fingers into hers.

“Over 20 years and you still haven’t come up with anything else?” she jokes and squeezes his hand. “I did want to talk to you about it. About… us...” she spoke softly and paused, ears perked up to the movement outside.

“What do y-”

“Shh.” a quick and low serious squeeze of his hand. “Someone’s close.”

“Where the fuck are you Javi?” blares out over his radio on his chest. Not a second later, bullets are coming through the back of their hiding spot, scrambling to get out, despite her fighting him, he covers her.

“Rooftop. West.” is grunted out as he and Esme wrestle to be the one to shoot the perpetrator.

She hits his chest and then right in the head, falling in a slump before she notices Javi is no longer hovering and trying to keep her down. A quick turn, intaking the rest of the space, knowing more would be on their way soon, and whether they were cops or sicarios she couldn’t let them find her. In her rush she hasn’t noticed Javi on the ground, she sees his face for only a second, slightly confused before looking at up her the moment she sees his side and hands covered in blood.

“Oh fuck, Javi... no.” She spits out and immediately ducks over him

“S’not... good news sweetheart.” He gives her a smirk, one she’d seen a thousand times on a younger version of his face. She knew with that expression alone it was indeed not good.

She doesn’t get time to react, to even breathe before more shots make her go into survival mode. She covers him, dragging him to a nearby brick wall to at least be safe from one side while she covered the others.

“Can you watch behind me while I look at this?”

“Yeah.” A pause while he holds his gun out. “I can try.”

“Was that your partner on the radio?”

“Yeah should be here soon.”

“Let’s hope so.” She grits her teeth and can’t tell if the shot went straight through, which meant he would probably be okay if it hit in and was now embedded in his stomach. Either way, this wasn’t ideal, to say the least.

“There’s-“

Before he gets it out she’s turned and shooting more men trying to get on the roof, none having the foreign blonde hair and pale skin of his partner.

“You should get out of here... y’know. They’ll ask questions.”

“I’m not leaving you.” She applies pressure to his side and he lets his head fall back to the wall with a heavy breath.

“Now is a hell of a time to start.”

She gives him a hard brow but would normally laugh because he had a point. “I never... ugh.” She grunts in frustration, shooting another man a few rooftops over. “I never wanted to leave you.” She continues trying to figure out the best way to slow the bleeding down. “It's the last thing I wanted to do. You know that right?” She asks to receive no response.

She sees he’s lost consciousness. Now it was proving to be worse than she had hoped. Cursing under her breathe, fighting back tears, the burning making a splitting headache form in her forehead, she uses the only thing in sight she can, taking her shirt off and ripping it tie a makeshift tourniquet around him.

She hears a bark from a man that sounds almost familiar and a dead giveaway as a cop. His partner was almost there. “You’ll be fine Javi.” She whispers, not knowing if she believed it or if he could even hear her. She kisses his cheek and holds his head close for a moment. A few seconds of kissing his hair, trying to forge a deep memory from a rushed moment. Just in case.

“JAVI?!” She hears shouted.

“UP HERE!” she shouts, knowing she had to get away but wasn’t going to leave him until she had to. She was soon not given a choice when orders were barked at her on sight.

She used her savvy, knowing how to get away, even if it was a stretch. “He’s shot.” She says backing away with her hands up to the edge of the roof. “Murphy, please don’t let him die.” She begs as the man’s face softens for a moment, she recognized he must have understood who she was.

The man coming up behind him however didn’t. He fires off a shot, hitting her and forcing her to make an abrupt jump from the rooftop.

“SHIT!” Murphy barks again and shoves the other man’s gun to aim down at the ground. “Don’t shoot HER!” He shouts in the man’s face. “She was helping him! Can’t you see that?!” He runs to the edge, looking down and seeing nothing but a dumpster and a few drops of blood on the pavement. Javi had been right. She was good.

@jaegeeeeer​ @likedovesinthewnd​ @inkededucatednnerdy​  @biharryjames @ladamari68​ @past-romantic​ @weliketomoveit @shikin83​ 

#Javier Pena #Javier Pena Fanfic #javier pena x reader #javier pena fic #javier pena fan fic

[askmyboys]

Circus Mafia

Here’s my latest characters that I am EXTREMELY proud of, god tho it was h e l l trying to finish making them bc i forgot like,, two of them in the process and had to go back- Uhh I guess bc it’s a mafia there’s mentions of death/violence but that’s about it!

I’ll put a keep reading on it just bc its kinda a lengthy post so yeye

| Names: Wallace Gallagher, Chester York, Dewey Bullock, Eric Fletcher, Grant Davenport, and Henry Barton

| Nicknames/Titles: Wally/Gear (The Ringmaster), He hates it but Yorky is a nickname (The Magician), Dew/Dewdrop (The Juggler), Eri/Fletch (The Acrobat), Dave (The Tightrope Walker/The Trapeze Artist), and finally Hen/Bart (The Clown/The Strongman)

| Genders: Wallace goes by He/It, Chester goes by He/Him, Dewey goes by all pronouns, Eric goes by He/They, Grant goes by He/They/It, and Henry also just goes by He/Him

| Ages: Unknown (I am NOT doing all the math that’d probs be involved with these dudes fuck that)

| Heights: Wallace is 6’7”, Chester is 5’9”, Dewey is 5’6”, Eric is 5’3”. Grant is 6ft, and finally Henry is 5’8”

| Hair Colors: Wallace has long stringy hair he usually keeps in a ponytail (his hair is a bubblegum pink color), Chester’s hair is a Cobalt Blue color (his hair is usually in a man bun), Dewey’s hair is a Tiger Orange color (his hair is a curly undercut), Eric’s hair is Black and it’s a short quiff, Grant’s hair is a Dark Brown and slicked back, and finally Henry’s hair is a Tortilla Brown color (His hairstyle is a Pushed Back Long one)

| Eye Colors: Wallace’s eyes are a light pastel pink color (he’s got a slash over his right eye but he seems to still be able to see out of it), Chester’s eyes are a Gunmetal Blue color, Dewey’s eyes are a light pastel green, Eric’s eyes are a hazel color, Grant’s eyes are Dark Brown, and Henry’s eyes are a dull gray color.

| Skin Colors/Body Types: Wallace is tall and lanky as hell p much and he’s pretty pale, Chester’s kinda average p much and he’s more so tan, same goes for Grant actually except he looks a bit more muscular than Chester does, Dewey and Eric are kinda pale as well (Eric being a bit more paler than Dewey) and both of them are chubby, and finally Henry who looks a bit stronger than even Grant (nothing TOO weird ofc) is also pale.

| Appearances: Oh god here we go… Wallace is first up- He’s got the typical Ringmaster outfit EXCEPT his is Pink and White instead of the typical red/black/white you see, even down to his boots are pink (his boots btw kinda go up his legs and they have a heeled part on em), he wears pink leather gloves and has a pink top hat as well! He also has a handlebar mustache (he dyed it to match his hair, got a bit of Wilford Energy dont he? Lmao) he also has a lot of scars on his body (Their most prominent scars are: Wallace’s is over his eye and a bullet wound that got WAY too close to his heart, Chester’s scarring is around his neck, his chest and ESPECIALLY his back area, the neck looks like a few cuts but nothing deep enough to be fatal, the chest has some deeper scarring and longer ones, and his back looked like it was caused by a whip

Dewey’s scars are a bit all over the place nothing prominent there, Eric’s scars are the same just sporadic and all over the place but he has a few similar markings to Chester’s on his back (not AS many tho), Grant doesn’t have as many scars surprisingly just a few here and there but they don’t look too serious, and finally Henry has prominent scars over his belly, his back, and his legs they look like a mixture of potentially fatal had they not been looked at and non-fatal)

Chester’s outfit is a white suit vest that has dark blue stripes going down it, he wears a dark blue collared shirt underneath the suit vest and he also has a long black cloak (it has a hood on it but he only puts it on in certain situations), he has dark blue pants that match and he seems to wear combat boots that match said outfit, he also has some silk gloves that match as well, he wears a blue quartz crystal around his neck and he has a circle beard, he also has dark blue claw nails that also has little star designs over them. (he also has a dark blue bow tie!)

Dewey’s outfit is a mint green suit vest with a white collared shirt underneath it, he also has a mint green bow tie and he wears white pants as well and some sneakers with mint green stripes going across them, he wears mint green rose earrings (it was a gift that Chester gave to Eric so the boy could give it to Dewey) and he’s cherished them ever since, he also wears gloves to match (it helps him out when juggling bc ouchie hard items hurt when they smack directly onto his bare hands) he doesn’t have a beard at all he babyfaced.

Eric’s outfit is white collared shirt with dark brown suspenders that are attached to the same colored pants, he also wears a dark brown flat cap (when he’s not performing or doing his job n such) he also has a dark brown bow tie he wears as well and his he wears dark brown sneakers as well he’s also babyfaced like Dewey is, he has a dark brown necklace with the same colored pendant on the end, it isn’t heart shaped but its round and definitely looks like a locket of some kind (he never wears it during performances in fear it’d get lost but he keeps it locked up in a secret box in his room, it was a gift from Dewey)

Grant’s outfit is a black suit jacket with a red collared shirt underneath it, he also has black pants to match said outfit and he has black and red oxford shoes and he also wears a black fedora (he looks more like the leader than Wally does tbh, then again him, Chester, and Henry ALWAYS get mistaken for the boss) he also has a long black tie he wears with the outfit btw! He has a Van Dyke type beard he also wears some rings on his fingers too hence why he looks SO much like the boss.

And finally… Henry’s outfit is well, it took a LOT of convincing but he actually wears a rainbow themed clown outfit, it's MUCH softer lighter colors (p much pastels) At first he 100% hated it but then every time an enemy came around… They laughed at him and ALWAYS underestimated him, it was always hilarious to kick their ass in said outfit, Wallace also told him just imagine his enemies having to explain to someone/their boss that they got their ass kicked by the clown! The CLOWN of all people! And Henry won’t deny, that idea grew on him so he eventually accepted it (the only thing he refused to wear really was the wig that was t o o much) and finally he has a short boxed beard!

| Personalities: Wallace is… EXTREMELY eccentric and unpredictable, there’s no true way to tell how he’s feeling or what mood he’s going to be in, he seems to bounce from mood to mood, feeling to feeling, emotion to emotion! Although it’s VERY rare to see him actually upset or angry (...Keep in mind, I said very rare, but it’s not… an IMPOSSIBLE scenario) he’s usually pretty cheerful, friendly, kind, and caring as can be! He’s a friend to those who won’t backstab him or betray him but a terrifying force to be reckoned with if you double cross him… He’s in a silly goofy mood a lot, but really, if I’m being honest, there definitely seems like there’s something… Unhinged there… Like something is not all together with him, but oh well! No time to unpack anything! If you need a helping hand he’s there to help! Just don’t double cross him and you won’t die! Don’t let his friendly and cute demeanor fool you, if he doesn’t send one of the others after you, then he’ll deal with you himself and honestly? He’s the WORST one to come after you… MUCH worse than the others.

Chester is cocky, confident, and arrogant at times- He’s EXTREMELY prideful in himself and k n o w s he’s all that and MUCH more~ He seems like he only cares for himself and thinks he’s the star and center of everything but oh no… He holds great admiration and respect for Wallace, he adores Dewey and Eric and helps them out a lot, he’s even overprotective of them actually- you mess with them you evoke papa bear and he WILL stomp you to death with his boots- He constantly pesters Grant and Henry, teasing them a LOT here and there, he makes it a game to mess with them as much as he can, heck he loves messing with his actual victims too, he loves to play the mind games and he’s much more sadistic and cruel than you see him with the other members of the circus, if it’s like someone who’s made friends with the others? ...Well he’ll be more tolerable but oh that won’t stop him from scaring them a little here and there but he won’t actually hurt them, it’s more so just him having fun.

Dewey is a sweet, kind, and loving soul- he looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly! But looks can always be deceiving you know… If he ABSOLUTELY needs to he will hurt or kill someone, if he’s ordered too he will do so- He’s actually mostly shy and anxious even around the other members of the circus but he trusts them a LOT more than anyone else, and he looks up to Wallace and Eric, speaking of Eric, he likes Eric a HELLA lot- he trusts them the MOST out of everyone here and you’ll find Dewey spends a lot more time with Eric than anyone else and he seems so much more open with the other, seems like he lets loose a lot more… And another thing to note, toward enemies he doesn’t torment or anything he just injures or kills them as quickly as possible so he’s a LOT more merciful than someone like Wallace or Chester or some of the others would be.

Eric is another sweet, kind, and loving soul- Also looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly but he can and would if he was told too- He doesn’t LIKE hurting or killing folks though at all, he considers himself much more cowardly than Dewey since Dewey seems like he can do it without any issues beforehand… Eric looks up to Dew a LOT just like the other looks up to him, Eric also looks up to Grant a lot as well even though he can be pretty intimidating to approach, he’s got a LOT more anxiety than Dewey seems to have and he doesn’t seem to have a lot of confidence in himself, he thinks he’s cowardly and sometimes it feels like he legit doesn’t even fit in here, why is such a coward like him in with a literal mafia?

He can barely kill/hurt anyone without almost breaking down p much (Wallace kinda knows this so he REALLY tries not to call upon Eric too much, not until they can sort out those issues, or well t r y too anyways)

Grant is hella cold, snarky, and honestly hot headed easily the MOST intimidating looking and speaking one outta the bunch, he hardly ever has a smile on his face and he’s mostly grumpy- hims a n g y lmao, he’s WAY more respectful when around Wallace however seeing as he’s the boss ...Grant is a bit jealous honestly and sometimes he maybe even wishes he could be leader but 1: He k n o w s better and 2: That’d make him extremely ungrateful for all Wally’s done for the others, Grant is surprisingly MUCH more warmer n kinder toward Eric, or well he tries to be but gosh that poor boy just seems so intimidated by him… He feels bad for Eric honestly, wishes the boy had a bit more confidence in himself, Grant tries to help him out but any time he approaches Eric the other seems to get pretty afraid, so he tries to be patient and wait for Eric to come to him, he respects Dewey for helping Eric out and he sees how happy the two are when together, it's a good thing… If anyone could help that boy out, it’s gotta be Dewey.

And finally… Henry, he’s pretty sarcastic, a bit cold and a bit hot headed, not, AS MUCH as Grant but still it does lead them into a lot of physical and verbal altercations with each other even then (They try not to do it around Dewey/Eric solely bc they dont wanna scare em, but also not around Wallace bc they really don’t wanna get in trouble or on his bad side…) Henry along with Grant do share solidarity with one thing! And that is their p u r e hatred for Chester! That’s one thing they have in common at least… He’s WAY more hot headed toward Chester but dear god who isn’t at this point? Toward enemies n such it’s like he’s a completely different man, he takes his jobs/tasks VERY seriously and he’s WAY more calm and collected- more so than Grant could ever be (I’ll just go ahead ALL the boys respect and or look up to Wallace in some way, he practically saved them tbh) I suppose another thing Henry shares in common with Grant and probs everyone at this point is he wishes Eric had more confidence in himself…

| Side Facts: Usually, whether it be by an injured one or even the dead bodies, an item is usually left behind as a warning- For Wallace it’s a bunch of lashings from his bullwhip (I wanna clarify, the ones with lash looking scars, Wallace would NEVER EVER hit them, he’d NEVER fucking hurt any of them which is why if one of the ones with similar scars are around, before he even d a r e s pull out the whip, he tells them to go on back to the tent, he doesn’t want them to see or hear that sound)

Chester MOSTLY leaves red roses behind (since that’s what people throw onto his stage when he’s finished performing), but he’ll leave VARIOUS other kinds of flowers as well (you’ll notice he’s very particular with each flower he leaves behind)

Dewey leaves behind whatever item he had been juggling (for example: a bowling pin, orange, balls, etc)

Even tho Eric isn’t called upon too often for his sake, he actually doesn’t leave anything behind.

Grant leaves nothing behind whatsoever, what he did to the victim alone is WARNING enough.

Henry leaves behind clown noses (he literally puts clown noses on the victims) and if he’s feeling generous enough he leaves some sarcastic little messages behind or just straight up taunting ones.

While they ARE a mafia, like I’ve said the circus part also plays a big role! They DO perform! Their circus moves from place to place, it never does stay in one spot and a BIG thing Wallace wants noted- they don’t include animals in their acts, they’d never put any kind of animal through that sorta stress and are HIGHKEY against Circuses that do use animals bc most times the animals are whipped and abused, so Wallace says none of that here!

They have had some rowdy rude customers like all businesses or events do ...But you know… They aren’t like most either, those customers were mm… I’d say when Wallace offered to have their complaint taken up, let’s just say those so called customers were never seen or heard from again (keep in mind, those weren’t valid complaints, it was basically karen type people so oofy)

Chester has once lured a victim backstage and he has a house of mirrors type situation, he once lured them back and slowly watched them struggle to try and get out of there, sometimes appearing on the mirrors to give them a fright, he’s probably driven some people to insanity with this tbh also, Chester made Wallace a necklace with an Obsidian pendant, Wallace cherishes this and thanks to Chester he knows the crystal symbolizes protection n stuff so that made him cherish it even more.

Their Circus, the tent, etc- I’ll be 100% honest with you, the fucking tent itself is pretty inhuman and fuckin unrealistic, like- SO many fucking things fit under that tent- its almost cartoonish how it works! The tent itself holds literally all their respective areas, from Chester’s stage right down to the area where the trapeze and tightrope acts are performed!

One thing I didn’t mention- Wallace seems to have two sets of fangs (I will say, he’s- he’s not a toon btw I mean, I won’t say if Wally is fully human or not but still) both top and bottom, Chester has cat-like fangs, Dewey/Eric don’t have fangs at all, Grant has some razor sharp teeth, and Henry just has normal lookin’ teeth.

One more thing! I already covered their pronouns up there so here’s their sexualities! Wallace is Pansexual, Chester is Bisexual, Dewey is Panromantic and Asexual, Eric is Gay and Asexual, Grant is more so Questioning rn as is Henry.

#original characters #my ocs #ocs #Circus Mafia #Wallace Gallagher #Chester York #Dewey Bullock #Eric Fletcher #Grant Davenport #Henry Barton #tw violence mentions #tw death mentions

[squeezysgardenofcakes]

DST/LOSE CROSSOVER IDEA P2A: VOLTAR’S OUTFITS/SKINS

I FINALLY got Voltar’s set here done, and now I want to show them off! Ofc I still need to do the rest of the team, but hey. One character down, three more to go.

Now, if you want a text version of the descriptions (as well as what each of his outfits are based off, that sort of stuff) I will put them under the cut. 

I was gonna add splash art for each of them to fill up the empty space, but I didn’t think that’s necessary, not to mention I didn’t want to take up even MORE time doing this. Especially since me and projects that take a long while don’t have the greatest relationship ever, and I didn’t want this to be one of those projects that sit in the backburner forever. Hope you don’t mind! :’(

THE TRIUMPHANT Shadow Collection Voltar seems to love the improvements the Throne has made on him. “I am the truest Master of Evil!”

I based his Triumphant skin off of Clone Voltar. In fact, he basically is Clone Voltar if instead of being a clone, Voltar just became that instead. I don’t even know if that made any sense. 

THE ROSATE Rose Collection “Evil Mastermind” & “Roses” don’t mix well, at least according to Voltar. “This is the worst day of my life...”

Voltar’s Rosate skin shamelessly off of his laundry mishap look in the episode “Voltina”. I also made his attenae into roses for a nice added touch for his look.

THE GUEST OF HONOR Formal Collection An attention grabbing suit for the main man himself. “Lookin’ good enough to win an Eviley!” I based Voltar’s GoH Skin off of his suit he wears in the episode “And the Loser Is...”. The Eviley is also from that episode as well.

THE HEROIC Opposite Day Collection This isn’t right...This isn’t right at all.  “The Great Voltar, Mightiest Hero in Metrotown!” For the first original skin concept, I decided to add a costume that serves as a what if: What if the League of Super Evil...Weren’t Evil? And after trying to come up with an idea of what a heroic Voltar would look like (which was pretty difficult ngl), I went with a joyous ice blue Voltar who’s a skeleton-based superhero. Unfortunately (or Fortunately, depending on who you are), since skins in DST are purely cosmetic, there won’t be any quote or ability changes for this version of Voltar. 

THE REVAMPED Questionable Upgrade Collection Voltar looks more impish than usual. “Hey look! I can fly!!” *thuds* This one was part original, part not-so-much. Long story short, I basically sketched ideas of how I would make the LOSE characters look like if I was rebooting the show solely by myself for myself, and this skin is basically how my rebooted Voltar would look like. In my reboot, he’s an imp that is fully decked out in a motorcycle suit. Also yet again, since DST skins are purely cosmetic, you sadly cannot fly with his widdle wings. RIP.

THE GLADIATOR Forge Collection Smaller the height, the bigger the targets are. “Bring it on, puny worms!” If you had to ask me which one of these is my favorite, this skin would be up there next to the Gothic skin. I basically gathered what made the Gladiator skins...well, that way, and just threw it all on Voltar. Also there’s no tactical advantage for that big shiny V on his helmet that’s on his helmet (double helmet?). It’s there for ego reasons.

THE GOTHIC Moody Collection Voltar wouldn’t consider himself a Gothic person, but hey! It looks good on him! “Evil is dark...Right?” This is completely self-indulgent. I wanted a purple Voltar, so I gave myself one. I mean to be honest, everything about this crossover idea is self-indulgent, so I might as well add more indulgency as possible. 

THE MAGMATIC Forge Collection Like the sun, Voltar is the star of the show. “Bow down to my Evil Glory!” This is a skin that only Voltar can have, meaning that Frogg, Red, and Doomy don’t have a Magmatic skin of their own. I based his magmatic look off of Elvis jumpsuits and admittedly Metro Man from Megamind, mostly because fame...starpower...ego? IDK I just thought it would fit him. Part of me wishes I had the light cream color replaced with black so I could turn him into a Guy Fierri Voltar but I’m too lazy lmao.

So that is all for Voltar’s skins in this DST/LOSE crossover. The next part, 2B, will be everyone’s favorite mad scientist: Doktor Frogg! So stay patient for that!!

#league of super evil #dont starve together #crossover #mod idea #voltar #even though i scream at the void i cant help but admit i love an odd crossover #if anyone makes art of any of these voltars i will cry #being semi honest here too

[hobbitsnapes]

The Red Hoods Protègè chapter 10

Older Damian Wayne x ofc

(Photo made by my lovely friend @tyuuniverse)

Summary:Red hood has taken a young vigilante under his wing and subsequently changes Damians life forever. (I suck at summary’s)

A/N: this is the flashback chapter of her life. Hopefully this’ll explain a lot of your guys questions.

Julianna and Hal Hawks were a lovely couple. Met and fell in love in their early 20s and married a few short years later. The pair time and time again tried for a child. But as fate would have it, each test, scan, IVF and so on came back negative.

After 8 long years of trying, the couple decided to end the process of trying for a child. They knew in their heart they wanted nothing more than to be parents, but grew to accept that they weren’t meant for it.

That is until one day, Julie has been feeling under the weather for a better part of a month. Neither one ever in a million years would think to see. But as she goes through the shop's Isles, she stops and looks at the tests. This small voice in the back of her head, and a feeling in her gut, she grabs one and heads home.

As she sits and waits, she thinks she’s lost her mind. Her and Hal were now in their early 30s, having given up 3 years prior to try conceiving a child. There’s absolutely no way.

As the clock on the wall hits 5 minutes since the test, she grabs the small stick. She closes her eyes tightly. For a bread moment she thought she maybe could be. Now, she doesn’t dare look. Her hands grow clammy and she shakes slightly as she sits on the kitchen floor.

They were both so happy, fully content with not having a child for years and have even adopted a cat a year prior. There’s absolutely no way. And with that, she opened her eyes. And as she looked at the small stick in her hands, and let out a large gasp. She knew that their life would change forever.

And like the miracle that was them getting pregnant, the pregnancy went beautifully. The couple overjoyed every second of each day. Even during the difficult times, they truly were the happiest people alive.

That was until a cold autumn night. Julie has been complaining of sharp pains in her lower stomach for a better part of the entire day. Being 36 weeks along, her husband kept reassuring her that it was just her body preparing to bring their Miracle into the world. Having seen plenty of this due to being a doctor for 6 years. But Julie still felt, off. It was as if she knew something was wrong.

���You can’t be serious love?” Hal says as he eyes his wife in the driver's seat of their car. A knowing smile on her face, her crystal blue eyes looking into his. “I’ll drive there myself if you don’t. I know our baby, and something is off about them.” “And I’m telling you, it’s completely natural to have cramping and to feel uneasy right before birth love. But if you truly insist, I’ll take you.” Hal says as he gives her a kiss. The pair getting into the car together, unknowing what the night will bring to them.

What is the worst thing you can hear in just a short sentence? You’re sick, I don’t love you anymore, you’re dying, any of those would be easier to hear over what the couple were told. “I’m so sorry, but your baby is gone.” A cry left both of them as they hunch forward and into one another’s arms. Tears streaming down their faces. A sharp pain overflows through their heart for their little merical. Their hearts feeling shot but no longer present inside of them. It’s as if when their little one left, they took their hearts with them. The pain worse than anything they have both endured combined as the reality sets in. The room they renovated from a small storage room, filled with a crib they built together. Baby clothes in the closet all prepared and ready to put the little joy in. Plush fluffy blankets lay neatly in the crib to wrap them around to fight off the chill air. Stuffed animals lined in the crib, an assortment of different ones for them to hold onto late at night. A plain wooden rocking chair in the corner, there to soothe their little joy in and sing them a lullaby to. Now the room will be vacant, no late night wales from the monitor to alert the parents of their little one needing them. No late night diaper changes, no waking up to find them playing with their favorite stuffy, no walking into a large mess with a little toddler smiling brightly at them. Nothing.

The couple cry as she lets out one final push, what would be a moment of pure joy followed by the sound of their little one they dubbed as joy to let out a cry as they enter the world. What should be the happiest moment of their lives, is the hardest thing they’ve ever been through. “Please, can I hold her?” Julie whispers, the doctor looking hesitant at the grieving woman, but untimely handed the woman her child.

The doctor laid her into her mother’s arms. Her body laying on her exposed chest, her small body having a slight blue Hue. Her tiny mouth the color of roses, her nose making a small button at the end. Her eyes shut, almost as if she was just in a deep sleep. The mother cries as she looks at her little merical. She bows her head slightly, resting it on the top of her head. “Please, if you’re up there, please bring my baby back. Please.” She whispers as tears fall down her face.

And it’s as if time stops then. She feels a slight movement, a warmth flooding her chest. She opens her eyes in shock, a large gasp leaving her, and everyone in the room at the large cry that left the once lifeless baby.

Little Saundra was nothing but a true merical. From her conception to her birth, she captured the hearts of her parents the moment they knew of her existence. The couple swearing that god himself sent them a little angel. With a newly renowned faith due to what they fully believe to be a miracle child. They promised her the moment she let out a cry that they would show her nothing but love, joy, and to fill her heart with it till their last breath.

Her early life was nothing short of pure happiness. Even in the early days with the all nighters, the colic, all the blowout diapers and the complete Exhaustion could overshadow the Immense joy and love they had for her. And as the first few days of getting used to the lack of sleep and around the clock feedings, to the first smile, to the first laugh, to the first crawl, to her first steps. It’s as if time slowed down for them when she came into their lives, but at the same time it’s as if she was on record speed to grow. Her once bald head now sporting small strawberry blonde curls, just like her fathers. Her eyes crystal blue like her mothers, lips red as roses and cheeks kissed with a faint red.

The couple dubbed her as their little angel. Her small giggle whenever they made a face at her, to her full belly laugh when they would blow raspberries on her squishy tummy, even when they would juggle her little foot and put it to their ear and say hello, she would laugh so hard she’s barf all over herself. All of those sounding like an angel singing hymns.

Her first 5 years were pure bliss. Little sandy always has a smile on her face, loved every person she met, always wanting to hug people whenever they were out. Always trying to help people and animals. She begged her parents if she could bring in a baby deer that was abandoned. For weeks she bottle fed the baby and helped her dad make a small bed for the animal. She cried for nights when the once tiny deer grew larger and ultimately left. She trusted everything and everyone, thinking everything was good, and that everyone had a heart as big as hers. She touched the hearts of many, once giving a woman at the shops a large hug when she was crying. She had the soul of an angel and was nothing but pure light and love. And her parents loved every bit of it and showered the little one in nothing but love. Her trusting nature never scaring them once. Until one day.

They decided one day to go to the mall, her mother wanting to pick up a few dresses for herself and her daughter, her little hand tightly inside her mother's larger one. Her long curly blonde hair tied up in a bun with a bow in the front. A light pink dress with small rabbits decorating it covered her along with a pair of white leggings. Her favorite stuffy firmly in her other hand as they walk inside.

All goes smoothly, both getting a few things here and there for the Warmer weather coming up. And for one split second, Julie looks away and walks right into someone. She falls to the ground, profusely apologizing to the man as he helps her pick up their things. And when she looked up, Sandy was gone. A sharp squeezing pain overcomes her heart as panic sets in. She frantically looks around to see the blonde curly bun and pink dress. But she’s nowhere in sight.

She runs to the nearest security guard, frantically explaining what happened as tears stream down her face. How could she have done this? If she just paid attention then this wouldn’t have happened. Her heart clenches harder the more time goes by, now all the security guards in the building on alert looking for the child.

An hour past and now the panic has mixed with dread, sadness, and anger towards herself. The pain almost exactly like the pain she felt when she was told her little girl wasn’t alive, but now she’s angry at herself for what she believes to be her fault.

It’s now been 3 hours, Hal had come to help the search and to console his wife, telling her repeatedly that he’s not angry with her or that this wasn’t her fault. And that they would find her. Hal was in panic too, having gotten the call during a surgery and leaving as soon as he got the call. He knew deep down they’d find their little girl. While she was small and only 5, she was smart. Whenever a challenge faced her she manifested through it and figured a way as someone beyond her years. He knew that if she was taken, she’d find a way out or a way to get someone’s attention.

After 5 hours the tears were almost completely gone, the couple feeling a mix of emotions, is this what hell is like? The uncertainty, the feeling that it’s your fault and there’s no way to fix it and you just have to live with it as the pain grows until you’re unable to Process it as anything but searing pain?

It was now nightfall, the cops telling the couple to head home to get some rest as they continue searching. But how could they go back to the home they made into her castle? A place they brought her home 4 days after her birth, the place that she had her first smile, first everything. All the memories Scattered around like little specks of love from her touch and glowing aura. How could they go there without the source of light that lit up the home like the sun when it breaks over the skyline? How could they climb into bed, knowing that the next room over that holds one of god's angels, is empty?

And as if god heard all of their prayers, thoughts, and felt their pain, a cop came to the crying couple, informing them that they found her and that she was alive and unharmed. As if their hearts had stopped beating, and was crumbling like an old brick wall, it flowed bright and grew again. It was as if all the joy they had felt over the last 5 years were multiplied. They jumped up from the ground and sprinted to the location that the cop said they were with a speed of pure electricity and adrenaline Coursed through them.

When they reached the basement of the mall, and they saw the tiny little girl with blonde ringlets coming out of her once neat bun, they screamed in joy and ran full force. The little girl hearing her parents ran with all her night into her parents arms. Sobs of pure joy erupted from them all as they sat there and cried. Cried over the sheer volume of relief and joy and pure love surrounded them all like a bubble.

Turns out a man by the name of chase myrdk, a 46 year old who lost his children to his ex wife due to repeatedly trying to groom them, had found the little one when her mom was picking up her things from the floor and promised her he had more stuffed animals in his home. But when the alert for the child began, he panicked and hid with her in the basement in a crawl space. Only being found because she kept saying she needed to find her mummy, and he lashed out and yelled at her. This causing the little girl to grab a heavy piece of scrap metal and hit him over the head, causing him to cry out as she continued to hit him. This alerting the police in the room and finding him.

The couple now vowing to themselves, their daughter, and god that they would do anything in their power to keep her out of harm's way.

The young, curly haired girl with small hands, a child wonder in her eyes, and the heart that could change the coldest man in the world, turned into a beautiful angel with a heart that glowed out of her skin. Truly loving up to her name, young saundra was breathtaking. Her once strawberry blonde hair, a beautiful light golden blonde that glowed in a dim room and sparkled in the light but has a soft focus to it. Her skin a soft glass like, it had a transparency with a glow so soft, it radiated. Lips the shade of roses that made her smile that much more expressive. Her eyes the exact same as her mothers, a crystal blue that was a hair shy from a sapphire, they sparkled in the light and had a depth of the world in them, but had a lightness in them that was a window to a glowing soul. She had a radiance, it was as if she had lights lined up her spine that glowed out of her, she was ethereal. Always doing things out of pure love for everything she encountered. A sharp witty at Astonished her parents. A true glow of happiness followed her every place she went in the home. Even when sad she had a smile on her face and saw through it and showed her love through it. Never acting out of anger or distress, she always knew how to help her parents through love and understanding. She was the true meaning of an angel sent to earth.

And her parents protected that, they never wanted that light inside of her to dim from the harsh world outside of their home. They never wanted her to feel the pain that others brought, so from the time that they brought her home, they kept all the things that the world had that was harsh away from her. They wanted to keep her hidden from the harsh reality that is the world so it wouldn’t rip her apart and dim that light. So they hid her at their home. She only went outside in the garden to tend to her beloved flowers and feed the animals that would come from the forest. And as if her heart was so full of love, animals flocked to her. Over the years she had deer, cats, dogs, bunnies, even a wounded bear let her fix its paw and feed it each night.

She loved her parents greatly, so much that her heart felt as if it was floating but being filled each second. She had a very close bond with them. Each day hugging them throughout the day, making them meals when they cane home from work and asked how their day went. Each day they’d only tell her the good. Never about the rude coworker that spat a rude comment to her mother about missing a piece of paper in her office, or the patient that lost their life on the table that day. They never wanted her to feel a sense of loss, or pain that they had felt. They never wanted her to feel the pain that they felt in the past.

Hal and Julie weren’t always the perfect god loving parents that they are today. They actually met at one of their lowest points in their lives.

Julie was an orphaned high school dropout. Her parents leaving her when she was 13 due to money problems from their drug addictions. Dropping out shortly after and living in a shelter and getting an apartment when she was 16 by getting a fake ID. And Hal, he was much the same. Having no father and a mother who beat him most nights due to not being a girl and believing that from his troubles at school made his father leave. He routinely bullied kids at school, due to the amount of anger and pain he felt inside and endured due to his mother. He was a troubled kid from an early age. He’d skip school with his little gang to go smoke and drink at the local lake and commit petty crimes here and there.

One day when Hal was only 20, he got an offer from a man promising if he helped him rob a bank, he’d get a portion of the money. He agreed to it immediately.

All of the men kept their identities anonymous, wearing a clown mask due to the head leaders request. They called him the Joker. All of the men commenting how they never heard of him and that he must be a total nut. Not knowing the horrors the man would vomit to countless lives in the future.

One by one each men were killed, Hal watching each one from the side in horror. And untimely deciding to leave the mission and to run. Run as fast as he could away from the mad man. And ultimately ran into a woman on the street begging for a place to stay. Not knowing them that his life would change, forever.

Hal and Julie were able to flip their once troubled lives around, leaving their old lives behind. At least that’s what they thought.

One day when Hal opened the door to leave for what would be a long day of open heart surgery and kidney transplant, he opened the door to what would be the most frightening thing he’s seen in decades. A lone joker card lay on his doorstep. What would be normally not seen or if had been would think was just a prank, Citizens of Gotham and those who lived near knew that it was the calling card to the most mad man in all of the world. A symbol similar to a screaming banshee.

Hal runs back inside the home to his wife who’s still in bed, not needing to be up for another hour. He shakes her awake harshly. “What is it lovey?” She groans, why would he be acting this way especially so early? “We have to leave now. Pack your things and saundras things and meet me in the car in 10 minutes.” He frantically says. “Hal what’s going on? Why do we need to leave?” “I got a card.” He says with eyes wide with fear. Her breath leaves her lungs at what he said, knowing exactly what he means.

The couple pack their things and rush into her room. The newly 16 year old still in bed sleeping soundly. They rush to wake her and help her pack her things, the young girl not understanding why her parents are acting so strange and rushed. She starts to feel a squeeze in her chest but is reassured by her mother it’s fine and that everyone will be okay.

They get into the car and speed off, Sandy panicking as she watches all the other homes pass by as they go onto a dirt road. “M-mom, dad, what’s going on? Why are we leaving?” She says with panic in her voice. “Everything is gonna be alright sweetheart, I did some things in my past that I’m not proud of and we just have to go to another home for a while okay?” “Dad, what did you do?” What could her father have done to make them leave their home? Her parents were nothing but kind and loving people. Never doing a bad thing in their lives, so why would they have to leave? “That doesn’t matter baby, your dad and I just need to keep you safe okay? We love you baby. And remember, God is watching over us and him and Christ are protecting us always remember?”

They pull into the dirt driveway of a wooden home deep into a forest. The couple buying it and would stay out there during the summer with their daughter.

They all got inside and put their things away. Acting as if nothing was happening. But both of them panicking. What are they gonna do if they find them? What if they were followed? They sat in their bedroom as their daughter put her things away in her room. Not knowing what was to come later that night.

They all lay in one bed together that night, after all praying and bible reading beside the fire. They asked her if they could all stay in the main room, stating that it’ll help with the heating. Both parents on each side of her with arms over her, as if even in sleep they know to protect their little angel.

Hal wakes up to go to the bathroom, and when he exits the bedroom and shuts the door, a sharp hit over the head knocks him out.

Hal stirs awake, the back of his skull throbbing in pain as he lets out a groan. He opens his eyes and panics when he’s unable to move. He looks down and sees he’s tied up to a wooden chair. His heart both beats so fast it sends a sharp pain through his chest but also drops at the realization.

He looks to his side to his worst nightmare. His wife tied to a chair with a scarf wrapped around her mouth with tears streaming down her face. And when he turns his head to the front of him, his worst nightmare is in front of him. His daughter clad only in her white nightgown, tied up the same way with tears streaming down her face, with the man whose wide sinister smile and green hair behind her with his head on her shoulder, a knife to her throat.

“Oh! Goody! You’re finally awake! Oh how I’ve missed your presence good ol buddy ol Hal!” The manic says and laughs loudly as he presses the blade harder against her throat. A muffled yell escapes the girl due to her mouth also being gagged. He goes to yell out but notices his mouth is shut with cling film. A muffled yell erupt from him which causes the mad man to laugh even harder. “Oh Hal it’s pointless to try and speak. Now, I bet you’re wondering how I found you?” Joker takes the blade from her throat, she takes in a deep breath over and over due to the panic inside of her. He walks over to Hal with the knife pointed like how you’d point your finger at a child to scold them. “Well you see, i know I promised to keep your identities a secret all those years ago, but you’ve probably figured out that I don’t tell the truth very often?” The man laughs loudly in his face. “And I happen to have found you in the paper recently, one of Gotham’s most beloved surgeons marks 20 years of his work. I gotta say you did a swell job old Hal. And I couldn’t help but wonder how much your sad, sad little life has changed. That’s when I found you got married and had a daughter. Oh what a true beauty your little girl is.” Joker gets down to Hal and whispers in his ear “oh the things I could do to your sweet little girl?” Hal head buys him as hard as he can in the face, letting out a large yell through the plastic. When joker recovers from the hit, he smiles and shoves the blade through his covered lips to poke a hole through it. He lets out a yell at the pain from his mouth being cut from the blade. “STAY AWAY FROM MY FAMILY YOU SICK FUCK! I SHOULD HAVE NEVER AGREED TO WORK WITH YOU!” “Oh but you did! You chose to do it and didn’t follow through with the plan! So now it’s my turn to have a little fun!”

(Trigger warning. Torture)

Joker looks over to his men and they rip the scarf from his wife’s face, she screams out as the men rip her shirt from her body and start to beat at her and kick her. Hal screams out and tries to get free but to no avail.

After some minutes, Julie is now laying on the ground, naked with bruises covering her body as she sobs. Joker walks over to her slowly, Hal letting out a large scream as he plunges his blade into her back repeatedly. Sandy’s screaming out in pure horror. She manages to have the gag lowered to her neck from thrashing violently.

(End of warning)

Hal lowers his head as he weeps loudly. His wife’s body laying bloody on the ground as joker laughs so hard he falls to the ground in her blood. “W-why? Why are you doing this? They’re my family?” Hal cries as he looks at him. The pain in his chest overwhelming him to the core as he shakes from the pain of watching his wife die a slow and painful death. “Because, I JUST LOVE IT!” Joker screams as he beats Hal over the head, him falling to the ground. He’s ripped out of the seat by jokers men as he’s beaten repeatedly. The pain overwhelming him as white hot pain sets in all over from both the hits and the breaking of bones. He looks out and sees sandy crawling away to the phone, a small bit of hope in him is killed when he sees joker walking behind her. “NOO NOT MY LITTLE ANGEL!”

Sandy struggles with her hands behind her to get out of the knot. Her tears streaming down her face as she watches her father beaten heavily.the pain in her chest overcoming every sense in her. She’s able to get the knot loose and crouch down to the floor and crawl slowly to the phone.

(Trigger warning. Mutilation to the skin of the shoulder blades.)

She thinks she’s about to make it, until she hears her dad yell out and a searing pain cuts through the skin of her shoulder blade. A earth shattering scream rips out of her as her flesh tears open as the blade is slashed repeatedly through her skin. The pain white hot as it shoots through her entire body. The searing pain Foreign to her but crushing her and each scream being ripped out making it worse. She’s paralyzed in place as her flesh and muscle is torn open. The sting of air almost a comfort until another slash is brought deep into her. She screams out in pure agony as the blade reaches her shoulder blades. Tears stream down her face from the pain now hitting every inch of her. Blood pooling out down her front as she lays there. The pain from the exposed nerves and ripped muscle and flesh nothing near the pain in her heart. She feels a face next to hers and cowers in fear from it. “Aww, poor little angel lost her wings.”

After the men left both her parents dead and her to die, she raises her head from the ground. A scream rips out of her as she raises her arm to grab the phone and dials 911. She screams out when someone answers and when they find the location, they tell her hell is on the way. But before she hears the sound of an ambulance approach the house filled with horrors, she blacks out.

She wakes up to a bright light and her head pounding. Her senses foggy for a short while until she hears a beeping sound. She opens her eyes, but shuts them tightly as the lights beam into them, burning them slightly. Vince the pain in her eyes and head subside, she opens her eyes in panic. A sharp squeeze in her chest overcome her as the pain sets in of reality. The crisp white room of the hospital now causing her to panic. The lights alerting others to her presence. She looks around seeing nobody, but hearing a faint laugh which causes her to jump in horror. She’s paralyzed as memories from the night set in. Now the panic being harshly mixed with a pain she’s never felt before. She lets out a sob at the realization that this is real, it’s something she never knew existed. Loss. The pain in her heart making it feel like it’s dripping but ripping out of her. Her head hurting just as much as the memories are foggy, as if they aren’t her own or that she wasn’t present. She sobs violently in the empty hospital room. Her once bright soul, crushed.

She looks up from her bed and sees an IV is in her arm. Panic sets in again at the fear of what happened sinks in and consumes her. She rips the IV out of her arm, not even feeling it due to the sheer panic filling her. She stumbles out of bed and Dallas to the ground. She cries again from the pain in her back where the skin is not yet healed and how weak she feels.

She crawls to the wall and pulls herself up, shitting her mouth tightly as a scream tries ripping out as the pain of her wounds cry out due to the movement. She stands up and holds onto the wall and wobbles over to the door.

She opens it and peeks out and sees nobody in the halls. Panic filling her again as she feels exposed as she creeps out of the door. She feels as though the walls are both closing in but widening to alert danger to her. She walks slowly as she holds onto the walls for support.

She stops in her tracks and hides behind the wall as she hears 2 people walking near her. She phonics in fear as she hears it to be men. Their footsteps heavy, similar to the men that night. She pain a as tears stream down her face. This is it. They found her to finish her off too.

She lets out a breath as the men go down another hallway. She looks around and sees a door. She wobbled over to it and opens it to see lockers in the room. One happens to be open and she walks over to it. Seeing clothes inside of it she grabs them and slips out of her hospital gown and into the t shirt and leggings. The pain in her shoulder not hindering her as she puts them on. She sees a black jacket with a hood and slips it on. Covering her face with the hood.

She walks for a few minutes, the pain in her shoulders radiating the more she walks. She gives up hope as she keeps walking through the halls, until she sees a back door.

She walks as fast as she can to it and when she opens it, she lets out a large breath as the cool air of the night fill her lungs. She Hurley exited out of the hospital, into the night.

The morning light shown brightly into her eyes, the light similar to the ones from the hospital. But rather than the soft bed and beeping she woke up to, she woke to the sounds of people talking, car horns and a rough ground.

Her eyes shot open at the sound of someone behind her, she heard a faint laughter. But when she turned around she saw nobody but a woman a few feet away laying on the ground. She slowly got up, groaning at the stiffness in her bones and back. ‘What am I supposed to do now? I need to hide.’’ She thought, eyeing a rite aid across the street. She started walking towards it across the street. Her heart stopped as a car slammed in front of her, only missing her by a hair. “WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FUCKIN GOING CUNT!” Screamed the man behind the wheel. “I-I’m sorry!” She said as she shook in place and ran out of the way. Her chest tightening again as she reached the store, her heart plummeting into her stomach as she walked in.

She knew she had no money, and no idea what to do. But she knew she had to do something so that, man wouldn’t find her again. His laughter running in her hears like a song from another room. But rather than comforting, it sent chills up her spine. She ducked her head the entire time, not daring to look anyone in the eyes in fear of it being one of the men.

She ended up in the hair section. She never once colored her hair, but knowing that her long blonde hair would give away who she was she grabbed the box with a shaky hand. She then looked and saw a pair of Shears. She grabbed them as well and put both items under her jacket. Shaking as she walked towards the exit. She was almost through the door, until a large siren ringing erupted around her. The sound causing her to yell out. “HEY!” She heard a man scream behind her, she screamed at the top of her lungs and ran as fast as she could out the door. Tears streaming down her face as images from that night flashed before her eyes. Her heart both falling but beating so fast she thought it’d fall out.

She ran down an alleyway and turned left. The footsteps of the man were no longer heard. and as soon as she knew he wasn’t there she fell to the ground. Sobs wrenching from her body as she shook on the ground. Her head in her arms as she screams out into her arm. Images of her mother being stabbed and her blood curdling screams being choked up from the blood coming from her mouth. Her fathers screams ringing in her head and the sounds of his bones being crushed. All of those along with the pain of the skin being cut on her shoulders with his laugh filling her head. She felt her stomach twist in pain, a groan ripping out from her sobs. She felt burning in her throat before she turned her head and threw up. Her sobs getting worse the more pain in her body escalates. “W-why? WHY THEM” she yelled out as tears continued to fall.

She wiped her mouth off with the sleeve of her jacket, her mouth having a slight copper taste to it. She looked around the best she can through watery eyes and sees the sky growing darker, she has to hurt and find a place before it’s dark, not knowing what other horrors are in the night.

She stumbles upon a rest area, she sees a light on inside and walks in. She hears nobody around, the silence of the room almost deafening. She slowly walks to the bathroom area, her shoes making a loud noise as it hits the concrete flooring. She cringes at the noise and Hurley walks into the bathroom.

She flicks the light on and gags, the room wreaking so heavily it brings tears to her eyes. She stands in front of the large mirror, it’s foggy as it’s covered in dirt. She shakily takes the shears out from her jacket and pulls her hood down. Her usually smooth blonde locks tangled and dirty looking. Tears fall from her eyes as she brings them up and snips her hair to her jaw. A sob leaves her body as she cuts more hair.

The sobs turning into silent tears by the time her whole head is cut. It’s cut right above her eyes and she sweeps the sides over her forehead. She gasps as she looks down at the sink, her long hair now all over the place. Sobs again erupt from her. She wipes her eyes and grabs the box of color, she reads the directions and mixes everything together, slathering it all over her head until each inch is covered.

She looks up at herself for the first time since washing the color out. Her hair now curly in knots and pitch black.

11 months, and 20 days later.

She ran down the street as fast as she can, the footsteps behind her growing closer. The crunch of the gravel against her torn shoes causing shooting pain through them, but due to the adrenaline Coursing through her body she hardly feels it.

She sees a fire escape about 100 feet away. She starts to sprint and once she reaches it she jumps up as fast as she can, swinging her arms up and wrapping her legs around it and climbing up, the men chasing her yelling profanities at her.

She reaches to the roof and sits down on the floor. She goes into her pocket and grabs the bread she had taken, it was stale and hard as a rock. But after not eating for a few days she devours it in seconds. She looks below and no longer sees the men below. She climbs down slowly, having almost fallen recently due to rushing.

She walks around and into an alleyway, a group of people surrounding a fire, she walks slowly towards the group. Her heart beating faster the closer she gets. She looks around the walls for anyone else, her eyes darting back and forth in search for anyone around that she can’t see. She hears a faint cry down the alley, “P-please stop daddy. I-I’m s-sorry!” It sounds like a child, it’s high pitched and the s sounding like a lisp. She runs down the alley and spots a man, he’s tall and sticky, an obvious beer belly through his shirt. A little girl lays at the ground. Her clothes torn and ragged. A common theme among those in the narrows. She steps up towards the man, his fist in the little girls shirt as the little girl yells out in fear. “HEY! Leave her alone assfuck! She’s a child!” She yells, the man dropping the girl and marching towards her. “STAY OUTTA MY BUSINESS CUNTBAG! SHE'S MY KID AND I'LL DO WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT TO HER!” He screams in her face, his breath reeking of alcohol and his eyes are bloodshot. His pupils small and his eyes are bloodshot. Possibly due to either cocaine or heroin. “Like hell you will.” She mumbles, before raising her fist into the side of his face. Her rings on her knuckles for this purpose scratching into his skin. He falls back to the ground and groans. He stumbles his head around, but before he can move she launches on top o him. She’s grabs his forehead and slams it repeatedly into the ground, cries of pain leaving him until he knocks unconscious.

She raises up off of him and looks behind her, the little girl laying in the same spot now crying. She walks over to her and bends down to the shaking girl. She has a black eye and her lip is split. She reches her hand to the child’s face and the little girl flinches. “Hey hey hey shahs, it’s okay. What’s your name sweetly?” “A-ally..” “hi ally, I’m sandy. Is that man your father?” “I d-don’t know. Mommy brought me there and then she-she left..” tears leav the little girls eyes as she speaks. She reches and brings the child close to her, hugging her tightly to her. “It’s all gonna be okay sweetheart. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll help you okay?” “Y-you promis?” The little girl asks as she looks up, her tears gathering in her eyes. “I promise sweet thing. I’m gonna make sure you’re safe.”

She tucks the little girl in her makeshift bed. Covering her up with the blanket up to her nose. She hadn’t found an actual home yet, not having the money and only being 17. So she found an abandoned building and slowly started bringing things up into it. The floors were always cold, but since finding the blanket and mattress, the chill in the room went away each night.

She got in behind her, putting her arm around her, the little girl turned around into her and nuzzles her head into her chest. “Thank you sandy, you’re my angel.”

The two sat in the room silently, both eating a cup of noodles. Ally finishing it well before sandy did. The pore thing must’ve been starving, neither one finding food for a good 2 days. “What’s that over there?” Ally points, she looks to where and sees the box beside the bed. “It’s all the things I have from my parents.” “Where are they?” Ally asked, head tilting to the side. “My mom and dad, aren’t around anymore.” “You mean they died?” A pain shoots through her heart hearing it. Still in pain from her parents passing. “Yes, but now they’re angels. Remember how you called me your angel?” Ally nods her head yes at this. “Well they’re kinda the same, they’re just up in heaven watching over me, and you.” “What’s heaven?” Sandy pauses, the small child not even knowing what heaven is? She wonders what her life has been like prior to her taking her in. “Heaven is where we go when we die. It’s a magical place where everyone we love is there. Everyone is happy, there’s no pain there. And when we’re up there, we get to live with not only our loved ones, but god and Jesus too.” “Who’s god and jebus?” This causes sandy to laugh. “God is who made us all. He made every single little thing in this world, but he saw that we weren’t perfect like the angels, so he sent his only son to earth, and so we pray to Jesus to be closer to them.” “Can we pray to them?” A large smile covers sandys face at this. “Of course we can sweetie.” She grabs a hold of ally and sits her on her lap, she puts her hands together for her, she ducks her head down onto hers as she recites the exact same prayer her parents taught her. A warmth filling her chest.

Sandys heart is reaching as she sprints down the street, Her arms growing tired as she holds onto ally as she cries into her chest. “GET BACK HERE!” The men scream. Her and ally had been walking down the street, her little hand tightly in hers. They turned a corner and were met with her father and a few other men. They all charged after the two and they ran, Sandy knowing she couldn’t take on all of them at once especially with ally around. She runs down the street of the building they had been staying. Knowing she had a few knives that she’s collected in there to protect ally.

She almost makes it to the door, but a large hit to the back of her head knocks her to the ground. She falls down to the ground, dropping ally in the process. She feels glass under her as her head throbs in pain. The men come up to them and start throwing punches into her. Cries of pain leaving her as one blows a hit to her shoulder blade. Tears falling down her face as every inch of her body screams out in pain as blow after blow is hit into her. She opens her eyes when she hears a scream. She sees ally being ripped away by her father. Her tears falling down her face as she struggles. “NOO! GET AWAY FROM HER!” She screams out, “SANDY! PLEASE HELP ME! YOU PROMISED!” Ally screams out.

Tears fall down her face as the men leave her on the ground. Tears fall down her face, mixing with blood from her nose. She lays there on the ground, her heart breaking slowly but forcefully. She can’t save anyone, she couldn’t save her parents, ally, herself, nobody. Each time she tries to help someone, they get hurt. Tears keep falling down her face as now, not only the images and sounds of her parents death, but the look of pure horror on ally’s face as she was ripped away.

(Trigger warning. Attempted suicide.)

Sandy’s tears fall down her face as her breathing picks up. She looks down below her, the lights from the city and the cars below her feet. Tears keep falling until they turn into sobs.

Her heart is beating faster than ever, she again feels like she’s gonna throw up as she looks down. Thoughts are filling her head, some screaming to jump and others telling her to get back from the ledge. Her sobs growing so loudly that she’s unable to hear the person from behind her.

(End of trigger warning)

Jason looks over at the next building, having been resting there for a few minutes. He sees what looks to be a girl, her sobs shaking her body as she climbs up onto the ledge. His heart falls into his stomach at the realization of what’s about to happen.

He jumps over to the building behind her. His breathing picking up as he watches her. She’s unmoving as she looks down. That is until he hears her cries turning into sobs. She lifts her foot off the ground.

“Don’t” she hears behind her. She whips her head around and eyes a man, he’s wearing a brown leather jacket, a black shirt on under it, he’s very tall and muscular with guns strapped to his belt. But what catches her eye is that he’s wearing a red hood over his head and a red helmet. “You don’t understand what this’ll do. It isn’t the answer. This will hurt so many people that love you.” A pain shoots through her heart at this. “That’s not true.” She whispers. Her tears falling down her face again. Her chest tightening up as images of her parents flood her head. “And why’s that?” He asks, he steps a bit closer to her as he asks this. “Everyone that I ever had, everyone I ever loved. Are all dead. I-I couldn’t save them. So no, nobody would care if I did it. So just please, leave now..” she sobs out. He grabs a hold of her hand, now right below the ledge. “It’d hurt me, knowing that you’re doing this because you’re alone. So please, do it for me.” His voice breaks after he said alone. Tears fill her eyes as a sob leaves her. She falls back, and when she lands into him he wraps his arms securely around her. She sobs into his chest as he holds onto her tightly. Tears now falling down his face. His heart breaking as the young girl cries grow louder and harder. “P-please help me..” she sobs out. “I will, I promise. I swear on my life, I’m gonna help you.”

Tags: @psychovigilantewrites @comic-nerd-dc @comic-brew

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne fanfiction #damian wayne imagine #older!damian wayne imagine #older!damian wayne #batfamily #batfam x reader #batman #red hood #jason todd #tim drake #dc #dc imagine #dceu #damian wayne

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT: do i look lonely; jeff hardy

Notes:

As previously mentioned... I may have a slight teeny tiny.. itty bitty.. thing.. for Jeff Hardy. And when this came to me on the main from @kyleoreillysknee​ I had to do this idea when it hit. And naturally, I was not about to leave this off my wrestling fanfiction blog uh, duh? 

Summary:

Cheyenne is out at a bar and she’s dealing with a drunken idiot. Enter Jeff who basically tells the guy to gtfo. which of course, leads to Cheyenne and Jeff talking to each other and getting a little cozy.

Pairing:

Jeff Hardy x OFC, Cheyenne

Warnings:

alcohol tw - cos they’re at a bar, rude asshole drunk guy, flirting and fluff.

“You don’t have to sit over here all sullen and moody, Cheyenne.” Lita was by her side, trying to give her the subtlest nudge towards the inside of the bar. Cheyenne didn’t want to step foot inside. Truth be told, she didn’t want to be on the deck of the bar either, but here she was.

… Might as well make the most of it, Lita was nice enough to invite me on her date with Edge… and bearing that thought in mind, Cheyenne plastered on her most polite smile and urged her new friend to go back inside to her boyfriend.

“Edge said he’d call Christian..”

“No. No, no. No. I’m not.. I mean that’s sweet but he’s just not my type?” Cheyenne took a deep breath and nodded to the stage where some pop punk cover band was setting up. “If it’s okay, I think I’d rather stay out here. You know I’m not the biggest fan of heavy crowds and just going in through there to come out here kind of had me skittish..” she gave Lita a pleading look and Lita mulled it over. “Okay, but be careful, kid. Don’t leave your drink unattended. If you do, do not drink it. If you need me or you wanna go or anything.. Text me, please?”

“Lita, I’m not an actual child. I’m not that much younger than you.”

“You’re sheltered though. And given that I practically had to beg your mom to let you sign with the company in the first place…” Lita cringed at the thought of having to deal with Cheyenne’s loving but oh so very overprotective mother if anything were to happen to Cheyenne while she was on the road.

Cheyenne pouted and then sighed and nodded, giving her friend a sheepish smile. “Okay, alright, just go! Tonight is Valentines, you need to be inside there, with your man. Not trying to play mother hen with me.”

Lita eyed her friend and reluctantly, she turned and went inside, leaving Cheyenne to sit there, staring off into the distance. It was better than watching all the happy couples around her.

The band launched into a warm up set and it was all Cheyenne could do not to stand and jump over the half wall surrounding the patio of the bar and just bolt for her life. They weren’t the worst but… They definitely were not the best. She couldn’t believe Lita was putting her ears through all this for Edge, if she were to be perfectly honest.

“To each their own, I guess?” Cheyenne mused to herself as she waved over a drink server and placed an order. While she was busy doing that, she didn’t notice the guy lingering nearby, staring a hole through her practically. Until she turned and gave the guy an awkward wave trying to passively point out that his staring was making her uncomfortable.

He seemed to think that naturally, any interaction on her part meant she was desperate or lonely and it was his duty as a man to come over and talk. Just the thought had her rolling her eyes and bracing herself for not only now having her ears blasted with whatever this band called themselves doing, but having to find the best way to politely get the man sitting near her to leave her alone.

“I was kind of waiting on someone.”

“I can sit here til they get here. Pretty lil thing like you doesn’t need to be alone.”

... and you’re gonna save me from what, exactly? Because you’re literally the exact kind of man I prefer to avoid… the thought came but for once, Cheyenne didn’t say it. She could smell the booze on the guy and she didn’t want to risk it.

Or put him on his ass and get thrown out.

XXX

Jeff wandered the sidewalk aimlessly. It was one of those restless nights for him, so he figured he’d go do some sightseeing, maybe he’d find a bar and have a few drinks.

… maybe you’ll find the bar Edge took Lita and Cheyenne to… maybe you’ll casually bump into her and maybe this time, it won’t be a total failure… the thought took hold and Jeff found himself standing on the sidewalk, jade-colored eyes scanning in front of him and glancing back behind him. It was while he was doing this that he happened to spot her.

Or at least, he hoped it was her.

Was it bad that he was so into Cheyenne that he knew her by the back of her head? Jeff shrugged the thought from his mind. Then he happened to catch a glimpse of the bored expression on her face as delicate fingers drummed impatiently on top of the table. The man next to her was going on and on and on and he could practically feel the tension radiating off of Cheyenne from where he stood on the sidewalk below.

There was only one logical thing to do and Jeff Hardy did it. He scaled the half wall, clearing his throat from behind Cheyenne. Cheyenne jumped a little but turned around, her cheeks heating in a pale pink flush under Jeff’s intent and fond gaze. The corners of his mouth turned upwards in that cocky lopsided smile and Cheyenne bit her lip, fidgeting a little in her chair.

“This seat’s taken.”

“Yeah, if you mean by me, then sweet.” Jeff stood up, shoulders squared, doing everything he could to make himself seem like a threat to this stranger who was apparently making Cheyenne so tense. The guy wasn’t moving and Jeff stepped closer. “Am I not makin myself clear or somethin? I basically just told ya to get lost.”

“Jeff.” Cheyenne coaxed, her fingers curling around his wrist. The man stared him down and chuckled, nodding to Cheyenne. “Hey, if you wanna take a cold lay tonight, go ahead man.”

Jeff gave a quiet growl and shoved at the other man, putting his back against a palm tree. “A hint for the future, jackass.. If a woman looks like she’d rather be lit on fire than talk to ya, maybe just fuck off. And when a guy shows up and they obviously know one another, the polite thing to do is leave. Unless you just particularly enjoy pain.”

Having said his piece, he let the other guy go, sending him to the deck in a heap. Jeff sprawled down in his chair, legs spread, hands interlocked behind his head. “God, do I hate me an asshole.”

Cheyenne gave a soft laugh and took a deep breath.

Now maybe if Edge were offering to text Jeff, Cheyenne found herself thinking, maybe I’d have been interested. She held out her drink to him and he took it, chuckling when he realized there wasn’t even a hint of alcohol, it was literally just Sprite with cherries floating around in it.

Jeff cringed as the lead singer of the band hit a particularly bad high note and he shook his head. “Sounds like a bag full of dyin cats up there.”

“Exactly? I mean for fucks sake… What is this music, even?” Cheyenne laughed as she took her red cup back from Jeff and took a sip of her own, reaching in to pluck a cherry out with her fingers, raising it to her lips. As she chewed the fruit thoughtfully, Jeff watched her. The way the string lights and paper lanterns overhead washed her face in brilliant hues of red and orange and blues and purples. The way the light reflected off of her Doors concert tee shirt. He nodded to the shirt and in lieu of an ice breaker, he remarked casually, “That’s a good band, darlin.”

“Oh god, yes. The best.”

“ I know how to play a couple of their songs. Prefer writin my own though.”

Cheyenne bit her lip and swallowed hard because it was becoming crystal clear that Lita was… absolutely right about her. She had a clearly defined type.

And Jeff Hardy happened to fit that type like a glove. … obviously that’s why I have such a huge thing for him.. the thought came and went and Cheyenne found herself scooting a little closer, staring up at him as he launched into some crazy story about a time he’d done a talent show back in his hometown and his pants fell on stage and then his guitar string broke in the same set.

Jeff realized she was staring and he started to apologize, thinking his rambling was only boring her further, but she shook her head and giggled softly, leaning in a little more, shifting her entire body to face him. “No, no… Don’t stop.”

… if you say you can listen to him all night long… don’t you fucking dare embarrass yourself… and almost as if by default, the second she opened her mouth, the very thing that came out after urging him not to stop was a particularly brazen “ you realize your accent is a panty dropper, right?”

And yes, she automatically put her head down on top of her arms and groaned quietly at her actually saying it aloud. Jeff chuckled to himself and took the opportunity while she had her head down to lean in a little and mutter next to her ear, “See, darlin.. when you say things like that.. Kind of gets me all sorts of curious.”

She gasped as his mouth brushed right against her earlobe and sat up in her chair. “Oh? Well then, what are you curious about, hm?”

Jeff leaned in, that cocky and lopsided grin only growing a little more. “More than you can ever answer for me in one night, darlin.. But, we can start workin on that by getting outta here..” his fingertip rested against her lower lip and he gave a quiet chuckle when it quivered at the touch and she sucked in a sharp breath. “And I can take ya somewhere quiet… We’ll watch the stars. I can even play you a song if you want me to.”

She leaned in even closer. “What are we waiting on, Jeff?”

“Nothin at all, darlin. Anytime you’re ready.” Jeff stood and held out his hand. Cheyenne took hold of it and he pulled her up, scooping her into his arms as they found a back way out of the little bar….

#jeff hardy fanfiction #jeff hardy fanfic #jeff hardy fic #jeff hardy oneshot #jeff hardy imagine #// flirty and cute #// jeff saving a girl from some drunken weirdo #// look i make no apologies for this #// bc i love me some jeff m'kay?

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

A View To A Winchester (Part 17)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle.

Section Word Count: 5,800    

Section Content: fluff, flirting, angst, nightmare, PTSD, smut, R-rated language, all the sex

~~~~~

Dean had been merciful to her - or mean, depending on how you look at it - and kept his t-shirt and boxer briefs on when they prepped to share his bed. “Should grab you something in case you don’t want to sleep naked.” He offered. “I won’t talk you out of it, though.” Her heart almost exploded when he dug the red plaid flannel out of his closet. He remembered me mentioning that one. She could tell by the smirk on his face when their fingers glided over each other for the exchange.

She’d tugged off the skirt and kept on her panties. Once the shirt was buttoned over her chest she performed that age old magic trick and extracted her bra from the sleeve. He smiled, dipped into what was obviously his preferred side of the bed, and tapped the mattress. A stretched arm readied to cradle her. She curled in, careful not to hit him with a faceful of her hair which she’d normally have in a ponytail to sleep. I’ll give him this tonight, since he likes it down. He was the big spoon in this particular scenario, the other arm draped around her waist, locking her into position. She sighed. Just the right amount of warmth.

Her heart sped at the closeness. Anticipation built, expecting the inevitable exploration of her skin, curves, folds, wetness. She waited, trying to regulate the stilted breath. That’s when it happened.

Dean snored.

His heavy, steady breathing blew near her ear.  

Hero, yes. Superhero? Eh. Still falls asleep pretty quickly after an orgasm. Poor guy. It certainly took a lot out of him. A smile crept over her lips. God, his face was absolute perfection when he came. If a look can trigger ovulation, that did it.

She closed her eyes and took in the scents of the room along with sounds of Dean slumbering. The underlying spice and mix of whatever pheromone Dean gave off sleeping next to her was heady and made it hard to smell much else. Even his sweat is a turn-on. She focused to pick out the other odors layered beneath. Bourbon, leather, something metallic, and maybe gunpowder?

The desk lamp had been left on, forgotten. Her gaze returned to the tiny pictures on top of the simple oak dresser. She wanted to get a better look at his family in the morning. Wanted to ask why he never mentioned his mom. Nothing recent. Old pictures. Old memories. Old heartaches? Maybe she left a long time ago? Died? The thought made her heart ache for the little boy who looked so happy in his mom’s embrace.

She was on edge from having given him head, expecting Dean to finish what they’d started quite soon after. She was slippery and swollen between her legs. Julie always enjoyed that particular act; especially with Steve, who’d been fairly well-endowed himself. But, not as big or pretty as Dean’s. Never thought I’d call a penis pretty.

Dean adjusted, curled up even tighter against her. His dead weight leaned into her. The sounds of his breathing; the promise of him being inside her; they all made it difficult to drift off to sleep. But she did. Eventually.

Julie shifted the car into Park once she found a good spot in the shopping center lot. Ina had pointed out her own car down the row. Her forlorn expression from the passenger seat stared out the windshield. “He’s such a friendly boy. He’ll run to just about anyone willing to show him a lick of affection.”

“Don’t assume the worst. There could be a good samaritan who’s taking great care of him right now.”

Ina sighed. She was such a tiny, slim little thing, even shorter than Julie’s mom. The compact car seat she occupied appeared massive in comparison. “You’re right. And, it hasn’t even been a day yet since he got out of the yard.”

Julie unbuckled her belt. “Where did you say you live again?”

Ina wrapped a few strands of her long and shiny, raven-colored hair behind an ear. Her mocha brown complexion was flawless, ageless. Julie was curious as to how old she actually was. “Um, just down the road in Fairwind.”

“Nice neighborhood. I couldn’t find anything available when I was looking months ago.”

Ina only nodded.

Julie waited, expecting a dump of information. She’d only met this woman three times, but she’d been a flood of words the other two instances. When there was none, Julie cleared her throat. She had a busy day ahead. And a man she was dying to see later. “Well, how about you grab me some flyers so I can drop them off at a few places?”  

“Yep, I’ve got ‘em in the back seat.” Julie nodded, expecting her to exit, retrieve, and bring them back. All of a sudden, Ina burst into tears. Her narrow shoulders dropped forward and hands covered her face. “My Cocoa Bear.”

God, she was taking it really hard. Julie patted her on the shoulder. “It’s going to be alright, Ina. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car. Sooner we get them posted, the sooner you get him back home.”

She sniffled, stared at Julie, and nodded. “Okay.”

The day was sunny, warm and a tad humid. Julie shut her car door and followed Ina to her spot. A good workout would focus the tension and excitement she was battling within her mind. The night before had been restless. All she’d thought about was Dean, his hands, mouth, and that voice encouraging her to let go and whispering filthy promises before Cas showed up.

The chirp as Ina unlocked the car door melted Dean’s green eyes from Julie’s vision. Ina opened the back door and motioned to the seat. “Got a whole box full. Spent most of the morning at the copy store.” She was still sniffling. “Take as many as you want.”  

Julie smiled and leaned in. A strong whiff of incense hit her nose. The back seat was not the tidiest. She drifted back to being in Dean’s immaculate Baby the night before. She lifted the lid off the folder box and grabbed a handful. The black lab’s smiling, panting face stared back from the papers. “Cocoa certainly has a great mom.” The offhand comment left Julie’s lips as she pulled out of the car and turned back to face Ina.

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.” Ina smiled and grabbed Julie’s wrist. The touch was strong and quite unexpected from the petite woman. A flash of blue filled in the black irises of Ina’s eyes. Julie shook her head. Maybe she was more exhausted than she thought. Her mouth opened at the strange henna colored markings emerging, pushing through Ina’s skin. She felt cold. A stinging. Like bees. “Such a help you’ve been, Julie.” Her eyes flashed electric again. “Hm. You’re going to taste so sweet.”

Julie woke, gasping for air in the low light. The arms wrapped tight around her were huge. Her heart pumped. She heard the snort behind her and slowly recognized the space.

Dean.

He stirred and grunted, pulled her closer. “Hm.” It was not a moan of concern. He sounded content.

What the hell was that shit?

“Jules?” His lips were by her ear now. “Okay?” His deep voice scratched out the question.

She nodded into the pillow, feeling his biceps clench under her neck. “Yeah. I’m good. This-this is nice.” She brushed the hairs along his forearm. “I’m... just going to go use the bathroom.”

He pecked at her neck. His head dropped back. “This is nice.” He affirmed in a far away voice. She slithered out from under his embrace and stood by the side of the bed, inspecting his relaxed face. Closed eyes, slightly parted lips. “Coming back?”

“Of course.” She whispered, frowning at the question. “Go back to sleep, Dean.”

“K.” He nudged his nose into the pillow. The sight made her heart ache. He looked peaceful, younger, cares washed away if only for a short while. She wondered how soft and still his cheeks and lips would feel then, not clenched in heated anticipation or want. He floated into his own dreamland. She wondered as she spotted his eyes tracking something under his lids. But she didn’t dare disturb. Something tells me you deserve all the good dreams, Dean Winchester.

Julie tiptoed out of the room, grabbing her phone off the desk before she left, and headed into the bathroom. She clicked on the overhead light, shut the door and sat on the toilet seat. Cool porcelain against the back of her thighs was reminiscent of Ina’s frigid grasp in her dream. Nightmare? Memory? What the hell was that? A shiver started at her shoulders and trickled down her spine. She sat up straight.

One of the way too long sleeves drooped over Julie’s hand. Bringing the fabric up to her nose, she inhaled the embedded Dean scent under the detergent. The inhales and exhales dragged out slow.

Her eyes took in the functional, clean surroundings of his nicely updated bathroom. Modern, smokey grey subway tiles, lined with a lighter grey grout, had been installed with care on the floor. Her toes dug into the cushioned powder blue rug that ran the length of the walk-in shower and ended in front of the throne. Actually a pretty comfy seat.

There were fancy chrome faucets and sprayers behind clear, pristine glass doors. Those doors were a pain to clean at the old house. I was always lazy about that. Got dull and filmy. But, these? Not a water spot to be spotted. Impressive. A veined grey and white marble shower interior looked sleek and expensive. A pedestal sink and rather large mirror resided next to a repurposed bookcase storing rows of plushy grey and white towels, toiletries and male necessities. She made a mental note of the cologne he wore. The robe on the door hook produced a grin. He’d look like Hugh Hefner in that.

I wonder if he did all these updates. If not, he paid someone a decent amount of cash to renovate and make it really nice. Was it in horrible condition when he moved in or is this a really important space for him? File that question away for later.  

The nosey inventorying of Dean’s bathroom had distracted her. She then realized she should probably pee and dropped her panties and situated for the task. Her hands grabbed the forgotten phone lying nearby on the tile. She rifled through messages. There had been a handful from Cat, who’d been checking up on her daily since finding out about the ordeal.

How you holdin’ up? Let me know if you want me to bring Sal and Pep by to run amok in your backyard.

I’m not sure if this is going to help… found something, I think, related to Dean.

Check in with me soon, K?

I think it’s important for you to have all the details.

Ciao Bella.

Her stomach flipped at the one line she read over and over. I’m not sure if this is going to help… found something, I think, related to Dean.

“No.” She whispered. “Shit.” She wanted to remain ignorant. Live in this fantasy space with him for a little longer. Reality was only going to complicate things and make her question everything.

Maybe, though… maybe this is fate intervening.

She groaned.

But, he’s hot and sweet and even makes grumpy sexy. Makes me laugh. Makes me feel safe. What details are going to change all of those inherently authentic things about him?

Maybe it’s something about his family. His mom. Could fit some pieces together.

A low rap on the door shot her head up. “Jules? You okay in there?”

“Y-yeah.” She squeaked out. “Why?”

“Been gone twenty minutes.”

Shit. She frowned, stood, and pulled her panties up. A quick flush and washing of hands followed.

Upon opening the door, a wary smile met her in the dark hallway. Dean leaned into the door frame and inspected her. “Your side of the bed was getting cold.”

She waved her phone, identifying it as the culprit. “Lost track of time.”

“Can’t sleep?” He stepped closer, hesitant. He’s feeling me out. Waiting to see if I’ll hit the panic button. “Do you want me to take you home, sweetheart? Maybe you’ll sleep better. This bed’s not the comfiest.” He sighed. “I miss my memory foam.”

“Do you want me to go home?” she asked.

“God, no.” His still not quite awake features frowned. “I haven’t slept that solid in forever.”

She grinned. “That’s not because of me. That’s because you waited weeks to do what you should have been doing.”

His face lit up at her lightened attitude. “You had a little something to do with it.” He tugged at the hem of his shirt right above Julie’s knees. “Come back to bed, baby.”

Julie swallowed down a moan. Reality can wait until tomorrow. She nodded.

That smile flashed. The one that gave her a front seat to all his pearly whites. He led the way back down the hall. Low light from the open bedroom door split right between his bowlegs. He was a bulk, wholesale package of muscles and strength. She laughed when he spun and flung his body on the bed, making the headboard creak and the mattress bounce. It took some seconds for the motion to subside.

“Are you trying to break it?”

He shrugged and smirked. “Just prepping it for the workout it’s going to get soon.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You really haven’t…”

He shook his head. “No one else’s been in this bed except for me… until now. And, you’ve got me fully believin’ there’s a lot more in store. Italians do do it better. At least this full-blooded Italian sex kitten standing right here in front of me does.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Even with the comical expression on his face, she managed to feel heat rush to her cheeks. “How do you know I’m full…” She shook her head and strolled to the bed, dropping onto the mattress with as much grace as she could muster. A suggestive scoot closer had him do the same. She leaned her head upon an elbow to match his positioning. “You’ve investigated my ancestry, too? What did you do, grab a DNA sample?”

His free hand cupped her jaw. He leaned in and licked her mouth open. “Both parents from Italy. That’s as far as I went. This is as close to banging Sophia Loren in her heyday as I’m gonna get.” Peridot eyes sparkled in the dim light. “Say something in Italian.”

She groaned. “I don’t speak it well. I mean, I’ve listened to my mom and dad speak it a ton growing up. But, it never really stuck up here.” She tapped the side of her forehead. “And, Sophia Loren, really?”

Dean shrugged. “Lots of Sunday afternoons in front of the television growing up. Plus, she was smokin’ hot.” The hand skirted over her neck and shoulder, along the curves and dips of her back to rest on an ass cheek. “Try. For me.” He pushed her body in to meet his, fingers squeezing the globe. “Please.”

She sighed and shut her lids. Electric pulses flowed at the feel of him everywhere they connected. He was tight and rigid. Hot and hard. Her eyes opened, drowning into those beautiful eyes, and then she whispered, “Che cosa vuoi?”

She watched his smile double in size. “What the hell does that mean?” An innocent wonder filled his face, in direct opposition of the clothed erection he rubbed into the slit of her thighs. “And say it again.”

She giggled and moaned at the same time. “It means what do you want? Che cosa vuoi?”

“Che cosa vuoi?” He repeated. The deep throttle in his voice strummed into her core. She bit her lip at how sexy the foreign words, though stilted and choppy, dripped from that luxurious mouth. Dean’s eyes narrowed in focus. A thumb swiped over her bottom lip. “How do you say ‘kiss you’?”

The apples of her cheeks rose. “Ti bacio.”

“Ti bacio.” He repeated that as well, planting a delicate kiss, cradling her jaw. “How about ‘be inside you’?” His brows did a quick double rise.

She moaned, flustered at the request. “I don’t know. Inside is ‘dentro’. I’ll work on my translations for next time.”

Using his bodyweight, Dean collapsed Julie onto her back in a second. Air whooshed out of her lungs. He’d tucked his forearms under her armpits, the crook of his elbows wedging in place. Strong hands emerged alongside and caged her face and forced her back to arch into him.  “Hm.” He licked her mouth. Her jaw dropped open at the way he manipulated and immobilized her head with those meaty fingers. The tongue swirled and dipped in the wetness of her mouth. “Dentro.” He mumbled. His ability to dominate and overpower ignited her skin. Lumberjack thighs parted her comparatively smaller ones. The boxer briefed cock rutted against her damp panties, wiggling into position and only increasing her fluid production.

“Dean…” She whispered.

Lips moved to her neck. His scruff burned like sandpaper against the skin. “Say my name again, sweetheart.” The words poured out hot and impatient.

“Dean.”

Dean groaned. He bit into the flesh along her collar bone. Julie gasped. Then, he sucked and worried at the same spot of skin with pursed lips and the tip of his tongue. All the while sliding his erection into the material along the folds of her pussy. He leaned up and locked eyes with her. Whatever air left in her lungs released at the raw, worn beauty of this man. “Really wanna be inside you, Jules.”

Hands she realized she’d been using to grip onto his back clenched the rippling muscles.

His lips parted, breath even. “Can we? Will you be alright?” He searched her face, she knew, for some hint of hesitance. “If it’s too soon after all of it…”

“Dean…”

His lids closed at hearing his name. “I don’t only mean what's happened recently. I mean, that’s its own bag of crap that no one, especially you, should have ever had to go through.” Eyes opened as he continued to dry hump her in the most amazing way, unhurried yet purposeful. “But, all of it… after Steve…” He sighed, relishing the feel as much as she was. “We could just keep it fun, simple, easy… just like this.”

“Surface level?” Julie questioned, gauging him now.

He smirked. “That’s your guaranteed best experience with me. No muss, no fuss.” In an instant, the carefree gesture washed away. “You want me to be honest with you. There’s a lot, Jules…”

Her lids pressed tight together. “I did say that, didn’t I? Can you be honest with me, then, in this moment, right here and now?”

His arms untangled from his stronghold. She felt the shift of his body, him pull away, leaning into the crook of her side now. Shit, why did I ask him that? “Yes.” The word came out sure, laced with heavy conviction.

Julie took a deep breath and opened her eyes. When his eyes met hers, he didn’t waver, waiting, hovering.

“Any plans on hurting me?” He raised a brow. She shook her head and tried not to laugh. “Besides kinky plans.”

A curl of a smile. “No. Of course not.”

“Are you scared about being honest with me?”

Dean shifted on his elbow, his eyes breaking contact.

That was an answer in and of itself, but Julie tried again. You don’t ask a man like Dean Winchester if he’s scared. “Worried?”

Dean’s finger played with one of her curls. He breathed in, then spoke on the release of air.  “My life was… is, still complicated. Not many people would be able to understand. Or, want to.”

She nodded, took the words time to settle around them. “Why’d you put your life at risk to search for me?”

“Aside from it being in my DNA?” His eyes drifted back and stared at her mouth. “I didn’t want to lose you. I just found you.”

She smiled. A stinging in her eyes threatened to release tears. But she batted them away with quick blinks. “That’s all the honesty I need for tonight, then.” Dean smiled. His eyes were glassy, too, and that made Julie’s heart stop for some seconds. Fingers reached up and stroked his jaw. “Maybe another question.”

Dean’s head dropped in a dramatic fashion. His brows crinkled and his eyes narrowed, accompanied by a hard stare. “One more, sweetheart.” The authoritative tone was back and Julie’s arousal returned.

“Who’s made you feel safe?” She asked, her voice trembling.

His head tilted at the question. A foreign mix of wonder and confusion spread over his face. “What do you mean?”

“Who, in your life, made you feel really safe?” She rephrased.

Dean did that mental rolodex thing she’d come to enjoy witnessing. His eyes darted away and his lips did a slight tuck back into his mouth. Julie’s stomach twisted at how long it took him to find an answer. But, she saw him come up with one. His lips popped back out. The right side of his mouth angled up. When he turned to her he stated, “Baby.”

At first, Julie thought he was calling her another term of endearment. The word finally connected in her brain to the subject matter. “Your car?”

He smiled.

Julie could feel the frown form on her lips. “What about your parents?”

“No, sweetheart.” His smile remained, though it appeared forced. “They tried. I know they did. And, maybe I felt safe before I could really remember what that was... when I was really little.” He shrugged. “Baby’s always been there. Made me feel safe. Made me feel like I had a home. Somewhere I could hide, ride.” Dean collapsed onto the mattress, on his back.

Julie shot up, leaned on an elbow to study his face. The moment was awkward, clumsy now. I’ve fucked it all up.

Dean shook his head and chuckled.

“What?”

“Sweetheart, no one’s ever asked me that before.” His lips tightened. He reached up and grasped the side of her neck. Fingers threaded into her hair, leading her face so he could study her again. “Why would you ask me that?”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “I-”

“Why would you care?” Dean interrupted. No malice in the tone. Only genuine curiosity.

That triggered a response. “Why wouldn’t I? You make me feel safe. I wanted to know a little about the person that made you feel the same way. Figure out how-” she bit her lip and tore away from his eyes.

“What?” He prodded, tilting his head on the mattress to catch her expression under the waves of cascading hair.

She struggled with the words. “Figure out how I can make you feel safe.”

His brows knit together.

“When I left this bed earlier, you asked me if I was coming back.”

That distant, unsure look flooded his face again. “That didn’t mean anything.”

She smiled. And pushed. “I’ll always come back, Dean. If that’s what you want, what will make you feel safe. You deserve that, same as everyone else.”

His green eyes widened.

Her whole body was on fire, staring back at him. It wasn’t arousal or want. She felt exposed, emotions laid out to be either scooped up or tossed away. It had not been in any way how she expected this night to turn. But, now, in the moment, it felt necessary, needed. “I’m sorry.”

Dean’s face hardened. His mouth opened a fraction. That tongue swiped the back of his bottom row of white teeth. “We done with the questions?” The hold on her neck released.

She sat up straight and tucked some hair behind an ear. Confusion flooded her brain. “Yeah.” He hopped off the bed and wandered around the mattress to his dresser. All she could stare at was the back of him, which in any other circumstance would be quite pleasant. But she wanted to garner something, anything from his expression.

A loud sigh left his mouth. “You really are something.” His head shook. The profile presented itself as he bent at the knees to rifle through his record collection. “I don’t get anything out of you for weeks and then you hit me like a ton of bricks with everything in less than a day.” Dean didn’t look over, kept his eyes on the albums. His jaw clenched when he found something, slid out the sleeve from its confines and pulled out a record. A confident twirl of the album between his hands as he rose, the sleeve forgotten on the floor.

The record rested on the turntable. A flip switched. There was crackle and static. The record spun. The speaker waited for the track to play. Dean turned and stared at Julie. He flipped her heart the way he had the album. “I was hoping to make this last. But, you’ve made that impossible now, Jules.” Arms rose over his head. Fingers tugged at the collar and he pulled the t-shirt off in an elegant peel. “I was thinking, maybe, I could hold out for a few songs. But, it’s probably only gonna be one. And, if it’s only gonna be one...” He pointed at the flannel she wore. “Take off my shirt.”

“What?”

His right eyebrow cocked. “You said you were done with questions.”

Her mouth dried up.

Finally, a smile returned. “And, don’t say you’re sorry to me. Not again.” He shook his head. “Not ever.” A stride filled with that Dean confidence made its way to the nightstand. Two fingers pulled open the drawer. He bent down and rummaged. The tap of a foil package hit the table’s surface. A knee closed the drawer.

Julie knew this was coming tonight. Had been hoping, praying even, that nothing else would prevent this from happening. The nerves, the fright, the reality of it had made her hesitate with a pool of muddy, emotional thoughts instead of pure passion and action. Then, when she thought she had fucked it all up, with the words and the estrogen induced interrogation, this complication of a beautiful man had gotten the train back on track. But even scarier, he now seemed to be all aboard with the idea of making this night mean so much more.

“Come over here, baby.” He patted the mattress in front of his standing figure.

Julie gulped and crawled over the mess of sheets and sat on the edge of the bed. Her head tilted up. He grabbed her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “So very pretty.” She thought he must have been commenting on how he looked, perfection in light and shadow. “Take it off.” The command was soft.    

Her hands found the buttons and did not spare any time to strip herself of the shirt.

His smile widened along with his eyes. “Eager, too, huh?”

She smiled.

“Good. I won’t feel so bad when this is over in minutes.” He tore the foil package open and put it back on the table. His fingertips delved into the hair at the top of her head, combed down through to end at the swell of her left breast. He pressed his warm palm right over her heart. “You know how you hear a song and you connect it to a specific memory?”

She nodded.

Dean licked his lips and catalogued every inch of her breasts with a stare that melted her insides. “I have lots of memories with this one song. All good, maybe even great. Someone might even say this song makes me feel safe.”

Julie swallowed.

“Wanna make me feel safe, sweetheart?” He grinned.

“Yes, Dean.” She didn’t hesitate in her response.

“Alright, then.” Dean broke eye contact and walked back to the record player. He cocked his head and smiled at Julie. “We’re gonna work on our night moves, baby.”

Dean could have said they were going to work on their taxes and Julie knew it would sound just as fucking sexy.

He dropped the needle in place and made a beeline toward her. A guitar strummed and filled the room. He dipped down, caught her lips with his open mouth. His arms wrapped her up, laid her down on the bed. Once again, the weight of him pressed against her side. She moaned when he rose up to his knees on the mattress, disconnecting. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, and pulled them down past her hips. She brought her own knees up to assist. His lips mouthed to the lyrics as he removed the last of her clothing. Her lips tugged up at the show.

She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes ***

And points all her own sitting way up high

He tossed the panties to the floor and ran his hands up the length of her body, stopping to massage her breasts and give her nipples a slight twist. He mouthed the next line.

Way up firm and high

Julie giggled. He flopped down on his back, flesh of their arms rubbing, and without pomp or circumstance, pulled off his boxer briefs, singing along this time.

Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy

Out in the back seat of my '60 Chevy

Workin' on mysteries without any clues

He fell silent now. Turned to stare at Julie. He held the open condom wrapper between two fingers and raised his brows again. She nodded. A low growl bubbled up from his throat. Her eyes dipped down to watch him work his cock. She knew it wouldn’t take long. She wanted to speak, say something. Every other time he’d wanted to hear her voice. But this time is different.

And we'd steal away every chance we could

To the backroom, to the alley or the trusty woods

I used her, she used me

But neither one cared

We were gettin' our share

He rolled the condom over his erection. His body rolled between her waiting thighs. The dominance and power was gone from the way he hovered. He kissed her lips, slow and easy. His fingers slipped into her wetness. He moaned into her mouth and lubed up his sheathed erection with her want. Every cell sparked under her skin. The tip of him poking with insistence at her entrance.

Tryin' to lose the awkward teenage blues

Workin' on our night moves

And it was summertime

Sweet summertime summertime

All of the instruments stopped for a second, then resumed their rhythm. Dean searched Julie’s face again. It was all there in those apple green eyes. The request, the need, the want. He wanted to speak, too, she could sense it. But this time is different. He pushed inside her, slow and easy, letting her accept, adjust, and respond to him as Mr. Seger sang.

And oh the wonder

We felt the lightning

And we waited on the thunder

Waited on the thunder

He didn’t ask if she was ready. He didn’t need to. Because this time is different.

He pulled back, eased inside again. His forearms held his body up for part of the sway. But when he tunnelled back, nice and slow at first, the delicious friction of his chest ran along her hard nipples. This wasn’t going to take long. Because this time is different. His pace increased, breath fumed out of his nose, jaw clenched every time he bottomed into her fully.

Dean’s rhythm was quick and steady now, firm and prodding, as the song did the exact opposite and slowed in its reminiscence. Heat rose in her core. He grabbed one of her legs, propped it up to hook onto his hip. His eyes never left hers through any of it. He found that spot deep inside. And worked. Hard. She gasped at how he lit her up from within. Grabbed his shoulders and held on. While he worked.

I awoke last night to the sound of thunder

How far off I sat and wondered

Started humming a song from 1962

She wrapped her calf tight, draped it over the curve of his tight ass muscles. He was using all of himself, drilling into her now. The sound of wood creaking, mattress springs straining. Moans toppled and stacked atop each other.

Ain't it funny how the night moves

When you just don't seem to have as much to lose

Strange how the night moves

With autumn closing in

The music stopped again. Dean stilled, froze. His forehead leaned against hers. “Baby?” He whispered.

“Yes, Dean.”

“You feel so safe.”

He pulled back and she got lost in his eyes. Her heart lodged up into her throat. He nodded with a smile and exhaled, sharp and low, as the guitar started up again. His fingers snuck between their bodies, strummed her clit. And he worked. All of him. With her. This is different.

She studied every movement of his face. The vertical line that formed between his brow, deep in concentration. The little craters that appeared above either side of his top lip, embedding into laugh lines, when he quirked up his mouth. The flare of his nostrils. The look she tried to define in his crystal green eyes boring into her, shining like glass. He brought her to release and rode the wave. His moans enveloped hers. She clenched her walls, tightening around him.

The end of the song was near and so was Dean. His mouth opened, he struggled out a strangled groan, body rigid in her embrace. And he came. Hard. His body shivered. He grinned, kissed her lips, and rolled them both to their sides. Still. Connected. This is different.

The song ended. Quiet for a few moments before the next track began. Dean swiped at her cheek. Julie felt the wetness under the pad of his thumb. She was crying. Oh, no.

Dean smiled. Pulled her in close and held her. He kissed her forehead. She forced away the tears, slowed her breathing. “Tell me those are good tears, sweetheart.” He whispered in her ear.

She nodded along the scruff of his jaw.

Kisses dabbed at her damp cheeks. “Good. Because we just made one hell of an awesome memory.”

She smiled. He kissed the apple of her cheek.

He moaned, pulled out of her, then stood up. Naked and glorious. He rolled off the condom as he spoke and tied it up. “Gotta use the bathroom. Coming back.” He wandered to the doorway, then turned back to look at her with a wide grin. “Always coming back.”

*** Lyrics from Night Moves by Bob Seger

~~~~~

Part 18

Series Page

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut #dean x ofc #spn fanfic #spnfanficpond #spn fanfic series #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fluff

[avidfanficwriter]

The Other Sister (chapter 3)

Characters: Steve Rogers(AU!) x OFC.

Summary: After five years of marriage, Steve Rogers finds himself questioning everything that his wife, Annabel has ever told him thanks to the impromptu visit by her troubled younger sister: Addison; whose existence he’s just learned about fives years prior. His only question now is: who verison is the truth? His loving wife? Or the troubled sister?

Ratings: M

Notes: Chapter took entirely longer than I expected. Or wanted. Each time i wrote it, it came out shit. (not that this one is much better but hey.) THIS STORY DOES NOT CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR/FROM AVENGERS: ENDGAME!

Tags:  rangotangomango  lilulo-12  wolflhards

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. 

                                             “It’s...” here.

It's amazing how much can change in five years, how a person can shift their entire demeanor to become completely unrecognizable. The past five years, Steve had grown partial to a beard something he hadn't worn since his senior year of college when he was up to his neck in finals and had no time for non-necessities; his attire had changed drastically suits became the norm; buttons ups a comfort item and dress shoes a staple of his outfits. Yet while he had changed for the best, his opinions differed when his eyes came upon Addison, her hair was a darker shade of brown, her eyes as impossible as it was, appeared darker. There was a three inch scar below her left eye that was at least a year old that caught your attention immediately, a pale face with a scarred gash. She's dressed in a red flannel that looks two sizes too big for her small frame, a plain black T-shirt underneath and light blue jeans that were stained. She's lost weight, probably to much if he was honest. The woman in front of him looked nothing like the one he'd met years earlier.

Steve notices the differences between the 'sisters,' Addison is shorter than Annabel, by six inches. Different eye colors, different hair color, hair texture and different body shapes. Different everything. If it weren't for their last name, no one would have assumed they were siblings let alone related.

Addison keeps her eyes to the ground, staring at her scuffed converse that should have been replaced six months ago. Her duffel bag is hooked over her shoulder and she's breathing deeply. "Haven't seen you since the wedding." Steve says immediately regretting his decision to try to lighten the mood. Instead of helping clear the awkward air, it only added to it. Immediately, he kicks into protector mode. "Listen, if you're going to be staying with us." He says, straightening his posture and lowering the pitch of his voice. "I need to check your bag."

Her chocolate eyes quickly meet his and he expects the worse. Her refusal, even her storming off after shouting an insult but she does the opposite. She drops her bag on the ground between them and takes a step back, allowing him access. The search comes up empty, there isn't anything inside of it aside from clothing, a journal and a wallet. No drugs, syringes or weapons. There's a flash of disappointment that crosses his face when he zips the bag up, he hoped that would have been his ticket to kick her out. Hoped maybe she was stupid enough to have something.

"And we need to check you." Her sister speaks as she stands beside Steve with a brown paper bag in her hand. Steve's jaw tightens as he steps forward, "I assume you know how to stand for a body search?" Annabel asks.

Addison's arms extend out and she spreads her legs a bit as Steve begins patting her down. His hand comes into contact with a hard object in her front pocket, "What's that?"

"Phone." She says in a small voice, avoiding his eyes. He's given her the benefit of the doubt in the past and it came back to bit him in the ass, he won't be making the same mistake twice. Using two fingers, he carefully pulls out a old flip phone from her pockets and lets out a quick breathe.

"Okay." He replies, pushing it back into her pocket.

Steve rejoins his wife who is listing out the rules for her stay, "No drugs, no drinking alcohol; no parties, no visitors. You will use the front door of the house to come and go, the back gate is locked and will remain that way. You break any of those rules, you will be on the street." Annabel's hands Addison the brown paper bag. "We will also be drug testing you twice a day. Once in the morning and once at night; before we get you settled we'd like you to take one now. Inside the bag is a cup, go the bathroom, pee in it and we'll test you. if it comes back positive, Steve will take you to the guest house."

Addison does it without a second thought, following Annabel's directions to the bathroom and closing the door behind her. The married couple stand near the restroom, thankful they don't have a window that she can escape from in there.

"Do you think she'll do it?" Steve asks, leaning his back against the wall.

"If she's really got nowhere else to go, yes." Annabel is filing her hot pink nails and sitting on the blue bench, they had to have to accentuate the hallway. What it really added was beyond him but for the price of it, it had better be doing something impressive.

"You sure this will work?"

Annabel doesn't have a chance to answer before the bathroom door opens and a startled Addison walks out. Her eyes are wide and she takes a few deep breaths to calm herself, handing the brown bag back to Annabel who stares at her in disgust. Steve takes the bag instead, giving her a small nod.

"I'll do this." He enters the master bedroom, retrieving the box of drug tests they had purchased. The instructions are straight forward, have a sample ready and dip the stick in; wait five minutes and the results will be ready. Two lines for negative. One line for positive. Waiting feels like an eternity, his watch ticks the seconds away and his mind is spinning with the possibility she's high. He should have checked for track marks.

The five minutes are up and to his relief it's negative. She was off to a good start. Rejoining the girls in the living room, the air is full of static, both unsure of their next move. "She's clean." He says a little to joyful.

"Good. I'm glad." Annabel smiles, clapping her hands. "Steve will show you to your room, I have to get started on dinner."

Steve expected more conversation to arise as he lead Addison to the guest house, even a simple remark about the yard or the house rather than silence. It's unsettling and blatantly obvious that she's nothing more than a stranger. The only thing even allowing them to interact was a marriage license between someone who had once considered her family.

"The uh--the kitchen is testy, some appliances work when they want to, others not so much. I'm working on getting it fixed, as for what truly works in the kitchen It's a bit of a guessing game." Steve says once they get inside the guest house. "The fridge is not to reliable either, anything you need, you're more than welcome to get from the main house. The glass door we'll leave unlocked for you." He hopes some parts of this come off as genuine, he's trying everything to not be rude but the amount of hostility bubbling inside of him is putting him on edge. "The bedrooms just through there." He points to left. "There's no television but I'm sure Annabel will have no problem setting you up with the internet password."

Addison nods, the muscles in her face tightening as she looks around. "We put some blankets in there for you and a dresser for your clothes. You're welcome to stay as long as you need." Steve nervously taps his fingers along the marble counter. He leaves, chewing on his bottom lip and fast walking back to the main house where Annabel is leaning against the counter, reading a copy of some gossip magazine.

"She all settled in?" she asks, discarding her magazine to wrap her hands around her husbands waist.

"Yes. Are you sure we shouldn't have gotten something else for there? I don't feel comfortable with her coming and going into the house as she pleases."

"She'll be fine." The conversation was dropped after that, no further discussions of mentions of her. For the next few hours, he's doing everything he can to not stare at the guest house. He's waiting for it, the sound of gunshots, a fire breaking out. The worst is coming, it's just a matter of time.

Around dinner, Annabel places a plate of roast chicken with a side of pasta in front of him and another where she is going to sit. There's an extra plate resting on the counter that is eyeing Steve. "I told Addison she was more than welcomed to join us for dinner. Don't be surprised if she comes in." She doesn't. Their dinner is quiet, the same way it always is. Addison focus is on him for the first few minutes before falling victim to her cell phone.

Steve spots a lit turn off from one of the windows in the guest house but it still does nothing to make the dread leave.

Their conversation resumes once they are inside the comfort of their room, "I'm surprised she didn't have any drugs on her." Annabel remarks once she sits on the bed, dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

"Maybe this will work, the drug tests and the rules."

"I doubt it."

Steve walks out of the bathroom, discarding his pair of pants into the hamper. "Why do you say that?"

"I think she actually enjoys creating trouble like... she gets off on it. God, every second of my childhood was filled with some of her bullshit. One thing after the other. Then the shit at our wedding, we extended an olive branch and she screws it up. I mean, she's an adult and still acts like she's a child." Steve lets her continue, holding his tongue. "I give her three weeks before she's back jonesing for her next fix."

"Even if it fails, at least we can say that we tried." Steve suggests, sitting on the bed bedside her. "If it does work, at least our children would know their aunt."

Annabel turns to him, disgust smeared across her face. "Yeah, their druggie aunt Addison. No childern of ours will even know of her existence."

"You can't say that." He objects.

Annabel scoffs, shaking her head. "Are you kidding me? We have a 50/50 chance of having at least one child like Addison, my parents had her, who knows what we could have. If by some miracle we manage to have one child with their head screwed on right, we don't need her corrupting them."

Steve stares at her in disbelief. "You'd keep her away from our family?"

"To protect our family."

"Even if she was clean?"

"I don't care."

"Annabel..." He lets out in a low whisper. "You can't say that, she's your sister."

"By blood. Not by choice." She corrects him, sternly.

"Baby..."

"Steve, you've known her for less than two hours, I grew up with that. I know exactly what she's capable of."

With that, Annabel tugs the blankets up, turns off her bedside lamp and lays down.

Steve sat in silence, his head leaning against the headboard while his eyes remained on his wife. He’d never faced a problem such as this one before, good guys were always good guys and bad guys were always bad guys. Addison however was neither good nor bad, she fell somewhere in between. She’d made bad decisions, did bad things but wasn’t evil as far as he was aware. His mind was in a battle between hating her and wanting to care for her.

Steve wakes at five in morning, the smell of coffee filling the house and the subtle scent of Annabel’s perfume lingers on the sheets. Inside the living room, he expects to find the Shaw sisters but only finds his wife, whose muttering to herself about misplacing her keys.

“They’re on the microwave.” Steve says, leaning on the counter watching her. She’s dressed in a form fitting blue dress and black heels.

“Thank you.”

Annabel moves to grab her keys off the microwave and Steve notices the black suitcase, she only uses on her trips that is against the counter. “I thought you weren’t working this week.”

Annabel sighs, pushing her hair out of her face. “I wasn’t. Harold…” Her boss. “…called and said they need me to go to Seattle and help train a bunch of new employees. They are having a difficult time selling.”

“They need you?”

“June’s going as well.”

“What am I supposed to do with Addison?”

“Steve…” She says in a low voice, walking up to him and running her hands along his shoulders. “I’ll be gone for a three days, a week at most.“ She raked her nails down his chest, knowing fully well the grey t-shirt he’s wearing leaves him with no protection against her seduction, he fights it; tightening his jaw and looking out the window at the guest house. Annabel’s hand pulling at the waistband of his pants brings his attention back to her.

He lets out a low groan as she nips at his Adams apple and trails her tongue up his neck. Steve groans, roughly pulling her into him and digging his fingers into her hips. Their kiss is rough, full of pent up frustration and need.

"Fifteen minutes.” She says between the kiss as he bites at her lip and she pulls at his hair.

With a loud growl, he lifts her onto the counter, standing between her legs and pulling her dress up. “More than enough time.”

Sex with Annabel had changed throughout their time together, in the beginning it was spontaneous, pouncing on one another at any given time or any location, wild and crazy. After their nuptials, it dwindled down, less spontaneity. Sex became rare and when opportunities arose the air was filled with excuses, 'his back hurt, she was on her feet all day, sleep was calling.' Far too many excuses and far too little energy. Their need for each other was still there, bubbling at the surface waiting to be released which is why he is having to resist every urge inside of him to strip her completely and run his fingers through her hair. Steve likes intimacy, he likes to bare his soul and have the same in return. Lingering touches; small kisses, quick gasps and whispers of I love you. He wants every single part of his partner.

Her nails dig into his back and her teeth into his shoulder as he finally pushes into her. "Annabel..." He groans, trying to pull her closer.

It's the clearest his mind has been in the fifteen hours since Addison's arrival, for once he can clear his mind of the 'what ifs' and focus on one thing. He can focus on his wife, Annabel and the beautiful sounds she's making or the feeling of her body reacting to him. It's going to be over soon either because they've ran out of time or because he can no longer find the will to not break. He warns her, letting out a stifled cry into her neck that he's almost there but before she can respond, her body jerks away and her legs shake sporadically. It's blissful the sound of her coming apart. Steve studies her face, lips parted letting out a silent scream, her eyes shut tight and her body trembling with aftershocks. Not even a second after her, he lets out a loud curse and can hardly stand upright as he fills her. They lean on one another, trying to calm their heart rate and gain control of their breathing.

With a pat on his bicep, Annabel speaks. "I've got to go, baby." He nods in response. "Baby..." Steve breathes out deeply, stepping away and fixing his pants as she disappears down the hall. He collapses onto the couch, glistening of sweat and feeling weak at his knees. Annabel rejoins him, looking beautiful as ever, her perfume and hairspray fill his nose as she leans down to give him a quick kiss. "I love you." She whispers against his lips.

"Come back to me." He responds, accepting that she is leaving.

Annabel smiles, "I always do." She says making his heart swell.

The comment started as joke, they were at a party when a man began flirting with Annabel; desperately trying to bed her. Steve watched their encounter, finding humor at the man's actions before joining them and quickly wrapping his arm around her waist. Annabel buried her head into his chest, sighing with relief at her savior. "I was worried you weren't going to come back to me." He says mockingly, knowing the man had no shot with her. She shook her head and looked him straight in the eyes, "I always will." It was simple yet straightforward, mimicking a confession of love with the way Steve felt his heart beat faster. Since then he's always said it and she's always responded in the same way.

An hour after Annabel's leaves, Steve is struggling with what to do about Addison; she needs her drug test but she hasn't came out of the guest house and he has to leave for work in fifteen minutes. He's now fighting an internal battle of what to do, does he go to the guest house and ask for her urine? Does he leave the cup on the counter with a note and hope when she comes into the house to eat, she'll do it? Should he even go to work? How was he supposed to do anything this week while Addison was here? After a short debate and his watch counting down the minutes, he decides to go to the guest house, he'll have to get this over with. It's a short walk, ten minutes at most but to him it feels like ten hours, each step feels weighted as if a rope is wrapped around his ankle and someone is pulling at it as he moves. He's waiting for the black clouds, the circle of fire or the smoke monster from that Tv show to appear; something the signifies this was a bad idea. He fights every cell in his body telling him to turn away and knocks on the wooden door, quietly at first before finding the courage to knock harder. There's shuffling on the other side of the door before it swings open revealing Addison who looks worse than he thought possible.

"Good morning," He says with a small nod. "It's time for your test."

She sighs, extending her hand out to grab the plastic jar. "In front of you?"

"No." He shakes his head. "Just bring it back when you're done."

Addison disappears into the house while he stares at his watch, counting how long it takes for her to return. Three minutes. That corresponds with how long it took her yesterday, as long as she didn't spend more than three minutes in the bathroom all was well. That limited the chances of her doing something to compromise the sample. The jar is wrapped in paper towel, most likely to give her some respect over the fact that she's handing her brother-in-law a jar of her urine.  

"If it comes back positive, I'll be back." He warns before walking back to the house. Inside of the bathroom, he tests the urine and says a silent thank you when once again the results are positive. The last thing he wanted to do was kick Addison out while Annabel was away. Flushing the urine down the toilet, he sends a quick message to Annabel about the results of Addison's latest drug test. It still feels wrong, breathing the same air that Addison is, knowing that any moment she can break. Turn into a lying manipulating monster, it's not a safe environment for any of them. Not safe for her to be around them but she is, they have no choice.  "We're good people." he can hear his mother reprimanding him. He's doing this for Annabel, putting up with this mess for his wife because he loves her.

His next battle is leaving for work, which is harder than it should be. He's ready, dressed, briefcase packed and for some reason he can't find enough strength to turn the knob. He's scared, scared of what might happen when he is gone, what evil she could bring into the house. She's a virus that's affecting the home, a demon that is haunting them. They have insurance, homeowners protection and savings, if she does something they are protected and he'll use the full force of the law to go after her. Make her pay for her faults unlike her family he wrote her off. It's a new found confidence running through his body as he finally manages to turn the doorknob and step out. The air outside feels different, cleaner and lighter even brighter. The heavy fog that was hanging over him is gone. He's able to breathe until he gets to work. Work is another ball park, all day it's numbers and meetings, his boss' loud voice booming through the office demanding better... everything. No encouraging speeches, just paperwork slamming onto the table and shouting for better results. Tony Stark, his boss; his friend--most of the time-- is a perfectionist and at times an asshole.

When Steve and Tony first met, it was like a firecracker had gone off inside the building, sparks flew and egos went to bat. Two dominate male personalities were sparring with their words just waiting to get their fists involved. Over time, their toxic relationship became less toxic, they could finally refer to each other as friends in certain situations. Usually after work, they'd meet up for drinks and bitch about their boss, complain about their personal lives and drink their sorrows away. Until Tony became the boss and suddenly, their fighting was a far more common occurrence; they had to find a line that allowed them to be friends and employee/employer. The line was blurred, they could work together as long as one of them didn't disagree with the other then suddenly an argument would break out yet after work they were out drinking or at dinner with the others family. While it made no sense, no one questioned it in fear more questions would create another set of problems.  

After work, Steve is tired and refuses to go home, he'll be returning to a empty bed and the devil's spawn will be there. Against better judgement, he decides to go out with Bucky and Tony. Tony is buying the first round per Bucky's request, "The boss pays first round, he works us to the bone least he could do is pay for our drinks." which puts a smile on Steve's face but not for long. He's lost in the negative yet again.

James 'Bucky' Barnes or Jimmy as Tony refers to him when he's angry (which only pisses off Bucky), has been friends with Steve since childhood, they grew up just five houses apart and instantly became family. Everyone assumed they were brothers because of how close they were and eventually they stopped correcting people, they felt like family and they were. Chances were if you found Bucky, Steve wouldn't be to far away. They were attached by the hip which was how they manage to work together. Steve applied first and Bucky applied on a whim somehow both managing to land a job.

"Why weren't you at work today?" Tony asks, turning into their boss for a moment as he looks at Bucky. Who called in with the excuse he was sick but was perfectly healthy now.

"Sick."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Sick? But not too sick to drink?"

"Drinking heals the soul." Tony shakes his head, scoffing at the younger man and walks to the bar to retrieve the beers.

It doesn't take long before Bucky realizes something is eating at his best friend, not that it was difficult to see, Steve had a terrible poker face. Exactly the reason, Bucky and Tony always won during poker nights, one look at Steve and it was obvious, if his hand was good or bad. "Alright, what's wrong, punk?" He asks nudging him in the arm.

Steve lifts his head, confused. "Huh? Oh, nothing." His shoulders shrug.

"Something's up. Tony said you didn't even argue with him about having to redo a report."

"There was no reason to argue."

If they were in a old fashioned bar, the record would've scratched and everyone around them would've gasped. Their expressions would've matched Bucky's whose starring him wide eyed with his jaw almost on the floor. "No reason to fight with Stark? Now I know something is up. You never pass up a moment to argue with Stark, no matter how ridiculous."

Tony arrives at the table, three beers in hand, "Drink up boys."

Enthusiastically, Tony and Bucky grab the beers quickly drowning their livers in the brown liquid and share a look of confusion when Steve grabs the bottle but doesn't drink it. The two men silently come to the conclusions his attitude shift is none other than problems linked to his wife. They have yet another silent realization that one of them is going to have to be the one to ask and neither want to do it. Their eyes convey their words, arguing over who is going to do it before Tony says to hell with it and asks.

"So, what'd she do?" Tony asks, leaning back in his seat, getting ready for another dive into Steve's relationship.

"What? Who? Annabel?"

Bucky lets out a sarcastic laugh, "Who else?"

"It's not her." The two men beside him let out a laugh. "It's her sister." As quickly as their laughter started, it was gone. Confusion is clearly going to play a large role in tonight's conversation.

"Sister?" Bucky questions. "I didn't know she had a sister?" he looks at Tony for confirmation, he to didn't know

There's not a descriptive word in the English language that could properly convey the feeling of sorrow that overtakes Steve as he tells the story of dear ol' Addison Shaw, the black sheep of the Shaw family. He can see his friends faces contort with confusion and disgust as they take in the secret. They're as speechless as Steve was the first time he heard and suddenly filled with anger, Tony's eyes shift and Bucky's jaw tightens. Steve fills a wave of euphoria after finally getting every last drop out, the story is out there, finally he's not alone in bearing the weight. He can have a third party involved, someone that isn't entirely involved by blood or marriage. A new opinion, someone to tell him if he is doing the right thing or at least give him advice.

Tony is uncharastically speechless, normally the man has words ready before someone is even done speaking but now he's leaning on his hand and letting out a deep breathe, while he tries to process the revolution. Bucky however is, leisurely drinking his beer and shaking his head. Then he smiles and Steve knows, the second Bucky smiles after startling information is revealed is never a good thing.

"Well, shit." Bucky adds. "You hit the jackpot, kid." He's not done. There is no shock factor yet and Bucky loves to shock, if even for entertainment purposes. "She single?" There it is. The one line that makes Steve question why he's friends with him. "Or you know, down for something? Sex with someone who's got a few screws loose is fucking life changing."

"Goddamn, Barnes." Tony chimes in with disgust. "Don't let your boss hear you say stuff like that, you're gonna fail a drug test if you stick it in her."

"I'm telling my friend, not my boss." He corrects.

"Two drug tests a day then?" Tony asks shifting the conversation from Bucky's sexual conquests to the real issue at hand. Steve nods. "She got a record?"

Steve sighs for the hundredth time tonight, "According to Annabel, yes. A few arrests for drug use but I don't know the details. I don't even think she does."

Tony suggests using one of his 'friends' to look into Addison, the perks of being born with money meant you had an assortment of people at your fingertips, all waiting for the one phone call to get started. He's listing off people that Steve can use, a detective who owes him a few favors (he won't say why and Steve is scared to ask), a doctor who can get him a better drug testing kit; a private investigator to not only watch her every move but to find out where she has been for the last few years.

For a moment, Steve considers it; it would make his life a lot easier, probably easier to sleep. "No, I can't." He shakes his head with disappoint. "Annabel said, she'd last three weeks at most before she slips up. it would be a waste of time."

"What if she slip ups and costs you guys something?" Bucky finally interjects, this time with something helpful. "You guys were already having problems, what if she's the thing that makes you call it quits."

For the first time in their friendship, Tony agrees with Bucky as painful as it, the last few weeks-months have been filled with Steve drinking his pain away and cursing at the thought of his wife. It wasn't divorce worthy yet but the possibility of separating had arose. Tony suggested it, using his own relationship as an example. "Time apart hurt like hell but it did the trick, made us... me realize what I wanted and need." He'd said. Bucky was silent during the conversation, not having a 'relationship' to compare it to. The most trouble he faced was deciding what woman to call if he didn't luck out at the bar. Steve and Tony were the only ones in long term relationships and knew the troubles you could experience. Tony was far more useful in this situation but surprisingly Bucky was holding his own.

"It wouldn't cause that." Steve argues.

"It could."

Steve feels like a lost puppy after Tony speaks and his eyes drop to his gold wedding band. Every aspect of their lives, he'd taken into account except for their marital problems. Things weren't great between he and Annabel but they weren't bad either, it was this weird space between them. They spoke but not frequently. They said they loved each other and kissed one another goodbye but it didn't feel the same anymore. They'd fight, then make up and fight again. An endless cycle.

"Steve..." Bucky voice is small, as if he's not entirely sure what to say. "Why would Annabel agree to this? To her staying with you guys?"

All Steve can do is shrug, "I don't know. I think it's because she's trying to be nice? Do what her parents couldn't."

"You said she brought drugs to your wedding after Annabel invited her and she's giving her another chance?"

"I don't know." Steve finally gives up, none of it makes sense.

"Was she at your mother in law's funeral?" Tony asks, thinking back to the depressing day, there wasn't anyone in particular he remembered looking troubled attending.

"No, Annabel said she refused to answer the phone."

Tony scoffs, "God."

Steve's phone beeps, stealing their attention and startling all of them. It's a text message from Annabel asking about Addison's latest drug test. His cue to go home. "Boys, I have to go." He says, tapping Tony on the shoulder before rising to his feet. He tosses a few dollars onto the table for them. "Next round's on me." He's grateful for the notification, he'd lost track of time and didn't want to leave Addison alone in his home. Bucky offers a helping hand before he departs, "Call me if you need me. If it gets outta control."

Arriving home just in time to beat the sunset, he quickly gathers the jar and heads to the his guest house, it's quiet again; no noises; no moving this either. It's dead silence. "Addison?" He resorts to shouting her name and knocking. She answers the door wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a loose fitting guns n roses t-shirt, her hair is a birds nest and dark bags under her eyes. They're not happy to see one another but without any complaints, she takes the small jar and disappears from his view. He stares at his watch again, timing her. One minute... two minutes... two in a half... three minutes... three minutes and sixteen seconds before she comes into view, the jar wrapped yet again in toilet paper. He doesn't say anything this time, she has to know by now and there is no point in repeating. The results once again are clean. He texts Annabel, telling her Addison is clean and that he misses her, wishes she was here and that he loves her before laying down in bed.

It's cold. The bed and the house when he wakes, the bedside alarm clock taunts him reading, 12:09am. Four hours of sleep yet he feels like he only got five minutes of sleep. Steve stretches his muscles and exits the bedroom, sighing heavily as his bare feet touch the wooden planks beneath him. The kitchen is dimly lit from the fish tank full of fish, they always manage to neglect; another reason they couldn't have a dog. Their fish sometimes go days without eating or days where they are overfed, unfortunately never in between. He plans to feed them only to grab his chest and let out a loud, "Fuck!" when he notices a figure sitting at the counter. The figure jumps as well, glass shatters against the floor, making the scene even more harrowing.

"Shit."

#Chris evans #Chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans fanfic #Chris Evans Fic #chris evans imagine #Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers Fanfic #Steve Rogers Fic #Steve Rogers Fanfiction #Steve rogers!AU #Au #Captain America #captain steve rogers #Cap

[rogueobservation]

BLACKBIRD: CHAPTER ONE

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Before there was a Black Widow, there was a Blackbird; the most talented and famed spy of the Red Room and Hydra’s darling, Valerie. She was Steve Rogers’s greatest love and the Winter Soldier’s partner-in-crime. With the disappearance of Bucky Barnes and the fall of Hydra, Steve finally learns the truth and lies behind his oldest friend and his best girl.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Angst. Breaking and Entering. Vague feelings of betrayal and supposed death. Bad Language. Takes place in the aftermath of CA: TWS. 

A/N: Hiya Val... (So, the beginning of this chapter is kind of rough lmao. But once you get into the middle, I feel like it gets better. I’ve been working on this story for almost a year now. Send for help and a coffee). 

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It was unbelievable how easy it was to break into Steve Rogers’ apartment. Simply, swiping the keys from an unlocked building manager’s office and knowing a seven-digit code that could easily be searched for via google. 

Valerie’s eyebrows rose in surprise when, upon the second try, the StarkTech security system chirped at her in success and an eight-bit smiley face popped up, giving her a thumbs up with a lousy “good job!” message attached in squiggly lettering. Bucky’s birthday? Are you fucking serious? 

She’d been prepared — no, was expectant — for a fight of some kind with the device. A retinal scan, fingerprint and voice confirmation of some kind, to enter Captain America’s — an Avenger’s — apartment. But nothing. 

It was a miracle that someone hadn’t broken into Steve’s apartment before now.

Valerie pocketed the stolen key, watching the smiley face disappear and the system’s screen turn black and glanced around the small entrance hall quickly. There was nothing. Junkmail on a table next to the door. She decided to begin with her mission. 

Like the blueprints she read, the apartment was comprised of four rooms; the main room with it’s organized sections, making up a living room, dining room, and kitchen with a small office-like area tucked into the back of the room against the wall of blue stained glass. The only bedroom was tucked off to the right of the room behind a dull, white door. 

Valerie blended in perfectly with the main room, hiding under the cover of the murky blue hue that the stained glass cast on the room. The lights from the nearby Brooklyn Bridge made the panes glow as the beginnings of rain pelted against the window, causing the bridge to turn into a watercolor painting and the distant skyline look like a hazy mirage, filling the room with white noise, drowning out the faint sound of Valerie’s stiletto boots clicking against the wood floor as she opened Steve’s bedroom door and made her way inside. 

It wasn’t anything special, decked out in all-white furniture and a matching bed. Moving boxes stuffed with neatly folded clothing sat unpacked around his dresser and full-length mirror. She briefly checked the dresser, seeing nothing but empty space inside the drawers before moving to Steve’s side of the bed. Inside his bedside table was a simple, bronze key the size of her palm. Valerie grabbed it, pocketing it like she had the other stolen key, and double-checked the room again out of habit before walking back into the main room.

There wasn’t anything valuable in the living room or kitchen, but the bare hook above the television set, which she guessed was for his shield and noted the strange way the room lacked any dust despite the fact that Steve was rarely ever home. 

Valerie ran a gloved hand across the backrest of the white leather L-shaped couch and sighed. Then, narrowing her eyes, she caught sight of the oak desk at the back of the room, hiding behind the dark shadows. An eagle was carved into the front of it. She walked over, pulling out the leather chair and sat, clicking on the lamp in the right corner. A single white card sat squarely on the surface of the desk:

A relic for a relic. 

           — T. Stark. 

Howard’s son, Valerie thought. She knew Tony from the files she had found in Pierce’s house. He had been having an interesting few years, creating himself into the Iron Man, becoming a major consultant for SHIELD, and a founding member of the Avengers. Valerie wondered if he was anything like his old man. The thought of his late father made her tense up. Memories flooded her mind, but she repressed them as soon as they came, setting the card off to the side, turning her attention to the photos that sat around the desk. 

She recognized most of them: Steve meeting with General Eisenhower in 1944, a yellowed portrait of his mother, one of his father in his military uniform, and a black-and-white photo of him with his Howling Commandos and Peggy Carter at the Whip and Fiddle in early 1944. Her eyes drifted over all of them, a fond half-smile curving her lips as she looked at their smiling faces and the way they had their glasses raised in celebration, mouths forever sealed in a silent cheer. 

Her smile dimmed when she met two familiar faces. Bucky sported a wide grin, blue eyes squinting with happiness despite the looming fact that he was shipping out the next morning to travel across the European theater with Steve and the other Commandos. Bucky had his left around the back of Gabe Jones’ chair and the other around the woman that sat between him and Steve. 

Herself. 

If memory served her correctly, she had been wearing a peach-colored dress that night. Then-Valerie was trying to hide from the camera by pressing half of her face into the crook of Steve’s neck, laughing with the rest of them. 

Her eyes lingered for a long time between herself and Bucky until remembrance turned into a consuming melancholy that ate her up inside like a virus. 

She set the photo down and closed her eyes, stitching herself back together inside with experienced precision. This is why it was a bad decision to come here. Valerie cleared her throat and returned back to the task at hand, looking for what she came for. All the desk’s drawers were unlocked and empty except the single, middle drawer at the top. She took out the key from her pocket and carefully pressed it into the lock and turned. It clicked successfully. 

A twinge of horror flared up in her chest when she opened the drawer and immediately locked eyes on the familiar folders sitting inside. Identical faded brown, written in the same elegant Russian handwriting. The only difference was the titles: The Winter Soldier and The Blackbird. Two bloodstained legends. She couldn’t recall the last time she had seen the files. Something inside her said the nineties, but that didn’t seem right. It had to have been longer than that. They looked foreign to her. They were so out of place in this drawer, in this apartment — in this decade. 

The Blackbird file sat on top. Her file. Hesitantly, she reached for it, throwing it down on the desk like she was burnt. It was dated less than a decade before the Winter Soldier’s had been started. Don’t open it, don’t you dare fucking open it, Valerie. For once, she turned a blind eye to her gut, slipping off her gloves and hovering a hesitant hand over the worn cover. This wasn’t what she had come here for — not to open this pandora’s box of terror. 

But still, it called to her — tempting her. Slowly, she reached out and brushed her fingertips against the front before carefully unwinding the string that kept it secure. She whipped it back with a quick flick of her wrist, breath catching in her throat as her lips parted. For the second time that night, she met the dark eyes of herself. This time it was a picture taken in 1939, three years before she was handed over to Hydra. Just nineteen and a student of the Red Room, sporting the same trained, stoic expression she did today. It was paperclipped to an update report written four weeks earlier in Alexander Pierce’s refined penmanship, going on about her “experience” with him so far as her handler and his vision for her “bright future” ahead within Hydra. Creepy bastard.

Valerie’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion suddenly as she flipped the page, seeing another report, this time detailing her move in the late nineties to a safe house in Paris, France until further notice. She flipped a page again, seeing a grainy black-and-white photo from 1962 of her and the asset on a mission. Her, in stylish black dress and him in a matching all-black tux, walking hand-in-hand into a banquet hall. These aren’t in chronological order. Her stomach tightened at the realization that—

Clink.

Valerie switched off the lamp and grabbed for her gun from her thigh holster reflexively, glaring at the front door. The soft rattling of keys came from the other side again, this time louder as they clicked and the door opened, letting in a tall, dark mass. 

The person shuffled in, kicking the door shut behind them as they quickly shut off the incessant cry of the security system. They let out a deep sigh and dropped their keys into the dish on the entrance table. Heavy boots thumped against the floor as they were toed off. A bag was dropped in front of the bedroom door. He isn’t supposed to be home for another three days, tops. 

She risked enough by just coming here. The possibility of seeing Steve Rogers hadn’t been apart of the original plan. Valerie’s training switched on and she started going through the options for immediate removal. Hiding wasn’t an option and neither was managing to sneak past him to the front door with his heightened senses. She was stuck in a corner on this one. 

Valerie followed him with her eyes, watching him cross the room to the kitchen and sigh again as he opened up the fridge. The light inside illuminated his face and blond hair. As he reached for a water bottle, his back tensed up. Valerie prepared herself for the worst. This is going to be bad. He turned around and the door of the fridge shut softly behind him. Steve was looking right at her. She could feel his piercing stare. Darkness descended back on the room before a light switch was flicked, turning on the fixture above the sink. The gloom retreated back to their corners, revealing her. Val caught the red and blue of the shield in his hand. This is going to be very bad.

The mirky blue of his apartment turned her into a creature of the darkness, veiled by shadows, and camouflaged with the help of the black stealth uniform she wore. The lights from the bridge caught in the corner of her eyes, gleaming and twinkling from their reflection as rain drizzled down the panes of the large window.

His mouth was agape. “Val?” 

God, it was better than expected. She had dreamed of him saying her name — crossed seventy years of time just to hear one syllable of it strike her ear. Goosebumps crawled up her skin at the softness of it — so gentle.

He didn’t get a response. 

A myriad of emotions crossed his face: sadness, anger, relief, but mostly grief as he scrutinized her appearance, seeing if anything had changed in the past seventy years. Physically, she looked the same. She didn’t have her hair braided backward like the Hydra’s photo showed her sporting when she was in uniform. Instead, she wore it down in their natural waves, loose pieces framing her face. Steve glanced at the visible stitched Hydra logo on the shoulders of her outfit, then to his desk, seeing the opened file on the surface. Guilt racked his body at the sight. 

His sensitive hearing picked up on her steady breathing and the way her heart hammered away against her ribcage, mirroring his own. “How did you—?”

“Did you read them?” 

Now he was the one swooning, trying to bite back a wistful smile at the sound of her thick, Serbian accent. It hadn’t changed a bit either. It was as if she too had been frozen in time. Seventy years had no effect on her. Goosebumps spread across his body. 

“Yeah.” 

“Where did you get them?”

His eyebrows furrowed together as he carefully picked his next words. “Natasha Romanoff pulled some strings in Kiev,” he said. “Gave them to me after everything happened in D.C.” 

Natalia. Valerie felt the urge to laugh. She knew of the Red Room’s failed recreation of herself. She had spent the night once read over the woman’s KGB file, seeing the differences in their other than similar past. Natalia truly fascinated her. 

“Natasha couldn’t find a trace of you anywhere,” Steve continued. “We figured you were still with Hydra or with ran off with Bucky.”

There was a pang of sadness in her chest at his name, but her face remained void of emotion. “I left them.” She didn’t feel the need to specify who she was talking about.

Steve walked out of the kitchen, taking a stand beside the arm of the couch. She was almost eye level with him in her six-inch platform heels, absorbing his appearance with her oil-black eyes. He looked the same, too. A more updated hairstyle and clothing, but the same since the last she saw him.

He didn’t want to take his eyes off her in. He had envisioned this moment every day since he had found out she was alive four weeks earlier. And honestly, he was still coming to grips with it all. Both Bucky and her had risen from the dead. 

Everything he imagined saying slipped away the moment he set his eyes on her. The unanswered questions of the past — about what she had done — still remained in his mind though. 

Steve gripped the handle of his shield and sized her up. “Clearly, you didn’t die in 1944.” She didn’t even blink to the statement. Not a hit of emotion sparked on her stoic face. He got no answer. “Did you lie about everything?” Again, he got nothing. His resigned tone changed to a commanding one as bitter anger rose to the surface. Steve scoffed in exasperation at her silence and shifted on his feet. “You owe me answers, Val.” 

“I was following orders.”

Steve’s lips curled into an incredulous smile. “To what exactly? Make me fall in love with you? Your file didn’t say anything about that being part of your mission.”

She stared at him with those unyielding eyes of her’s for a long time as a tired feeling grew over her. Why can’t this just be simple for once? She sighed. “I didn’t come to fight with you, Steven.” 

Steven. It hit him like a slap to the face and made everything that much worse. Steve frowned and ran his tongue over his bottom lip scoffing bitterly. “I waited for you at the train station for two hours when I came back to London. Bucky was dead and I was... grieving this immense loss. I had just watched my best friend fall from a train and die. I wanted comfort — I wanted you, Val.” Steve let his arm fall to his side. “But then Peggy showed up and the last bit of the light went out in my world. You just disappeared off the face of the earth, gone for three months by the time I returned. Colonel Phillips ordered them not to tell me about it until I was back at base.”

Valerie looked at the floor for a long moment. Her voice was quiet with an almost robotic response. “If you read my file, you know I wasn’t given a choice in that matter.” 

“That’s bullshit, Val,” he snapped. “There’s always a choice. Always! We were in a relationship. We loved each other. You were given the choice whether to tell me that you were a Hydra operative and you didn’t.” He looked off to the windows, taking a moment to calm down. Valerie lowered her gaze. He kept his eyes on the Avengers Tower in the distance and spoke. “We both know I would’ve moved Heaven and Earth just to have saved you from them.”

His words stung her somewhere deep. No one could have saved me. Val absentmindedly picked at the black gloves in her hand, gazing at his feet. “I didn’t come to fight with you.”

Steve sighed and ran a hand over his face, feeling the slight stubble that had grown while he was on his recent mission. “Why are you here, Val?” 

“I’m looking for information,” she said, meeting his eyes again. The shadows closed in around her as the rain beat harder against the window. “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important.” 

Steve skeptically watched her for a moment before walking over, hooking his shield above the television on the hook. He crossed his arms and looked back at her, pressing his lips together into a tight line. She took that as a sign to continue. “Are you familiar with Kolesov Petrovich?”

“One of Hydra’s leaders, yeah.” His eyes narrowed, eyebrows knitting together, contemplating the blank look she gave him. She could see there was something there — just behind his eyes. More than the fact that Petrovich was Hydra. 

Valerie sighed and resigned to the fact that it was time she used the skill she was famous for. Retrieving information. “I’ve been trying to find him since Hydra went down. All my information is old and all my contacts either dead or deep underground, but I know Petrovich is set to take the head of the organization next. I was looking for information about his location — or at least a hint of where I can look.”

Steve’s head tilted in slight confusion. “You don’t know...?” 

Valerie feigned a look of ignorance. Bait. Set. Trap. 

Like everyone who had ever had the misfortune of coming in contact with the Blackbird, he fell for it and took her silence as a yes. “Petrovich was found tortured to death in an abandoned Hydra base in Russia four days ago, Val.”

That was news to her. Goddamnit. Anger hit her first towards whoever had taken Petrovich out before her. He had valuable intel that she needed. Her eyes flitted across the floor, thinking over the information. Steve noticed that the old habit had stuck with her.

Over the years, she had become a personal detector for bad intelligence. She believed this information was true, but her gut didn’t want to trust it. It was such a small blip in the bigger picture she was working to wipe out, but something about it wasn’t right. She looked back at Steve. 

“Where in Russia?”

“Just outside Penza.”

She was too good at her job to know that he was telling everything. There was something more to this story and she could feel it. It was evident in the tone of his voice. Hesitation. He didn’t want to tell her the rest. Steve shifted from one foot to the other, glancing at the windows every now and then to get away from her intense gaze on his face. 

“He’s not the first one,” Valerie said.

Natasha’s right. I am a shit liar. Steve slowly nodded. “He’s the fourth high-rank official we’ve found tortured to death and left in old Hydra bases in the past month. It started right after D.C.”

“Fourth?”

"Jakob Klemme, Emil Behm, and Stephen Hersh were all found dead, scattered across Germany at different bases. Petrovich’s the first we’ve found in Russia.” 

She took in the names, running them through all the information she had gathered over the decades. Klemme had been a top scientist within Hydra, working on the asset and her for a few years, while Hersh was his assistant. Hersh had taken over Klemme’s role after Klemme apparently deserted the organization in ‘88. She hadn’t seen nor heard of Hersh in several years now. And Behm had been just another average high-rank officer. Suddenly it hit her. The realization of what they were made her stomach drop. Shit.

She walked out from behind his desk, meeting his blue eyes in a quick glance. “I have to go.” 

An alarmed look came over his face. “What?” He was angry with her, but he didn’t want her to leave. They needed to talk. That information meant something to her, didn’t it?

Valerie shook her head, walking past him on the other side of his coffee table, tugging on her gloves quickly. “I’m sorry, Steven.”

“Wait,” Steve reached out to grab Valerie’s wrist. “What does that inf—“

It happened so quickly. Valerie stumbled backward, smashing into the television hard with her back, hand tightening around the trigger of her gun as she raised it at him. She glanced at his outstretched hand with her wide, horrified eyes. He hadn’t even touched her. Her breathing was shaky and uneven. Time seemed to stop and for a second her mask slipped, showing Steve the broken woman that hid underneath. It mirrored the expression Bucky had given him on the Helicarrier four weeks earlier. The decades of being with Hydra had changed something in her — fractured something deep inside both of them. And it was all noticeable in their eyes. 

Her voice betrayed her and broke. “Do not touch me.”

Her eyes met his and goosebumps went down his neck. He was startled by her reaction. Every nerve in his body called on him to take her in his arms, comfort her and never let go, but he knew he couldn’t. She didn’t want it. 

They watched for what seemed to be a lifetime as she gathered together her pieces again, tucking them back into place and slipping back on her stoic expression as if nothing had happened. Pushing herself off the tv, she walked towards the front door. “Goodbye, Steven.”

Steve didn’t move an inch, staring at the spot where she had stood until the door shut behind her and the echoing sound of her heels down the hallway faded. He looked at his reflection in the television screen and let out a loud sigh, burying his face in his hands and fell back on the couch. 

In the quiet of his apartment, he wondered if he’d ever see her again. 

***

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future chapters! Thanks! :)))

***

Tagged: @softhairbarnes @alexfayer @jalapenobarnes @apersonwithhope @rogrsnbarnes @tomhardy41

#steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #fic #fanfiction #the avengers #captain america #steve rogers #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #sam wilson #falcon #captain america: the winter soldier #captain america: the first avenger #captain america: civil war #catws #natasha romanoff #black widow #avengers #marvel #tony stark #iron man #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #writing #blackbird #blackbird masterlist #monica bellucci #the red room

[clownmoontoon]

I'm interested in watching Osomatsu-san, but I have a few questions, if that's ok. 1. Sub or dub? 2. How do I know who's who? I already know some of the easy ones, thanks to you. Thank you in advance! (P.s. Thanks for telling me about BNHA!)

ITS A REALLY GREAT ANIME AND IT HAS SOME OF THE BEST CHARACTER WRITING I HAVE EVER SEEN. IT IS ABSOLUTELY ONE OF MY TOP FAVE ANIMES EVER

HOWEVER

idk how old you are (or the age of anyone possibly reading this) so i feel i should say Osomatsu-san has a lot of mature themes and is CLEARLY meant for a more mature audience of the adult/college age/MAYBE later teen variety

all the main and most important side characters in the show are at least in their 20′s.

im not recommending this show to kids is what im saying haha

its nowhere near as wholesome as hero aca

ANYWAY ONTO YOUR QUESTIONS

1. Sub or Dub?

as of right now there is no dub Viz Media, who most recently did the redub of sailor moon (AND ITS FANTASTIC BTW SO IT GIVES ME HIGH HOPES FOR MATSUS), had sent out a tweet saying that the dub was going to be released some time in October of this year but …nothing happened?? my buddy @arr-jim-lad even contacted them about it, and they responded that there were no updates to mention. ://///SO right now sub is all we got haha

ITS REALLY GOOD THO SO ITS NOT LIKE A NEGATIVE OR ANYTHING BC THESE VOICE ACTORS ARE AMAZINGdef my fave voice actors of any sub ive watched (and ive watched quite a few)

2. How do I know who’s who? I already know some of the easy ones, thanks to you.

one of my fave aspects of this show is that after a few eps, despite them all having the same face, it becomes VERY EASY to tell them apart haha this is part of why the character writing is so strong imo!

but here’s a few tips and tricks to look for just in case you cant tell right away!

🌈COLORS!!!🌈

❤️Osomatsu -  the eldest of the sextuplets and the show’s namesake - RED

💙Karamatsu - 2nd eldest - BLUE

💚Choromatsu - 3rd eldest - GREEN

💜Ichimatsu - 4th brother - PURPLE

💛Jyushimatsu - 5th brother - YELLOW

💖Todomatsu - 6th and youngest brother - PINK

the easiest thing to get the hang of first when it comes to noticing the matsus is def their designated colors! Even when theyre not in their trademark hoodies they can usually be seen wearing their colors somewhere on themselves so if you cant tell who’s who right away LOOK FOR THE COLORS!!

if theyre all wearing matching outfits you can look at their hair shinies bc they’ll usually be their color when nothing else is! (tho those are a bit more subtle in coloring bc ..well..shinies haha)

😄EXPRESSIONS and QUIRKS😎

each of the bros has a standard neutral expression, and some of them have fun quirks that make it very easy to tell who’s who! lets start backwards this time \(ouo)/ (mostly bc from the start the youngest bros are def easiest to recognize…besides karamatsu ofc)

this got quite long so check under the cut for all the bro details and fun collages i made for each bro bc i love this show too much! \(>u

💖Todomatsu (pinky boi)💖

he’s the designated “cute” boy, and the worst/best self-centered millennial stereotype. actually a total mean girl in disguise, and (according to his bros) a “vile monster”. i love him and he’s a cute demon. not the worst bro but pretty darn close.

neutral expression: :3voice: highest pitch of the bros and often whiny quirks: - can usually be seen w his smartphone - acts the most feminine (covers his chest if naked or topless)- always has eye shinies - two hairs sticking out on the top of his head - calls all his bros “niisan” since he’s the youngest

next up MY BOOOYYYYY

💛Jyushimatsu (YELLOW SUNSHINE LIGHT OF MY LIFE)💛

the hyper-active, forever smiling, incredibly powerful, baseball boy! if something weird and crazy is going on jyushimatsu is either directly involved or about to be. he’s always laughing, smiling and making weird jokes/noises. a very sweet boy who is entirely too powerful. He often dresses as animals, and is used as an “attack dog” to torture whichever brother he’s commanded to (usually oso). A very unpredictable boy to say the least. Its hard to imagine an ooc version of him bc there isnt much he would not do or say.HE IS MY FAVE BEST SUNSHINE BOY

neutral expression: 8Dvoice: lowest pitch of the bros but also the loudest, often making weird/nonsensical sounds/noises such as: BBBBOEHBA!! 8Dquirks: - often goes cross eyed - is incredibly strong, can lift and throw his adult brothers like nbd - never has eye shinies in the anime unless he’s about to cry - wears shorts when everyone else is wearing pants, also some times wears a traffic cone on his head- wiggly arms and sleeves too long (even when its not the hoodie, usually his sleeves are always too long haha)- only one hair sticking out on the top of his head

((MANY THANKS TO @arr-jim-lad​ FOR THE TILTED PIC IDEA ITS ADORABLE))

next up my second fave, NEKOMATSU

💜Ichimatsu (purple cat man)💜

the designated darkmatsu, ichi is the slow moving, constantly slouching, quietest boy who thinks cats are way better than people. the least motivated matsu, even going out to do fun things (like drinking or gambling) is some times too much trouble. for him a good time is laying on the floor and thinking about death (and also cats). a fan of torture, if the situation calls for causing trauma he’s suddenly very talkative and plays w his voice a lot. he is the second brother (after my boy jyushi) that is often called upon when one of the other brothers (or anyone) needs to be tortured. i love this boy and he is good to my fave boy god bless suujimatsu

neutral expression: B(voice: usually very low, slow and monotone quirks: - eyes always half lidded, no shinies - always slouched- messy hair (some times w cat ears)- only bro to wear track pants (w the line on the side)- has a diff cat in his lap almost every ep, but does not actually own one- two hairs sticking out on the top of his head

up next everyone’s fave otaku,

💚Choromatsu (green frog weeb man)💚

the resident brother mom and a total idol otaku, choromatsu isnt concerned w much else besides his idol obsession and proving he’s way more responsible than his brothers. he often walks todomatsu to the bathroom at night and waits for him to finish since youngest bro is scared of the dark (reminder theyre both grown men in their 20′s). he thinks he’s better suited to be the oldest brother and leader rather than osomatsu and even points it out once, with agreements from both todomatsu and ichimatsu.if anything crazy happens choro is the first to scream about it not being ok. he’s got the strongest will of all the brothers and can never be persuaded to change his mind about a situation. he’s not a fighter at all and usually chooses to stay on the sidelines even if he agrees w whatever the bros are fighting about (killing god for instance).he’s under constant stress bc he’s pretending to do his best while his brothers are terrible i love him give this poor green man a vacation

neutral expression: :voice: higher pitched, not as high as todo but still higher among the bros, and usually using it to yell @ brosquirks: - smallest pupils, no shinies (in the anime)- usually has a worried expression- wears plaid a lot- is irritated almost all the time - wont look for a job bc he’s determined to be an idol manager- no hairs sticking out on top of his head

AND NEXT MY THIRD FAVE AND EASILY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MATSU

💙 KARAMATSU 💙

LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL MAN, THIS PAINFUL ADONIS OF MATSUS!! IS THAT A GLITTER CROP TOP THAT DOESNT COVER THE CHEST?? IT SURE IS!! ARE THOSE JEAN BOOTY SHORTS?? YOURE DAMN RIGHT THEY ARE!!!

karamatsu is EASILY the most recognizable matsu. w those amazing eyebrows, constant use and abuse of anime eyes, wild variety of glittery, revealing, and leather clothing its no wonder he’s called painful oh my god i love this man DID I MENTION HE SPEAKS RANDOM ENGLISH FOR NO REASON AND ITS GREATalso he’s probably the most caring brother who genuinely wants his brothers to be happy and know theyre loved very much by him ;;

if you cant immediately spot this matsu i dont know what to say to you tbqh

neutral expression: >:Dvoice: he makes his voice deep to sound cool p much all the time but its actually higher pitched than it seems quirks: - wears sunglasses, skulls, a leather jacket, sparkly everything, and p much anything he thinks is “cool”- easily the most expressive matsu just look for those eyebrows haha- puts his finger under his chin a lot - “BURAZAHS” - "heh!”- two hairs sticking out on the top of his head

and now on to the final, the oldest, and arguably the worst matsu

💔Osomatsu💔

THERE HE IS!!!! THE TRASH KING BROTHER!!!!i kid, i kid sort ofimplying that the matsus are not all trash boys is just a joke tbqhfor me osomatsu was absolutely the hardest bro to recognize when i first watched the show, and i think the biggest tip i can give for him is just to look for the red boy scratching under his nose. also the boy who looks like he would buy and sell you. he’s a pretty brilliant con man and a good fighter too, but his laziness outweighs anything that he could possibly achieve in. he’s absolute trash but in a way still lovable?? OH ACTUALLY if youre familiar w the anime Lupin the Third just look for the brother that makes the most Lupin-esque faces he’s got that classic-anime-comedy-male-lead look more than any of the other bros so that might help you recognize him!

could literally be lupin’s little bro haha

neutral expression: its like a stretched version of this :3 w teeth showingvoice: higher pitched, he plays w his voice almost as much as jyushimatsu, very playful and teasing, hardly ever serious sounding quirks: - scratching under his noise- obsessed w money and women (and never has either)- the most addicted to gambling of all the bros (this is sounding less like quirks and more like serious problems omg), favors horse races and pachinko- the “leader”, usually the one telling the others what to do (even if they rarely listen)- calls no one “niisan” since he’s the oldest - two hairs sticking out on top of his head

WOW THIS CAME OUT MUCH LONGER THAN I MEANT IT TO!! if im not careful people might think i love these trash neets or smth oh no

but ye! i hope this helps! or was at least an entertaining read haha❤️💙💚💜💛💖

#osomatsu san #osomatsu #karamatsu #choromatsu #ichimatsu #jyushimatsu #todomatsu #clown honks #moonime #THIS TOOK ME LIKE THREE DAYS TO FINISH HAHA

[pepperpaprika]

S3 Squeeing

Under the cut, mostly nonsense. :’D I’ll do a proper review once I digest it maybe!

First watch, no subtitles, GO.

(I’m sorry about name spellings)

EPISODE 1: 

huh they still have the same opening.

KEITH IS SO SAD

ah yes the zarkon shiro moaning

NO KEITH DONT DO THE WOBBLY EYES

ahhh i forgot the robovoiceover thing the bom have need to add.

skirts seem to be a status symbol with galra.

NINJA RUN OMFG.

oooh nice torpedo, hunk!

omfg an actual parade.

WAIT WAS IT KOLIVAN SAYING "IM SORRY KEITH" earlier??

pooegian? aw cute name. im seriously getting avatar flashbacks tho.

planet keffron, feathery ears

freedom fighters.

intergalactic fashion pirate coran- YES

lance is all about the glory lmao

OMG ALLURA NO- LOOK AT THAT SHOCK.

you can tell they ALL know they stepped on keiths landmine.

Commander Thrak --OH NO THEY ARE HIDING ZARKONS ILLNESS.

this guy is hunched.... OMG SHES A CHAMELEON.

LOL KOLIVAN IS AT THE HEAD

galra empire is most massive... it seems like it could rule another ten thousand years.

LOL KEITH. SO ANGERY.

poor boy.

oh hey pizza roll and pig in a blanket.

LOTOR a;lskdas;klj -Exiled prince -halfbreed at best, no honor -generals can fight for the throne -fighting beside your forces is considered lowly.

omfg. OMFG. LOTOR IS PRETTIER THAN I THOUGHT.

OMFG WHERE DID THEY COME FROM

YEAH GROWL BB

alskdjaskdjaskldj;asjkd;lasjkd;laslk;jdlasjk;dklajsd HES SHORT

LOL NICE PUNCH

Your own agression is your undoing.

oh he was expecting to be killed wasnt he.

arena is to the death confirmed.... so how did that robeast survive.

as;ldkjasdkjasd HEY THEY HAVE GEMS ON THEIR GLOVES/HANDS.

DONT TURN YOUR BACK ON A BLOODTHIRSTY GENERAL LOTOR PLS.

I mean sure theres an audience but still.

oh wow that guy has wolverine hands.

pet the kitty

let him rot with the ice worms~

LOL theyre all looking at lance... i guess they agreed beforehand.

EPISODE 2

nice seaside mediterranean city

is that an elephant?

whoah chameleon girls antenna is super long.

HOW DID THEY LAND GENTLY. oh i see... hmn ita racial.

whoah. she strong.

oh my god. HES THERE.

well i like how chameleon girl is like ty lee

LOL how allura chose the colors.

LOL SAME KEEF.

BLACK LION LOOKS SO SAD ON ITS SIDE. /CRAI

aw ladies first.

LOL PIDGE. lajkasdjasl;kdj

NOT IT. YES HUNK.YOU DIDNT EVEN TRY.

I LOVE IT HUNK.

PIDGGGGE

30 mins of lance sitting in the lion.

but im not you. i cant beat them like you.

PLEASE NO. OMG

LOL LANCES FACE. SO DISAPPOINTED.

I DONT ACCEPT THIS.

OMG SHES PLAYING WITH THE CAT

"no black lion"

oh. shes part snake not lizard?  DID SHE HYPNOTIZE HIM

THIS ONES FOR YOU SHIRO.

oh. they have warp technology.

Lancey Lance. JUST A PHASE. lmaooooo. HIS BEST LINE.

controls dont respond like the red lions.... hmm..

KEITH PROLLY TRAINED IT TO BITE MY HEAD OFF.

Allurance shoulder touch. well I didnt see that coming.

YEAH ALLURA.

There's something different about that lion... its pilot isnt in control.

lol keith thanks coran but not lance. I mean its not his fault this time, technically.

BE CAREFUL WITH RED.

weve seen enough, retreat.

LOL zarkon has a son allura: deeply disturbing.

LANCE STOP TALKING LIKE YOURE GONNA LEAVE HER FOR GOOD.

FALLEN WARRIORS.. AND SHIRO.

"I'm glad it was you."

OMG KEITH.

Episode 3

lol keith no. NOT EVERYONE CAN FLY A THING IN TWO MINS OK.

LOTOR WANTS TO KNOW MORE INFO

fkljas;kdfsaklj YES GO ONE ON ONE

LANCE WHY

omg. OF COURSE HES GOOD AT FLYING. OF COURSE.

DOES THIS THING HAVE BREAKS.

lol yes this was gonna suck from the start.

LOL GARRISON TRIO

GREAT LEADERSHIP KEITH FFFFFT

man this is a trainwreck.

oh man theyre not gonna be able to form are they.

LOL

LOTOR CAN SEE YOU

How disappointing... indeed, Lotor.

oh no keith playing straight into his hands.

nice planet tho.

omg. NOOOO KEEF NO.

huh Hunk has been really careful of allura huh :o its kinda interesting that hes the one who woories about her most... ope theres lance

'its not about the team its about the mission" - very telling.

lol he looks like orochimaru in that helmet, lotor.

generals call him lotor. interesting

LOL THAT SPLAT

alkdjasdkjsa NOOOO

oh no hes gonna capture allura first.

WHY ARENT THE LIONS GUIDING THEM?

ohhh no she dropped into the abyss.

aw shes super scared.

lol yes keith you followed him into his trap.

"oh em gee"

WHAT WOULD LANCE DO

laskdjasldjkaskjdjskjsadfjkljksdla

ALLURA WHY OMG. PARTICLE BARRIER.

abbb ok she must want to be guided. makes sense.

d;alsjdasl IM GLAD WERE ALL MAKING FUN OF LANCE looool.

ahhh there we go 3 eps in before voltron can be formed.

HUNK IM A LEG pretty cool right. IMMORTAL WORDS.

EPISODE 4

lol allura you were never gonna be the last alteans alive unless youre a lot worse at shapeshifting than you thought.

I love this science talk.

DONT GO INTO THE LIGHT.

oh its a wormhole.

ahah a time capsule ship of alteans. Nice.

Orrr not.

whoah lots of arms on that one. IS IT SLAV.

wheres slav anyway.

bom?

ALdaslk;djAS:LKdjasdljOMFG

OMFG.

YES IT IS SLAV AND SHIRO. SVEN.

aldfjlkqwlk;jehs ITS THE ACCENT.

"I MAY BE CRAZY"Nice slav.

ldjasd;lkj LOL LANCE HAS RED GUN.

"OH THATS HIM"

;ldkaslkak I LOVE ITTTTT

ALTEANS ARE EVIL. YES.

EMPRESS

WHAT IS THAT BEHIND THEM A YUPPER.

NO DONT HELP THE EVIL ALTEANS PIDGE.

its nice that all the new chars are girls.

alkjd;askdjasjkl;d I CANT EVERY TIME SVEN TALKS.

Moxus hmn. OMG BRAINWASHING. ALTEAN BRAINWASHING.

preservation of life. is the highest prioirty.. interesting...

YOOHOO UP HERE.

I love how sven has a mullet.

GUNS OF GAMORA.

Voltron can travel between realities. I love this plot device.

ohhhh no. oh nooo. shes doing it WHY ARE YOU SO BLIND.

awww the mice are so SAD.

i cant stop laughing whenever i see Sven.

ASLkdjaskld;jasjdkl THIS IS THE REALITY WHERE EVERYTTHING WORKS OUT FINE.

DOGPILE

I LOVE ITTTT.

;lkvsdf;aldkas;lkd LOL SVEN SVEEEN. lol shance with sven?

DOES HE DO THIS IN EVERY REALITY.

I LOVE THIS REALITY TOO SLAV.

NOOO DONT TAKE IT TO LOTOR. though thats probably needed to make a comparable weapon to voltron.

DESTROY IT

welp.

EPISODE 5

alk;sdjaskj SHIRO

SHOW ME THAT LONG HAIR BABY.

oh wait this is a dream isn't it.

whoah. such hair.

HOBO SHIRO

wtfffff is happeniiing. STAGE 3??

wow the animation quality went up tho.

YOU BE THAT AMERICAN NINJA SHIRO

hmm thigh wound.

anime snow...

aw haggar, its ok.

Yep thigh wound. Niiiiice legs. oh nooo.shiro.

interesting. an oasis of warmth. ohhhh NO NOO NO. GET AWAY.

TENTACLES.

WHAT IS THIS OTHER ALIEN.

lol shiros face. he's so done.

but somethings not adding up.

why was he allowed free?

eiii the return of the term "years"

IDK WHAT IT IS BUT HOBO SHIRO LOOKS SO MUCH BETTER RENDERED SOMEHOW? LIKE AN OVA?

lol yes why dint they GO WITH HIM.

but how did his hair get so long??

ALTERNATE REALITY?

VOLTRON.YES SHIRO. AH HES TOO FAST FOR ME.

oh. THAT ARM.

Lotor is on bad terms Haggar. I AM THE LEADER BUT I AM NOT MY FATHER.

holy shit that arm looks like shiros arm.

OH NO SHIROOO.

alksdjasjd OMG MEMORIES.

BLACK SAVE HIM. SAVE HIIIM.

NOODLES.

EPISODE 6

LANCE LIKE WHIPS. OF COURSE HE DOES.

WHERES SHIRO.

oh new white undershirt.

KEITH JUST TALKING TO SHIRO IN THE DARK IN HIS ROOM.

"they need you you know." Keith talking about himself.

AS MANY TIMES AS IT TAKES TO SAVE YOU SHIRO.

oh. SHORT SLEEVES.

oomg. omg.

I LOVE THE GEEK TALK.

...OH NO

HEY MAN.

SOLID MATH LOL.

Leave the math to pidge. LOL. solid advice.

HUNK BUTT WIGGLE.

LOL keith defers ofc.

THE HAIR IS ALL WROOONG. ITS GOING THE WRONG WAY.

oh no.

THIS MAY BE THE WORST POST IN THE GALRA EMPIRE BUT ITS MY POST. VICTORY OR DEATH. I LOVE YOU FOR THAT THROK.

oh its lotors guards.

???

OMG. OH NO. TELEDUV.

ohh no. SHEITH FIGHT.

lol they believe shiro ofc.

oh so it IS her.

OH YEAH AMBIDEXTROUS KEITH.

aw yes allura grab lances scruff.

ohhh no. this is a rift.

lotors brains vs shiros brains. hmn.

NICE KEITH.

ooooh no.

I wonder if Throk is still alive and can snitch.

Shoulder touch.

SOFT LOOK. The black lion has chosen you.

landing codes? what? whoa lotor. SO THAT PLAN WAS TO SET UP THROK? HES THAT PETTY??

episode 7

IS THAT HAGGAR?THE BLUE PALADIN??

ORIGINAL VOLTRON PALADINS

OH DEAR.

LOL ZARKON HAS A MACE. OR A HAMMER.

MORE KNOWLEDGEABLE AS AN ALCHEMIST THAN A SOLDIER

BEAR ALIEN

ERODES DISCIPLINE.

QUEENS AND KINGS NICE.

alluras already old there huh

and lions are super recent.

omg. ZARKON IS AFRAID OF CATS.

Minerva? Onerva?

OH ALLURA IS A BABY. THATWAS HER MOM SHES A PERFECT COPY.

HES MARRIED TO AN ALTEAN.

oh ships vs clean energy.

OH NO ITS SENTIENT.

why does she sound so dead???

WHY ARE THE LIONS ALL BANGED UP THEYRE SUPPOSED TO BE NEW??

also zarkon used to be so small

GALRA HAVE PUPILS

so blue lions are flirts. hmn.

IS THAT A LIL KITTY NOSE ON THEIR HELMETS?

THE SQUAD. THEYRE SO CUTE.

LOL LEG.

waiiit. WHY DOES KEITH STILL PUSH HIS BAYARD IN FOR FORM SWORD??

isnt it with lance now??

live foreverrr.

Enerva is Haggar??

ohhh thats why his eyes are pink. SO THISIS THE BIRTH OF DRUID MAGIC, THE PARTICLES.

....THATS IT??

#my musings #s3 spoilers

[avidfanficwriter]

Seven Months

Chris Pine X OFC. 

Summary: A few drinks in and a batch of drunken goggles filled with primal need, he sees someone who with just enough imagination could pass off as ‘her.’ 

Warnings: Smut. 

Authors note: Short and sw---not sweet. This isn’t sweet. Short and raunchy? 

The first month was wine. Red and white. He didn’t care. Whatever was in his pantry, it didn’t matter. 

The second month was cases of beers. 

The third month was cigarettes and beer. He hated the smell of cigarettes, that overwhelming stench that lingered on his clothes would make him sick, but for just a moment; he felt numb. 

The fourth month was scotch, bourbon or even whiskey. He genuinely didn’t care about what it was. It helped him further himself into a state of numb. 

Now in the fifth month, he was slowly dying. He was at a  loss for what to do. He needed to be free, to clear his mind. He sat in his car in downtown L.A. where he knew the working girls would be. He watched them, prance around in their skimpy clothes, begging for a john. He’d done that for the past few nights, just watching from a shaded area. He wanted to go, indulge in one of them but they couldn’t give him what he needed, not that he knew what that was. Instead, he drove away; heading to the strip club that celebrities would go to. High class strip club. He wasn’t a big shot by any mean but with his name attached to projects like Star Trek and Wonder Woman, he’d have no trouble getting in. Worst case scenario, he’d claim to be another Chris. 

He wasn’t a strip club kind of guy, he didn’t find it thrilling. He’d hated the idea of a strip club, he was eighteen when he first went to one with a group of friends and couldn’t focus, not for obvious reasons. Instead it was why they were there. Then there was the occasional bachelor party that he would attend where some twenty-something year old was giving him a lap dance and all he could think was, “What happen to her to make her do this? Why would anyone put themselves through this?”” Tonight however was different, he didn’t care about the why’s. Tonight, he just wanted to get off. 

He’s welcomed into the club with little effort on his part. “Mr. Pine!” the bouncer says as if they’ve known one another for years. he’s greeted with open arms and smiles. “I loved star trek, my man.” He’s quick to say followed by, “Is Zoe real?” he asks, his hands cupping his chest, clearing asking about her breast but Chris just gives him a dry look and pushes past him, not caring. The club is loud, music blaring and women dancing everywhere. He makes his way through the club and sits in front of small stage. A bleached blonde bartender walks up to him and Chris hands him a fifty dollar bill, who immediately hands it back to him. “First timers are on the house.” He says with a small smile.he’s quick to add to his sentence with a small smile. “Private rooms with the girls are not, you bring one to the V.I.P room, upstairs, it’s gonna cost ya, Baby.” the bartender gives him a small smile and Chris asks for a scotch adding with a small smile ‘keep ‘em coming.’ The bartender didn’t disappoint, he was back within seconds with a small glass of scotch. Chris glances around, his eyes find a redhead-- a fake redhead, probably synthetic if not dyed-- she was talented, he’d give her that but she did nothing for him. He downs his drink and tosses a few dollars onto the table for her. 

The bartender arrives with his second scotch just as the second dancer arrives on stage. She’s different than the last, her hair is full of curls, her eyes are a light shade of brown while her skin has a slight shimmer to it. Her stage name is, “Lusty Chocolate” and for a just a second, he agrees she’s definitely lusty. With this one he’s generous, he tosses down a twenty. 

By the time, he’s on his sixth scotch (The bar didn’t like to limit their customers. Drunk customers meant more money), the music is fading to background noise, the lights from the stage blur and he doesn’t even remember how many performers have been on stage or how much he’s tipped them. To be honest, he doesn’t fucking care, he’d cash out his entire bank account if he could tonight. The next woman on stage has a fire to her, she’s fast. Her hips move in a way that he didn’t understand how she could. He felt his cock twitch but that was it. Nothing more. He slips further into his drunken state. He decides he’s done, no girl here is what he wants or needs. He stands up and see’s her, this beautiful woman walking into the club, removing her jacket. She’s in at least six inch heels, her hair golden and her skin is a shade of caramel that makes his jaw drop. He gulps down the last of his scotch, slamming the glass onto the table as makes his way towards her. He stands in front of her and even in her heels, he towers over her. it could work, he thinks to himself. 

“How much?” he asks in a low voice. She brushes her golden locks out of her face flashing her green eyes, which disappoint him but it can overcome it. 

“I’m expensive.” She says, quietly.

 “I hope so.” Chris adds with a smirk. He watches her eyes explore him, like she’s using his body to decide her choice. 

“I’m a little over a thousand.” She finally says. 

“I’ll take it.” He says quickly. The woman grabs Chris’s hand, tightly and walks up the dark stairs.

When they enter the room, the music is quieter, he can finally think but it’s the last thing he truly wants to do, especially when she starts dancing. The song inside of the red room is raunchy and her movements mimic it. One minute, she’s in front of him, swaying her hips, toying with her breast. Then she’s bent down in front of him, giving him the perfect sight of her ass. Next her mouths just inches from his zipper on his jeans then she’s straddling him, grinding on him. He digs his nails into the couch cushion as she drags her nails along his chest and her mouth hovers next to his ear. “Most guys, i’d charge an extra thousand to touch me...” she whispers. “But you’re gorgeous, so you can do whatever you want.” It’s almost a breathy moan that makes his breathe hitch. 

“Whatever?” he asks, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. 

“Whatever.” She says, gently dragging her tongue down his neck. 

He reaches out, rubbing his hands along her waist, adding just enough to pressure to force her further onto his bulge. He reaches around her small frame, undoing her bra and letting it fall onto the floor. The stripper whose name he eventually learns, ‘Rosie’ is smaller than ‘her’, her mid section is tiny, he can fit her hip bone into his hand which is disappointing. With ‘her,’ he loved the feeling of her hips, there was so much more of her to grab; to hold on to. Rosie didn't have that, she was stick and bones with implants. With ‘her’ she was natural, real. Her skin was tanned, perfect. The muscles in her thighs that flexed when she wrapped around him. It was like she was made for him. Her hourglass figure had nothing on Rosie. The strippers stayed small with large fake breasts and asses. Rosie’s hands pull at her bright blue thong and in a whiny voice, she says. “Maybe you should help me.” Rosie stands up, lifting her leg onto the couch near his leg. Chris runs his fingers up her leg before she slaps his hand away. “With your mouth.” His jaw clenches and he leans forward, holding the material between his teeth and trailing it down her toned legs. 

He glances up at her when he drops the thin material to the floor with a sharp inhale, he speaks. “Alcohol?” 

“In the cushion on your left.” She says. Chris looks to his left, lifting the cushion up to reveal the bottle of alcohol. He doesn’t care what he grabs, he picks up the bottle of tequila, opening it and taking a large drink. it burns as it makes it’s way down his throat but he needs that feeling, he needs to be inebriated or more than he was. he needed to be completely drunk for what he was about to do. Rosie wasn’t perfect, not even ideal but she could pass if he truly imagined it. Their skin color was nearly the same, Rosie's was a few shades lighter and she’s not as tiny but he can fix that. He drops the bottle roughly onto the table and pushes Rosie back. “Take off your heels.” He orders. 

Proactively, she bends down pulling her heels off and stands flat on the ground. Chris rises to his feet, standing directly in front of her. At the most, she’s five foot five, three inches taller than ‘her’ it’s nearly the same. He’s still taller. “Kiss me.” He says in a low voice. 

She’s not even in the least bit nervous or hesitant, she leans on the tips of her toes and rests her hand on his chest to balance herself. She’s stretching, giving it everything she has to reach his lips. He closes the space, capturing her lips but she doesn’t kiss like ‘her.’ There’s to much tongue, to much fuss. Exactly the way a stripper would kiss. He growls with anger and pulls her into him, imagining it was ‘her’ but his mind is betraying him. He’s had enough, he rips his lips from her, roughly turning her around and pulling her into him. She grinds her ass into him and for this moment he sees ‘her.’ He treats her like a rag doll, pulling her against him. He pulls his belt off, pulls his zipper down then he’s bending her over and enters her with little thought process. There’s no time to be slow, he’s fast, like he’s trying to break her in two. He’s taking out his anger and frustrations on her as well as the need for sex. This would be ruined if her allowed Rosie to turn around, the moment would be over. He needs to have one last feeling of, ‘her’ and even if they aren’t exactly the same, he can tell his mind, she’s ‘her.’ 

He should’ve used a condom, he knew better than to bareback with a stripper but he genuinely doesn’t care. What ever-- if anything-- she gave him was nothing compared to the pain he was feeling now. He’s detached, a shell of his old self. He’s driving himself into her, focusing only himself, gripping her hips so hard he can’t tell if she’s screaming because of the pain or the pleasure. He keeps moving until it hurts, until he can barely fucking stand and he collapse, wrapping his hands around her waist pulling her onto him. She wastes little time before moving, putting herself in control now. It’s stinging now, his heart hurting as he glances at her back. He could make up their height difference, their skin tone difference even their eyes but there was no way to explain the lack of moles on her shoulder blade. He grunts and reaches back to the bottle, taking another long swig and lets her move on him. Her hips bouncing and her moans fill the room but it’s doing nothing now. He’s practically gone. 

He doesn’t even feel euphoria when he spills his seed into her, it’s a passing moment. A clear moment of bliss and then it’s gone. She finishes shortly after, leaning onto him, gasping. She lets out a small giggle before standing up, his cum spilling out of her and she leans gently kissing his cheek before grabbing her ‘clothes.’ 

“Need anymore, baby?” She asks in a small voice. 

“No.” He says, pulling his pants up. She doesn't’ say anything else, she gives him a small smile and he can see just why her name is indeed, ‘Rosie.’ Her cheeks are lightly blushed. He smirks as she leaves the room. He takes another swig of the drink and stands up, following the path of Rosie down back towards the bar where he pays for his time with Rosie. The bartender gives him a wink and a small smile. “Come back any time.” Chris nods and walks out of the club, drunk and even more frustrated than before. 

Rosie didn’t work. None of the girls in the club worked. He was lost. He needed ‘her.’ But she was gone, moving on so she claimed and he was broken. He should’ve went home, left it as that and gone to bed but instead, he drives back to where the working girls are. He picks up a woman that small and beautiful they go to a hotel and he desperately tries to loose himself in her. 

It doesn’t work. 

In six months, he lost himself. 

In seven months, he was alcoholic, desperate to erase the pathetic need for a woman who was no longer his. 

#Chris pine #Chris pine fanfiction #chris pine imagine #chris pine fanfic #chris pine fic #chris whitelaw pine #Christopher Whitelaw Pine #christopher pine #star trek into darkness #Star Trek: Into Darkness #star trek: beyond #star trek #Captain James T. Kirk #captain james kirk #captain kirk #captain james tiberius kirk