#yes to the ​late nights and black leather jackets and the rooms filled with cigarette smoke and one snack of a detective losing his marbles

[onlyzhuyilong]

I love this review so much

#yes to the ​late nights and black leather jackets and the rooms filled with cigarette smoke and one snack of a detective losing his marbles #put some ldr on the gramophone pour the old man a glass of whiskey sit on his lap and be melancholy together #ma zhe is very pleasing on the eye ngl #zhu yilong #朱一龙 #朱一龍 #주일룡 #please stand by for the queue #Ma zhe #i hype up this movie so much and it isn’t even available outside of a festival sighs

[helterskelterhazel]

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰’𝒎 𝒔𝒐 𝑺𝒉𝒚

Summary: fetus!Alex and you hate each other, but not that much.

Warnings: sub!alex, dom!reader, oral(m receiving), p in v, crying?, grinding?

Word count: 4.7k

a/n: the fandom is so dead right now so I took matters into my own hands… enjoy!

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You and Alex had an interesting living situation. You met through a mutual friend, and the mutual need for cheaper rent. The both of you hated paying ridiculous prices for the smallest flats ever, especially without the help of parents' money. Unfortunately, you both also hated each other. The night you met was at a noisy, packed club, and after a long day of university, you both needed to let loose. Your mutual friend invited the both of you along with a few other friends. He hadn’t been seen by your friend all night, but you saw him. As you had unsqueezed yourself from the mass of bodies dancing to the music to go to the bar, you felt a person knock into you. You turned to the side to tell him off, but your voice was caught in your throat as you looked at the boy in front of you. He was a fairly small boy, with thick hair that stuck up in the back. He wore a polo, with the color popped up, and baggy jeans. But what really stood out was his eyes, big and round and confused looking. The confused look quickly went away as he studied you.

“You y/n?” He asked loudly, attempting to strain over the loud music. His voice was higher pitched than you’d expect.

“Yes, I am, and you must be Alex, you fit the description I was told about. You also just ran into me, if you didn’t notice,” you respond, annoyed at his casual tone.

He smirked slightly, “I noticed.” What a dick.

You and him proceeded to have a strained conversation. He was clearly gone, sloshing his cheap beer around in his hand, accidentally splashing you with it at one point. At least he got you a napkin. You disagreed on almost every level, your personalities clashed in a frustrating way. Eventually, you got to the topic of university. He was an English major, surprising, considering his slurred speech and odd wording. Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t afford university combined with rent. That was the one thing you could agree on. You're not sure how, but In your drunken haze, you ended the conversation disgruntled but with a plan to room together in a new apartment. You managed to follow through with minimal talking, and moved into an apartment in the next few weeks. The circumstances weren’t the greatest, but it was the easiest option for everyone.

He put posters of the strokes, oasis and the libertines up on his side of the bedroom, and had his records stored next to his record player. Your records sat opposite to his. The first days were filled with arguments about things like who can take a shower, what type of coffee to make, and who can control the tv. He called you pretentious, you called him annoying. You’d complain about his habits of staying out late, and how he didn’t even try to be quiet when getting ready for bed. The yelling turned into grumbling, and the grumbling turned into silence as the both of you fell into some sort of routine.

you wake up hours before he does, and take a shower first thing. Typically getting dressed in outfits that consist of tights, sweaters, flats and denim or leather jackets. You pour yourself a cup of black coffee, and head to your first class of the day. By the time you got back from your early morning class, he was usually awake in his bed, sipping on an iced coffee. Iced, vanilla, coffee. You made him keep it in the fridge. There was always the lingering smell of the cigarette he had enjoyed on the balcony. You ate whatever pastry you had purchased from the bakery close by campus while he took an obnoxiously long shower. You would leave as he finished for the rest of your classes, just missing him stepping out of the shower wet and disheveled. Luckily your days didn’t overlap until late at night as Alex liked to go out, and he also liked to play in his band. He would clamber into bed after stripping to his boxers, and you would resist the urge to turn over to his side of the room and look. Then you would wake up and do it all over again.

One Sunday night, as Alex walked in the door earlier than usual, the routine changed. It was 9, and you both were puttering around the small kitchen trying to prepare separate microwaveable meals. Seemingly out of nowhere, Alex cleared his throat and asked,

“Do you wanna watch a movie, together I mean.”

Not knowing what to say, you kept your back facing him and nodded. You couldn’t see it, but his cheeks heated up to a bright pink, and he smiled softly to himself while continuing to prepare his noodles. The two of you settled down onto your beds, and you tossed the remote over to Alex.

“You can pick,” you told him quietly.

“I actually have some dvds that I brought from home, Al Pacino movies and stuff if you're into that,” he replied softly. The cocky boy you thought you knew seemed gone.

“Yeah that sounds good.”

He nodded, and slid off his bed to grab a big leather case from under it. After popping it open, you saw there must have been at least 80 dvds.

“Big into movies?” You asked, genuinely curious. His plush lips parted into a small smile at the question.

“Yeah, big time.”

He selected one and popped it into the dvd player beneath the tv before settling back into his flannel sheets. The two of you sat eating your food and watching “Donnie Brasco” through the rest of the night. The movie was dotted with Alex’s little interjections about the actors or cinematic qualities. You slowly drifted off to sleep with your bowl at your side, on top of your sheets. When you woke up the next morning, you were tucked into your bed, and your dishes had disappeared.

From then on, it seemed like you two had an unstated agreement. On the nights the both of you are in the flat, you would share a film. There was more talking as well. He asked you about your day and you asked about his. Sometimes he’d even prepare your meal, and make you a drink. You found out that you both actually were quite similar. When you had rented a French dvd, Alex responded excitedly, watching intently through the whole thing. Turns out he liked them as much as you did. You also found out little things about him that didn’t really matter, but meant a great deal to you. For example, he ruffles his hair on purpose, (he wants to look like Julian Casablancas.) He also began to get more comfortable engaging in small touches with you, touching your hip as he passed by you, light pats on the shoulder when you told him about a paper you did well on, and once tucking your hair behind your ear before scurrying away nervously. You didn’t mind it.

At the beginning of one normal movie night, Alex proposed that you sit in his bed.

“Y’know I just figured, it-it would be easier to see for you I didn’t mean anything by it,” he stuttered, blushing furiously. You laughed softly at his nervous behavior and moved over to his bed, settling onto the soft comforter. He tensed up as your shoulder touched his, but relaxed quickly after. He turned his head to you and said,

“If you want to get under the covers, I don’t mind, it’s pretty cold anyways,” he trailed off, eyes casting downwards, making the shadow of his lashes more prominent. You nodded in response, slipping your legs under the sheets.

As the movie progressed, you noticed his eyes starting to flutter closed, and his small frame slumped against yours. Slowly, you leaned back further, easing him to lay with his head in the crook of your neck. He didn’t say anything, allowing it to happen. You could tell he was still awake from his hitching breaths and pounding heart beat against you. Testing the waters, you took your hand up to rake through his soft hair. You got in response a shiver from him and a small hum, but no protests. You played with the hair at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly. You could feel him smile against you. This Alex was not the Alex from the bar the night you met. This Alex was soft and vulnerable, and absolutely sweet. You allowed yourself to drift to sleep, him in your arms.

The night after was filled with nerves creeping up on you. You spend the whole day thinking about Alex wrapping himself tightly around you, not able to focus on any work at all. You know Alex wasn’t going to be home early that night, he had a late shift at the bar to cover. You wished he was here with you, watching films, listening to records, or just simply talking, but you know it was best to have a bit of space. The two of you hadn’t exchanged any talk in the morning, both far too timid to share any feelings. So there you sat In the darkness of your shared room, unable to fall asleep or think of anything other than Alex. Your thoughts of Alex were interrupted not a moment later by the sounds of the boy himself. You keep your body turned over so he can’t see your face, just listening to his breathing and sounds of him putting down his keys.

When you hear him settle onto his bed, the last this you expected to hear was him softly crying. It was quiet, but the sound was unmistakable. Without thinking, you sat up and turned around, in which Alex responded by lifting his head quickly. His hair was hanging over his eyes, which are red and puffy. His doe eyes are soft, and his lashes are slick with tears. Responding on instinct, you immediately jumped off your bed and hurried over to his, wrapping one arm around him. He responds by leaning into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You pet his hair lightly while he sniffles, trying to distract him from whatever was happening. Eventually he lifts his head up and averts his eyes away from yours. He takes a deep breath and then suddenly all of his words come pouring out at once.

“I’m so sorry for being weird all day y/n, I was worried I made you uncomfortable last night because I really like you and I don’t want to mess up us being friends, because you're like, one of the best people I’ve ever met. And I’m sorry for crying all over you and you can leave I understa-”

You shut up his rambling by leaning into his bitten lips. He made a noise of shock into your mouth, before he began to kiss back enthusiastically. He was one of the most eager kissers you’d ever encountered. His kisses were filled with an urgency you hadn’t felt before. He tasted like cigarettes and cheap beer. Unable to resist yourself, you reach a hand up and rake it through his hair, before tugging softly. In response he whines into the kiss, before pulling back and looking at you in shock. His lips are red and swollen, and his cheeks are flushed pink.

“I didn’t think you liked me like that,” he says quietly. You didn’t respond, just continuing to look at his perfect face.

“I guess I just overthink things too much,” he replies to himself. This you respond to.

“I can make your mind go quiet, if that’s what you want.”

Even you were shocked by your boldness. He couldn’t form words, just nodding furiously, shaking his hair around. You lean back from him, sitting against your pillows and opening your legs. He looks confused at what you were doing. You pat the spot between your legs and say,

“sit.”

His eyes got impossibly wider as they flicked between the space between your legs and your face. “You mean like how girls normally do?” He asks, looking insecure.

“I guess so, but really it’s just so I can take proper care of you,” you respond, smirking at his innocent expression. “We don’t have to do it like that if you don’t want to.” You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“No,” he responds quickly, voice straining a bit. “I want to.”

“Then come here.”

He lifts himself up off the ledge of his bed and settles his back against your chest. You instantly wrap your arms up to cradle his little waist. His body shivers a bit against yours. You push your hands under his shirt and feel his soft skin, while beginning to lean down to kiss his neck. His body is shaking a bit, so you pull back slightly and say softly in his ear,

“Are you okay? You're shaking honey.” He blushes deeply at the nickname, before shaking his head and responding, “Yeah, I’m-I’m just not used to this.”

You nod in response before continuing. As you begin to kiss down his neck, you decide to take a risk.

“Can I leave marks?” He whimpers lightly before hurriedly nodding.

You lick over his pulse point before sucking a small love bite into his pale skin. He tilts his head back further, exposing more of his neck to you. Between bites and kisses you whisper in his ear.

“No ones ever properly taken care of you, sweetie.” He looks embarrassed at the words, letting out little whimpers and deep breaths as well. You continue to run your hands over his stomach under his shirt. Your hands drop lower, caressing his defined hip bones. At this, he lets out a quiet whine and squirms a bit.

“Need more.” he says while looking up at you with wide, pleading eyes. His fists are curled at his side, and his chest is heaving with need.

“if it’s what you need sweetie.”

You take the edge of his shirt and pull it over his head, ruffling his hair even more in the process. You trail your hands down to his jeans, feeling the edge of them before asking, “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please.” he breathes desperately. You unzip them and let him do the rest, unable to reach from your position. Now here you were, with Alex Turner between your legs in nothing but his boxers, looking delicate as ever. Deciding to be bold, you take your hand and palm over his crotch. The fabric feels wet with precum, and you can almost feel him pulse under your touch. His response is immediate, bucking up into your touch and desperately pawing at your other hand that was resting on his tummy. You trace one finger around his cock, feeling the surprisingly long length of it. He silently hopes you can’t feel his heart beating out of his chest, but of course you can. You decided to surprise him by reaching your hand down to wrap around the base of his cock. The sound he made was something out of a porno. A broken, high pitched moan that seemed like it resembled an “oh god.” The sound went straight to your core and you felt wetness start to pool in your panties. You begin to move your hand along his raging erection, eventually getting to the tip, just lightly swiping your fingers over it to tease. You would think he’d never even jacked off before from his reaction. All he could do is squirm and push himself into your touch desperately.

You remove your grip on him to just lightly take your finger and run it up and down his cock, moving the precum leaking out of him along it. As you teased him, you couldn’t help but lean down to suck a hickey into his collarbone. The need to see him as disheveled and marked up was unbearable. You couldn’t help but trail your other hand further up his stomach to his chest to his nipples, lightly ghosting over one to see if it was okay.

“Please, please I want it.” The boy who was nervous about being submissive was definitely gone.

You take his nipple between your fingers, rolling it before pinching lightly. He looks overwhelmed at the action between his legs and chest. You switch between the two of his nipples, almost overstimulating him. His chest and cheeks are flushed, and you're honestly interested in seeing if anything else is.

You take your hand off his cock, leaving him whining in disagreement.

“Why’d you stop?” He chokes out, pouting like a kid who dropped his ice cream.

“Because I wanna taste you.” you smirk in his ear.

You can hear his voice catch in his throat, and before he knows it you're releasing your hold on him and crawling between his legs. From this angle, he looks downright sinful. His puppy eyes are trained on you, watery from being on edge. His lips are bitten and his hair is messy and covering his face making him look somehow innocent despite the current situation. Trailing your hands up his legs, which were just as delicate and pale as the rest of him, you settle on where his v-line meets his boxers.

“Can I suck you off.” You ask bluntly, trying to get that pretty blush to rise up to his cheeks. It works.

“Yes-yes please do whatever please.” He begs hands fisting the sheets by his side, frustrated by the lack of stimulation on his painfully hard cock.

You take this as an opportunity to pull down his boxers to reveal his dick. You almost gasp at the sight of it, big, flushed a deep red almost purple, leaking a steady stream of precum against his tummy, with a vein going up the side. He looks embarrassed at the sight of you between his legs, staring at his cock.

“Can you please touch me, please?” He whimpers quietly, averting his eyes from yours.

“I don’t know, do you think you deserve it?” You tease, rubbing the milky skin of his bare thighs.

“Yes! Yes I do please, I need you so bad.” He whines in desperation, the pressure getting far too much for him to take.

“I guess you have been good for me. Is that what you wanna be? My good boy?” You didn’t think he would react as strongly as he did, it was really just to tease him even further, but he replies by gasping softly and saying “I’m your good boy I promise, just touch me, ple-”

You interrupt his pleas by taking the head of his cock into your mouth. In response he lets out a high pitch whine. The neighbors probably hate us right now. you take the entirety of what you can in your mouth, trying not to gag as the tip hits the back of your throat. He shudders and starts to let out a continuous stream of “fucks” and “yes’s” and whimpers. you take whatever you can't fit in your mouth and pump the base of him. You hollow out your cheeks to make the sensation even better for him. In response he bucks up his hips uncontrollably and takes one hand and tangles it in your hair. He doesn’t try to pull or control your movements, it’s just an attempt to keep his body under control. It’s clear it isn’t really working, as his back arches off the bed like a cat, and he has to raise the hand that’s not in your hair to his mouth to attempt to quiet his noises. You reach your hand up and swat him away from his mouth. “I wanna hear your pretty noises honey.”

“Oh-okay.” He whispers shyly in response, giving you a little smile.

the smile quickly drops as you attach your mouth back to the swollen head of his cock, licking into the slit at the top. His unrestrained mewls are the prettiest sounds you’ve heard. You continue to massage his thighs, occasionally reaching a hand up to ghost over one of his nipples, leaving him an overwhelmed mess. His trembling legs and increasingly louder whines are a clear sign of him getting closer. He was desperately trying not to cum so quickly, but he couldn’t stop his shaky thrusts of his hips.

“oh god, you feel so-so good.” He whines desperately, sounding on the verge of pleasure induced tears. You look up to admire his sweet face, and you're met with a surprise. He doesn’t just sound like he’s crying, he is crying. Lip quivering slightly, and his eyes are rolling back to his head, as tears run down his cheeks. The sight of him so ruined has your cunt clenching around nothing, suddenly unbearably empty.

“I’m not gonna last, please plea-.” You cut off his begging by promptly pulling him out of your mouth and removing any stimulation he was getting. The cry he lets out sounds almost pained, even more tears stream from his eyes.

“Why’d you stop, I was almost there.” He pouts at you, disheveled hair paired with red cheeks and teary eyes making him look angelic.

“Because I want you inside me,” You reply, leaning your face against his thigh, “do you want that?” You finish.

“Yeah, yes I want it. I want it so bad please.” He gasps out desperate to get some form of stimulation back in his aching cock.

As you slip off the shorts and panties you were wearing to bed, you can practically feel Alex’s eyes staring at your puffy folds. He gulps as you climb over his lap, hovering over his dick. You lower yourself to grind your pussy against his cock, feeling it slip between your wet folds, nudging just right at your clit. As you begin to move up and down along his dick, his hands grasp desperately at your waist, mewling at the feeling of your plush folds sliding along his dick.

“I swear you're gonna kill me.” He chokes out, eyes focused on your soaked pussy spreading your wetness around his cock.

“Do you like this baby, you like feeling me.” You say, leaning down to his ear, before attaching your mouth to the spot under his jaw.

“Love it, love it so much, I need more.” He moans, hands trailing from your waist to squeeze the flesh of your ass.

“More? Don’t you think that���s a little greedy?” You tease, licking and biting along his collar bone. He whimpers and shakes his head, burying it in your shoulder, shuddering softly. His fingers are toying with the edge of your shirt, too nervous to ask to take it off. Luckily you get the hint.

You pull the shirt over your head, allowing him a moment to look at your bra, before promptly pulling that off as well. His big, brown eyes dilate at the sight of your tits.

“Can I touch them, please?” He says, looking up at you hopefully. You nod into his neck. He immediately reaches his hands up and gropes at your tits, squeezing them in his delicate hands. You continue to grind against him to make him more desperate as he suddenly leans forward and captures one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking desperately. You gasp softly and begin petting his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

“You like having your mouth full sweetie?” You ask, a rhetorical question of course. All he can do is let out a muffled whine. His tongue swipes along the bud, nipping gently in an attempt to get you as desperate as he is. Suddenly he releases you from his mouth and stops the movement of your hips against him with his hands.

“I can’t anymore, I need to be inside you. I’ll be good for you, I promise I swear love!” He whines finally, breaking under the teasing.

“Okay honey, you’ve been a good boy.” You reply while lifting up to your knees and grabbing hold of his cock. He’s been hard for so long he swears he’s going to bust any second now. You line up the fat head of his cock to your leaking cunt, before slowly pushing him inside. You groan low in your throat as you feel his thick cock stretch you out just right, the tip brushing your g-spot. You almost don’t notice the way he throws his head back in euphoria, sounds caught in his throat from the way your plush walls squeeze him perfectly, and the way he can feel your cunt gush around him. You grab hold of his face, admiring his lust blown eyes for a moment, before leaning in to connect your mouth with his. It’s rough and messy as his tongue slides along yours, his mouth sweet and soft. You begin to slowly move your hips, the first few movements have him shaking again. You let him sink into the bed, so overwhelmed that he was pawing at anything he could get his hands on. Your tits, your ass, your waist, anything to keep him grounded.

But he just couldn’t. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way your tits bounced with every thrust. He couldn’t stop hearing the wet noises coming from your pussy every time you bottomed out of his dick. He couldn’t stop looking at how your pussy enveloped him, leaving his dick wet and glistening.

“God you're so good!” He cried out, tears trailing down his face again.

you were right there with him, trailing a hand down to your clit to circle the puffy bud, but he was there before you were, desperate not to embarrass himself by coming too early. It only took a few swipes of his calluses fingertips on your clit to have you coming around his length. You gripped your hands on his slender shoulders as your orgasm shook through your body, unknowingly breaking him enough to have his own orgasm suddenly coaxed out. You feel his hot release hit your walls, and watch his hips jerk uncontrollably as the tears shed more than ever before. His fingers don’t let up until you collapse on top of him, sweaty bodies melded together.

It takes a moment for you to realize his crying and shaking hasn’t stopped. You lift off of him, still straddling him, his cum starting to leak out of you.

“Are you ok al?” You ask.

He doesn’t respond, a fuzzed over look on his face, trying his hardest to give you a little nod. You grab his fragile body in your arms and slowly lift him out of bed, walking him to the bathroom slowly. You take a damp cloth and wipe him down softly as possible. You wipe yourself down as well, still cradling him in your arms. Grabbing his hand, you lead him over to your bed, wanting to lay him in clean sheets. You help him into the bed and slide in beside him. He buries his head in your chest, still shaking but not crying anymore. You pet his hair, hoping to calm him down. After a few moments he slowly lifts his head up, making eye contact shyly.

“I’m sorry for all that.” He says softly. “I sometimes get a little unresponsive when I get a little too into it.” He looks nervous, anticipating your reaction.

“That’s okay Al, it’s kinda sweet.” You reply, watching his cheeks flush lightly. You lean down and kiss him lightly on the cheek.

“I had a really good time.” You say, smiling at him.

“Me too.” He gave a long pause before asking, “do you maybe wanna go out sometime.”

You almost giggle at his shy demeanor. Still so nervous.

“Of course I do honey.”

The both of you lay In comfortable silence for a while, arms wrapped around each other. You noticed his eyes fluttering in an attempt to stay awake.

“Go to sleep Alex, I’ve got you.” You whisper, stroking the side of his face. He hums in agreement nuzzling into your neck further. You stroke his hair and face until you feel his breathing stabilize. The both of you fall asleep entangled together, your lips pressed against the crown of his head

#alex turner smut #sub alex turner #Alex turner fanfic

[omgrachwrites]

Running Into You - Joaquin Torres

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary: After Torres helps you find your way to your college class, you always seem to run into him.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, Torres being adorable, swearing

Words: 1606

A/N: Joaquin Torres has my whole heart okay?? I really hope this isn’t too ooc! Hope you guys enjoy this one and please let me know what you think, I love you all! xxx

Panic filled your body like poison as you checked the campus map again – the map that made no fucking sense – and then you glanced at your watch. You weren’t late yet but if you kept this up for much longer then you would be late, you had had to transfer to a different college in the middle of the semester, and you hated being the new girl. Blinking back frustrated tears, you looked down the long winding hallways; you just wanted to give up. It was then that your saviour turned up.

“Are you okay, Miss? Are you lost?” at the sound of the warm, kind voice you whirled around.

You were met with the warmest chocolate brown eyes that you had ever seen. Tearing your eyes away from his, you looked at him properly and blushed when he gave you a lopsided grin that made his eyes crinkle. He was very handsome but not in an intimidating way, his smile was very inviting.

“Yes, is it that obvious?” you laughed, “are you a student here?” you asked but supposed that it was a stupid question since he was dressed in army gear.

“Me? No, I’m not,” he smiled, running a hand through his dark hair, “I was just making sure that my little sister actually went to her class. What lesson have you got?” he nodded at the schedule and map in your hand.

“Oh,” you mumbled, feeling flustered at the presence of the handsome stranger with the puppy dog eyes who was willing to help, “History.”

The man’s face lit up at once, “seriously? I just came from the History lecture hall! Can I walk you? I wouldn’t want you to get lost again,” he laughed as he held out his hand, “I’m Joaquin Torres, but most people call me Torres.”

You smiled as you placed your hand in his warm one and shook it, “Y/N Y/L/N, but most people call me, Y/N,” you giggled, “and I’ll be glad of your help, thank you.”

Torres laughed, his nose scrunching up in the process, “you’re welcome, Y/N. Let’s go.”

As you walked down the hallway, glad to have an ally, you glanced at Torres’ handsome profile, “so you said you just walked your sister to her class? I don’t know many brothers who would do that.”

Torres rolled his eyes as he scoffed, “found out that she was skipping her classes. Someone has to be the responsible sibling.”

You laughed, thinking that it was awfully nice of him, “what’s her name?”

“Ava, she’s a pain in my ass but I love her.”

The name Ava Torres sounded familiar, where had you heard that name before? Then it hit you, “oh! She’s my roommate but I haven’t met her yet, I was meant to be here yesterday morning but my flight was delayed and I didn’t get here till late last night. I didn’t want to disturb her so I crashed in a motel for the night.”

Torres clicked his tongue and gave you a sweet smile, “you didn’t have to do that, how come you transferred in the middle of the semester?”

Before you could stop it, the smile slid from your face, you could hardly tell a stranger that your mom was in her final months of life. You were the only family that she had left so you had moved to be close to her.

Before you could utter a word, Torres immediately starting babbling through an apology, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have asked, I’m so goddamn nosy,” he almost winced.

You had to suppress a giggle, he was so adorable when he was nervous, “it’s okay,” you assured him as he glanced over at you, biting his lip, “it’s just easier for me to be in this city,” he nodded as he gave you an apologetic smile.

A gorgeous young woman who was about to walk into the lecture hall rolled her eyes as soon as she saw Torres, “I’m going to class, okay?”

Torres held up his hands in defence as he gestured over to you, “this is Y/N Y/L/N,” before he could introduce you further, the woman gasped and pulled you into a warm hug.

You giggled as you hugged her back, “I’m Ava, your roommate, it’s so nice to meet you!”

You grinned at Ava as she pulled away, “it’s nice to meet you too.”

Ava smiled at you before she looked over your shoulder to glare at her brother, “goodbye, Joaquin.”

You glanced at Torres as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave you a shy smile, “it was really great to meet you, Y/N.”

You flushed, your insides turning to jelly as you felt the warmth from his smile, “it was good to meet you too, Torres. Thank you for helping me find my way.”

“No problem,” he smiled as he began to walk away, glancing back over his shoulder to shoot you one last grin. You took one last lingering look at him before walking into the lecture hall with Ava.

Over the next few weeks, you became closer with Ava, it was natural because you roomed together and had class together. Ava was a really cool girl with a heart of gold – though she hardly ever showed it – she was a lot like her brother in that respect. She was tired of how protective Torres was of her but you thought it was really sweet and endearing. You hadn’t seen much of Torres since you had first encountered him in the hallway and you were fine with that but you were lying if you said that you weren’t feeling a little deflated.

One night, you were studying for your upcoming History exam when there came a knock on the door of your dorm. Ava grumbled, “that better not be my useless ex-boyfriend,” she pulled open the door and sighed, “what the hell are you doing here?”

There came a mutter of a reply, “left your jacket at my place,” you frowned and looked at Ava but you couldn’t see who was at the door.

Ava scoffed as she took her leather jacket, “I didn’t desperately need it, and I have tons of jackets. Why are you really here?”

The visitor ignored her as they popped their head round the doorway and you instantly felt butterflies swarm in your stomach, “hey, Y/N.”

“Hi, Torres,” you giggled, lifting your hand in a wave.

“How are you?” he began to ask.

Ava rolled her eyes, “seriously? Get out of here,” she pushed at her brother’s chest and slammed the door behind him.

A couple of weeks later, you were hanging out at the bar that Ava worked in when a honey like voice  filled your ears and made your blood fizz with excitement, “fancy seeing you here, Y/N.”

You smiled, inhaling a deep breath as you told yourself to play it cool, “Torres,” you turned to look at his handsome grinning face and you raised an eyebrow, “are you following me?” you teased.

Torres’ eyes widened as he held up his hands in defence, “oh God, no I swear! I’m just here with my friends,” he gestured over to the table of people who were sitting right by the dartboard before he hesitated, “you’re messing with me aren’t you?” he rolled his eyes playfully when you giggled with a nod, “can I get you a drink?”

“Sure, thank you,” you grinned, your heart skipping a beat when he gave you that famous lopsided grin and you spent the better part of the night getting to know him a little bit more.

The following week, you were watching shit TV, bored out of your mind when you heard a knock on the door. Glad for something to do, you jumped up and walked over to the door, pulling it open to see Joaquin Torres standing on the other side.

“Hi Torres, are you looking for Ava? She isn’t here right now.”

Torres shook his head, his eyes blazing with determination but you could see that he was nervous, “it was you that I came to talk to,” he sighed, resting his hands on the doorframe, “I should have said something before now. God, I should have said something, but I like you, a lot,” he laughed nervously, his eyes soft and warm as he grinned at you.

“Joaquin,” you gasped, placing your hands on his firm chest and you realised that that was the first time you had called him by his first name.  Your heart fluttered as your legs turned to jelly and you began to feel light headed at his intoxicating smile. It didn’t help that he smelled fucking amazing, like cinnamon with just a hint of cigarette smoke. You were glad that he felt the same, “I like you too.”

The smile that Torres shot you was breath taking and he rested a warm hand on your cheek. His gaze flickered down to your lips like he was waiting for your permission. When you nodded his warm lips covered yours, kissing you gently. You wound your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as you deepened the kiss, pulling at his bottom lip with your teeth. He grunted against your lips and allowed you access, shivering as your tongue brushed against his and you tasted the spearmint gum that he’d been chewing.

When Torres pulled away, his lips were swollen and his eyes were slightly dazed, “can I take you to dinner sometime?”

“I’d love that,” you grinned as you pulled him in for another kiss.

--------------------------------

@smiithys​ @amelie-black​ @elayneblack​

#joaquin torres #torres #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres one shot #joaquin torres oneshot #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x reader insert #joaquin torres x you #you x joaquin torres #torres x reader #torres x reader insert #torres x you #you x torres #The falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #au

[venushasvixens]

Ch. 9 Home? - Life is but a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

[A/N] I promise I’m going to get to requests. Enjoy the chapter!

WARNING: implied child abuse? (Nothing happens but it can still be uncomfy)

The soft creak of the second story window was the only sound in your shared bedroom. Having been sent upstairs and denied a meal for the millionth time this week, you were desperate for anything to eat. It wasn’t like the orphanage was barely surviving, but honestly you think the caretaker had something out for you. Always picking on you, calling you names, and finding any excuse to punish you. All around known as the caretaker’s personal punching bag.

“Now I can see why you were dropped off here.” She would say, before taking the plate of food from in front of you and dumping it into the trash.

With your lips sealed shut, you trudged up the stairs, sad little eyes tearing up. Any back talk would result in something far worse. The wilts on your back still stung days after your punishment, an example and demonstration of the cruelness of life.

Like a rabid animal, you were willing to receive any kind of punishment just to quiet the pain in your stomach. Grateful for the bushes located underneath your second story window, you swung your legs over the ledge, preparing to jump. With a small humph, you landed softly on your feet. Leaves and small branches pricked at your thighs as you wobbled out of the bushes. You gripped the small pouch of coins in your pocket, running your fingers over the opening of the bag.

A childish dream that a few coins were your ticket to everywhere and anywhere. The city you lived in was labeled as UN-1889, which was far into its development to retain its old name. Unofficially called “Yun” by the locals, it also held the record of absolutely nothing exciting or entertaining. Crime was moderate, chain restaurants and shopping centers were the place of excitement and that was it. Vowing to leave and never come back, you made sure to keep that promise by collecting and stashing away any money you could get your hands on. In the end, the most you had in your possession was enough to buy half a ticket, and you were ready to blow it all off in a matter of minutes on something that will only last seconds.

You spotted the bright, blue neon lights of the only local diner in the area. Parents looking to adopt will do nothing but rave about this place. Hearing just how good the food sounded compared to the gruel you were forced to eat every day, it made your mouth water and your stomach do flips. Jogging up to the entrance, you quickly opened the door to the diner. Air condition hit your dirty, sweaty face, cooling you down instantly. Much to your surprise, there was not one patron in the diner. Leaning against the counter was a middle aged woman with her hair pulled back tightly in a bun. She stared at the TV in the corner, sighing deeply. As the door closed, your presence was made known.

One look was all it took for her to know everything about you.

“Oh great, another one.” She mumbled from where she stood. “What do you want?”

“Food. I’m hungry.” You replied annoyingly.

“Have any money?” She asked, standing up straight.

You dug into your pocket, grabbed the bag of coins and held it out to the waitress. Snatching it out of your hand, she emptied the contents onto the counter. Shifting through the coins lazily, she huffed.

“Kid, this isn’t even enough for a plate.” She poured the coins back into the bag, tossing it back at you. “Door’s over there.”

Too tired and weak to fight, you slumped your way out, disappointed and embarrassed.

“Hey wait!” You heard someone shouting. You turned around, seeing another woman popping out from the kitchen. Her soft, platinum blond curls bounced as she walked out to stop you from leaving. Ringlets of silver hung from her ears and wrists, clanking softly as she motioned you to come closer. “Are you from the orphanage down the street?”

You nodded vigorously.

“I know how she treats those babies over there. You come on over and get yourself something to eat.” She said, tapping on the counter.

“I don’t have enough for-“ you started. She waved her hand, her signal for no ands, if, or buts. As you pranced over, you heard the waitress groan.

“Lou, you can’t be serious.” She muttered.

Lou held her hand up. “I don’t like seeing children go hungry. It’s not right.”

“Pick whatever you like.” She smiled, handing over a menu to you. Everything looked so delicious and tempting. You only see people like this on TV. It seems so fake, portraying kindness in a sickening, sweet way. It was enough to hurt your teeth.

You watched in adoration as Lou passed you a basket of warm rolls, butter shimmering off the golden buns. Forget manners. You gobbled down the bread in minutes, hiccuping softly. You weren’t focused on trying to quiet your hiccups down, just to fill your empty stomach.

“My goodness, slow down.” Lou chuckled, placing a cup of water next to you. “What’s your name, baby?”

“It’s (Y/N).” You replied, mouth still full of bread.

“(Y/N). Now is that your actual name or was it given to you by that devil woman?”

“It’s my actual name. They tried to change it, but decided to keep it.” You said, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Lou handed you a few napkins. “I swear that lady does not like anything or anyone. An all around horrible person.”

You nodded sadly, trying to dissipate the knowledge that you were probably going to receive the harshest punishment you have ever had in your short life when you came back “home”. As your stomach was dropping at the thought of your imminent demise, Lou slid your plate of food in front of you. Eating a basket of rolls wasn’t enough at all. This food looked better than anything you consumed at the orphanage.

While Lou and the waitress babbled and bickered, the static and switch of the TV in the corner was the only noise in the room. Eventually the waitress decided to settle on the local news. Expansion of some parts of the city, a deadly crash near the asteroid belt, and so on and so on. Suddenly, the screen flashed with the words BREAKING NEWS splayed on the screen.

The news reporter quickly tapped through her data pad, smiled and addressed the viewers.

“Good evening, we bring to you some breaking news. The criminal Kedo, who was wanted on both planets Earth and Ganymede for the murders of multiple people, has been caught right here in UN-1889.”

The reporter then drone on about his crimes, and how he left his trail. You chewed slowly, hanging onto every word. Crime was at a middle to low level, but you have never seen something as large as this.

“It has been reported by BIG SHOT, a new TV program broadcasted specially for bounty hunters in the solar system, that Kedo’s bounty had jumped from 500,000 woolong to over a million woolong.” Your eyes widened. To a small child, one million woolong was a whole lot more than what it actually was. You were probably never going to see that sort of money in your lifetime. All the possibilities of having that much money ran through your head. The first was getting the hell out of this city.

“We are informed that the courageous bounty hunter, or huntress, known as Lady Jo, caught Kedo red-handed in hiding right here in UN-1889.” The reporter stated.

The screen switched to live coverage at the police station, cameras flashing and reporters clamoring to get a closer look at the infamous criminal who was now being led into the building in handcuffs. His hair disheveled, eyes scanning his surroundings like crazy, fitting a perfect description of a crazed murderer. The cameras shifted their attention to Jo, standing proudly with her hand resting on her holster.

Intrigue and fascination filled you. You couldn’t help but watch in awe of her. Her auburn hair was curly and volumized, laying softly on her shoulders, eyes a striking green that shone like emeralds in the harsh lights of the TV crews. The waitress scoffed at her outfit, which consisted of a revealing button up white shirt, tucked into black leather pants, with a matching jacket. She was truly a sight to see.

“Can you believe that? She’s not a cowgirl, she’s a goddamn model.” She said.

Lou snorted. “You know, I used to have an outfit just like that.”

You smiled back, finishing your plate. Not wanting to take your eyes off the TV, the silverware clattered loudly onto the plate.

“I’ll tell you what, there is absolutely no honor in being a bounty hunter. They’re rude, selfish, and I hate every last one of them. Especially Lady what’s-her-name right here.” The waitress nagged, taking your empty plate.

“They can do a way better job than actual law enforcement.” Lou retorted.

You didn’t pay attention to their conversation. If there wasn’t any honor I’m your choice, so be it. Your new bottom line was set into place. One million woolong was going to be a possibility for you, one way or another.

-

Jet sat at the navigation console on the bridge, pressing buttons at a lightning fast speed. On his right side was the computer TV, playing some late night television as background noise. Faye stood near the windows, smoking a cigarette and looking out into the nighttime sky. There was something that must have been discussed.

As she opened her mouth to speak, Jet sighed and got up. “I went ahead and placed our coordinates for our next bounty back on Mars. Should only be a week.”

“Dinner was a little off, don’t you think?” Faye said, ignoring Jet.

Jet’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying something about my cooking?”

“What? No. I meant with-“

“With Spike and (Y/N)? Then yes, there is something off with them. I’ve noticed it since we got back home the other day.” Jet said.

“So much more talkative, that’s for damn sure. Couldn’t keep up with it.” Faye replied as she descended the steps to the navigation console.

“The big baby wasn’t all too happy about her staying with us. So I wonder why he’s acting all buddy buddy with her.”

Faye chuckled, a sly upturn of the mouth growing on her face. “Hmm, sounds like someone is jealous.”

Looking up from the console, Jet scoffed. “I’m more than happy that I’m not playing therapist anymore. Everyday it was, “did you see the way she did this” or “did you see the way how she did that”. At that point, I should’ve started charging Spike.”

Faye had given some deep thought since dinner. The outline was in plain sight. A touch on the back. A squeeze on the shoulder. A tap on the thigh. It thrilled Faye to be the only one to know of the growing tension between Spike and (Y/N), to be the one to hold a secret without being told of it. But in the midst of the excitement, there was another feeling circling, weaving it way into her head. Jealousy.

It hurts to see couples walking by, hand in hand, romantically flaunting each other openly. Bothering Faye for a second, she knew she didn’t have to go home with them. But now that it was only a few feet from her, it was going to be a problem.

If the game doesn’t go as planned, someone has to interfere to ensure a win. And Faye did not like losing.

The computer TV turned to static as Jet flipped through the channels, trying to find the right program to end the night on. Settling on tonight’s showing of Big Shot, he leaned against the console, pondering about dinner. A conversation consisting of 100 words and more between Spike and (Y/N) was non-existent for the time that she had been staying on the Bebop. One afternoon alone, and suddenly they’re two peas in a pod.

We’ll just see how it goes, Jet thought.

A big red WARNING sign displayed on the screen, waking Jet and Faye right up.

“Folks, it seems we have an important message to relay to all bounty hunters in the solar system from the ISSP.”Punch said, his playful, exaggerated facade never faltering.

“Go ahead, we are all dying to know!” Judy replied, apparently cheerful about a serious topic at hand.

“Bounty hunters, look out! A mysterious criminal is on the loose, and his target is not the innocent civilians of the solar systems, but our esteemed, hard working hunters.”

“What makes him so bad, anyway?” Judy questioned.

“I’m glad you asked! Some of our amigos already know what we are talking about. There have been multiple reported incidents of hunting vessels being set ablaze with the intent of murder all across the system. The ISSP believes that this individual is ONLY targeting bounty hunters, and no one else.”

“Mysterious you say? Well goodness, looks like there’s no bounty for them yet!”

“Right you are. Until we get a face and a name, no dinero can be placed for the bounty. So be aware, and be safe out there, buckeroos!” Punch finished, smiling alongside Judy. Knowing they were playing a character, it was off putting by the serious news given.

Jet and Faye looked at each other in silence, eyes wide and full of questions.

Happy hunting, amigos.

#fanfiction #faye valentine #90s anime #cowboy bebop #jet black #spike spiegel x reader #spike spiegel headcanons #spike spiegel #see you space cowboy #radio free mars #you’re going to carry that weight

[voiceless-terror]

would you consider writing me some precanon jongeorgie angst. bc i imagine they probably bonded over their interest in the supernatural but never. you know. actually talked about their personal experiences/trauma. just give me a little of both of them handling that trauma very badly while never admitting their closest brush with the supernatural. or something. idk.

Hello anon! I haven’t written Jon/Georgie yet, but this prompt was too good to pass up. Hope you like!

Being with Georgie was easy. It shouldn’t have been, not for him.

But it was.

She carried herself with the utmost surety: of her opinions, of her feelings, of her place in the world. It wasn’t arrogance, more like confidence and something else Jon couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was a blankness in her eyes sometimes. Not an absence of feeling but an absence of...understanding, maybe. Of empathy. Georgie saw the world in black and white; she knew exactly what was right and what was wrong. She was blunt. She bulldozed over others in conversations, pointed out flaws that polite society knew to overlook and not name. Jon admired it, as much as it made him cringe.

But it was complemented by her fierce capacity for loving, her clever, teasing words, the way her fingers ran through his hair when he was stressed. That black and white view could quiet his mind like no other- ‘yes, Jon’, ‘no, Jon.’  She listened to his incessant rambling, nodding in the right places and adding her own commentary. She filled out the crosswords in the morning, her brow furrowed in concentration, colorful nails tapping at the table. She never wanted help, stubborn to a fault. Her dark skin ethereal in the morning light, the way her voice was low and croaky before her coffee. The ease with which she said ‘I love you.’ 

He remembered the day she first approached him, all ripped-tights and smudged, smoky eyeshadow. Just leaned against the wall on that chilly fall night and snatched the cigarette right from his hand, an eyebrow flicked upward as she took a drag. He couldn’t get a word out, just silently took her phone when she offered it and typed in a number with shaking hands. A year later and she was still that same girl, though he’d seen her stash of manga and her weird cat memorabilia. She was whole, real. It was comfortable.

“I’m not really sure if I should go.” They’re curled up on the couch, Jon leaning into the warm bulk of her. “All of the others are going, though.”

“It’s not like you’re close, right?” Jon’s petting the Admiral, the new addition to the household fitting in seamlessly. “I’m sure she won’t take it as an insult. You can always say you’re busy. Who was it, again? Her father?”

“Yeah.” Georgie’s shifting against him, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. It’s odd- she’s not usually so awkward about these things. If there’s something she doesn’t want to talk about, she shuts it down right away. This seems...different. “And no, not close. But everyone else is going- they want to show their support, I guess. It would be awkward if I didn’t.”

Perhaps Georgie didn’t like funerals. You’re not supposed to, of course. Maybe it was a phobia, a perfectly valid one. Plenty of people don’t like to see the reminder of death laid out before them. Jon’s been to a few in his lifetime- for his Gran’s friend, for a distant cousin.

For his parents.

He doesn’t remember his father’s, he might not have even gone. He was only two at the time. He distantly remembers his mother’s; it wasn’t well attended, he sat in the front row with his Gran. He doesn’t even remember crying, if he even realized the thing in the box was his mother, dead and gone.

Needless to say, he understands Georgie’s sentiments. “You don’t have to go, not if...not if you don’t like it. Plenty of people are uncomfortable with death-” This was the wrong thing to say, for Georgie tensed instantly, leaning away from him.

“That’s not it at all,” she says, snatching her legs out from where Jon’s leaning comfortable against them. “It’s- it’s the performance of it all. All those people standing around a body, sniffling and moaning-”

Jon tried for levity, bristling at her tone. “People grieve, they need closure-”

Georgie snorted, this time shoving him away on the couch, the Admiral jumping from Jon’s lap at the movement. Her words became impassioned, as if Jon needed to know, needed to understand. “Cremate them, then! Say a few words, scatter the ashes, whatever. But having the body on display like that?” She gets up, starts to pace. Jon’s never seen her like this. “Paint the corpse, dress it up, pretend it’s a person still but it’s not, and everyone’s just standing there around it, praying over it and watching it like it’s not just rotting meat you put lipstick on-”

“Georgie!”

“I can’t stand it.” She stops in front of him, chest heaving and eyes aflame. “What’s so monumental about it? We live, we die- and her father was old, it was bound to happen sometime. No need to make such a to-do. It’s- it’s just disgusting, is what it is.” She didn’t continue, and an awkward silence permeated the room. 

Georgie got worked up about things on occasion. But the wild look in her eye, the total sense of incomprehension was...disconcerting. He agreed with her on certain points, of course, but the vehemence behind them- something wasn’t right. But it didn’t feel right to pry, either, and Georgie surely wouldn’t appreciate it.

“You could just say you’re busy, you don’t have to go,” he tries tentatively. She seems to deflate where she stands, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. So he stands up, taking her hand in his. She lets him, but doesn’t meet his eyes. “But if you do, I can come with you. If you’d like.”

They stand in the very back row of the church after awkwardly greeting her grieving coworker. Georgie’s nails dig painfully into his arm, but he says nothing. They leave after ten minutes and stop at an Indian buffet on the way home. He silently watches her dig into a curry, his own untouched.

___________

When she first met Jon, she thought he was utterly out of her league.

It was her first semester back at school, she was an absolute fucking mess- drinking at all hours, barely present in her classes. She was out at the bar with a few new friends, most of whom she’d already forgotten the names of, and saw him standing there under a single flickering lamp, a cigarette dangling from long, slender fingers, raven hair back in a messy bun. Not many people could pull that off but he looked almost effortlessly cool (a thing she’d later find laughable for ever thinking) in his dingy leather jacket, his eyes far away and shadowed. She wondered what made him lose sleep. He had an odd, crooked little smile on his face and she was filled with liquid courage. The look he gave her when she took that cigarette out of his hand made her knees weak, and he took the proffered phone like he was only a little impressed. She sent a text to his phone and left, so embarrassed she went straight home.

He never did text her. To be fair, she never expected him to.

But she found him not two days later, hunched over a table in the campus library. She did a double take- surely this couldn’t be him, her impossibly handsome, silent figure who she surely dreamed up. But there was no mistaking that hair, those eyes. He was smaller, somehow diminished in his baggy jumper and wire-rimmed glasses, tapping a pencil against his textbook in irritation. Before she knew it she found herself picking up her phone, sending a text to the number with no name. And sure enough, his phone buzzed.

They went out on their first date a day later.

Jon was a ball of nerves, awkward and not at all like the man she thought she met that night. Somehow, the real Jon was better. She liked the way he blushed and stammered, the way a touch of her hand left him flustered and unable to speak. The way he could talk for hours about nothing at all, making even the most dull of subjects seem interesting with that voice of his- a voice surely meant for radio or T.V., something Jon himself endlessly scoffed at whenever she brought it up. They would sit in front of the telly for hours, marathoning ridiculous ghost hunting shows and pointing out the obvious fakes. Jon had a weakness for ghost stories, just like she did. “Most of them are absolute drivel, of course,” he said.

Most of them. 

They found comfort in each other, their small island of two, had no need for other company. Georgie had never been able to relate to someone so well, not since Alex, and Jon was never fond of crowds. Three months in he tried to break up with her, saying he could never give her what ‘she needed’ but she stopped that in its tracks- Georgie would be the one who decided what she did and didn’t need, thank you very much. She liked the way he leaned into her on movie nights, like her touch was the only thing that mattered. The sincerity in his eyes whenever he complimented her in that earnest, awkward way of his. He challenged her when he thought she was wrong, sometimes their fights lasted days. But they always came back to one another, each knowing they had no one else who understood them. Was it healthy? Georgie couldn’t answer that, she didn’t know herself. Jon probably didn’t either. But she loved him, in her way. 

That night they have a few glasses of wine, and Jon’s regaling her with some ridiculous story from his youth- apparently he was somewhat of a delinquent, wandering about at all hours. She laughs in delight, imagining a small, serious Jon climbing fences and evading the law. But suddenly Jon stops, his eyes going wide and his face growing ashen as he stares unblinking at the table.

It’s a spider- a tiny thing, really. Georgie’s been seeing a lot of them lately, and she really should be better about dusting the place. But Jon- Jon looks absolutely terrified, like the thing’s bound to leap out and kill him. She opens her mouth to tease, an instinctive reaction, but is instead startled by the loud smack of a hand against the table. Jon had smashed it certainly, but he lifts his hand and stares at it in wide-eyed horror, as if whatever he sees is nine times worse than the original thing.

“Jon-”

The chair hits the ground as he stumbles to her bathroom with heavy, labored breathing. She gets up slowly, approaching as quietly as possible to find him hyperventilating against the sink, the faucet on full blast as he washes his hand- scratches it, really. He’s mumbling frantically under his breath.

“...so many legs, get off, get off-”

She makes her presence known as not to startle him, approaching from the side and gently wrapping a hand around his arm once she sees him drawing blood. He starts anyway, his movements jerky and frenzied as he rips his arm away like her touch burns.

“It’s just a spider Jon,” she says softly, lifting her hands to show she means no harm. “It’s okay, you got it, it’s dead now-”

“But what if it isn’t!” He spits, slamming his hands on the marble rim of the sink and leaving bloody prints in his wake. He’s breathing so fast she thinks he might pass out. “What if it isn’t?”

She has no answer to that.

It takes about two hours, a hot shower and a stiff drink for him to calm down. They lay on the couch, watching something stupid, mind-numbing. She runs her fingers through his hair. He always liked that. She doesn’t say a word, he’s exhausted, and she knows from experience that pushing him will just lead to another fit like before. The next day, he brings her Hungarian by way of apology. They eat in a more comfortable silence, Jon gradually warming up as the evening goes on. Still, she doesn’t ask.

She spends the weekend cleaning her flat, standing on a chair and vacuuming at the cobwebs.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440474

#my writing #prompt fill #the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #georgie barker #jongeorgie #precanon #angst #bit of a relationship study idk what you'd call that #Anonymous

[onewithnomightypowers]

clandestine (chapter 2)

PAIRING: Tom Holland x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Y/N is an up and coming actress, married to a once hotshot actor, Harrison (Haz). What happens when her co-star, Tom, makes her realise that she is stuck in a loveless marriage. A marriage starts crumbling and a new romance stars brewing.

chapter 2: portrait of a dinner

A/N:  the characters in no way portray how these ppl are in real life. i do not encourage cheating. i hope you guys like this chapter!! i would love to know how you guys feel about the story. feedback is always appreciated.

warnings: drinking, smoking, cursing

word count: 1.6k

important: the whole chapter is a flashback, character thoughts are in bold italics

masterlist   series masterlist   chapter 1   chapter 3

“I rent a place on Cornelia street”, Tom said casually in the car. They were sitting in the backseat of a black town car, going for their shoot. Y/N had suggested that they travel together, in an attempt to get to know each other better. She said, “It would help with the on screen chemistry”, the whole production team agreed. But that did not become a norm for them, mostly because of their different call times.

Both of them had hectic filming schedules and only saw each other when they had scenes together. Sometimes they would bump into each other at the craft service, but otherwise, they were on their own.

During the last few weeks of filming, Tom had started getting her coffee. He had noticed how she took her coffee during the shooting. Black with one sugar.

“There you go”, Tom handed her the coffee. “Thanks Tom.” He gave her a smile. She was walking towards the door, and Tom started following her behind.

“I’m going to hair and makeup, do you wanna tag along?” she asked him.

“Sure, I have a 15 minute break anyway”

“Have you seen Hot Rod? I watched it last night” she didn’t know why she asked that silly question. She found it embarrassing.

“That Andy Samberg movie, right?” Tom nodded, “Yeah I watched it a long time ago, it’s a classic”

“I totally watched it for Bill Hader” She found herself easing up to him.

“Valid reason. Loved him on SNL. Do you know Stefon? from SNL?” She reached for the door handle, a gush of cold air was felt by both of them.

“Don’t even get me started on Stefon. I used to watch Stefon compilations on YouTube all the time. It became a problem” she chuckled, remembering how Haz used to get pissed off whenever she’d talk in a ‘Stefon’ tone.

Oh, I love it when she chuckles like that. I wish I could kiss her. NO. She is fucking married, Tom.

“Yes yes yes, New York’s hottest club is…” Tom tried to imitate Bill Hader as Stefon. He looked around a bit and pointed towards the paparazzi, who were trying to take pictures of anything worth money. “New York’s hottest club is paparazzi” he continued.

“If paparazzi is the hottest club, then I’m fine staying at home” Y/N was laughing so hard that she couldn’t breathe. She clutched Tom’s arm to avoid falling down while trying to contain her laughter. She hadn’t had a good laugh with Haz in a long time.

--

Tom found himself at Y/N’s doorsteps with cheap wine he bought from the convenience store last minute. Y/N had invited Tom and his partner for dinner during the last week of shooting.

“Oh, I’m not seeing anyone actually, but my lonely heart and I will be there”, Tom replied to Y/N’s invitation.

He rang the bell and waited for someone to open the door. Tom was met by Haz’ charming smile, as he opened the door. Tom could see right through his fake smile. Clueless to Y/N and Haz’ fight prior, he entered the two story building.

“Why did you invite him without asking me?” Haz screamed, slamming the plates on the table.

“I didn’t think you’d be home tonight, you never are” Y/N replied in the same tone as Haz

“So you were going to have dinner with him, alone?”

“Yes” she said in a crude way.

“Are you fucking him?” Just as Haz asked her, the doorbell rang.

It would be better fucking him than fucking you. At least he’ll be home.

Y/N entered the kitchen leaving Haz to open the door. “You must be Tom” said Haz, in his most likeable voice.

“Yeah and you must be Haz. I got this for you guys”, Tom handed him the wine bottle.

He’s a bloody hotshot and brought us cheap wine.

“Hey Tom, I’m so glad you could make it”, Y/N said, taking Tom in for a hug. She could feel Haz burning a hole behind her head with his gaze.

She pulled out of the hug, “do you want red or white wine?”

“Red”, Harrison and Tom said in unison. Y/N let out a little chuckle and went into the kitchen. Tom started noticing the little things in their house, like how there were film and Polaroid cameras scattered everywhere. There was a vinyl shelf right above an old golden gramophone, adjacent to their brown leather couch.

He noticed a collage of pictures and recognised some of the photos from the time they were taken on set. There was one with him and Y/N. He felt a sense of pride knowing that their picture hung on Y/N’s wall and the possibility of her looking at it every day.

“So, what do you wanna hear?” Harrison was standing next to their vinyl collection. “Since Y/N lives here, we have everything Taylor Swift, I don’t suppose you’re into that pop shit, are you?”

“Actually I do like pop but more like alt-pop”

Harrison wasn’t surprised. He seemed like a ‘Beach House’ kinda guy anyway, to him.

“So you like alt-pop?” Y/N walked towards the boys with two glasses of red wine in her hands. “Have you heard of ‘peter cat recording co.’?” she asked Tom

“Yes I have! Oh, I thought nobody knew about them. I’m glad I found you”, Tom was filled with giddy excitement.

“PCRC it is, then”, Haz said in an annoyed tone. He grabbed the vinyl of ‘portrait of a time’, their first album, and placed it on the gramophone.

“Babe, where is your glass?” Haz asked Y/N.

“Oh I, shit I left it in the kitchen”

“No worries I’ll get it”, Haz kissed her cheek and left the living room.

Even though Y/N knew it was fake niceties, she still craved it. It felt nice, behaving like a normal couple instead of fighting over every damn thing, and him storming out of the house almost every night. Sometimes she felt that Harrison was a hypocrite. He would accuse her of cheating with every guy in her life, but wouldn’t be home nine out of ten times.

They were now seated on their wooden dining table, with dried flowers in the middle. Haz and Y/N were sitting opposite to Tom. There was Chinese takeout in their fancy china.

“Sorry about the take out, neither of us are good at cooking and we didn’t want you getting sick”, Y/N tried to justify the absence of a home cooked meal.

“It’s fine as long as I’m getting fed”, Tom chuckled.

“No actually all this food is only for Y/N and me”, Haz said, trying to sound serious.

That was a bad joke, all of them thought.

There was an awkward silence. Haz cleared his throat, “So Y/N, are you seeing someone?”

“Haz, you can’t just ask someone that!”

“It’s okay Y/N. No Haz, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.” Tom said, blushing at the personal question.

“So you are single”, Haz said looking at Y/N, in an attempt to imply that she might be having an affair with him.

Trying to hide her annoyance, Y/N started serving the food. The rest of the dinner was normal. They talked about the movie and Haz did not spontaneously combust. In Y/N’s mind, it was near to a success. When Tom started to leave, Y/N offered to drop him to his apartment building, but he settled on walking him one block.

Y/N grabbed her jacket as they left the house. She pulled out a box of cigarettes from her pocket and offered Tom.

“Oh, I don’t smoke”

Y/N scuffed with a cigarette between her teeth.

“What kind of an English man are you?” she said, lighting her cigarette.

“Well you know it’s a common misconception, we don’t all smoke”

“That’s good to know”, she took a long drag.

“Also you might not like the wine I brought you. I realised pretty late that I should be getting you something because I was visiting your house for the first time, so I bought the best wine I could find in that convenience store”, he pointed towards the store a few metres away from them.

“Its fine, it’ll remind me of my youth”, they both laughed.

“I guess this is one block, you should go back home now”, Tom said while trying hail a cab by waving his right hand frantically, at the edge of the curb. He looked ridiculous.

“You clearly have never done this before” she laughed at him, turning Tom’s face red.

She stepped off the curb, to be seen clearly by the oncoming traffic, put out her arm and a cab was there in seconds.

“So I guess I’ll see you around” he said while pulling Y/N into a hug.

His touch made her hyper aware and same could be said for Tom. Y/N started to pull out but stopped half way. It felt like they were both looking inside each other’s soul through their eyes.

“Ay, lovebirds, you comin or not”, the cab driver screamed making them break away. He got in and Y/N closed the door for him. That’s when her phone pinged.

Haz: where are you, I’m going out.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland fluff #tom holland self insert #clandestine #harrison osterfeild x reader #harrison osterfield #marvel #marvel fanfiction #spiderman x reader #spiderman #taylor swift

[buckyskorpion]

11 Hours - part one

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: um yes so hello another au and another wip..... dont hate the player hate the game. i hope you enjoy this though! this is my take on a biker!bucky au because we definitely dont have enough of those. let me know your thoughts on this, critiques, predictions, anything! my ask is open. also i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask. 

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

You lie on your stomach, sheets pooled by your ankles, and watch Bucky watch you. One hand propping him up on his side, the other tracing slow, hair-raising circles on your bare back. He’s not really seeing you though, eyes glazed over so they look shiny and huge, big enough to get lost in. You roll away from him, off the edge of the bed and onto your feet.

“Going?” he asks, voice rough. You can’t remember the last time one of you spoke - the time between breathless moans and now seems stretched, like a liminal space you’ve both been sitting in for far too long.  It’s time to get back to the real world. You shrug one shoulder, rooting around his bedroom floor for your clothes to redress.

“It’s late,” you say. He huffs an agreement. The two of you didn’t get back to his apartment until after midnight, so who knows the time now.

“Let me call you a cab,” Bucky says, rolling onto his back to pat around the bedside table for his phone. You toss him a look over your shoulder, chosing to ignore him as you pull your skinny jeans up over your ass. Bucky pauses to watch, tongue flicking over his lips and not bothering to hide his grin when you catch him. You throw your jacket at his head which he catches with ease, laughing himself back into the pillows. Ugh, he’s such a menace.

You walk back over to the bed once you get your last shoe on, closing the distance you’d created that was so obvious in the contrast between his bare skin and you, fully dressed. You lean over him, letting him tug you close with a hand on your hip while you pull him up with a grip on his dog-tags. You kiss him, a hard press of lips and a quick swipe of your tongue that he tries to follow but you pull away. He lets you go, rolling his eyes at the tease.

“See ya later, tough guy,” you say, backing up to the door. He tosses your leather jacket back to you, and you catch it with one hand as you head down the hallway. It’s the closest thing you’ll get to a goodbye from him, so you let the front door click shut without another word.

You shrug into your jacket as you race down the stairs of Bucky’s apartment building, heading for the laundry room. It’s not like you know Bucky - all you do is fuck on any day you both happen to be free, starting at a grungy bar in downtown weeks ago and ending here, in some strange friends with benefits situation (minus the ‘friends’ part). He’s hot, and you’re not looking for a relationship, so it’s perfect. Only, something about the scars on Bucky’s knuckles and the motorbike he drives you home on after the bar makes the hair on the back of your neck raise. Something about Bucky is bad news, and you’re not about to get caught up in it just for some (mindblowingly good) sex.

So, you head to the laundry room and climb out the window rather than using the lobby doors. Nobody sees you, and it’s easy to get to if you stand on the dryer in the far right corner. You don’t know why you think someone might be watching Bucky’s apartment, or following you from your late night visits, but your dad always said you were paranoid and it’s never hurt you this far in your life. You swing a leg through the window and drop down into the patchy grass below.

From here you scale the fence into the gym parking lot next door and enter the street that way, nobody the wiser. You stuff your hands in your pockets as you walk down the street, itching for a cigarette or some gum or a pair of earphones, something to keep you company as walk home in the middle of night in New York. There are still people out and about, because of course there are, it’s New York. You make it home without a hitch and immediately head to the shower to wash off the night.

Naked again, before you get under the jet you check your phone. Bucky has texted you - probably a joke or something, his pretence for checking you get home safely. Tough guy my ass, you think as you open the picture he’d sent. He’s holding up the black lace panties you’d been wearing, the one’s he’d pulled off with his teeth and tossed aside without a second thought. Under it, he’s sent another message. Think you forgot something.

Did I really forget them? You try to bite back a grin, because it’s sad to be standing in your bathroom smiling at your phone, but you’re unsuccessful. You watch the three dots under Bucky’s name start and stop, then start again, making your heartbeat pick up. You’d made the oh-so-confident Bucky ‘dont know his last name and don’t need to’ falter. It still gives you a thrill.

Don’t think you’ll be getting them back.

Consider it a present, perv.

You like it

No comment.

You jump in the shower, leaving your phone on the vanity. You can’t leave the shower until you rub one out, the rounds of sex you’d had a mere hour ago long forgotten at the thought of Bucky doing the same thing as you to the panties you’d left behind. Maybe you don’t want to get caught up in whatever shit Bucky is in to set off your paranoia radar, but you certainly want to get caught up in him. If you aren’t already; irreversibly tangled.

***

You never find Bucky, he finds you. Or rather, he gives you a call and you know within a few hours you’ll be at whatever bar or diner he asks you to meet him at, building up the tension until you both can’t take it anymore and go back to his apartment. It doesn’t matter what you say to him, or how many times you say no - you both know you’ll be there.

This time he catches you leaving your dad’s place, pushing through the gate as you put the phone up to your ear. You turn to wave goodbye to your dad in the window he always stands at to see you off towards the subway, and say, “So soon?”

“Hello to you too,” Bucky grumbles, but you know there’s no heat in it. You’re grinning as you dodge pedestrians, tugging your puffer jacket tighter around you with your free hand - the New York winter chill has started to set in and it’s biting through even the hoodie you’re wearing under the jacket.

“Hello, Bucky,” you say, hoping he can pick up on the thick condescension you’re handing him, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I can hang up,” Bucky warns, and you smirk. You’re winning this round, at least.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby.” You jog down the subway stairs, hoping your line doesn’t cut out as you move underground. It doesn’t, Bucky’s reluctant laugh filtering clear as day through your phone.

“Baby, huh? Moving onto pet names are we, doll?”

You wrinkle your nose, “Ugh, not if they’re from the nineteen forties, no thank you.”

“I’m sure you hate it,” Bucky says, sarcasm heavy. You can hear his eyeroll from here. “What are you doing?”

“Getting on a train,” you say, as you do indeed slip through the almost-closed doors and try to avoid any and all surfaces around you. “What are you doing?”

“Talking to you,” Bucky says, grin audible. It’s your turn to huff now - Bucky never tells you anything about his life, what he’s doing, who he’s with. It’s another thing that makes you think he’s hiding something, but instead of finding it infuriating and a dealbreaker like you should, instead you’re fascinated. Your mission is to figure Bucky out, piece by piece.

There’s a muffled voice on the other line, someone talking to Bucky and you imagine him covering the receiver with one big palm. A hand that you want on you, running down your skin and pressing down over your throat and dipping between-

“You there?” Bucky asks, jolting you out of your daydream. You’re blushing, suddenly too-hot in the layers that were previously not doing enough to ward off the chill.

You clear your throat and say, “Yeah, yeah, sorry, what?”

“Mmhmm,” Bucky says, clearly amused. “I said, I’ve got a favour to ask you. Something a bit different.”

“Oh?” It had been weeks of going to dive bars and underground diners, meeting Bucky in dark corners to drink rum and cokes and eventually fuck each other senseless until you’re sure Bucky must get noise complaints. Never had he once indicated he might want to change the routine you’d set up. Never had he asked you for a favour. To say you were intrigued was an understatement.

“Come to a party with me tonight?” he asks. You have to replay his voice in your head to make sure you heard right, stunned into silence. He takes your pause for a ‘no’, hurriedly filling it with, “I get if it’s a no, but my friend Nat is a drill sergeant and she’ll give me the third degree if I don’t bring-“

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you say, interrupting his nervous ramble. You’d never heard Bucky sound anything but aggressively confident before. It’s throwing you for more of a loop than his invitation. A large part of your brain tells you to say no. You don’t trust Bucky, really - you barely know him. But thats why you want to say yes. Going to this party might change that. “I’ll go. What time?”

“Eight tonight,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” you laugh. You organise to meet at his apartment, not quite ready to give him your address yet, and hang up. Your mind is reeling, sure everyone on the train must feel the impact of that phone call, too.

They’re all going about their business as if something monumental hasn’t just happened. Bucky has invited you into his life, to meet his friends, as his date. What happened to not-friends with benefits? What if this changes the arrangement you’ve carefully cultivated, so perfect for your independent lifestyle and Bucky’s obvious commitment issues?

The temptation is too much. You practically run home when you get off at your stop, anxious to get ready. You’re about to get a few more pieces of the Bucky puzzle and you have to look good for it.

***

Bucky stops you in the front hall of the house, a hand on your arm as he stares down at you. He looks comically large in the tiny Brooklyn town house, even if it is ten times nicer and more beautiful than your place will ever be. The party filters in from further inside the house, loud music and laughter and the obvious clink of beer bottles sounding muffled through the bubble of you and Bucky.

“My friends are… a lot,” he says, drawing his lip between his teeth. You tilt your head at him, amused by what you can only assume is nerves radiating off Bucky. He rolls his eyes at you, kisses you on the forehead quickly, and adds, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I can handle myself, tough guy,” you say as he tugs you by the hand through to the living room where the party is in full swing.

“I hope you’re not calling that punk ‘tough’, lady,” a man calls out from the couch, pointing the neck of his beer at Bucky. His tone sounds aggressive but the wide, gap-toothed smile he gives says otherwise. He gets up and pulls Bucky into one of those manly half-hugs. Bucky doesn’t drop your hand as he pats the guy on the back, and you try in vain not to read too much into that.

“Sam, this is (Y/n),” Bucky says, and to your surprise Sam pulls you into a hug as well. You make wide eyes at Bucky over Sam’s shoulder but he just smirks, clearly amused. He’s still holding your hand.

“Nice to meet you!” Sam exclaims, a bit too loud in your ear but you don’t mind. His happiness is infectious. “Come meet Natasha, she’s going to love you.”

“Why’s that?” you ask, letting yourself be led by Sam with an arm over your shoulders to the couch he’d just vacated. Bucky drops his grip but follows too-close behind you, his body heat almost like a physical touch on your back, reminding you he’s there. You wonder if he’s nervous about what you’re going to say to his friends, or what his friends are going to say to you.

“Because,” Sam says cryptically. You roll your eyes - he’s sounds just like Bucky.

Sam stops in front of the redhead woman he was sitting next to when you entered, dropping the arm from your shoulders. She immediately stops her conversation and stands up, giving you a once over with a smirk tucked tight in the corner of your mouth. You try not to feel intimidated but it’s hard - she’s beautiful, and scary, and did you mention beautiful? She shoots an amused look to Bucky over your shoulder, and in response Bucky rests his fingertips on the small of your back. Barely there, but just enough.

“You’ve brought someone, James,” she says, turning her attention back to you and holding a hand out. “Natasha, lovely to meet you.”

“(Y/n),” you say, taking her hand. It’s soft -  you half expected her to break your hand. “Thank you for having me.”

“Oh, you’re adorable,” she says, and you don’t bother hiding your frown. You don’t like feeling condescended and Natasha seems to be exuding that in palpable waves. Bucky must feel you stiffen because he steps closer, if possible, and slides the hand on your back around to grip your hip.

“Nat,” he says, with warning, and you glance up at Bucky to find him having some kind of silent stare off with Natasha over your head. Eventually he looks back down to you, smiling a bit and squeezing your hip, don’t worry about her. To you, he says, “Let’s go say hi to Steve.”

“See you later, (Y/n),” Nat says, wiggling her fingers in a wave as you follow Bucky to the kitchen. You ignore her, stepping closer to Bucky on instinct as you weave through people packed wall to wall. That was weird, but what did you expect? Bucky did warn you.

Steve turns out to be a giant blonde teddy bear who sweeps Bucky into a hug that lifts him onto his toes. It’s endlessly funny to see huge, muscled, intimidating Bucky being manhandled by a touchy, clearly tipsy behemoth. Bucky doesn’t let it stand for too long, though, bringing Steve into a headlock and sending them both tumbling into the kitchen bench.

“Jerk,” Steve gasps when Bucky lets him go, eyes narrowing. Bucky grins, breathless, and punches him on the shoulder.

“Punk,” he says fondly. You’re mesmerised. You’d wanted to see more of Bucky’s life but you never expected this. It’s like watching him with his family, and it makes something soft and fuzzy swell in your heart which is bad. Very, very bad. Maybe you shouldn’t have come.

Steve finally notices you’re there and you do the normal introductions, watching your hand disappear in his huge one as he shakes it. They’ve all been very welcoming, in their own ways, you notice (bar Natasha, but something tells you she’s always like that). They don’t seem to question your sudden appearance at their party or with their friend, holding Bucky’s hand and being tucked into his side as he passes you a beer and gets to talking about things you have no hope of following. You’re happy just to watch Bucky, smiling and laughing with pointed teeth and crinkles by his eyes. You still don’t really understand why you’re here, but you’re not going to question it. This feels like a stolen moment, something you’re not meant to see and might not see again so you try and commit as much to memory as you can.

The night goes on, talking with Sam and Steve and Natasha who appear to be Bucky’s closest friends and the only ones he bothers making time for. Bucky doesn’t stop touching you the entire time. At first you think it’s nerves, but the more you observe the party around you when the conversation turns to something you can’t contribute to, the more you think it’s for everyone else rather than Bucky’s nerves. You catch a lot of people eyeing his hand on your hip or his arm around your shoulders, or just looking at Bucky in general. Hardly anyone interrupts your little party of five but not for ignoring you - it’s almost like they revolve around you, in tune to the groups’ every movement, but they wouldn’t dare approach. It’s weird. You try not to look too hard into it but your dad is right. You’re paranoid.

Eventually it’s just you and Bucky sitting on a bench outside, a canopy of fairy lights casting shadows from his unfairly long eyelashes as he looks down at your entwined hands in his lap. You tug against his grip, causing him to look up at you and you almost lose your train of thought. Bucky’s eyes are searing blue, the hottest part of the flame.

“You’re being very possessive tonight,” you say, squeezing his hand for emphasis. He doesn’t look away from your eyes, cocking his head to the side and you have the distinct feeling you’re being tested.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks. You don’t answer straight away. Truth be told, you have no idea what’s going on. You went from fucking Bucky on a semi-regular basis, keeping it at strangers who bone and nothing else, to being glued to his side at a party with his closest friends in what feels like no time at all. Whiplash, is what you feel. You don’t think you hate it, though.

“I never said that,” you tell Bucky, and watch as his face morphs from calculating to that shit-eating, confident smirk you’ve come to know. You’re relieved to see it, the sparkle of his eyes as he leans closer to you in the dark of the garden. This, at least, you know.

“You’ve done well tonight,” he says, and you hate how you glow at the compliment when you should be rolling your eyes. “I know I’ve asked a lot.”

“It’s alright Bucky,” you say, smiling at his seriousness. You’d think he’s asked you to commit a crime or something. “Although, I don’t know why you needed me here. I’m glad you did, but…”

“But you thought I only wanted you, to fuck you?” he finishes, kicking his eyebrows up in amusement. You hate the way you blush, ducking your head from him to try and hide it.

“I feel like that was a very logical conclusion,” you say defensively. What else had he given you? You didn’t even know his last name.

He takes your chin between his fingers, tilting your head back up to look at him. He’s smiling soft, not condescending at all, and he moves his hand to cup your cheek in his palm and hold you there, looking at him.

“Maybe this was a test,” he says, licking his lips. Biding time. “To see if I can trust you.”

“Do you?” you ask, eyebrows kicking up.

“Jury’s still out,” he says with a grin, light-hearted, playing it off as a joke but you know from the look in his eyes that he’s being somewhat serious. He looks out at the garden then, still holding you close, and says almost thoughtfully, “My friends like you, though. Even Natasha.”

You scoff at that, and he turns back to you with that crinkly, squishy smile he gave to Steve before. It catches you off guard, enough to not see the kiss before it comes but you catch up as fast as you can. You want to slide into his lap and run your fingers under his shirt, but that’s probably a bit inappropriate in front of a bunch of people you just met. You settle for a frustrated groan against his mouth, biting his lip and tugging so he’s forced to chase you against the back of the bench, crowding your space. He drops your hand to slide his up your thigh, fingertips dangerously close to your crotch, kissing you hard enough to bruise. His tongue in your mouth is scalding, stubble against your skin a delicious burn, and you would’ve gotten lost in it if it weren’t for the very pointed cough from behind Bucky’s shoulder.

It’s Natasha, standing with her arms folded and a smile hidden somewhere in the green of her eyes. You try to mentally will away the flush in your cheeks as Bucky pulls back, hand still on your thigh but turning to glare at Natasha. You find yourself somewhat hiding behind the bulk of his shoulder despite yourself, letting him take the reins.

“Steve is puking,” she reports, raising one eyebrow. “Sam requests your assistance.”

“Fucking ‘course he does,” Bucky grumbles roughly, getting to his feet. Right before he storms away he pauses, leans back down to kiss you again, and then he’s back on a warpath through the house. Other guests part for him like the red sea, and you watch with furrowed eyebrows as they also seem to watch him go. He never goes anywhere without an audience. Perhaps you were right to be paranoid about him.

Natasha is still standing there when you blink yourself back to the garden, watching you with an unreadable expression. You straighten your holey, vintage t-shirt under your leather jacket and stand, not enjoying the power difference with her standing above you. You wish Bucky had taken you with him, even though you didn’t particularly want to watch Steve throw up everywhere. It would be preferable to being stuck under Natasha’s x-ray vision, though.

“I like your boots,” she says. It takes you aback - such a typical girl thing to say at a party to someone you don’t know, and Natasha doesn’t give you ‘typical’. You glance down at your Docs, and then back up at her pretty sundress with a sexy v-cut.  Sure you do, you think sarcastically, as you both stand there like night and day.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, “And again, for inviting me. The party’s been great.”

“Has it?” she asks, and why do you feel like she’s asking three questions at once? As if sensing your apprehension, she smiles and adds, “Just, I know we’re a bit full on and being the new girl at a party is always difficult.”

You blink, surprised once again. The sincerity throws you for a loop, as everything seems to with Natasha. You say, “I mean, yeah, but you guys are great. You all seem really close, it’s- nice. Like  a family.”

Something flashes in Natasha’s eyes, that amused little smirk returning to her face that fills your gut with dread. Was it something you said?

“Come on,” she says, and just as you think you can’t be surprised by this woman anymore, she winds her arm with yours and starts leading you back into the house. Throwing you a conspiratorial look you’re not sure you’ve earned, she says, “Let’s go find the boys. I’m sure Steve’s finished throwing up by now.”

Part Two

~~~~~ please let me know what you think!

#bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes x reader fic #bucky x reader #reader insert fic #biker!bucky #biker au #avengers fic #pov fic #au fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes #natasha x reader #steve rogers #sam wilson #11 hours

[theladyofdeath]

Get a Clue {ACOTAR}

31 Days of Halloween: Day 30.

All installments co-written with @snelbz​

Warning: language.

Autumn/Halloween 2020 {Collection}

I know, I’m a little past the date....but, we wanted to post anyway. :)

Prompt sent in by @photofeesh​

Elain was dressed in her finest 1950s attire. It was her first character-themed murder mystery party, and she had decided there was no better time to throw it than on Halloween. The theme? Clue. And since none of them knew their character until everyone arrived, they decided to dress in 1950s wear, due to the fact that the board game had been invented around that time.

The girls used to love playing Clue as children.

Nesta would always get pissed if she didn’t win, Feyre was usually doodling while they were playing, and Elain just loved to have fun; but, no matter how the game went, they all got excited to play together. It was one of Elain’s fondest memories of her childhood: playing board games on rainy days with her sisters. 

“I look ridiculous!”

Elain rolled her eyes as she adjusted the gloves that she wore. “You look handsome!”

He stepped out of his closet. The blue ascot tied around his throat was loose, but he tugged on it as if it were a noose.

The dark blue naval uniform looked like it was made for him, but it hadn’t been. It had belonged to the girls’ papa and seeing Azriel wear it brought a huge smile to Elain’s face

He couldn’t complain when she looked at him like that. “I’m not putting the hat on,” he grumbled.

His hair was slicked back, and Elain found herself wishing that she was born in the 50’s so she could look at Azriel like this every day.

Heading downstairs to make sure everything was ready, she paused to press a kiss to his cheek. “Yes, you are,” she said, with a smile.

She could hear Azriel groan as she took to the stairs, knowing full well that he’d do anything to please her.

Mor was in Elain’s kitchen, sealing the final envelope.

“No!” she yelled, clutching all the envelopes to her chest. “I haven’t hid them yet!”

Elain chuckled. “I have to take out my chicken!”

Mor narrowed her eyes but hurried away, nonetheless, taking her envelopes along with her. When Elain mentioned that she wanted to throw a murder mystery party, Mor was the first to volunteer to be the mediator of the whole thing. Mor definitely had a flare for the dramatics, but she also loved to know things others didn’t. Therefore, she offered to be the one to hide the envelopes and watch everyone else go crazy trying to figure out her riddle. 

It wasn’t long before everyone arrived. Feyre and Rhysand first, having sent their three-month-old infant away with a sitter for the first time, even though the sitter was just Rhysand’s sister. Cassian and Nesta showed up next, and ten minutes late, in true Nesta fashion. Lucien was the last to arrive, bringing a plate of brownies. Unlike Nesta, Lucien’s late arrival was excused, considering he had to work until 6:45 on the opposite end of town. 

“Do we get to eat first?” Cassian asked, his stomach grumbling so loud that everyone could hear. Elain had to admit that the 1950s were kind to the men in their lives.

Cassian looked like an old-time greaser in his rolled up jeans, his black Converse, his plain white tee, and his leather jacket. A cigarette rested behind his ear and his newly cropped, chin-length hair was greased back. He was the complete opposite of Nesta, who wore the cutest, knee-length circle dress. Her hair was in tight curls, and she finished her outfit with a pearl necklace and white gloves.

They were the living image of Danny and Sandy.

Elain felt the sudden urge to sing, but controlled herself.

Feyre and Rhys, however, looked like the President and CEO of a very well established 50’s business. They weren’t, obviously, but the vest, wool overcoat and thin tie Rhys wore and the very smart, but powerful sheath skirt and top Feyre wore would have fooled anyone. The red bowler hat she wore complimented the look flawlessly.

Then there was Lucien in his khakis, suspenders, plaid button down tee, and slicked back, fiery red hair. 

Elain’s friends had done her proud. “Dinner is a part of the game. So, if you all would follow me to the dining room table.” 

No one complained at that request. Cassian was the first to sit down, and Nesta was rolling her eyes as she joined him to his right.  

“As we start our meal, I’m going to pass the basket around. There’s an envelope for boys, and an envelope for the girls. Pick your character.” As Elain sat down, she held her basket to her right, where Lucien was sitting, already filling half his plate with corn. 

She adjusted the floppy, but adorable hat on her head and said, “You can tell us all who you are, but the rest of the information needs to be learned throughout the night, as you’re being asked questions.”

Nesta took the basket from Lucien and she and Cassian both removed a small piece of paper. She glanced in the envelopes. “Why do the guys have an extra character that the girls don’t have?”

“Someone has to be the dead guy,” Mor shrugged.

“Sweet,” Cassian said, grinning. “I hope I get to be the dead guy.” He looked at the slip in his hand and groaned. “Man. I’m Colonel Mustard. I don’t get to be the dead guy.”

Without a word, Azriel dropped to the floor, making Feyre jump.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

He looked up at her with a smirk. “My name is Mr. Boddy. And I’m the dead guy.”

Azriel was laying on his stomach and when Elain rolled her eyes and held the basket out to Feyre and Rhys, he knocked the stupid hat off of his head.

If he had been murdered, the hat never would have stayed on anyways.

“I’m Miss Scarlet,” Feyre announced. “You?”

“Professor Plum,” Rhysand snorted. “Of course.” 

The basket got back to Elain, and she picked the last slip of paper from the girl’s envelope. She beamed, “I’m Mrs. White, which means Nesta must be Mrs. Peacock?”

Nesta held up the slip in her hand that proved Elain was correct.

“And Luce is Mr. Green,” Elain said, giving her best friend the side eye. 

Lucien grinned, stuffing his mouth full of chicken. 

Azriel reached up from the floor and stole a roll from the basket.

“So, how does this go, Mor?” Cassian asked, his mouth full.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Nesta muttered.

Cassian didn’t bother swallowing. “Okay, mom.”

“Well,” Mor said, clapping her hands together as Azriel dragged his entire plate down to the rug beneath the table. “On the back of your slips is a character description. You all need to follow the character description, along with the other details noted on your paper. We’ll start ruling people out until someone realizes who the killer is. In each room, there’s an envelope, hidden. Throughout the party, when you find an envelope, there are clues that will help you rule out specific characters, weapons, and rooms. I have an envelope inside my jacket pocket. Inside that envelope is the killer, the room in which Mr. Boddy was killed, and the weapon that was used to kill him.”

“Does the killer know who the killer is?” Cassian asked.

“We just picked our characters two seconds ago, Cass,” Feyre snorted.

“No,” Elain said, politely. “The murderer was chosen at random.”

“How do we know you didn’t rig the game?” Azriel asked, voice muffled by the table.

“Because,” Mor said, eyeing Azriel under the table. He smirked as he took another huge bite of green beans. “I am nothing but an honest woman.”

“This is actually your house though,” Cassian said, pointing at Azriel. “And Mr. Boddy is the owner of the house in Clue. What if I would have been the dead guy, would we have had to be at our place? A two bedroom apartment with three cats wouldn’t have been near as fun.”

Elain was pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing quietly.

Cassian took a drink of his wine and muttered, “It would definitely have been one of the cats.”

Mor rolled her eyes. “Everyone understand the rules of the game?” 

A series of nods rounded the table. 

Elain smiled brightly. “Then let the game begin!”

“Can we finish eating first?” Cassian asked, his mouth still full.

Nesta just sighed, and shook her head.

“I hope so,” Azriel muttered. “No telling how long it will take you lot to figure out who killed me, and I’m starving.”

“You can eat while you play,” Elain said, pointedly toward her fiancé.

“You mean while I’m dead?” He asked. “Because I’m dead, I can’t answer any questions, so…”

He trailed off and shoved a forkful of chicken into his mouth.

Nesta cleared her throat. “Professor Plum?”

“Yes, Ms. Peacock?” He said, falling into character.

She stood, picking up her wine glass. “I’ve run out of wine, will you accompany me to the kitchen? I’ve got some questions I need to ask you.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t out of wine.”

With a heavy sigh, Nesta said, “I’m trying to be in character.”

He took a drink of his own wine, but said, “Sounds like your character needs to get her story straight.”

Looking him dead in the eye, she tipped her glass back and drained it. “Okay, now I need a refill. Plum, you’re with me.”

Her heels clicked on the hardwood as she headed for the kitchen and Rhys glared at Cassian. “Now I’m not going to get any information out of her.”

Cass smirked. “I know.”

Rhysand just shook his head as he followed Nesta into the kitchen. Cassian was instantly eyeing Lucien, who was sipping from his wine glass.

“Mr. Green,” Cassian began, cordially. 

Lucien blinked. “Yes, Colonel?” 

“Shall we leave these ladies alone and go for a walk of our own?” Cassian asked.

Lcien lifted an auburn brow. “Sounds like you’re flirting with me, Colonel.”

Azriel snorted from his place on the rug.

Cassian grinned. “Don’t let Peacock hear you. She gets jealous.” 

Lucien laughed as he pushed himself up from the table. The men, with their plates in hand, went into the living room.

Elain faced Feyre, who was already watching her with narrowed eyes. 

Feyre glanced down at her card. “Where were you at five this afternoon, Mrs. White?”

Elain didn’t skip a beat. “Changing the sheets in the master bedroom, of course.”

Feyre sipped from her glass. “And why was there need to change the sheets?” 

Elain’s cheeks heated. “Shut up, Miss Scarlet, goodness.” 

“Can I go be dead in the living room?” Azriel asked from the floor. 

“Shh, you’re dead,” Feyre said, not looking away from the face of innocence in front of her. “What I meant was…” A dramatic pause. “There wasn’t blood on the sheets from where you stabbed him with a knife was there?”

Azriel murmured from the floor, “Jesus, Feyre, bury the lead.”

“Of course not,” Elain said, a hand pressed to her heart. “I always change the sheets on Tuesday.”

From the floor, “It’s Friday, babe.”

“…on Friday,” she corrected herself.

Feyre narrowed her eyes at her sister again, standing from her chair and walking around the table to grab a roll. “Your story checks out. You’re off the hook…for now.”

“I think a better question is where were you at the time of the murder, Miss Scarlett,” Elain asked, eyeing Feyre.

“Easy,” she said, pausing with a hand on her hip. “Professor Plum was teaching me a lesson.”

“Boooo!” Clearly, the rug hadn’t liked Feyre’s innuendo.

“You know, you’re loud for a corpse,” Elain said, looking down at Azriel, and back to Feyre, who was smirking. “And could he corroborate that story?”

“Professor Plum!” Feyre called.

He poked his head in from the kitchen a moment later. “Yeah?”

Feyre gestured to Rhys. “Go ahead.”

Clearing her throat, Elain asked, “Where were you at the time of the murder, Professor?”

“Banging Miss Scarlet,” he replied, without missing a beat, smirk growing.

Feyre’s grin widened.

Elain cleared her throat. “Thank you…Professor.”

“Anytime,” he winked, before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

“Is that all?” Feyre crooned.

Elain cleared her throat. “How is it that you know Mr. Boddy?”

Feyre’s brows scrunched together, unsure of how to answer, but then Elain cleared her throat and gestured down at the notecard in Feyre’s hand.

“Oh,” Feyre began. “We are….having an affair, it seems.”

“My, Mr. Boddy, Professor Plum. You sure do have a long list of lovers, Miss Scarlet. Perhaps a jilted lover had found out about your affair with Mr. Boddy. Or maybe Mr. Boddy found out about Professor Plum?”

“I was open about my promiscuous lifestyle,” Feyre said, yawning dramatically. “Now if you'll excuse me, Mrs. White, I’ve grown bored of this conversation.”

Elain’s mouth fell open but she did nothing more as Feyre dramatically made her exit.

Azriel snorted. “Ouch.”

“Hush, dead man,” she whispered, harshly.

The dead man's grin only widened.

As Elain made her way into the living room and snatched Lucien from Cassian’s attentions, someone new soon filled them. Mrs. Peacock perched herself on his lap.

“Well, hello,” he said, dragging a hand up her thigh.

“Colonel,” she said, with an over exaggerated southern drawl.

Cassian snorted. “I don’t remember Mrs. Peacock being a southern bell.”

“Instead of what you don’t remember, how about we talk about what you do remember?” Nesta reached into the pocket of his jacket. “How exactly did this wrench come to be on your person?”

Cassian took a long drink out of his glass of wine — which he used as an excuse to look at his character slip — before saying, “My cat broke down today and I had to fix it. Must have accidentally brought it with me.”

Nesta blinked, then whispered, “Your…cat, Cass?”

Cassian’s brows drew together as he looked back down at his notecard. “Car. My car. I meant….car. My car broke down, hence the wrench.”

“And when did your car break down?” Nesta continued, after she rolled her eyes. 

“This afternoon,” Cassian shot back.

“At what time?” Nesta asked.

Cassian looked back down at his notecard. “At four-thirty this afternoon. I then spent the rest of my afternoon working on my car, until I came here, of course.”

“For someone who’s been working on his car all afternoon you sure are clean,” she noted.

“I, uh-.” Cassian froze and glanced down at his card, for some fact of information that may help out. “I always carry a change of clothes with me. It never hurts to be prepared.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Prepared for what?”

He squeezed one of her thighs. “Prepared for anything.” He smacked her ass and asked, “What about you, Mrs. Peacock?” He enunciated the last word.

“What about me?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I can’t help but notice I missed you in the parlor for drinks,” he mused, raising a glass of whiskey to his lips. Nesta blinked. She wasn’t even sure where he’d gotten it from, the glass of wine was still sitting on the table beside him. “Mr. Boddy was also suspiciously absent.”

Nesta’s brows rose. “What are you implying?”

Cassian shrugged. “That Miss Scarlet wasn’t Boddy’s only lover.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed with such distaste that it was hard for Cassian to stay in character. “Is that what you think, Colonel?”

Cassian cleared his throat and muttered under his breath, “Just a side note, I love it when you call me that in that damned accent.”

Nesta gave him a small, mischievous grin. “Noted.”

“I think,” he began, slipping back into character, “Mr. Boddy told you your secret tryst was over and you retaliated.”

Nesta chuckled and squeezed Cassian’s leather covered shoulder. “A good theory, but you should have done your research, Colonel.” Cassian’s eyebrows furrowed but Nesta continued. “Mr. Boddy was my brother. Estranged. I was here tonight to make amends.”

He asked, “Peacock is your married name?” She nodded. “What happened to Mr. Peacock?”

“Nothing you can prove,” she said, with a smirk. “But I wasn’t present for drinks because I was doing drugs in my room.”

Cassian blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes, I have a drug problem.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “Do you really? Or are you making that up to throw me off?”

“Heroin.” Nesta’s face was deadpan and he was about to suggest they have a talk with Elain after the game when she smirked. “No, I fell asleep in my room. I had a long drive in and needed a nap before I was pleasant for company.”

“I see,” Cassian muttered. “Now, back to Mr. Peacock… Are you completely over him? Or…”

Nesta rolled her eyes but pressed a kiss to Cassian’s lips before pushing herself off of him and walking toward Lucien on the other side of the room.

“Finally, time alone with the colonel.” Cassian looked up to find Feyre, sipping from a glass of wine, plopping down on the couch beside his chair.

“That sounds terrifying coming from you,” Cassian mumbled.

“Don’t tell the professor,” she said with a wink. 

“It’s fortuitous that you were wanting to speak with me,” Cassian said, matching Nesta’s overly dramatic southern drawl. “Cause I was wanting to speak with you, Miss Scarlet.”

“Oh?” She crossed a leg and raised an eyebrow.

“Rumor has it you were quite familiar with our late host,” he said.

“Rumors can sometimes be true, and sometimes be false,” she said, adjusting her hair. At some she’s ditched the bowler hat. Cassian was willing to bet that it had something to do with the fact that her cheeks were as red as her hat was. And her glass was nearly empty again. A year of not drinking had turned Feyre into a lightweight.

“So, which was it?” Cassian pressed. “True or false?”

Feyre’s eyes narrowed as she finished off her glass. “Butler!”

With a snort, Mor came to Feyre’s side with a bottle of white wine and refilled Feyre’s glass. Before she left, she coughed, “Under the coffee table.”

Both Feyre and Cassian blinked as she walked away.

As Feyre started sipping her new glass of wine, Cassian was reaching under the coffee table, where he pulled out a manila envelope that read Living Room.

Feyre’s brow arched as she snatched it away from him and opened it up. She pulled out a single, white feather. “What the hell is this?”

“A clue,” Cassian whispered, taking it away from her. “A white feather.” He was looking around at all the characters, trying to scope out what their notecards said about their personalities. “What does it mean?”

Feyre stared at the feather for a second before saying, “I dunno, I’m too drunk to form a thought.” 

“Is it from a hat? One of those ridiculous things women wear around their necks like a scarf? From a pillow? Feather-duster?” Cassian guessed, then gasped. “What if it has to do with the color and not the feather itself?” His eyes shot to Elain. “Mrs. White is the murderer?”

Feyre shook her head. “I may be drunk, but even I know you can’t have a case based on one clue, Colonel.”

“No, but one clue can get you closer to solving it,” he replied, tucking it behind his ear.

Feyre looked at Cassian for a moment with the most serious of expressions before bursting into laughter. Cassian shot Rhysand a look from across the room, but Feyre’s husband was watching her with the utmost adoration. 

And so the night went on.

There were arguments and accusations and all the while, the wine continued to flow. At some point, Azriel excused himself to open a bottle of whiskey, which he generously offered a glass of to his brothers and Nesta, before he retook his spot on the floor, bottle still in his hand.

Nearly two hours later, the entire group was back in the living room. Azriel was in a chair now, thank the Cauldron, but now there was a prop knife jammed between his arm and side, “stabbing” him. He silently continued to sip on his wine, watching in amusement as Nesta and Rhys yelled at each other, arguing over whether he was stabbed or beaten over the head with a pipe.

“There’s not nearly enough blood for him to have been stabbed!” Rhys said, extending his arm towards Azriel.

“It’s not real,” Nesta cried, enunciating the words. “Did you expect Elain to let Mor spray her house in fake blood?”

“If she were committed, she would have,” Azriel said, but Elain glanced over at him and he became as quiet as the dead man he was pretending to be and put his glass back to his lips.

“I’m right,” Nesta hissed.

“Uh, no, I’m right,” Rhysand argued, his arms crossed. “I know who the murderer is, I’ve figured it out.”

Nesta scoffed. “That’s shit, but okay, go ahead.”

Rhyasnd lifted one brow. “Fine. Murderer? You. Weapon? Rope. Room? Kitchen.”

Nesta rolled her eyes but looked at Mor alongside everyone else.

Mor looked back and forth between Nesta and Rhysand before slowly shaking her head.

“Ha!” Nesta yelled, pointing her finger at Rhysand. “You failed!”

“My gods, I’ve never loved you more,” Cassian muttered, sipping from his glass.

“I win,” Nesta announced, simply. 

Rhysand was not going down easily. “No, you do not win.” 

“No?” Nesta asked, crossing her arms, as the rest of them watched her and Rhysand’s little display. “The killer is Miss Scarlett. Weapon? Rope. Room? Bedroom.”

The room was quiet for a moment before Mor said, “She’s right.”

“She killed him because he was going to end their affair, essentially cutting her off from the lifestyle she had grown accustomed to living,” Nesta said, not a hint of doubt on her face.

Rhys looked to Mor who shrugged. “She’s right again.”

Rhys breathed, “Damn it,” and dropped down next Miss Scarlett.

Who had been drooling on the arm of the couch since nine o’clock.

Rhysand shook his head as he looked down at his sleeping, drunk, passed out wife.

“I’m right?” Nesta repeated, and looked to Cassian with wide eyes. “What do I win?”

Mor hesitated. “What do you win?”

Nesta nodded, looking at Elain. “Yeah, I won, there’s a prize, right?”

Elain sucked in her bottom lip. “There’s….cake.”

Nesta followed Elain’s gaze to where the half-eaten cake sat on the dining room table.

“You win half a bottle of whiskey,” Az said, leaning forward and setting the bottle

and the fake knife on the table in the center of the room.

Nesta raised an eyebrow as she looked at Azriel. “That’s almost completely empty.”

He shrugged. “You got to enjoy your prize early.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled and grabbed the bottle regardless. They all couldn’t help the smiles on their faces, all except for Feyre, who Rhys had gathered in his arms, ready to take her home. More laughs and love had been shared tonight than some people got to experience in a lifetime.

None of them had a clue how they got so lucky.

#31 days of halloween #acotar #late #sjm #fanfic #oneshot

[nocturnal-milk-dud]

Unfinished Business

Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Reader

Summary: “You were trapped in the bathroom with your ex-boyfriend.”

Rating: PG-13 

Warnings/notes: have some angst; cursing; smoking; drinking; some fluff

Word Count: 2269

You stepped out of the bathroom and did a small, awkward spin in the living room. 

“Absolutely,” Audra said, nodding her head. “You look fantastic!” 

“Are you sure it’s not too much?” you asked, looking down at yourself. You hadn’t worn heels this high in months, and you felt like you were going to need to constantly smooth your dress to make sure it was covering everything. 

“When was the last time you got laid?” Audra asked, finishing off the wine in her glass. You pursed your lips and glanced around the room, thinking but not really thinking, giving her your answer. “No, it’s not too much.” You looked at the time on your phone and sat down, pouring yourself a glass of wine. 

“He’ll be here soon,” you said, unable to ignore the anxiety building in your stomach. It had been a while and you couldn’t help but fidget with the hem of your dress and Audra noticed. She shifted to the edge of her seat and took your hands in hers to stop you. 

“Listen, Quentin is a really nice guy, with a fantastic body, by the way, but it’s just a date. There’s no pressure for anything else. If you need to get out of there for any reason, just call me, okay?” 

“Thank you, Audra,” you said, taking a deep breath to settle yourself. 

“Now, do you need any condoms? Some snacks? You’re still covered birth control-wise, right?” 

“Jesus, Audra.” You got up and headed for the door. 

Audra was right about Quentin, about his disposition and his body and you found yourself fidgeting even more in the car ride to the restaurant. He wore a dark blue suit and he had long black hair that was smoothed back into a bun. He had a carefully sculpted beard and beautiful dark eyes that you couldn’t look into for too long because you found yourself holding your breath. 

“Audra said you like this place,” Quentin said, helping you out of the car. “Part of me thought about taking you somewhere new, but I feel like a certain level of comfort is nice for a first date, ya know what I mean?” 

“That’s really thoughtful,” you said, leading the way into the restaurant. “First dates are already awkward enough, as it is.” Quentin had reserved a table for the two of you and the waitress led you to a booth in the back corner of the restaurant. She took your drink order and left, and that’s when you saw him over at the bar, Nick sitting next to him. His eyes were already on you. Benny fucking Magalon. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you whispered to yourself. 

“Everything okay?” Quentin asked. 

“Hm?” You looked over at Quentin, having almost forgotten he was there. “Yeah, I’m fine, sorry.”

“Do you like to dance?” Quentin asked.

“Do I like to?” you asked. “Yes. Can I? No. What about you?”

“I’ve got some moves,” he said, a small grin on his face. “I’ve only stepped on like three feet in my lifetime, so I’d say I’m pretty good.” You laughed and for a moment you thought it could work. Yes, you could have a date in the same restaurant your ex was sitting in. He’d see that you were enjoying yourself and he would leave, right? But still you felt his eyes on you and when you went to open your menu you let your eyes discreetly glance over the top. Nick had left, but Borracho was still there, unmoving as a statue. Did the man ever even blink? You excused yourself then, asking Quentin to order for you, and went to the bathroom. You just needed a moment to collect yourself. You hadn’t seen Borracho in months and now there he was, staring you down from across the room. You washed your hands, focusing on the way the cool water felt over your skin, before trying to call Audra. 

“No fucking signal, are you kidding me?” You headed for the door, but it opened from the other side and your heart stuttered when Borracho walked in and closed it behind him, locking it. 

“Uhh, what the fuck, Benny?” you demanded. 

“You look good,” Borracho said. He did too but you weren’t about to say it. His hair was slicked back and he was wearing a black leather jacket over a shirt that hugged his chest, and probably his arms too. 

“What do you want?” 

“Haven’t seen you in a few months, wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” you said curtly, before stepping past him to open the door. The lock clicked, but the door didn’t open. You shook the handle, tugged on it, pulled with all your might against it, but it wouldn’t budge. “What did you do to the door?” You looked back at him, your eyes widening with the impending realization.

“I locked it, but, I mean, it should open.” He reached past you and tried the handle himself, going through the same motions. You slowly looked at Borracho, then back at the door. 

“No,” you said almost inaudibly. “No, no, no no no no, no. No.” You were trapped in the bathroom with your ex-boyfriend. 

“It’s fine. It’s gonna be fine,” you reasoned. “Somebody’s gonna have to use the bathroom eventually, I’ll tell them what happened, you will keep your mouth shut, and we’ll be out. It’s fine.” Borracho was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed in front of him, while you paced the length of the bathroom. 

“Absolutely,” he said, sounding unconvinced. 

“I can’t believe you,” you said. “What goes through your head, like on a daily basis that makes you think it’s okay to follow your ex-girlfriend into the bathroom and lock the two of you in there?”

“And what goes through your head that tells you it’s okay to ghost somebody you’ve been with for two years?” You’d walked right into that one. Speaking of ghosting…

“Fuck!” you hissed, going back over to the door, trying the handle again and pounding on the door. “He’s gonna think I bailed.” You checked your phone again, but there was still nothing. “And he was my ride home.” 

“Well, better it happen now than years down the road or at the fuckin’ altar or some shit,” Borracho said. 

“Is this why you came in here?” you demanded. “Is this what we’re gonna do all night? Pick at scabs?” 

There was a knock at the door then and you rushed over, putting your ear up against the cool metal. 

“Excuse me,” you called. “Could you get somebody, the door is locked and I can’t get out!” The air was thick with silence and you wondered if you were too late to catch them.

“Well then unlock it,” the woman replied. She sounded drunk, which didn’t bode well, but you pushed on anyway.

“No, the lock is broken, and I can’t get the door open. Could you get the manager or call a locksmith or something? Please?” The pause was even longer this time.

“Okay,” the woman said in a wobbly voice that didn’t fill you with much hope. You looked back at Borracho and shrugged. 

You were back to pacing, all hope that the drunk woman would come through lost. Borracho shrugged out of his leather jacket and placed it on the floor next to him.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to it. “C’mon, you’re stressing me out.” You did as he said, taking your time getting to the floor, what with the heels and the dress--a dangerous combination. 

“I hate you,” you said after you’d finally settled. Borracho laughed and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket.

“I’ve actually missed hearing you say that,” he said. You held your hand out for a cigarette. You didn’t smoke, not really. You’d quit a long time ago, but tell that to the pack you had stashed away in a cookie jar in a high kitchen cupboard for “emergencies”. You were both silent for a few moments, and then you started laughing. The whole situation was so stupid. You were out on a date, and now you were locked in a bathroom with your ex. Part of you couldn’t wait to tell Audra everything. Borracho started laughing, too. You didn’t need to explain anything, he knew exactly what you were thinking. The laughter died away slowly and you both sat there in silence. You looked at Borracho’s free hand, spread out across his thigh, and remembered all those times the two of you used to sit side by side on your balcony. You would run your hand over his, lacing your fingers between his. You could sense a tension in the air, like the heaviness in your throat when you have something to say but have no idea how to get the words out. Borracho cleared his throat and your eyes snapped away from his hand. 

“Why did we break up?” he asked.

“You know why, you were there,” you said, not wanting to talk about it. You two had finally found some measure of calm together, you didn’t want to shake that, not while you were trapped in that room together. 

“I know the reason you gave me, but it wasn’t the real reason, was it?” You turned to him, sitting up on your knees.

“Please don’t bring this up now, Benny,” you pleaded. 

“You said it was because I cheated on you, but we both know I didn’t do that.” He didn’t look at you as he spoke. Instead he stared at the wisps of smoke coming off of his cigarette. You took a drag and looked down at your hands. 

“I figured it was only a matter of time,” you said, speaking slowly. You didn’t want to think about that day. You weren’t proud of what you’d done or how you’d done it. You’d sent the man a text for Christ’s sake, packed your things and left before he got home. Borracho didn’t move, but his jaw was clenched tightly, and you continued: “You were coming home later and later, smelling like alcohol and cigarettes. And there I was, sitting around looking like a fool. And you’d come stumbling in, no explanations, nothing. I figured if you hadn’t cheated on me, it was only a matter of time.” You wanted to reach out and touch him, feeling now the weight of your actions, the weight of your fear, but Borracho pushed himself up off the floor and walked to the other side of the room.

“For what it’s worth, I never did, and I was never going to,” he said. 

“I’m sorry. I was so afraid of getting hurt that I ran, and I hurt you. I should have talked to you.” Borracho’s eyes held yours for a moment, then he walked over to you, holding his hand out for yours. You took it and he helped you up from the floor, pulling you into a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” Borracho whispered, “I should have talked to you, too.” You laid your head on his shoulder, your nose brushing his neck, and he smoothed his hand over your hair. 

“I don’t hate you, either,” you said, making him chuckle lightly. His arms were warm around you and you’d forgotten how good it felt to be in his embrace, like you could disappear from the world, in a good way. Without thinking, you kissed his neck where his tattoo began, and you backed away quickly, rolling your lips inward as if you could make them and the kiss disappear. Borracho held onto your hand, and his left eyebrow hitched upward. He pulled you back in, his hooded eyes lingering on your lips as he ran a finger along your jaw. Your hand clenched around the fabric of his shirt and your heart hammered in your chest as you thought about his mouth on yours, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip. He was so close. 

There was a sharp knock on the door, and then it opened. The manager and a couple wait-staff stepped in. You pulled away from Borracho and hurried toward the door, thanking them in a breathless voice. Quentin was long gone which didn’t surprise you, so you stepped out into the fresh night air and called Audra, but she didn’t answer. 

“What the fuck, Audra?” you hissed, dropping your phone to your side.

“You look stuck.” You turned to see Borracho stepping out of the restaurant, his jacket slung over his shoulder. You tried not to stare at his arms, especially where the shirtsleeves ended. 

“That’s what Uber’s for,” you said, waving your phone. Borracho squinted at you.

“C’mon,” he said, “I’ll give you a ride.” 

When Borracho reached your apartment building, he pulled up alongside the curb and helped you out of the truck, his hand on the small of your back. The two of you walked up to the front door in silence. 

“Well, I think it’s safe to say I’ll remember this night forever,” you said as the two of you came to a stop. 

“Something to tell your kids one day,” Borracho said. He held the door open for you and you started to head in, but paused. You reached up, taking his face in your hands, feeling the rough stubble under your skin, and kissed him. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been thinking about his lips the whole ride home. They were as soft as you remembered. Before he could let go of the door and pull you into his arms, you were gone. Another night, you thought to yourself.

#oops #i couldn't help myself #i'm at the writing fanfic stage of the lockdown #benny borracho magalon x reader #benny borracho x reader #borracho x reader #den of thieves #den of thieves fanfic #maurice compte #benny magalon #benny borracho magalon

[soyunaagente]

Crossed Wires

Thank you @pridelumos​ for trusting me enough to write this request! 

This is the first one I’ve ever done so I hope you all enjoy it! 

Word Count- roughly 2,200.

Warnings- mentions of murder, guns, sex, drugs. My terrible writing. 

The ticking of the office clock was the only thing breaking the tense silence. Yet another day had passed and not a single tip, clue or evidence was sent in. You sighed loudly and got up from your desk. The evening sun still flooding the room in a warm glow. 

‘Someone’s in a good mood,’ Agent Roger Knapp commented on your louder than normal exhale. 

You shot him a look as you poured yet another cup of coffee, The third of the day. ‘It’s been weeks Roger, weeks. We still know shit.’ You’re fresh, not three years out of the academy, still  chomping at the bit to make a difference; after all you’ve heard about the emerging ‘drug war’ in Mexico.  The more….seasoned agents have gotten cynical over the years. Unless it falls into their lap they don’t bother to investigate. 

You dropped into your comfortable office chair and slumped over the desk. Letting out a frustrated groan. Honestly? If you knew the adventure that was about to ensure you’d  wish for a few more of the lazy office days. 

----------

Miguel Ángel Felix Gallardo, arguably the most wanted man in Mexico, leaned back in his office chair. Specially designed with French leather. Not for the faint of heart. He too let out a frustrated sigh.  The Gulf was weeks away from overtaking most of the land border into the United States. All he’d been able to do was sit back and watch it happen. 

He sighed again and stood up to look out the window. The fading rays of sunlight doing nothing to ease his apprehension. The Gulf was mere weeks away from securing the majority of the land border between Mexico and the United States. It would lead to a drop in profits; and an increase in problems. As if he hadn't had enough, Tijuana and Sinaloa were in a war, Pacho had him in a vice grip and Maria was gone. Fled. Kids and all. 

Miguel lit a cigarette, as he watched the ash tip onto the stone balcony he realised there was no point in wallowing. This wasn't going to sort itself. At least this may be something he could fix. Miguel caught his jacket from the coat rack and slammed the door behind him. 

If he had known the events of the next few days maybe he would have gently closed the door instead. 

----------------

You stood at the side entrance of the offices, leaning against the door frame and watching the Guadalajara streets begin to light up with nightlife and music. You glanced back at the building you called a workplace for a moment. Your eyes scanning the stonework. When you laid eyes on him, however.  your jaw dropped to the floor. 

Strutting up the steps to the main entrance. To the United States DEA base in Guadalajara Mexico was none other than the man that had saved your life almost two years ago. 

Miguel Ángel Felix Gallardo.

*Sinaloa two years prior*

As the first female in the DEA you felt as if you had a point to prove. This was your shot to do it. The biggest night time raid the DEA was about to undertake in the city of Sinaloa. Three houses, two down, now it was your turn to show off all you had learnt. It's not an Old Boys Club anymore. 

In the end it had all happened so fast. First you lead the team tactically into the premises, cleared the perimeter. You did everything by the book. After that night you learnt that rules become blurred south of the border quite often.

 There was a sudden whirr of bullets, frenzied screaming.... an odd smell of smoke. Fear overtook you when you heard the order coming from your Walkie Talkie. Two words registered. 'Ambush... scatter.'

You gripped your gun so tight it was a miracle it didn't snap in two. Barely taking in your surroundings you ran. Hastily. The streets passed in a blur. Your lungs felt on fire as you slowed your steps. Slowing to a stop, leaning against a building. The panting made the footsteps approaching behind you inaudible, it was far too late by the time you noticed. 

The sickening click of a gun being drawn from its holster behind you caused your face to drain of blood. Trembling you slowly turned. You were staring down the barrel of a gun.

 Seconds ticked by. The masked gunman's hand trembled. In that split second a gunshot rang out.. as you were thrown to the ground. You kept your eyes squeezed tightly. A warm hand ran down your arm. Daring to open one eye was the best and worst thing you ever did. You opened both. A pair of deep brown eyes stared back. Entranced. He helped you up, how kind of him. 

Once steady on your feet you got a good look at the man. Time for round two of heart attacks of the day. One of the most wanted men in Mexico had his hand in yours, his other holding your elbow to keep you steady. He looked, well, he looked concerned. 

'Estas bien mija?' 

Your mouth opened and closed.

 He chuckled. 'We,' he gestured to the giant of a bodyguard standing over your would be killer's corpse. 'saw what happened. He was on our hit list anyway.'

You felt your cheeks heat up. His voice was like melted butter. He squeezed your hand. 'I hope I'll see you again... agente.'

 ------------------------------

A bunch of roses with no name attached appeared at the office two weeks later. After getting a LOT of shit from the other agents you figured it could only be Miguel who had sent them. Two days later a necklace arrived. Your internal monologue went a little like ‘Oh no Oh no Oh no no no no no no’, especially when you realised the butterflies before evening opening the little box tied with a red ribbon.  He’s a goddamn Narco. You’re meant to be putting him in a prison to rot.

You threw the flowers out and hid the necklace in your wardrobe. Get rid of all keepsakes and therefore all memories. He’s not for you. It’s not right. It’s damn illegal. 

Now here he was walking as calm as could be into the lion’s den. You stayed watching his cool demeanour. His cockiness. That blue suit, that jet black ha-no stop. You didn’t even notice the small smile appearing on your face as he disappeared indoors. 

Realising the worst thing you could possibly do was follow him. So you waited. Hiding behind a tree. Smooth. Real smooth. He emerged from the building about twenty minutes later. You almost deflated in relief as the car turned the corner and sped off down the next street.

Naively thinking it was safe you returned to your desk. Only to have Roger and Chief Jamie Kuykendall waiting with eyebrows raised and an unreadable look on their faces. Jamie was the first to speak. ‘We-um- we had a visitor.’ 

You acted confused. They fell for it. ‘I- we- Felix Gallardo was here. Looking to give us information,’ he finished. 

‘Wha- what?  How? Why?’ you babbled.

‘We don’t know the specifics. That’s the problem, we haven’t the faintest idea why he wants to give it to us. All we know is. He’ll only give it to you.’ Roger intervened. 

Your jaw hit the floor. ‘Me?’

‘No, he came all the way in here to ask for the Pope. Yes you,’ Roger snapped.    

Jamie handed you a scrap piece of paper. ‘He asked to meet you for dinner. He’ll give you the information then.’

Your brow furrowed. The moral compass going into overdrive. He’s a narco. He saved your life. You’re just getting information. Pushing all the thoughts aside you nodded slowly. ‘I’ll do it. It’ll be okay.’  Whether you were convincing them or yourself is still up for debate. 

You didn’t sleep at all that night. The bed was uncomfortable, the night was too humid, the pillows were uneven. All excuses you convinced yourself were the issue. Sitting straight up at dawn you stared at the wardrobe. The necklace. Sneaking up on the shelf you caught the box and pulled it down. Inside lay the most beautiful silver and diamond collar. 

Slipping it on felt right, It fit like a glove. The dress you chose was a bit risqué to say the least. But you know, we have to give him something to look at. Grabbing your purse before leaving you noticed a driver and his car outside. 

‘Para ti Senorita,’ He opened the door. Champagne and truffles awaited. The smell of the new leather filled you with apprehension as the streets rolled by, before long you were in an unfamiliar part of town. The filthy rich side. The driver pulled up to a villa straight out of a Hollywood movie. The old fashioned villa, complete with a football field sized yard  and outdoor pool was a stark contrast to the cramped apartment you called home. 

Feeling slightly out of place you followed the driver to the entrance. He pushed open the door to a beautifully ornate interior. A butler handed you a glass of champagne and led you to the outdoor terrace. A table for two was set, with a view overlooking the city. It was almost too much. Almost. You took a seat at the table. Admiring the white table cloth and, of course, the vase full of roses as a centre piece. You nervously tugged at the necklace, anxious for Miguel to arrive. Still mixed feelings on the whole deal.

‘Hola Senorita,’ that voice, It stirred something in the pit of your stomach. 

‘Hola.’ There was a slight bit of tension in the air as he sat across from  you. The look in his eye was mischievous, bordering cocky. 

‘Antes de cenar agente. Tengo un regalo para ti.’ He pushed a brown envelope across the table. You let your fingertips touch it before he lets it go. You take another glance back at him. The cockiness is gone. This is the envelope with everything in it. Names, addresses, routes. You tapped your fingers on it for a second. Contemplating. Eventually deciding against better judgement you slipped the invaluable information into your purse. A look of relief washed over Miguel’s face. 

It honestly took you by surprise how funny he could be. You felt a six pack coming on before dinner was even served. The tension disappeared. As the wine flowed you felt more at ease with your supposed arch nemesis. His shoulders slowly dropped throughout the meal. Simply enjoying the company. The butler cleared the dinner dishes away. As he did so the sound of slow classical music filled the night air. Bringing with it Miguel’s invitation for a dance. Slightly embarrassed at the prospect he put you at ease by assuring you he didn’t know the steps. 

He held your hand in his. His grip around your waist was both comforting and reassuring. You simply melted into the embrace. Resting your head on his chest. The sound of his heartbeat was music to your ears. That moment, nothing could ruin that picturesque moment.  The smell of his expensive cologne, the feeling of his cool shirt against your skin.

You gazed up at him, his beard tickling your upper lip. You felt a smirk, his hand around your waist tightening. Oh dear, no. You place your hands on his chest where your head once lay. He looks at you, concern filling his eyes. ‘Que pasa mija hm.’ 

‘I-I.’ you fumble. ‘This,we,’

He stopped dead in his tracks. Moving his hands to hold your shoulders gently but firmly. ‘What are you worried about?’

You stared down at the floor. ‘I can’t be a notch on your belt Miguel. That’s not what this is, I'm a DEA agent. Of course I’ll be forever grateful for saving my life but…. But I just-’

His grip became slightly firmer. Barely noticeable but yet, you felt it. ‘I’m not going to bring you to my room mija. If you do decide to, it'll be because you want to. Not to, what, thank me for the information? That’s not what this is.’ His tone was reaffirming. Yet Calming. His juxtapositions were almost overpowering. How could one man be so much Ying and yet, so much Yang? 

You held his hand. Entwining your fingers with his. ‘This is the way it has to stay Miguel,’ your voice cracking slightly. This is the way it has to stay. 

You quickly wiped a tear from your cheek. With mascara threatening to run you turned to leave. Picking up your purse you took the first steps. Before bidding adieu to the glorious villa you  glanced back at the Narco standing in front of you. ‘If you have any more information you know where I am.’ 

With that, you bid the man that firmly held your heart farewell.

#miguel angel felix gallardo #miguel angel #miguel angel felix gallardo x reader #narcos mexico #narcos mexico imagine #narcos

[grapehyasynth]

since you accepted the challenge.... d/p, travel!au, enemies to lovers, meet messy/ugly, “okay, maybe i’m crazy but did i just hear you say that out loud?” 😙❤️

this got so long! slightly cracky. and also i slightly twisted the quote that you requested. and also patrick is in a mood, but hey, traveling does that to some of us.

Patrick is going to strangle his roommate while he sleeps. Or something less violent. He’s going to report him to the Czech tourism board. He’s going to leave him a strongly worded note on his way out. He’ll definitely glare.  

It was bad enough that he’d shown up to his hostel at 11PM to find they’d overbooked themselves for the weekend and would have to put him in a double room, with actual bunkbeds - what a way to spend his 30th birthday, with the sleeping accommodations of a least favorite child. He’d negotiated for a steep discount, but still.

Then he’d gotten into the room to find the bottom bunk taken (of course) and the stranger’s stuff scattered everywhere. There were little vials of makeup and hair products on the tiny bathroom sink , six pairs of shoes in shades of black (he hadn’t known there could be shades of black; at what point was it just grey?!) spread across the floor, more clothes than he’d owned in his entire life flung across every surface.  The window was open, despite the chill, and the room had smelled slightly of pot.

“Cool, bruh,” he had muttered to the empty room and kicked one of the shoes. It didn’t make him feel much better and the room was still a mess.

So yeah, all of that would be bad enough. But now it’s 3AM and he’s fighting jetlag and poorly timed airport coffee and a lumpy top bunk mattress and his roommate has just barrelled into the room, breathing heavily and stumbling into everything.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” the stranger hisses, apparently apologizing to the chair he’s knocked over. “I’m so - here, let me help you up.”

Patrick huffs and turns over, punching his pillow a few times. At least the guy hasn’t turned the overhead lights on. He smells like booze and cigarettes and a kind of cologne that would make it hard for Patrick to sleep even at the best of times.

And now he’s singing.

“Do you know what it feels like, loving someone, who’s in a rush to throw you away-”

Something comes flying out of the dark and hits Patrick in the face. He sits up quickly and bonks his head on the low ceiling. “Ow! Fuck!”

Shoving aside the leather jacket that had bombarded him, he clambers down from the top bunk and stalks towards the bathroom, ready to tell his roommate to go do his nightly ablutions in the shared bathroom in the hallway. But he arrives at the doorway just in time to hear his roommate - a tall, swaying eyeful in dark jeans and a tight white tshirt - say in a sing-songy voice, “They can’t see our cries if we moisturize!”

It’s too late to back up; Patrick steps into the wedge of light and the startled stranger glances up, eyes wide, a dab of some kind of cream on one fingertip, the swoop of his coiffed hair dipping to kiss his forehead.

“Who are you?” the stranger demands.

“Your roommate. Luckiest guy in the world. Um, did you just - did you just say what I think you said?”

“Who said what?” The guy looks around the tiny bathroom, confused.

“You did. You said - ah, never mind. Um, I was just trying to sleep, if you can please-”

He’s about to do the Ross Geller quiet down hand gesture when he takes in the red rims of the guy’s eyes, stains like spilled cola down the front of his shirt, the way his hands are trembling a little. He’s still just a drunk stranger ruining Patrick’s first night in Europe, but he doesn’t look like he wants to be here, doing this, at this hour of the night, anymore than Patrick does.

“Can I - can I get you a glass of water, while you do - that?”

“Yes, Julio, that would be much appreciated,” the stranger says loftily.

Patrick snorts, but he squeezes by and fills a glass while the stranger tries, about six times, to dab the cream under his eyes.

“Why don’t I -” Patrick snags the tub of cream on the next sway and guides the stranger to sit on the toilet. “I think this will be faster.”

He helps him through the undereye cream and about six other products he’s never heard of - hair balm? he’s definitely making that one up. He learns the guy’s name is David, and he’s Canadian, like Patrick. He’s been in Prague for a few days. Something happened with his parents and his art gallery, and so he’s asserting his independence, or trying to make his family worry for him, or both, or something else entirely. He’s a mess, and he very nearly vomits on Patrick’s bare feet, but he’s funny and erudite and Patrick can’t stop watching his hands, the way they seem to say what his mouth can’t.

David falls asleep on top of the clothes piled on the bottom bunk, still wearing his stupidly tight jeans. Patrick falls asleep listening to David snuffle and snore.

They get breakfast the next morning in the hostel cafeteria. Well, it’s Patrick’s second breakfast, by the time David gets up, but he doesn’t think David needs to know that.

“Where are you headed next?” David asks, around a mouthful of sugary cereal.

“Budapest.” Patrick pulls his printed itinerary from the travel wallet he keeps hanging under his shirt. “End of this week.”

“Budapest,” David repeats, contemplative. “How’s the club scene there?”

“I have no idea,” Patrick grins.

David pushes the contents of his bowl around. “Well. I heard it’s safer to travel with other people. If you. If it’s not - I mean-”

“Come to Budapest with me,” Patrick says. David glances up at him quickly, his face brightening more than all his expensive lotions had achieved. “But only if you promise to sing Enrique Iglesias to me every night.”

“Enri- oh god, did I do that?” David gasps, horrified.

“Yep! That was one of the less embarrassing things you sang, actually.”

“I don’t think they even played that last night.” David looks down at his cereal, suddenly seeming to have lost his appetite. “That just - that must’ve come from, like, somewhere deep in me.” 

They watch a gaggle of schoolkids harassing their chaperones for a minute.

“You know, I usually only let guys buy me breakfast after we’ve slept together,” David says.

Patrick feels the tips of his ears go red, but he replies steadily, “I don’t mind doing things a bit out of order.”

David grins, biting down on his spoon, the tip of his tongue peeking out, drawing Patrick’s attention. “Well alright then. Let’s see how Budapest goes.”

#writing #asks #david/patrick #schitt's creek #roguebaby #lord this got long #i was so tempted to use this ask to write a fic i've been wanting to write #but it would've required more time than i have #so have this bizarre thing instead #patrick had weird energy in this drabble but

[moonlightserenadeeznutz]

Rizzo

Oneshot about how Sirius obtained his motorcycle. Prompt by @daylily-evans.

I should add, to all my non-UK readers, I use the word f*g in this as a slang word for cigarette, which is what it’s commonly used for over here, especially at the time the oneshot was set. I tried not to use it, but eventually it was impossible, and unrealistic, for the characters to not use it, so I apologise for the use of the word and I promise in this context it is not a slur word, and is only a slang word for cigarette. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Request a oneshot here!

~

When Sirius graduated Hogwarts, he really had no idea what he wanted to do. Short-term wise, he wanted to go on missions for the Order, help out in any way he could and take down the death eaters one by one until only You-Know-Who remained. He couldn’t wait.

But long-term, after the war had ended, he was clueless. Truth was, he hadn’t planned that far ahead, just in case he didn’t survive to see it. But he was beginning to see that having a job now would be beneficial in a number of ways. Maybe as a cover-up, or a hiding place, or at least an opportunity to earn some well-needed money.

Dumbledore wanted him to get a job at the Ministry, to try and collect any inside information. But this suggestion made Sirius angry enough to ignore it completely. For starters, he didn’t care about what Dumbledore wanted. He tried to hide this of course, as he didn’t think the others would approve. But he’d lost his taste for obeying the old man ever since Dumbledore had forced Remus to live among the werewolves. And while Sirius could vaguely understand why it was useful, he couldn’t forgive Dumbledore for placing Remus in such a horrible situation, away from his friends, and possibly making Remus feel like the monster that Sirius knew he wasn’t. When Dumbledore had first suggested it, Sirius had been absolutely livid, and it was only Remus himself who managed to stop Sirius from marching down to Dumbledore’s office and giving the guy a piece of his mind. Remus had calmed Sirius down, but Sirius knew that he’d never shake off the resentment he had for the headmaster.

The other reason that he was angry at Dumbledore’s suggestion, was because he hated the Ministry. It was full of people like his parents, making rules to oppress anyone who wasn’t a pureblood wizard. And after having grown up with Remus, watching as the boy had to work for a future he didn’t have because of the Ministry, the last thing Sirius wanted to do was work for the bastards.

But what other jobs were there in the Wizarding World besides a ministry job? Hogwarts teacher? There wasn’t anything he could teach, and he certainly didn’t have the patience to deal with a bunch of teenagers, and nor did he want to give Dumbledore an opportunity to keep a close eye on him. Healer? He couldn’t think of anything less suited to him, though maybe Moony wouldn’t mind seeing him in a healer’s skirt and cap.

No, the problem was, wizarding jobs didn’t suit Sirius. So perhaps he needed to look outside the Wizarding World for a job.

Sirius wasn’t exactly familiar with muggle jobs, at least not first-hand. He’d seen plenty of them before. He, James, Remus and Peter had been to a few muggle clubs and bars together, and Sirius had spent all night chatting up the male bartenders, until he was quite knowledgeable on the job itself.

Sirius thought he’d be a great bartender. All he had to do was serve drinks, listen to music and chat up hot guys. And okay, so there was probably a little more to it than that, but he had the people skills, and he could easily learn about all the different muggle drinks.

Yes, he decided. I can be a bartender. I’ll be safe in the muggle world, I can still go on missions, and I can earn some money for the Order, or at least to support myself and Remus.

Sirius even knew about a bar that had an opening, since he’d been there so many times. He had to walk there, since he couldn’t apparatus, or floo there, and he still didn’t know how to use the muggle bus. But it wasn’t too long a walk, and it was a nice day at least. Sirius liked muggle towns, especially the underground-type, diverse, grunge places such as the one where the bar was situated. The streets were lined with music shops, pubs and all things that screamed rock n roll in the 70s. Sirius loved it.

When he was almost at the bar, he suddenly got distracted by a shop he hadn’t noticed before. He noticed it this time because Queen was blasting out of the speakers of some tinny radio from inside.

Sirius looked at the exterior: Lomax Motorcycles said the sign at the front. Another, smaller sign, stuck onto the window said: job vacancies with some smaller writing underneath that Sirius couldn’t read. But he was intrigued enough to go inside.

The interior- Sirius was quick to notice- was incredibly cool. There were two adjoining rooms, all filled with motorbikes. Sirius had seen motorbikes before, mainly in the films that he watched with James, Remus and Peter, but he hadn’t realised how much he liked them until he looked at them up close. These ones were all slick and shiny, some with patterns of fire along the side. They were like broomsticks, but with a muggle twist, and from Sirius’s limited experience, they were always ridden by punks in leather jackets. Sirius could definitely see himself riding one.

The shop itself was dimly lit, but he could see a number of framed posters lining the walls, of muggle bands that he loved: Pink Floyd, Ramones, Blondie, Joy Division. Not to mention all the cool-looking accessories that hung above the motorcycles.

Just then, the owner of the shop walked out.

“Alright, mate?” Greeted the man. Sirius nodded, taking the guy in. He looked around his late thirties, with a dark brown mullet, a badge-covered sleeveless jacket, leather gloves, at least twenty different piercings and full sleeves of tattoos. Sirius looked like Sandy from Grease compared to this guy.

“Yeah, hi.” Sirius replied, immediately intimidated.

“Looking for a bike?” The man walked behind a counter against the wall opposite to Sirius and started restocking a container of different locks.

“Nah, I’m just looking. I’ve never actually driven a motorbike before.” The man looked him up and down.

“Really?” Sirius nodded, awfully self-conscious. The man took out a cigarette pack and lit one up. The shop was quite smoky, but Sirius actually enjoyed that about it.

“I saw you had a job vacancy sign in your window,” Sirius plucked up the courage to mention.

“You looking for a job?”

“Yeah.” Sirius of course hadn’t intended to try for a job here, but since he had the opportunity he thought he might as well. See how far he could take it before the man asked him to leave. The man exhaled smoke out of his nose.

“You haven’t even driven a motorcycle.”

“I can learn. I pick things up quickly.” He realised that he sounded inexplicably uncool. It was typical. Around his friends he was effortlessly punk. Laid-back and relaxed, cigarette balanced between his lips, fluent in witty remarks and sarcasm. But here, in front of an almost carbon-copy of his cool persona, Sirius was sounding like someone who’d only recently entered the punk scene and had no clue on how to act.

“How old are you?” The man asked.

“Eighteen.”

“Pretty young, you even out of uni yet?”

“Oh, uh... I’m not going to uni.” Uni. University. Remus said that muggles went there to learn even more. Sirius didn’t see the point of it.

“I didn’t go either,” replied the man. He seemed very friendly, which certainly didn’t match with his overall appearance. “Didn’t interest me. Started working here instead. It was my dad’s.”

“Oh.” Sirius wasn’t sure how to respond.

“I’m Darren by the way. Darren Lomax.”

“Oh right, like the name on the shop. I’m Sirius.”

“Sirius? Never heard that name before. It’s cool.”

“Thanks?” He’d never thought of his name as being cool before. It was run-of-the-mill in the Wizarding World. In fact there were already two other Siriuses in his family. He was Sirius the Third.  “If you’re interested in motorbikes, I can take you on as an apprentice if you want. Give you a bit of money. Teach you how to fix up these babies.” Sirius blinked.

“Really?” He hadn’t expected any kind of offer. His resume wasn’t exactly impressive, especially not to a muggle. An inexperienced eighteen year old with no muggle qualifications and less knowledge of motorcycles that literally anyone else who could’ve walked through that door. Sirius wouldn’t hire himself.

“Yeah why not? If you’re shit I’ll get rid of you. We’re not a professional garage. Really we just piss about fixing engines, listening to music and smoking. That your style?”

“Yeah, blimey.”

“Great. You can start tomorrow. Fag?” Darren offered him his cigarette pack, and Sirius took one. Darren lit it for him.

“Cheers.”

~

Dumbledore wasn’t happy with his choice of job.

“How are you planning on gathering information for the Order if you’re spending your days working in a muggle shop?” The man asked. Sirius had no intention of being guilted by him.

“Isn’t the information that Remus is gathering enough for you? I should hope so, considering everything he’s going through to get it.”

“Mr. Black, in case you haven’t noticed, there is a war going on. You can’t spend your life thinking about yourself and Mr. Lupin and no one else.”

“I am thinking of everyone else! And what everyone needs is money. And I can get them that money, as well as staying safe in the muggle world. I’m not exactly useful if I’m dead am I?” Dumbledore sighed as if he was talking to a child. The old man was pleasant with everyone, but with Sirius there was a slight curt undertone to everything he said. Dumbledore knew that Sirius wasn’t happy with him at all, and it showed. Sirius didn’t care. Dumbledore hadn’t done shit for him. He didn’t owe him anything.

Sirius was taking that job.

~ His first day went well, in the sense that he got along with Darren and he enjoyed the environment of the shop very much.

Because of his very limited knowledge of how to fix a motorbike, Sirius’s main job was at the front desk, talking to customers. He really did have great people skills, as he quickly discovered, and he put this to his advantage, bagging more sales in a day than Darren achieved in a week. So even if Sirius was shit at the mechanical side of things, he certainly wasn’t going to be fired any time soon.

At the end of the day, when the shop closed, Darren asked if Sirius would like to stay late and learn his way around the motorbikes. Sirius, who hadn’t been assigned any missions, and therefore didn’t have much going on, agreed immediately.

Darren showed him the engines of one particular motorbike that was in rather a lot of disrepair.

“Completely useless she is,” explained Darren. “Not likely to get her running any time soon, probably won’t even be able to fix her. Engine’s blown, parts are missing, tyres are a wreck.” Sirius knew that she’d easily be fixed with magic, but obviously this wasn’t an option. So he was sad that she’d never be ridden. But even if she was little more than a shell, she was a good example for Darren to use as an introduction to the inner workings of motorcycles.

Sirius listened intently to everything Darren had to say, learning how to change the oil, how to change a tyre, how to know when a motorbike needed new spark plugs (and learning what spark plugs were in the first place).

Outside of the workshop, Sirius tried to research more on the motorbikes he was working with. When he wasn’t spending time with the Order, or talking to customers in the shop, or following Darren around like a puppy, he was at the library reading up on all the different motorbike types, how they worked and how they were made.

Whenever Remus was permitted a break from staying with the werewolves, breaks that usually only lasted a few days maximum to avoid any suspicion, Sirius proudly took him down to the shop and showed him all the motorbikes that he helped to fix.

Darren greeted Remus happily, commenting on his name too. “The weird name couple” he called them. Darren, being the punk anarchist that he was, that was so prevalent in the late 70s, didn’t give a shit about Sirius and Remus’s relationship. Sirius didn’t need to hide it for very long, especially since he hadn’t tried to hide his sexuality in the first place.

Remus was very interested in the shop, and as soon as he stepped foot in it his first response was “Shit, Pads, this place was made for you.”

Sirius showed him the motorbike that was “unfixable”, but that Sirius had still been determined to work on as much as possible. The engine was still a bust, but he’d at least changed the tyres, and given it a new paint job (red and black). Sirius felt very close to the bike, especially once Darren had struck up a deal with him, saying that if he could fix the bike he could have it: “even if it’s fixed, it’s a shit model. No one’ll want it, believe me. Besides, I’m already paying you fuck all, so consider it a raise.” Darren was paying Sirius, but it was apparently much less than the usual muggle wage, since Sirius was still technically an apprentice. However, the current muggle to wizarding exchange rate meant that Sirius got a lot of galleons for his pounds. So, he was perfectly able to support himself, and if he ended up with a free motorbike in the process? Well, he almost couldn’t believe his luck.

Sirius fixed up the engine as much as he possibly could, until it was simply a case of the engine just not working. It had been months now since he’d first started, and the engine was the only thing left. The motorbike looked good as new, and despite Darren claiming it to be a shit model, Sirius had fallen in love with it. He’d even named it Rizzo, after Betty Rizzo from Grease.

Sirius was absolutely determined to have Rizzo, and deciding that the engine simply needed a boost, he risked using magic out of sight of Darren. Darren would never know, and Rizzo would have a new lease of life.

“Fucking hell, you actually got her working!” Exclaimed Darren the next day, as Sirius showed off the brand new humming engine of his prized motorbike. “How the fuck did you do that?”

“She just needed a boost, that was all. Good as new.” A boost with a little bit of magic, thought Sirius. Darren was shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well, shit. I guess a deal’s a deal. She’s all yours, mate.” Sirius couldn’t refrain himself from grinning. He patted Rizzo’s paintwork proudly. She was all his. He couldn’t wait to show her off to Remus and James and Peter and all the others. James was dying to get a glimpse of her: Sirius had been bragging about his motorbike for weeks now, annoying the hell out of the others.

“This motorcycle better be fit for Merlin himself, Pads, or I’m gonna be pissed,” James had semi-joked. Sirius assured that she was even better than Merlin. “She was made for me,” he claimed.

When James did finally see Rizzo, he was very impressed, but then again, he was as knowledgeable about motorbikes as Sirius was when he first started at the shop. Sirius probably could have put a mound of metal in front of him, moulded into the vague shape of a motorbike and James would still have been impressed.

“Can’t believe you named her Rizzo,” James laughed. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

“Yeah, well. I have a motorcycle and you don’t, so jokes on you.” James put his hands up in surrender.

“You’re right. I’m just jealous.”

~ Sirius had a lot of fun with Rizzo. He rode her everywhere, through muggle and wizarding towns alike. It felt even more freeing than a broomstick. He could weave in and out of traffic, the wind in his hair and the roar of the engine blocking out everything.

There was also room for two. Or at least, two was the legal amount. But Sirius could be rather lax with the law sometimes, especially muggle law. So it wasn’t uncommon for all four of the marauders to squeeze onto the back of Rizzo and go driving off into the night.

Eventually though, Sirius decided that four people on one seat could damage Rizzo, which was the last thing he wanted (and he supposed it could be dangerous as well). So he splashed out some of the money he’d saved on a sidecar. James was particularly keen on it.

Remus on the other hand nearly always opted to sit on the back with Sirius. Sirius loved these journeys the most. Just he and Remus, the man holding tightly onto him as they zoomed down roads, ending up in country lanes. He could feel Remus’s arms around his waist, and Remus’s head on his shoulder, and after everything Remus was going through, as well as the risk of sudden death around every corner for both of them, when the two were pressed together on the little black and red motorbike, roaring through the countryside without a care in the world, it felt like the most precious moment of their lives.

#does this end badly #hopefully not #i could write more but this felt like the natural stop #no I didn’t forget about the fact that the motorcycle could fly #he charms it later #and that’s writer for ‘I didn’t get round to it yet’ #harry potter #wolfstar #sirius black #sirius x remus

[sympathyfortheblinderdevil]

All Is Fair: Ch. 17 Buying Forgiveness

Tommy has been a shithead, so he tries to buy Lia's forgiveness. Little does he know, she would have totally forgiven him anyway. In the time leading up to Christmas, Lia forms a bond with Charlie and encourages Tommy to do the same.

Tommy was a half-drunk, half-delirious mess. His shambolic footsteps dragged on the stairway, pitching him forward as Lia struggled to keep him from falling. For the previous hour, he’d been whispering what she could only categorize as confession into her hair; at least, that’s what she thought it was, for she could understand very little of it. She had finally convinced him to go back to bed, which led to her current predicament. She wedged her shoulder underneath his arm and coaxed him, “I’ve got you, Tommy, but you have to help me,” and they haltingly made their way to her bedroom.

When they reached their destination, she paused at the door to switch on the light, and in a moment of lucidity, he suddenly rasped, “Don’t... No lights.” He was raw enough to feel shame and to want to hide his face from her.

Once he was on the bed, she helped him out of his jacket, her arm grazing the cold steel of his pistol as she did so. She flinched, then turned her back to drape the heavy garment over the chair. Did Tommy shoot back, or did he just run for cover? she wondered. She stood there trying to collect herself, breathing in and out, pushing those thoughts down. For a fleeting moment, she thought to walk away… just go out into the warm brightness of the hallway and down the stairs to her parlor... leave him to deal with undressing himself, and let him sleep it off. But, just behind her, she heard his shaky breaths and his fumbling hands struggling with leather straps. A rush of almost maternal warmth enveloped her, compelled her to stay, and reminded her that for all his faults she was hopelessly in love with him. When she turned to face him, his glassy eyes apologetically searched for hers as she undid his gun holster. Once freed, his arms went around her. He pressed his face into her belly and he mumbled, “Stay with me, Lia. Don’t leave me.”

Moonlight shone through the window in a muted sliver of luminescence and played off of the silver strands that hid in Tommy’s hair. She brushed it away from his forehead and promised, “I won’t leave you, baby. I won’t ever leave you.”

He was high. The vulnerability he showed her tonight would vanish in the morning, but Lia couldn’t help hoping that Tommy would reveal some small bit of his pain to her once in a while. She couldn’t pretend to understand the brutality and the coldness that overcame him, and the precision with which he could compartmentalize that part of his life. How could he put all of the horrors to one side and just get on with things? But if he could show her that on some level it bothered him, that he had still had a soul to save, she could try to be what he needed.

When she had him stripped down to his undershirt and drawers, she shrugged out of her dress, climbed in beside him, and sank into a deep dreamless sleep.

***

In the days that followed the shooting Tommy and Lia didn’t discuss what had happened. It had been kept out of the papers, so no one outside of Tommy’s immediate circle even knew about the killings or Tommy’s injury. For her part, she was apprehensive about reliving the shock of what had happened to Rodney and the realization that Tommy was much more flawed than she had previously let herself believe. Jenny had tried to tell her about the violence and criminality that were as much a part of him as his pale blue eyes, but until she was faced with the aftermath of the attack and the subsequent murder of the attackers, she hadn’t wanted to believe her.

The Tommy that she fell for was a devilishly charming, handsome man. He told her that he did bad things, but he had an art collection and country estate for God’s sake! She had naively believed him when he said that people didn’t come after him anymore even though it contradicted all evidence. She had never known anyone who needed to carry a gun everywhere, but she had never known a member of Parliament. Maybe all MPs carried guns, she had reasoned. Every warning and every red-flag sailed right past her because she was mesmerized by the warm smell of his skin, the velvet at the nape of his neck, the soft words he breathed into her ear when they were alone.

The little trip to Watery Lane with Polly reminded her that he came from hard beginnings, but it took watching Charlie Strong stitch up a gash from an enemy’s bullet to drive the point home: Once a gangster, always a gangster. Maybe that was what Polly was trying to make her see all along. When she thought back to the way he reacted when she confronted him about Rodney she felt dread. He changed into someone else before her eyes. Polly’s words echoed in her memory, He did have a big heart. Did. Past tense. But then, he was so tender with her afterward. She made herself believe that there was hope for him after all, that Tommy was the paradoxical hard man with a heart. He was ruthless on his climb to the top and would always have a target on his back, so yes, he had to be hard. It was so much an ingrained part of Tommy’s life that he simply accepted it and moved on. She wanted to be like Tommy, and accept it, too.

Consequently, they fell into a comfortable pattern of denial. Nearly every day after it happened, she received a delivery of one kind or another—Flowers one day, a basket of exotic fruits the next, a box of wine and cheese from Harrods, a box of chocolates imported from Switzerland, it went on and on. On the nights he came to stay with her he brought antique volumes of poetry (obviously Ada’s idea) and a diamond bracelet to match the necklace he had already given her. She wanted so much to tell him that he didn’t need to buy her forgiveness, but pointing that out would only draw attention to the subject they were trying to avoid. Instead, she shared her fruits and chocolates with the girls at the library and drew jealous gasps from them as she told about the first edition Shelley that Tommy had given her.

As the holiday season drew closer, Lia finished working out her notice at the Birmingham branch of the library in preparation for her transfer to London. Naturally, she began to spend more time at Arrow House. Charlie was finished with lessons, so he and Lia fell into a pattern of riding, playing games, and baking cookies. At first Tommy had reservations about the growing boy hanging around the kitchen, but then Arthur reminded him of all the winter afternoons that John spent at Polly’s elbow making the Christmas treats. Ultimately, Tommy felt that while he was at work it was nice that someone besides a maid was with Charlie.

He especially enjoyed the greeting he received at the end of a long day. It was often dark when he finally pulled around the fountain and came through the door. Charlie and Lia could hear his car’s approach down the long driveway and had displaced Frances as the ones to meet him at the door. Lia would kiss his cheek and take his coat and hat while Charlie plied him with samples of their latest confections. Dinner at Arrow House was different, as well. Except for the nights that Tommy would be egregiously late, Charlie joined the grownups for dinner. Etiquette and decorum in great houses dictated that children were fed separate from the adults, and Tommy had been too busy to even question it. Lia, however, thought it was strange. She had grown up with family around the dinner table together, and she reckoned that Tommy had as well. Tommy was distant from Charlie in many ways, and she sought to remedy that where she could; having nightly dinner together was a step in the right direction.

One night after dinner, the three of them went into the sitting room for Charlie to play a while before bed. He had spent half of the afternoon setting up a racetrack, complete with pebbles marking the outline of the oval, toy horses on their marks, and toy soldiers crowded around as spectators. Tommy had one arm draped loosely around Lia’s shoulder as he chuckled lowly at the voices Charlie did for the announcers and the people in the crowd. They sipped their whiskeys and whispered their bets to each other.

“I think the black one will win by at least a length,” said Lia.

Tommy leaned closer until his nose grazed her ear. “I think it’ll be the bay. What would you like to wager, Miss?”

She looked up at the ceiling and pretended to think before replying, “How about three kisses?”

Charlie stopped galloping his horses and crowed, “Yuck, I can hear you two, you know.”

“You won’t always think it’s yucky, my boy. Now, run the race so we can see if Lia or your old dad has won.”

When Charlie was once again engrossed in the intricacies of the Derby, Tommy crossed the room to refill his whiskey. He motioned to Lia with the decanter and she joined him for a refill. They were just out of Charlie’s immediate line of sight, so he slipped his arms around her. She relaxed into his embrace and sighed, “This is lovely, but we’ll miss the end of the race.”

“I know what you are doing,” he said. His voice had taken on a more serious tone.

She put her hands on his chest and looked up. “What do you mean?”

“The dinners, the cookies at the door every afternoon, all of it,” he took a final drag from his cigarette and held her gaze as he placed the end in a nearby ashtray. “You are trying to have me spend more time with Charlie.”

“Charlie is a precious boy, and he loves you more than anything, Tommy. No matter what you may think, you deserve his love.”

Tommy stared at her in silence, stunned that she had read him so easily. She was innocent, guileless, and had no ulterior motive for what she said. She only wanted him to have a relationship with his son. The revelation both warmed him and filled him with uneasiness. He had let his mask slip in front of her, and she had seen the guilt and self-loathing that he hid from the world.

He silently blinked at her. When at a loss for how to react, his default was always to stall with a blank expression, a cigarette, and a glass of whiskey. He had stepped back from her and begun rummaging through his pockets for another smoke when Charlie’s high pitched voice called, “They’re in the final stretch!”

She turned to face the boy and his track, and as she did she caught sight of Grace’s photograph. He was far too young to remember the loss of his mother, but he knew the sting of growing up with a father who was absent due to an overwhelming sense of guilt and fear. Lia often reflected that Charlie seemed remarkably well adjusted for a child who had been through so much. She put it down to Ada and the staff, who honestly spent much more time with him than Tommy did. Then and there, she resolved to convince Tommy to have the boy stay in London with them. She couldn’t imagine being separated from him if they could help it.

***

“One of my boys should take you to your parents. I don’t like you taking the train on your own,” Tommy grumbled as his eyes shifted around and noted every shadow of the train station.

Both statements alluded to the very topic they’d been avoiding for a month—one of Tommy’s drivers being shot, and his lingering nervousness about the possibility that danger was still lurking about. Tommy hadn’t minded the train journey before, because Jenny was taking the trip with Lia. At the last minute, though, Jenny decided to stay in town an extra day with her new boyfriend, a Birmingham police detective.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just a couple of hours. Besides, I need a chance to explain to my parents about us. I can’t just swan into the village in the backseat of a chauffeured Bugatti. It’ll give my poor dad a heart attack,” she laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

Tommy cut his eyes at her. “I thought you said you had told them about me already.”

“They know I’m seeing you, but they don’t know how serious we have become. They definitely don’t know about London. I need time to ease them into the idea of me moving to the city with you.” She didn’t say without a ring on my finger, but it hung in the air, nonetheless.

She didn’t want their last moments before the holiday to be anything less than perfect. She wanted the Hollywood movie sendoff, complete with passionate kisses on the train platform, but she would settle for a respectable kiss and less of his moodiness. She cocked an eyebrow and turned her face up to his. He licked his lips and leaned in to oblige her. She blushed up to the roots of her hair when she thought about everywhere his lips had been just a few hours before.

They had spent the night before “saying goodbye” until well after midnight. Tommy (or his secretary) had really outdone himself. They started with an extra-long supper with Charlie. He had become quite attached to Lia and wanted a chance to say goodbye before her trip home. After Charlie went up to bed, Tommy took Lia upstairs where all her things for her trip were packed into Louis Vuitton cases.

Lia gasped, “Oh, Tommy! It’s too much!” She ran her fingertips over the leather and along the brass closures and groaned with pleasure, “Its only a three-day trip.”

He approached her from behind and nuzzled her ear, “Consider it an early Christmas gift. The rest of it is at your house.”

“The rest of it!” She shouted through bubbly laughter, spinning around and grasping Tommy’s face. He was smiling broadly and loudly kissed her.

“You’ll need it when we go to London. So you see, my girl, it’s actually a very practical gift.”

“Wool stockings are a practical gift. This cost more than the house where I was raised.”

He caressed her shoulders and his face took on a more serious expression. “Get used to it, love.”

Lia leaned into him as his hands slid from her arms to her back. He traced down and back up her spine, stopping at the top button of her dress. With achingly slow hands he undid each button while Lia pressed herself closer to his body. Maybe it was the after-dinner whiskey that had made her so giddy before, but now her head was dizzy with want and she found it hard to catch her breath.

After he slid her dress off of her shoulders he grasped her chin between his index finger and thumb and pulled her face up to his. He took in her drowsy expression, and with his eyes wide he gruffly whispered, “Lia, eh? Look at me.”

She fluttered her lashes and complied.

Tommy ground into her until she could feel the blood pulsing through his veins. “I want you to get used to having the best of everything, Lia. You are with me now, and London is on a whole other level than Birmingham. You’re a smart girl, but in London, I’ll need you to be sharp. Can you do that?”

He still had her chin in his hand, but she nodded as best as she could. She had barely breathed out, “Yes, Tommy,” before he had taken her mouth with his own. He spent the rest of the night taking everything else she could give him.

He was thinking of the same thing when he reached into his pocket for his watch. It was time. “Call me when you arrive,” he insisted as he looked her up and down. Even though she would only be gone for a few days, he wanted to remember every detail: the soft waves of her hair, the freckles on her nose, the sad smile on her deep red lips. Standing on that platform watching her go, he began to realize that he wanted her to stay. In the sober light of day, he wanted her to stay, and that worried him.

Hell yeah, I have a Masterlist!

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fiction #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x oc #all is fair

[cubanmalefootlover]

Bad Boy gets The Feather

-AAAAAAWW-AAAAWW-HAAHAHAHAHAHEHEEHEEHEEHEE! STOP HAHAHA! STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT PLEEEZZZ! PLEEEEHEHEHEHEHEEEEZZZZHH!!!...

A young man shrieks in hysterics as his bare feet are tickled without mercy by a masked man.

-PLEASE-PLEASE-PLEASE-PLEAAHWSZZHHH AAAAAWWH-AAAAHAAWWW- OOWWOOOOWWWAAAAA-AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!! I CANT TAK’IT!! AAAI CANT TAK’ITT!! AAAH MY GADSS!! AHH MAHH GAADSS HAHAHAA…!!!

His desperate pleas fall on deaf ears while the fierce assault just continues.

-AAWH-NO-NO-NO-NO-NOO-NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAAA!!!!! NOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO HOHOHOHOHOHO!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEEHEHEHEHEWWHSZHH!!! NAAAHIA HIAHIAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I CANT TAK’IT ANYMOOOOOOHO HOHOHOHOOORRR PLEEEEEHEEHEEHEEZZZZH STOHOHOHOHOHOHOP!!!!  

The young man squirms and writhes as much as he can, but the way he’s tied up gives him too little room, so there is NO WAY to escape of his ordeal. The masked man is taking very seriously his duty, he seems to never tire of sliding a big feather all over the boy’s soles, sometimes just grazing the barbs, sometimes raking the calamus all along the skin from heels to toes up and down, up and down, up and down assiduously.

-OH MY GAADS OH MY GAHAHAHAHDSS SOMEBODY HEHEHEHELP ME!!! OHHHOHO SOMEBAHAHAHAHAHADY PLEAHAHAHAZZZ HELP HEEELP NOT LIKE THAAHAHAHAHATT!!!!!! HIIHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA!!!!! NOOOOHOHO HOHOHOHOHO!!!! GAADSSS MAAHAHAWGHK… MAKE IT STAAAP!!! AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!! MAAHAAHAHAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAAAGHWK IT STOHOHOHOHOHO HOHOHOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOHOHOHOHAHAHA AAOHOHOHOWW!!! STAP! PLEEHEHEHEEHEHEEHEEEHEHEHEEEZZZZ!!!!

The torturer would change the feather by his manicured fingernails or hairbrushes or forks or Velcro, but his victim is ticklish enough to stay miserably howling with laughter for hours. Oh yeah, the feather have that devastating effect on the supersensitive nerve-endings of his feet. The masked man wants to make his prisoner suffer. And indeed the prisoner is! His deep voice has become raucous with gusts of potent laughter echoing all through the dungeon.  

-AHEEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHEEEEEEEEEAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHA HAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! SOOHOHOHOHOMBAHAHAAAAAAHAHAADY STAP THIS PLEASE!!!  

The masked man is as cruel as a demon…

-AAAAAHAHAHAAWWWWW! NOOOO-NOOO-NONONONONONONONONONO NONOOOO NOT THE TOES NAAHAHAHAHAT THE TOESS PLEEEEZZZ…!!!! –yelled the captive every time the masked man devoted himself to scratch the stiff calamus in between his toes and prickle them all along.

-OHH PLEEEEHHHZZ LISTEN LIIHIHIHIHIHISENT TO ME MAN!! ILL DO ANYTHIIHIHINNN… ANEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEETHN YAAAAHAAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA WAAHAHAHHAHANNN… ANYTHIINNN   AAAANITHHNNN YAAAUHUHUHUHUHU WAAAAAAANT!!! JUST STOP THIS SHIT PLEASE!!! YOU GONNA KILL MEEEHEHEHEHEEE!!!!...

The victim just wiggles his toes to no avail; whenever he curls them, the tormentor manages to insert the calamus or the barbs in the tender gap between the digits and darts or saw there to no end. The boy is in ticklish hell and all he can do is keep crying, hollering and guffawing, face down, shaking his head, all wrapped, on that bed, just like a madman.

 Two hours prior…

After noon, a local hooligan known as Bad Boy went out his gang’s den. At first sight you could notice he’s one of the dangerous gang’s boys of the district, judging by his attire: puffy leather jacket over a white wife-beater shirt, baggy jeans and steel-toed black military boots, covering his head a black beanie, a distinctive tattoo on his neck and bully attitude. Stylish sunglasses and a cigarette dangling from the edge of his lips completed that charm very typical of naughty men. His eyes fired anger and his tattooed hands were often closed in heavy fists ready to be discharged. He must be in his early twenties, guiding by his fresh, clean-shaven face. This slob has already got out of bed. Last night he was partying like crazy with his friends, tons of alcohol, drugs, wild sex and all kind of tough excitement. They were celebrating their last felony.  

Bad Boy had been spotted by a man since a week. This man was in his thirties, nerd-looking, average built, goatee, glasses and reserved attitude. This mysterious man was following Bad Boy for some blocks in his van. Obviously he had made this many times before because he knew the delinquent’s routine and when he got off the van, he managed to disguise himself among the crowd. Bad Boy had a meeting in a deserted factory with some members of his gang, planning their next “job”.  

Within his van, the chaser reviewed a list where it’s shown the picture of a young guy and some features:

Name: Unknown

Nickname: Bad Boy

Age: 24

Height: 5’9”

Weight: 75 kg

Built: Slim/muscular

Foot size: 9 US

Address: Unknown (He lives with the moll of the moment or in his gang’s den or in the street)

Police records: starting as car robber at 13 y.o, then vandalism, assailant, gang rape, gang banging, armed robbery, grievous bodily harm, extortion, drug dialer, arms dialer and the list kept increasing.  

After the meeting, a twenty something woman joined Bad Boy in a corner. The hooligan and his moll went into a restaurant. The mysterious man sat at a distant table. They were talking quietly, looking around with suspicion. The moll visited the restroom. The nerd-looking man walked after her… She just felt a prick on her neck before falling on the floor. The man quickly lifted her and threw her in a container. Then he casually returned back to his table. Bad Boy was impatient. He threw some bills on the table and left the restaurant.

The chaser followed his target in his van for a few blocks until a half deserted street. Knowing well where the bully would go, he turned by a corner, then got out of the van and simply walked in the opposite direction of Bad Boy. When they passed each other, the man raised his hand with the speed of a sneak. Furious, the hooligan turned around and grabbed the stranger by the arm but he couldn’t beat him. He suddenly started losing all control of his muscles. He weakly grasped the shirt of his attacker with a hand while the other took his gun, but he just fell on his knees and then slowly collapsed on the sidewalk.

-Whattha fack… oh shit… what did ya do?... –he mumbled.

Bad Boy got paralyzed like an insect after the bite of a spider. He could feel all his body sensations, but was unable to move an inch. Now, powerless, vulnerable, Bad Boy was hastily picked up from the street, placed over the man’s shoulder and carried to his van.

-Who’re ye…? Why’tha fuck… ya’r doin this to… me…?

Without wasting a second, the man got his prey within his van and locked the doors.  He had put a false number plate, just in case, then tied up his prisoner’s wrists and ankles with plastic cuffs, slid down his beanie to cover his eyes, then started the engine and vanished…

Bad Boy was conscious the whole time. He couldn’t see the place where he was taken, but he kept roaring his threats. Silence was the only man’s answer.

-What’he heck… ye inject me… SLIMBALL???!! Ya… FUC…KIN COWARD… ya had t’get m’down ‘caus’ ya can’t face ME!!

-WHO THE HELL’R YO?!! –The hooligan could kill his captor if he wasn’t immobilized-. Who ‘re ya workin for, looser??!! Won’t ye say a wor’??!!! MAH PE’PLE WILL FIND YA AND KILL YA, FUCK’RR!!!!  

Ten minutes and the van arrived to a lonely place. The man picked Bad Boy up in his shoulders and carried him by flat floor and then downstairs.

-YA’RE STAPID!! MAH BOYS’ILL CA’CH YE IN’A’HOUR AN’ YA’LL BE DEAD MAN!!!

The kidnapper had come to an enclosed place, more exactly a basement converted into a dungeon, soundproof walls, with discreet vents.

-Ye must be workin fer som’one!!! TELL HIS NAME!!!

Bad Boy didn’t stop of mumble-crying not even for a single minute; the effects of the drug were lessening gradually.

-DON’T YOU HEAR ME??! SCREW YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!!!

The space was occupied by a big mattress on a short-legged table bolted to the floor, iron railings at the top and bottom of this thing; another table armed with leather straps and medical restraints at various points, wooden beams in the ceiling with chains and shackles hanging from them, some sets of wooden stocks and a big shelf filled with a variety of tools…

Bad Boy had regained the mobility of his head and could speak aloud.

-STOP THIS SHIT AND GET ME OUT’F HERE! I WON’T DO ANYTHIN IF YOU STOP THIS SHIT MAN!!!

The chaser placed his prey on the mattress, brought some rolls of duct tape and began to wrap his victim from shoulders to the calves, so that the head and army boots stuck out. Bad Boy increased his threatening; none of his bully boy tactics got the awaited effect.  

-Get this fuckin shit out’f my eyes! I wanna see you!! DO IT, DICKHEAD!!!

The kidnapper changed his glasses for a mask on his face before slide out his prisoner’s knitted cap. Bad Boy blinked a bit while focused his eyes around and in his captor staring at him intently. When he realized his situation, firmly immobilized and helpless at the mercy of this freak inside this odd place, he began to feel scared. This wasn’t the job of a rival gang. This guy should be a psycho or something. His heart was hammering like mad; big drops of sweat began to form in his forehead.

-WHO THE HELL’RE YOU?  

-Call me Avenger –the man’s answer was heard through a device to distort his voice.  

-What??! You crazy? TAKE THIS SHIT OUT’F MY BODY AND I’LL SHOW YA!

-Get ready, today you’ll pay all your felonies for good, you piece of shit.

-Wait-wait-wait! If I-I did wrong against you or your people we-we can speak about it…

-Late to negotiations…

The Avenger walked to the foot bed and sat close his prisoner’s legs. Bad Boy noticed with worry the way this freak was devouring his combat boots with his eyes. The Avenger started to unlace them.

-Hey, you… DICKHEAD!! WHAT’RE YOU DOIN??! GET YOUR FUCKIN HANDS OFF MY SHOES!!! What the hell’s wrong with you????! HEY!! HEEYYY!!

Seeing his screams fell on deaf ears, Bad Boy began to struggle with all his might. Having recovered his physical strength, he managed to sit on the bed while kicked his wrapped legs vigorously against his attacker. The Avenger brought some straps and secured Bad Boy’s duct tape mummy to the hooks of the bed at his shoulders, waist, knees and calves, so that the captive could not move any longer, but squirms a little. Then he resumed unlacing the footwear, it took some time since these were calf-length boots with long, well-knotted laces. Finally he slipped one after the other and held them in his hands a few seconds admiring them: black shiny steel-toed combat boots, size 9. Bad Boy peered down toward the masked man with a perplexed look. A smell of sweaty feet wafted in the air. The white woolen socks he wore were damp and stained. Instinctively, Bad Boy curled his toes inside the socks.

Without delay, both socks were peeled off, exposing a pair of dirty soles that got the Avenger satisfied. Obviously Bad Boy never wasted time pampering his feet, they were rough, with lots of calluses all over the heels and the ball; long, crooked toes, his toenails weren’t trimmed, either. The kind of feet you’d expect in a man like him, which made them look utterly masculine. The habit of wearing those boots permanently kept his feet warm and reeking, the arches were wrinkly and the toes squishy.  The Avenger stuffed the humid socks inside the boots and brought a box. Bad Boy raised his head trying to see the content of that box.

-What you have in that thing, man?

The Avenger showed him a large feather. Bad boy grimaced with disbelief. That feather could only have one sense, but it was so unbelievable, ridiculous, that he sniggered as only reaction. Again he involuntarily curled his bare toes as a chill went down his spine…

-What’re you gonna do with that stupid feather, slimball??

-What do you think it happens when feathers come upon feet, smart-ass?

-You gonna tickle me? –asked Bad Boy incredulously-. That’s ridiculous!

-You think so, really?

-Sure, idiot! Anyway, I'm not ticklish!!!

-So you won’t mind if the feather takes a walk by here…

The masked man dragged the feather up and down Bad Boy’s sole: his both feet flinched briskly at the mere contact. His lanky toes fanned out a second: there were lots of sock lint and skin debris in between them.

-YOU SON OF A BITCH BROUGHT ME HERE TO TICKLE MY FEET??!!! This can’t be happen to me!!  HEY GET ME FREE YOU FUCKIN NERD AND ILL SHOW YOU HOW TO TREAT A MAN!!

Bad Boy thrashed about and fought back as much as he could; he just got tired and even more infuriated. The kidnapper stayed looking at him through the holes of his mask with satisfaction. He resumed running the feather over the left sole. It was very funny the way Bad Boy wiggled his toes trying in vain to avoid the tickling.

-HELL NO! -He tilted his head back and forth violently-. Don’t do that, man! Wait…WAIT… HOHOHOSHIIITT let’s talk… LEHETS TAHAALK!

The Avenger danced the calamus of the feather by the right toes, focusing on the underside and the tender gap between them. Then slid down the ball and gently began to stroke the stiff thing up and down.

-How does it feel, huh? Staying helpless when someone does with you what he wants?

-Hey, stop this shit and let me go! This is stupid, man! You can’t do this!

Bad Boy gritted his teeth fighting to pull his foot away but the grip of the Avenger prevented him even scrunch.

-Talk, scumbag… Tell The Avenger how this feels…

The quill slid down all along the sole to the heel and circled there. Bad Boy wanted to scream, but his macho façade prevented him. If he screamed, it’d be as singing his defeat and confirms his humiliation. The Avenger was inspired, he used three feathers, which meant three quills to rake the sole, making special intent in the arch, then the ball below the toes and then the heel, increasing the speed.

-Listen… man… untie me… we’re alone here… we can resolve this like men… Oh shit! HEY… LET’S HAVE A FISTFIGHT… A FISTFIGHT JUST LIKE MEN…!!  

The Avenger was deaf as a rock. Bad Boy could feel his strength failing shamefully. Tickling was a stuff of kids, women or faggots. Men aren’t ticklish, less tough men like him. This was so absurd, so wimpish, so girlish, but this shit was actually getting him out of himself.

After a few minutes, the hooligan cracked loudly:  

-AAAAAAAAWWW…HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAA!!!!! STAP MAN!!! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OOOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA YOU WIN YOU WIN FUCKIN BITCH YOU WIN JUST STOP THIS PLEASE!!!!!! AAAHHHHH…!!!! MAAAN IT TICKLES… IT TICKLES… OH STOP IT TICKLSH AAASTAAAOHOHOP PLEASE I CAN'T IT I CANT STAHAHAHA HAHAHAAND IT AAWWIHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! STOP TICKLIN MAHI HATE IT AHAHAHAHAA STOP!!! ILL KILL YOU!!! ILL KILL YOU FUUUHUHUAHAHCKKERR!!!! OOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA…!!!!!

The Avenger knew how to keep a real pig of a man laughing like a hyena and begging for mercy; and just with a harmless method like feathering his defenseless feet.

A half hour later, the Avenger gave Bad Boy a rest. The captive was out of breath, panting and quivering as if he had a fit. His face was drenched in sweat. He thought this was all, but to his dismay, the Avenger turned his mummy form around to have him lie now on his belly. His tough-boy soles looked even more attractive upside down.

-C’MON, DUDE! –screeched Bad Boy-. I'm finished!... Hey, what’s wrong with you?! I beg you, Avenger, get me out of here… I won’t do anything against you… I SWEAR! LET ME GO HOME…!!!

Bad Boy wanted to think that this crazy was done. He had to get out of this or he would die for sure. He used a humble tone:

-Ok… I’ll do whatever you want… Let’s talk, ok? Let’s talk… -He was still panting and coughing-. I underestimated you… I know I did something wrong against you or your family, right? We-we can sort this out! You just ask me something to compensate, man! Let’s talk!

The Avenger understood the tactic, but he had made his decision. Bad Boy saw a hypodermic being prepared.

-WHAT'S THAT?!! -he yelled with renewed nervousness.

-Something to help you feel better through the experience.

-NAH! YOU WANNA HURT ME BAD! This is like the paralyzin’ thin’ you put me earlier! You had had enough from me, man! You should free me now! YER GONNA KILL ME…!!!

- This will make you feel even more than before.

-I JUST WANNA FEEL YOU CUTTIN THIS SHIT’N GETTIN ME OUT’F HERE!!

After reluctantly being injected, Bad Boy was again squirming with all his might to no avail. The half hour of tickling had tired him, but above all, had infused him with the most gut panic he’d felt in his life. Within few minutes, the effects of that injection began to be evident. Bad Boy felt as if every inch of his body had gotten extremely touchy: the mere brushing against his skin made him flinch. His unprotected soles were now peculiarly sensitive that he could feel the flapping of a fly at several inches from his feet or it was turned on an air conditioner directly over his naked feet.  

The Avenger repositioned himself in his beloved place close to Bad Boy’s tootsies. His dirty lanky toes clenched violently, there wasn’t a single surface left untouched on those rough soles. In the other end, Bad Boy bobbed his head up and down hysterically.    

-OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OAAHHH MY GAAAADSS!!!! STAP IT STAP IT STAP IT FUCKERRRRR!!! OOOOHHHHHSSSHIITTT!!! OH SHIT! I CANT TAKE IT!!!!!! AAAAAAHHHHH!!!! AAAAHHHHWWW!!!!! AAAAAAHHH!!!! AHAHAHA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!!!! FAAAAACKKK!!!! AHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAWWWWWHHHH!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

If it had been proved that his feet were very ticklish before the injection, now Bad Boy was in the verge of his sanity. His brain was being brutally bombarded with excruciating levels of ticklishness registering from the nerves of his assaulted feet. He opened wider his mouth to release steaming, frantic gales of laughter boiling from his lungs: the only relieve for such UNBEARABLE feeling.    

Completely absorbed in his job, the Avenger kept viciously raking the feather to and fro the soles, arches, balls, heels and toes of the hooligan’s feet for hours. Bad Boy’s eyes filled with tears of sheer agony while hoarsely begged for the tickling stop and be freed. Nevertheless, there was no clue of mercy for his crimes.

 The next day

The Avenger kept on tickling Bad Boy’s helpless feet for hours till the son-of-a-bitch were no longer squirming. The masked man turned around to see the face and found Bad Boy’s eyes fixed in an apoplectic trance, his mouth winced in a permanent sardonic smile, but not breathing.  

The Avenger has accomplished his task! He gave a last scratching to the felon’s soles… no response.

The Avenger picked the body up the bed and carried it to his sinister van.

-At least you leave this world with a big smile in your scumbag face…

 Three days later

The mailman knocks at a door. A twenty something woman opens and gets a package, she signs and the mailman leaves. The girl opens the package with anxiety; she sensed it has something to do with her man: a local hooligan known as Bad Boy. Inside the box there is a pair of black shiny steel-toed combat boots. Her eyes start filling with tears because she knows the owner of these boots. Inside them there are some white woolen socks, dirt-stained on the bottom and reeking. She knows that smell too.  

  The End

[21stcenturyyfoxx]

Sabotage: Chapter Two

Characters: Y/N, Keanu, Andi, Chad Stahelski.

Warnings: Angst, Depression, Suicidal mentions, Drugs, Partying.

———————————————————

It had been two weeks since that night. You now were sitting on your couch, eating a handful of popcorn while some movie was playing. You hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on with the plot, as you rewound it for the fifth time that evening, your mind flashed back to what Andi had said about how you couldn’t pay attention to the simplest things; your heart shattered all over again, tears falling quietly.

“Fuck...” you sighed, wiping your face with the long sleeves of your sweater.

——

You turned the tv off, staring at your ghostly reflection. Your mind numb to any real feeling other than pain.

A furious knock at the door jolted you, you scurried hastily to the door, opening it to find Keanu standing there; the mixture of leather from his jacket and cigarettes hit you and made you feel the most alive you had felt in the last two weeks.

“We need to talk..” He said sharply.

“Ye-yeah, come in.” You stepped aside letting him enter your home.

Closing the front door, you turned to him, now you could study his features better.

He looked angry.

Soon your phone started to buzz rapidly with text messages from an unknown number; you quickly realized who it was.

« “Oh Y/N, you shouldn’t have said such things to me, I thought we were all friends?"»

« ”You know I have nothing but respect for you!”»

«Keanu would be so discouraged to know how you felt... :(”»

Your eyes snapped to Keanu who stood there, boiling over the seams.

“Why would you tell Andi she should go kill herself? She told me everything, and honestly, I can’t fucking believe you.”

You stood there in shock, even if you were to defend yourself there’s no way he’d believe you; so you just avoided his haughtily gaze.

“I thought you cared for me, you may not have to like her, but shit, at least have some fucking respect for me...”

You felt sick to your stomach, a wave of nausea and anger wandered through your body.

“Keanu you know I wouldn’t do that!”

“Do I?!” He retorted.

“How could you come into my house and call me a liar?”

“Well I mean to be fair you fucking ran out of the restaurant..” he snorted.

“Because of your little... what is she? Girlfriend?” You spat bitterly.

“Yeah, she’s my fucking girlfriend! Why do you fucking care it’s not like you loved me! How could you you’re too young and ...” he stopped abruptly.

You hadn’t noticed the tears slipping down your cheeks, your body shivered.

“Say it!” You screamed.

“I’m done. I, we can’t be friends anymore.”

“Wh-what?” You choked out.

“It’s over, Y/N. This, friendship is over.” Keanu said as he bolted out of the house to a waiting vehicle. Your eyes blurry, filled with tears as you struggled to make out who was in the passenger side facing your house.

Andi, with a devilish smirk.

You breathed out. Defeated.

———

It had been exactly 5 months, 6 days, and 7 hours since Keanu’s late night visit.

News outlets kept reporting gossip of the two of you, the fallen out, the hatred, the love, everything buzzed around you.

You had been too focused on the television to notice Chad had stopped talking about his new project.

“Hey, sweet one.” He cooed, his hand lightly brushing against yours to coax you back to reality.

You and Chad had been good friends following the aftermath of the Keanu fallout. He was the only one who cared how you felt during the bad days, and the only one who showed up at the hospital the day you were found by the hotel housekeeper, overdosed in your tub.

Keanu didn’t even send flowers, a card, anything. You devastatingly accepted it.

“Sorry...“ You whimpered.

“Would you, would you like me to call him?” He spoke, worriedly.

You shook your head. You knew Keanu hated you by now, it had been five months.

Two years down the drain and splashed front page for everyone to see how miserable you were without him.

“Hey, look, maybe you should get out of the house? A movie I shot over the summer is wrapping up and it’s having a wrap party tonight. Please come? I’ll pick you up.” He smiled sheepishly, his thumb gently grazing the back of your hand.

You sat there a moment, weighing your options. A sliver of hope danced across your skin in forms of goosebumps. Maybe you could finally breathe for once, wouldn’t be so cooped up. Hospitals and the house weren’t doing you any favors.

“Sure.” You smiled.

——————

Chad kept his word about picking you up that night, driving through a secluded Los Angeles neighborhood where the party was being held.

A couple hours in, you had danced with Chad and a few mutual friends before dread hit you like a baseball bat to the head. You felt paralyzed as you saw them.

Keanu and Andi were standing near the door, eyes looking around the room. Andi never saw you, too busy hanging onto Keanu for dear life and publicity.

But Keanu, no, Keanu found you.

His eyes locked onto yours.

You swallowed your saliva hard, tears threatened to spill at the mere sight of him.

He was wearing black trousers, a black T-shirt, and a black suit jacket with new black hiking boots; you smiled half heartedly; did she know it was you who had bought those for him six months ago for a good laugh and he really needed a better variety of shoes.

Keanu tried to walk away from her only to be drug back into Andi’s arms.

He looked as miserable as you did.

You sighed making your way to the rooftop, a smoke needed.

You leaned over the ledge, looking down at the lights of the city.

You heard the door creak open behind you, shutting with a loud thud.

You turned around...

“Chad, you scared me.”

“Sorry, dove.” He smiled looking at you.

“How’s the party down there?” You asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke away from him.

“It was going amazing until Keanu brought that bitch with him.“

You coughed, laughing and choking at the same time at Chad’s choice of words.

“Oh come on, you know as well as I do she’s only with him to fuel her own business.”

Your lips parted to say something before the door opened, the sight of the person stepping out made your blood boil.

Andi found her way to Chad, her arm intertwining with his. A sadistic grin on her face.

You left the two of them to talk — and for Chad to figure his way out of her grasp.

———

You grabbed your coat, deciding to walk home or get so far and then call an Uber.

You fled out of the house, turning the corner and harshly bumping into a figure.

“Oh, shit sorry.”

“Y/N..” He said softly.

You looked up at the face of the figure.

Keanu.

You stared at him in disbelief.. your heart fell.

“Keanu..” You said.

“Look, I...” He started before getting cut off. A slender woman suddenly appeared by his side, her hand in his with some unholy grip.

He closed his eyes, opening them to meet your gaze before shifting them to the pavement.

“Baby we need to get home..” she whined to him.

Keanu stayed quiet, the tension he could even feel.

The heat radiated off of you.

You started to laugh, your body letting loose, shaking.

“What’s the matter with.. her?” Andi said in disdain.

Chad and a mutual friend of you and Keanu’s, Carrie Ann, appeared by your side. Carrie knew far too well that you’d reached your limit.

“Come on, Y/N. She isn’t worth it.” She mused, her hand on your shoulder.

You stood there.

“You need to run along, little girl. The adults have to go home and not party in the hotels...” Andi fired off, getting closer to you.

Your fists clenched, knuckles turning white.

“You need to realize...” she said getting in your face.

“He’ll never want your pathetic, druggie ass.” She hissed.

Keanu stood between the two of you before you could get to her.

“That’s enough!” He shouted.

The photographers catching the fiasco. Every second, every word.

By the looks of it, Keanu was protecting Andi from you, in truth he was but not in the chivalrous way.

He knew all too well, like Carrie, what you were capable of doing.

“Aw, baby..” She said with a satisfied grin.

“Andi, You should leave.” Keanu said while looking into your eyes.

Tag list: @celestiaelisia @pinkzsugar @fanficsrusz

#keanu reeves #sabotage #keanu x reader #andi

[leyla676]

the love of a lifetime

This was the first time I got a request! I am so happy about it!

Dear @askrosemarymckneal ,

I hope it went out the way you wanted it, I hope it makes you happy.

Thank you so much for the message and the idea for this story.

Warnings: none, just a worried Billy and an unexpected situation

WORDS: 1590

__________________________________________________

You remember the first day Billy Hargrove arrived at school. It was one year ago, after summer break. You recognized him, everyone did. It didn‘t take long for you to fall in love with this beautiful, mullet-wearing god, even your friends didn‘t understand why you adored him.

There were so many guys at school, waiting to get on a date with you. They were nice, friendly, intelligent, good at sports and everything… and they were boring.

Always dressed on top, never late for school, spent their free time at the library. Learning for school exams, playing Football.

And then there was Billy.  

He was the bad one, the arrogant, the unapproachable, the new king. Listening to his metal music way too loud, having fights with the boys and smoking cigarette after cigarette. He was dangerous.

Of course you wouldn‘t have told anybody, except of your close circle, that you were in love, even if everyone saw how you closed your eyes anytime he passed you, smelling his cologne which drove you wild.

You never imagined that Billy felt the same way. He catched you stepping on the tire of your old Mustang when it didn‘t start, screaming what you‘d do with it and he watched you, leaning on the side of his Camaro, smoking.  

He saw the fire in you. Since then he wanted you.

And he did everything to get your attention.

Every time he smiled at you, you felt your heart beat faster, you acted like a thirteen-year-old, blushing and stuttering.

At first he started with compliments, waiting for you at your locker, walking you to your parking space, writing sweet words on little sheets he put on your car.

First you tried to act cool, like the „hard-to-get“ chick you wanted to be, but it didn‘t take long for you to feel his soft lips on yours as he pulled you close and pushed you against the lockers. Everyone saw it. Since then you were the queen. The queen of the new Keg King.

Both of you were known as the most adorable couple ever. There was no Billy without you, and no Y/N without Billy.

You stayed longer on Fridays, knowing that Billy would play Basketball. You loved every move he made, shirtless in his green sports short, you cheered him up, wrote signs with „GO BILLY“ on it and he waited for you when you had your dancing lessions on Wednesday. He just loved to see you dance, moving around to the rhythm and he knew that he would get extra lessions when both of you are home.

Every girl in school wanted what you had.

Romantic sunsets on the hood of his dark-blue Camaro, Billy between your legs, kissing and holding each other while listening to soft Rock.

You remember the moment he first murmured „together forever“ in your ear.

And you remember the nights he made love to you, adored you, kissed every inch of your body, whispering softly in your ear how much he wanted you.

Billy was a rough beast too if you‘d let him. Marking you with hickies, biting you, making you scream his name over and over again.

Yeah, and you remember the last Party at Tina‘s, when you got too much whisky. This night Billy lifted you up, shouldered you and took you to his car which was parked further away from Tina‘s house.

There was no single time that you didn‘t think about prevention. But this night Billy wore his tight jeans and his black leather jacket with no shirt under it. He knew how to drive you crazy. You wanted him, wanted his abs, his strong arms all over you, you wanted him rough and you got him rough, as any time you begged for it at the backseat of his Camaro.

Without prevention.

This was about a month ago.

Two days ago you woke up, feeling sick, running to your bathroom, throwing up.

„Babe, what‘s wrong, should we stay at home today?“, Billy asked you, stroked your back and held your hair as you vomited. He hated to see you like this.

„I don‘t know, mabye I couldn‘t stand the food yesterday“, you answered and your body started to shake.

Billy held you as tight as he could, not afraid of getting sick by himself. If his queen was feeling sick, he would do anything to make her feel better.

You spent the rest of the day cuddling, sleeping, watching movies and… eating! You didn‘t know exactly what was going on but you had a lot of cravings, especially for Spaghetti, Pizza and chocolate ice cream.

And this fire burning inside you. God, Billy smelled so good!

After the third time within an hour, he asked you if you would never get enough of him. He always wanted to have sex with you, he adored you but he kind of felt something change on this day.

And he would be damn right with that.

…

„Billy“, your voice was thin and shaky as you looked into his ocean-blue eyes, „Billy… there are two lines“

He looked at the little pregnancy test.

„Well… two lines are better than one, right?“, he asked, still smiling.

„Billy. I am pregnant“

Once he realized what was going on, he sat down besides you on the bed, looking at the little white thing in your hands, showing these two lines. „You mean I am going to be… a daddy?“, he whispered.

„I do think so, yes“, you answered.

„You didn‘t get your period, right?“, he asked, looking at you.

„Nope“

You knew a different Billy than every other person around. He was gentle, loving, caring, soft and romantic but only to you.

He still was the Keg King, the dreaded king of Hawkins High School. Mister „arm around your shoulders“, punching everyone who looked at you the wrong way. But you knew that he would never do anything that could hurt you. You trusted him.

„What should we do now?“, you asked him, afraid of hearing what he would answer.

„I think we are going to be parents, right?“, you saw how his blue eyes filled up with tears as he placed a hand on your belly.

You catched a little tear falling down his beautiful face by wiping it away with your thumb.

„I am going to be a dad“, he whispered and smiled at you. „I did this. This is MY baby growing up. My baby!“

Suddenly he jumped off the bed, jumping around and laughing out loud. „I am going to be a DADDY“, he shouted, took your hands, pulled you up, whirling you around, kissing you.

You never imagined that he would act like this.

It seemed that he was really happy about the news of your pregnancy. Really happy. He was proud.

But suddenly he got quiet.

„What‘s wrong, Billy?“, you asked.

„What if I am going to be a bad dad?“, he whispered and you saw how worried he was.

„No. You are so caring. You will be a great daddy!“, you tried to calm him down.

„We can‘t tell Neil. He is going to kill me. He is going to hurt you. I won‘t let this happen“, he was nervous, walked circles at your room, trying to clear his mind.

„Billy, everything is going to be okay, this way or another“, you said, watching him.

„No… what if I am going to be the same asshole as Neil was to me? I can‘t be like that. What if I end up like him, screaming at my child or even… hitting?“

You recognized how he clenched his hands to fists, he was nervous everytime he spoke about Neil. There were lots of nights you found Billy climbing up your window, talking about what he did to him while you cleaned up his bleeding wounds.

„Billy. You will NEVER be like Neil. You are a better person because you went through it all. You won‘t end up like this man“

„You never know! I am agressive too!“, he hissed.

„Yeah, but only if anyone talks shit about me. You won‘t hurt your own child! This is your baby, YOUR child!“, you reassured him and went close to him, placing your hand on his cheek. „Billy, look at me. I am all yours and this Baby is all yours. We love each other. Forever“

His eyes were getting soft again as he held you by your waist and kissed you.

„I love you so much, Y/N“, he whispered and smiled at you.

„I love you more, Billy“, you placed your head on his shoulder. „Everything will be okay. As long as we stick together“

You felt his heartbeat went fast and closed your eyes as he held you tight.

„What if… we get married?“, he murmured in your ear and you felt like your own heart would stop beating.

„What?“, you opened your eyes.

Billy let off of you, went down on his knees, taking your hand, clearing his throat, „I planned to ask you long ago, Darling, just a little bit more romantic“, he giggled nervously, „You are my light, my everything. The reason for me to get up in the morning and the reason to come home every night. I ask you to please be my wifey, Y/N“

Your eyes were filling with tears as you saw him, kneeling in front of you.

„Billy, yes! YES! A thousand times yes!“

Then he hugged you, kissed you and held you tight.

„Together. Forever“, he whispered. „Forever and a day“

___________________________________________________

@askrosemarymckneal

#billy hargrove x reader #request #billyhargrove #billyhargrovefanfiction #billy hargrove #billyhargrovexreader #fluff #billy hargove x reader