#my hand could fall off and walk itself away right now and I’d still be like it’s probably fine

[thefreakandthehair]

(don't bother) calling me when you're sober | rating: m | wc: 1.5k

content warnings: future fic, parental alcoholism ("falling off the wagon"), past parental neglect, minor character death (i've committed wayne crimes i'm so sorry but it's not shown, just mentioned), emotional hurt/comfort, ends on a happy, hopeful note despite the tags

“My dad called.” 

Eddie walks into the room, pinched eyebrows and flared nostrils lit up by the multicolored Christmas lights they string on the tree every year, one hand balled into a fist. The reaction  wouldn’t surprise Steve so much if this happened years ago, when Al Munson was still living in the bottom of a bottle of Jack, but now? 

It’s been eighteen years since he’d gotten sober, nineteen years since his last stint at Hawkins County, and fifteen years since making a genuine attempt to right the wrongs of Eddie’s childhood and build a relationship with his son. 

Fifteen years after Eddie let him in, let him try, let him earn Eddie’s trust. 

Fifteen years is a long time and to see Eddie so vitriolic in the doorway of their apartment’s living room— hands shaking, body shaking— Steve knows something must’ve gone wrong. 

“What happened?” Steve asks, standing from the couch and meeting Eddie where he stands, holding the hand not curled tightly around itself. 

“He’s drunk. He called, and he was drunk.” 

Steve’s chest pulls tight, his heart racing. What does someone say to that? What can someone say to assuage that kind of deep anger, pain, and betrayal? His thoughts are scattered as they try to make sense of what Eddie just said, and he’s even more grateful now that Ronnie wanted a sleepover with Aunt Robin tonight. 

“Eddie, fuck. I’m so— ” Before he can finish his thought, Eddie leans back against the doorframe, ripping his hand out of Steve’s and tangling his fingers in his hair, tugging. 

“How could he? How fucking could he?!” Eddie bellows, eyes squeezed shut. “He knew! He knew that if he ever did this again, I’d be done. For good. For forever. And he did it anyways! After eighteen fucking years!” 

His eyes fly open and Steve stands still and nods him on. There are just no words to fix this, and trying for the sake of filling the silence has never served him well.

“He did it anyway! Two days before fucking Christmas, a week before the anniversary of—” He chokes and cuts himself off. 

He knows what Eddie was going to say. A week before the anniversary of Wayne’s death. It’s been on his mind, too, of course. On his mind and in their conversations over breakfast with eccentric mugs of coffee, over the tangled lights that Wayne could always figure out. The year hasn’t been the kindest to them, particularly Eddie, and Steve wants to protect Eddie as much as he can from whatever he can. 

But he can’t shield him from this. Al Munson skips to the top of his shitlist.

“That son of a bitch!” Eddie rams his fist sideways against the door jam, leaving a sharp, red mark along his pinky. “He promised, and I believed him. Why the fuck did I believe him, Steve?”

Steve takes a step closer and grabs both of Eddie’s hands, carefully soothing the angry mark. “It’s been almost twenty years, babe. Trusting him with so much time invested makes sense. Hell, I did, too.” 

“I’m— I’m in my 30s, hurt and angry about the same shit I was hurt and angry about as a fucking kid. All the nights I slept in the backseat of the car because he blew his money at the bar, all the car accidents and court appearances and jail time, all the mornings I missed school because he didn’t know what fucking day it was,” Eddie rants, stopping to take a breath before picking back up, Steve’s own heart cracking and raging the more he speaks. 

“And every time he’d get sober, he’d always promise. He’d promise it would be the last time, and it never was. Not once could he choose his fucking son and I didn’t understand it then, but now that we have Ronnie, I understand it even less. If I was sick enough to walk away from her, I’d walk my happy ass to the nearest fucking rehab. I get that it’s a disease, I get it, I get it, I get it. But I can’t— I can’t do it again. Not this time. Eighteen years just down the fucking drain because of his company’s holiday party? How can I ever believe him again? Or trust him again?” 

Eddie’s voice grows raspier, breath shallow and quick, eyes watery. “Every time this happened when I was a kid, I always had Wayne. He’s the only person who really got it, y’know? The only one who lived it with me and now, I don’t even have him. My dad’s drunk, slurring his way through who fucking knows what on the phone, and no one else can fully understand the magnitude of what that feels like for me.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut again and drops forward toward Steve, forehead on his shoulder and arms loosely hung around Steve’s waist. Steve still doesn’t have words that bandage this up, but he knows how to show his husband love in other ways. Ways that, over the years, have become a language all their own. Steve pulls him in tight, one hand near his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. Fingers slide carefully beneath the hem of Eddie’s tee-shirt and rub little, repetitive circles into the small of Eddie’s back while he cards his other hand through Eddie’s hair, scratching his scalp and holding him to his chest to feel the rhythm of Steve’s own heartbeat until his breath returns to a steady pace. 

It’s only then that Steve speaks. 

“I don’t know what to say, Ed. It’s fucked up, and if you want to me like, hit him with my car, you know I’m game.” Steve feels Eddie laugh— just a few puffs of air through his nose but it’s a laugh all the same. “But I’m here, and we’re gonna figure it out, okay? Whatever you decide to do, we’ll do it together.”

Eddie nods and lets himself be led to the couch, Steve tucking Eddie into his side and pulling the afghan up over them. 

“I never want to be what Al was to me to our daughter,” Eddie whispers, not looking away from the tree. 

“Well, you’re ahead of the game, because she’s already older than you were when he started hitting the bottle hard. And I know there’s the genetic piece to it that everyone talks about, but nurture counts for a lot of who we become, too. Shit, I owe Joyce Byers a huge thank you for being more of a parent to me than my own were because she’s probably the reason I didn’t turn out like Dick Harrington. Ronnie’s never going to have an Al Munson in her life, because you weren’t raised by Al Munson. That’s not whose legacy you’re passing down. You’re passing down love, not pain.” Steve presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s temple and feels his whole body sag into him. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Eddie’s voice is quiet now, a far cry from his earlier venomous edge. 

Silence nestles onto the couch with them, a comfortable addition, as they watch the basketball game Steve had on before Eddie told him about the phone call. Watch is a loose description, actually. They're more just looking at a moving, flashing screen. 

“My hand really hurts, by the way,” Eddie announces, holding up the hand he’d used to punch the doorjam. “That was fucking dumb.”

“Maybe a little bit, but I get it,” Steve untucks a hand from beneath the blanket and outstretches his palm. “Lemme see?”

Eddie plops his hand into Steve’s and Steve takes a look, mentally working down the check list he’s memorized from his decade plus of EMT work. No obvious breaks, nothing looks crooked, Eddie’s able to move each finger and flex his hand without severe pain. 

“If anything, it’s just gonna be bruised tomorrow. But I’ll fix it,” Steve grins and lifts Eddie’s fist to his lips, carefully kissing each knuckle and paying a little extra attention to the pinky that delivered most of the blow. 

“I’m so in love with you, Steve.” Eddie rests his temple on Steve’s shoulder. “You know that, right?” 

“I know,” Steve agrees, chest fluttering despite the circumstances. “And I’m in love with you, too. You know that, right?”

Eddie snuggles in and wraps Steve up, full koala, as though he’s trying to get as close as possible without actually cracking Steve open and climbing inside of him. 

“Definitely.”

The next morning, Aunt Robin brings Ronnie home and together, they decorate the gingerbread cookies that only vaguely look like people but are good enough to pass for a seven year old. Halfway through, Eddie’s cell phone rings and the caller I.D. reads Al. Steve watches, worried that Eddie’s going to answer in the middle of their decorating. That he’ll forget Ronnie’s having the time of her life, and that in his righteous indignation, Eddie will leave the table to go fight and argue.

There’s so much to be said, and Steve wouldn’t blame him, but he breathes a sigh of relief when Eddie simply declines the call and sets about pouring more edible glitter onto his design with a smile down at their daughter. 

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs #(whispers): yeah so my mom fell off the wagon after 18 years at her fucking work party and this is basically just what my day was #our relationship has always been strained but since she got sober there was at least some contact? #anyways #replace wayne with my grandparents and this is just all projection baybee 😙✌️ #super not cool with it BUT that's why there are some content warnings here you don't see from me very often 💕

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Yandere!Yang Jeongin x F!Reader TW : jeongin redemption sort of but at what cost? ; mention of readers s**c*d* attempt ; reader depression ; Jeongin doing his best ; it's still really angsty ; reader has very valid trust issues ; fluff ending though because Jeongin never gets any fluff ; Word Count : 3.1K Request : @slayhyunjin @neteyamsmate4life and the one anon who was in my inbox... Part 2 for Pins and Needles!! A/N : THIS ONE TOOK A TURN FOR THE BETTER! YAYYYY!!!

“Good morning, beautiful…” Jeongin whispered, his words slightly slurred by his yawn as he stretched his arms above his head. “You’re making breakfast?” He questioned, walking over to where you stood at the stove, trying not to pay too much attention to the way you flinched away from him, your movements went from fluid to almost robotic. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Do you care?” You mumbled back, taking a shaky breath as you flipped the omelet in the pan. Jeongin couldn’t help but appreciate just how perfectly you did it too, there was no residue on the side, none had splattered over the edge, you had gotten it to land right in the center. “Please don’t pretend just because you found me like that. It’s the first time and the last time I’d let you see me that way.” 

“I hope it was the first and the last time you’d try to do something like that in general.” He snipped, but immediately clenched his teeth. You were annoyed with him, and reflecting on the way he had been made it very clear that he deserved everything you might want to do or say to him. “I do care though… I want you to sleep well… A good sleep is important for your health.” 

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a plate from the cabinet and sliding the omelet to the center before placing the bacon on the side. “You can eat now.” You said flatly, setting the plate down at his spot and then grabbing his drink. “I’m gonna take a shower and-” 

“D-Don’t… Don’t lock the door…” He blurted out as his eyes widened, his fork inches brom his mouth but the food falling off of it and back onto the plate. “Please… Just in case you need me for anything… I can come in and help you.” He rambled, and your eyes shut as you shook your head. 

“God, would you just stop.” You sounded so tired when you said it, your hands slipping into the pockets of the hoodie you were wearing. When your eyes opened once more, you were glaring at him and it pissed him off to be honest. He was trying his best and you were just pushing him aside. How was he supposed to be better for you when everything he did seemed to piss you off? 

“Stop what? What am I supposed to do? I’m trying to change and that’s not good enough for you! So tell me! What do you want!?” He shouted, and he saw you shiver, it was evident that him raising his voice still scared you, and while it used to be amusing to him, now it was just upsetting. How could he have ever found that to be amusing in the first place? He never wanted to hurt you, but it just became habitual almost. That in itself was sickening. 

“I don’t know!” You shouted back, but it was like you immediately backed down, inching back until you were standing against the fridge, like you were trying to disappear inside of it. “I’m scared of you…” The whispered confession had his heart sinking and he wanted nothing more than to run over to you and hold you, to tell you that you didn’t have to be scared anymore, but he knew that wouldn’t make anything better, not at all. “I’m scared of you being nice to me because I never know when you’ll go back to being that way… At least when you were treating me like garbage I was prepared for it daily… Now I just… I don’t know… And that’s the scariest part. So just… Just stop…” 

Seeing you in the bathtub… Seeing you trying to leave him like that… It had been a rude awakening, but one that he very clearly needed. Now he was left with the pieces of you that he had broken, and he didn’t know how to handle you, he didn’t know where to even begin in putting you back together. Being gentle wasn’t working, but it made sense… The pieces were shattered almost beyond recognition, every time he thought he was getting somewhere, you’d fall apart all over again… Or maybe the pieces had never fit in the first place and it was all wishful thinking on his part. 

Now he had to watch you walk away, closing the bedroom door behind you, and he heard the lock click, and while he had the key to get in, he wanted to believe that you were at least past the point of wanting to hurt yourself. Sometimes he felt selfish… He knew he was selfish… You wanted to leave him, he had put you through enough… He should have let you go that night… But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Somewhere beyond the sick twisted part of him that found fun in making you cry, he did love you, and now that twisted part of him was long gone and all he could feel was love for you, and you weren’t ready to give it back… And maybe you’d never be ready. 

“Are you sleeping already, beautiful?” He whispered when he walked into the bedroom after work. He was exhausted, but the entire day he thought of nothing more than coming home to you. There was no dinner made, the house was clean, but it was also still… Which in itself scared the hell out of him and had him rushing to the bedroom to check on you. God, he’d never get that image out of his mind, it even replayed often when he was working, enough to text you every hour, and even if you didn’t respond, you’d read the message which let him know that you were okay. 

The room was dark aside from the faint glow of the moon that painted the carpeted floors a pristine white, and he thought that maybe, maybe he’d finally get to sleep beside you for the first time since everything happened. Usually you’d get up as soon as he came in and you’d move to the couch, and he wanted to argue, he wanted to tell you to come back, but again, he was trying to be better, and he respected the fact that you needed space. What might be easy for him to do was obviously not at all easy for you. 

He pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, climbing under the blankets and moving as close to you as he possibly could without waking you up. Your hair still smelled of the shampoo and conditioner that you used earlier in the day when you took your shower, and that in itself was comforting. There was a warmth that radiated off of you, one that he had never taken the opportunity to fully appreciate before, but it made him feel fuzzy, it made him feel safe… He wanted to give you those same feelings… 

“I’ll move to the couch now…” You murmured tiredly, and he wondered if maybe you had just been laying there silently waiting for him to come home or if you had actually been sleeping and he had just woken you up. You started moving and he reached out to grab your hand, and it was like grabbing a statue the way you froze, he could hear you inhale sharply, and he wondered what was going through your mind right now, what you thought he’d do. 

“Please don’t… Can you just sleep in here tonight? I’ll even put pillows between us… I just want you next to me…” His hold wasn’t tight at all, and his thumbs brushed lightly over your wrist, trying to show you that he could be gentle, he could be sweet. He could be all the things you had wanted him to be before… He was changing for you… He wanted you to see that. 

“Do I have a choice?” You mumbled, and while he wanted to say no, he wanted to tell you that you had to lay beside him, he knew that would only be setting him back. He hummed softly, and while it wasn’t truly an answer, his actions were enough, letting go of your arm and dropping his hand back down on the mattress. “I can respect… I appreciate the fact that you’re not… hitting me… or yelling at me… Or belittling me anymore… Thank you…” You sighed heavily through your nose and he could hear you rubbing your hands nervously against your lap. You were still scared of him. “I’m just not ready… It’s a lot for me… But I’m trying too… I hope you know that…” 

You were trying… And while he couldn’t really tell at first, the fact that you sat there long enough to tell him this, to explain to him why you couldn’t lay beside him… He could tell that you were doing your best. He respected that, and he wasn’t going to force you to do something that scared you or made you uncomfortable, so he relented. “I do… I know…” He whispered, pushing himself up so he was sitting on the bed, his body fully turned towards you. “Is the couch comfortable? You can sleep in the bed and I can take the couch if you want…” 

You let out a little laugh, and the sound was weird… You hadn’t laughed in so long, it was almost nostalgic, sending his mind back to a time when your giggles were heard almost daily when he was with you. It had been so long… It had him getting choked up. “Don’t worry… I’m used to it. I’ve been sleeping on the couch for months now.” Your attempt at reassurance was nothing more than another slap though when the lightbulb clicked and he realized just what you were saying. 

All those times that he had woken up in the morning and the bed was empty, he thought it was just because you had woken up before him to make breakfast… But you had somehow managed to slip out in the middle of the night to be away from him and he hadn’t even noticed… You didn’t want to be around him at all. “Oh… Well… We can change that… I can sleep on the couch, really… It’s no big deal…” 

The conversation was just going in a circle at this point, and while most people would find it annoying, the constant back and forth… This was the most you had talked to him in the two months since the incident. He hadn’t realized how much he missed your voice until now. “It’s fine, Jeongin…” You said his name… It sounded so wonderful coming from your mouth, he wanted to hear it over and over again. “Get some sleep… Goodnight.” Had it been too much contact for you? You were rushing out of the room now, and while he wanted nothing more than the conversation to keep going, he didn’t want to push you, so he watched you walk out the door, your body silhouetted by the hall light until it disappeared once the door had shut again. He was alone… And while he had been alone every single night before… Now he knew about it and it hurt, the darkness was eating away at him, and for some reason he was scared, although he wasn’t sure what of.

“I had a nightmare last night, beautiful.” Jeongin said, hearing your feet pad across the floor and then stop at the entrance to the kitchen. “Do you want to hear about it?” He turned around to see your very confused face. He had never made breakfast before, and while he was pretty damn sure he was burning everything, he wanted to do more, show you that things would be better and only get better from here on out. 

“S-Sure…” You stammered, walking over to the stove and eyeing the food in the pot with an ever more confused gaze. “Do you want me to take over and you can tell me while you sit and have your coffee?” You asked, noticing that he had already started to brew the drink, but he shook his head, motioning for you to sit down. “O-Okay…” 

“It was so scary… I woke up and I felt like it was real for a second…” He monologued, and you hummed softly, letting him know that you were listening to him. “You left me… And I couldn’t find you… I was so scared. And then I opened the bathroom door and-” 

“Ah…” You cut him off, drumming your hands on the table. “I know where you’re going with this… I’m not gonna do it again, if that makes you feel any better.” And it did, it made him feel a lot better, because for the first time since it had happened, you sounded honest when you told him it wouldn’t happen again. “Luckily, I don’t have dreams or nightmares anymore.” 

“Oh? Why not?” He mused, turning around to face you, leaning against the counter. He was genuinely interested in everything about you, and this was new considering when you had first got together you’d tell him every morning about the dreams you had the night before. When did things change? 

“Well my entire life up until now has been a nightmare in itself so… I guess my subconscious mind thought I deserved a little bit of peace at some point.” Oh… That made sense… It didn’t make him feel any better, but it made a lot of sense. He quickly turned back towards the stove, his head hung low as he continued frying the egg in the pan, trying his best to make an omelet as good as yours was yesterday just for you. 

“I’m sorry… I really am…” He whispered, focusing on the egg now, trying to remember exactly how you flipped it to make it look so good. “I love you… And I’m never going to forgive myself for what I put you through. I was an awful boyfriend, just… An awful person in general and I know that I don’t… I don’t deserve to be standing in the same room as you right now… And I’m sorry… I’m just really sorry and this egg is going to be shit… And I’m sorry about that too… I suck… At this and everything and…” 

“Innie…” You cooed the nickname, and his heart seemed to freeze and simultaneously speed up at the same time. Hearing his name had been one thing, but hearing you call him that… It was like hearing heaven's bells ringing in his ears. “You’re gonna fuck up the omelet… A few times at least… But it happens, and it’s still gonna be delicious and I’ll eat it.” That wasn’t where he thought the conversation was going… But in a way, it made him feel a lot better. “You never apologized before… Not genuinely…” He had though… He knows he apologized… Had it been genuine? Maybe not… Maybe the initial apology had just been him ranting out of fear… He wasn’t sure. “It’s okay now… You know? I’m okay now…” What did that mean? What were you saying? He didn’t want to get his hopes up that things would be normal… And now he understood what you meant that night, when you practically ran away from him… Sometimes hearing someone be sweet after so long was scarier than the usual… He didn’t know what was coming next. “I thought a lot last night… about everything… And I… I think it’s okay now… For me… For you… For us…” 

“Us?” What were you saying… God you were so vague, he just needed to know, he needed to be 100% sure that he wasn’t being too hopeful. Was this your way of saying that you wanted to leave? Were you going to leave him? He had gotten better… But he still wouldn’t let that happen… He needed you there… He did. “Wh-What are you… What do you mean? You’re scaring me right now, beautiful…” 

It was like he couldn’t get his breathing under control, just the thought of you leaving him had him tearing up, a knot forming in his throat that he couldn’t get rid of. “Come here…” You whispered, and he slowly took those few steps towards you, pausing a couple inches away just in case you didn’t want him too close to you, but then you stood up, your hands folded in front of your lap as you pursed your lips. You looked just as shy as you did after your second date when he had kissed you for the first time, what he wouldn’t do to live that moment again. “Do you think that.. When you’re done making the omelet… We can maybe… I don’t know… Cuddle or something?” 

Cuddle… You wanted to cuddle? He felt like a complete idiot that it took so long for the question to fully click, but once it did, he was reaching back to turn off the stove, scared to take his eyes off of you, worried that you’d change your mind, but once that fire was out underneath the pan he was scooping you up in his arms and rushing towards the couch, your laughter like music to his ears as you buried your face in his neck. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that!?” He whined as he fell back on the couch, bringing you down with him onto his lap. “I almost cried!” 

“You did cry!” You teased, sitting back and looking at him, and there was a twinkle in your eyes that was akin to all the stars in the sky at night, so beautiful, and he couldn’t help but reach his hand up, brushing his fingers along your cheeks. How could he have ever hurt you? Did he even deserve this chance? You leaned in to kiss him, the feeling setting off fireworks in his chest, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe, but it felt good… He liked that feeling… “You’re thinking too much…” 

“Do that again… please… Just so I can be sure…” He murmured, his fingers gently tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, and you didn’t pull away, instead your lips collided with his once more and it was like a dream, the best dream, and if that’s all this way, he never wanted to wake up. “You love me… right?” He whispered when you pulled away, your own fingers catching the tears that had at some point begun to fall. 

“I do… I love you, Innie… Always…” 

#stray kids #skz #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz x reader #skz x you #yandere!stray kids #yandere!skz #yandere skz #yandere stray kids #stray kids headcanons #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #stray kids fic #skz headcanons #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz drabbles #skz fics #yang jeongin #jeongin #yang jeongin x reader #jeongin x reader #jeongin x you #jeongin headcanons #jeongin scenarios #jeongin imagines #jeongin drabbles #jeongin fic

[sirianasims]

After the main course, Paul went to the kitchen to get the dessert ready before midnight. I excused myself and said I needed some fresh air.

I had been to Del Sol Valley a few times when I was little, visiting my grandparents, but I didn’t remember much about the city itself.

The back of Paul’s mansion was the only thing not surrounded by fences, and the view was both breathtaking and terrifying. Bright lights as far as the eye could see, occasional premature fireworks going off, faint background noise from traffic that never stopped.

It felt like we were gilded birds in a cage up here, always on display yet forever out of reach.

I couldn’t imagine anything further from Copperdale and the quiet, snow-covered forests around it.

I wondered if Paul would expect me to move in with him at some point. I didn’t see how he’d be able to work from anywhere else. I could work wherever, but could I live here? Surrounded by fences and cameras and security guards in a huge, empty house?

I pushed the thought away as I heard the clacking of heels behind me.

“Julia, can I talk to you for a moment?”, Sierra asked softly. “I would really like to apologise for what I said earlier. It was never my intention to insult you.”

“I know you didn’t mean it like that, but I still can’t help feeling that you don’t like me very much. Or maybe you just don’t think I’m good enough for Paul?”

Sierra bit her lip.

“I shouldn’t have brought up his exes, especially not in front of you. The thing is, they rarely lasted long enough for the media to catch on – half the time I didn’t even get to meet them before he ended things. So when Paul first told us about you, I got worried. I saw him falling harder and faster than ever before, but you’re so much younger than him and I was struggling to see how it could possibly end well.”

“Right. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m just being honest with you. I tend to be, perhaps, overly protective of Paul. He was even younger than you when we met, we shared a shitty apartment with a few other aspiring actors, all trying to break through. We cheered each other on, audition after audition, practicing lines, commiserating over rejection letters… And then he got the call for Llama Man, and I ended up as an extra in a cop series which later got me the lead in Cop & Llama, but I’ve fought hard to escape that, branch out to other roles, and Paul just… didn’t even try.”

“But he says he prefers the voice acting, though. If you’re his friend, why do you keep pushing him if he’s perfectly happy?”

“Because I’m his friend. Sure, he says he’s happy. Maybe he even believes it. But Paul was always the best of us, and he never took his talent seriously. He’s a great voice actor, but it always felt like he secretly wanted more, he’s just scared. What if he sucked? The media would have a field day, writing about how he should just stick to his cartoons. You’ve seen what they’re like, you just had your first front page. Which, by the way, must be rough. I’m sorry for adding to the stress you must be under right now. Can we maybe start over?”

“Apology accepted, I’m too much of a fangirl to be mad at you anyway. And I’m managing, but I must say, being on the cover of a magazine is a lot less fun than advertised.”

“Trust me, it depends heavily on the kind of magazine. But being hung out to dry by some gossip rag is a rite of passage in this business. You should have seen the frenzy when rumours about me and Dave started circulating. It was wild. I once walked out of an interview because they asked me if the llama costume stayed on during sex!”

“Well? Did it ever?”

Sierra grinned.

“No way – do you have any idea how heavy and warm that costume is? It’s not exactly a sexy superhero muscle suit, it’s a full size sports mascot.”

“True. Although I’m not sure I’d appreciate it if Paul kept his costume on either.”

We both laughed, and I barely registered the steps behind me before I felt Pauls arms around me, his warm hands covering my eyes.

“Guess who.”

I heard Sierra chuckle. “Actually, Paul, we were kinda busy out here, bonding over the trials of dating men in llama costumes. It’s a very exclusive club.”

“I guess Dave and I have to start our own club then. But it's almost midnight and I would like to borrow my girlfriend, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine, you can have her back. I’ll just go get myself one of those fruit tarts before Lee and Dave eat them all.”

She walked back inside without waiting for a response.

She wouldn’t have gotten one anyway.

beginning / previous / next

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen5 #julia duchelli #paul romeo #sierra moss

[star-spacer]

A Promise Made, a Person Met

I meant to make this as part of natsumeweek but life just gets in the way so I have a backlog of one of two natsuyuu and mushishi fics I'll post them slowly lol

Natsume x reader (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Coming back with plans to fulfill your promises, you end up meeting someone new.

[Image ID: A long horizontal screenshot of green countryside. In the distance there are green mountains and trees.]

You had never seen a person shine as brightly as he did before.

Backlight against the backdrop of the school window the sun only served to enhance the glowing power he held within his core. It took you off-guard and you stared embarrassingly long at the willowy boy before giggling and his uncomfortable shifting snapped you out of it. You quickly introduced yourself and sought your assigned seat, somewhere in front of the boy and plopping down on it and hunching down. The awkward conundrum of being a teenager hit like a truck and you wanted to cover your face in embarrassment. Trust you to make a fool out of yourself on your first day at the new school.

“All right, everyone, settle down,” the teacher called. “You have more important things to worry about. Like this week’s upcoming test.”

There was a resounding groan but every student dutifully got out their work. Amidst the rustling of papers and folders, you overheard one of the boys behind you speak up. 

“Wow,” he declared. “I never thought I’d see the day when our very own Natsume Takashi would get an admirer!”

You sunk down deeper into your seat, but one thing out of all that caught your attention.

Natsume Takashi.

You wouldn’t forget that name. After all, he shone like the sun itself.

The first time you two met outside of school, it was when you were running errands for your parents. A bright, cheerful day, sunlight falling down onto your skin to warm it as you stepped out of the house. Your parents wanted you to run to the store, to grab ingredients for treats to repay the kind couple next door. They had brought loads of food for your family the first week you settled there, and now, your parents wanted to repay the favor.

Just as you were shoving on your shoes to avoid your brother’s requests to pick up extra snacks, the sounds of chattering approached. Looking up made you squint your eyes at the golden-warm glow, realizing it was Natsume and a black-haired boy walking past the half-wall of your house. The two of you locked eyes and simultaneously froze like deer in the headlights. For a moment, the world, gleamed vibrantly, as if this boy’s arrival had made the world become better. 

Natsume’s friend didn’t realize anything until he was a good few steps away, stopping and glancing back at Natsume and then following his line of sight to you. 

“Natsume?” He asked, hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

His words broke the spell that held the both of you and heat spread across your face. 

“Hi, Natsume!” You said almost too loudly. “I didn’t expect you here.”

“Me either,” the boy returned. He jerked an awkward thumb at the one next to him. “This is Tanuma Kaname, Tanuma, this is my new classmate.”

Tanuma had an aura around him, not the glowing power like Natsume, but enough to be noticeable. This time, you didn’t get caught up in staring as you introduced yourself, still standing stiff-legged in front of your door.

“Ah,” There was something that shifted in Tanuma’s eyes, but his expression didn’t betray anything. “Nice to meet you.”

The door opened behind you as your brother stuck his head out. “Oi, I know you’re trying to dodge me brat–”

He shut his mouth with a clack as he saw the other boys out on the street, all the more awkward as his scrutiny fell on them. Before he could say anything, you threw out a hand. “You know what I’ll grab your snacks! Just gimme the money and the list.”

“Nice.” Everything was shoved into your fist in the blink of an eye, but your brother didn’t hesitate in getting in the last word by scrubbing the top of your head with a palm, messing up the hair there. He didn’t let you spit back an insult as he slammed the door shut.

You then remembered that there were also two others standing there, turning to them with wooden limbs and an awkward smile as you started to shuffle down the path of your house to them. Once you were finally past the wall of your house, you pointed behind you. “I’m gonna go to the market.”

With those words, you turned around and sped walked away. When you glanced back, you saw them entering the house right next to yours.

The market–it turned out–was actually the other way, but you couldn’t bear facing them any longer. Though you did quite regret it later when you nearly tumbled over the bridge after being startled by a Yokai resembling a rolling mass of weeds.

***

Exhausting. 

Human interaction was exhausting. 

But climbing these steps in the middle of nearly summer sun? Also exhausting.

After the debacle outside of your house, your parents almost forced you to deliver the treats to the neighbors (which, by some very unfunny irony, ended up being Natsume’s guardians! Ha! What are the chances!) but your brother took mercy on you and bailed you out of the situation. That was why you were out here, climbing the seemingly unending steps to get to the shrine you remembered being there.

Long ago, when you were younger and your abilities were just flourishing, you made a promise to a spirit. The naive child that you were, with a heart too big for the world, promised to come back and free him from his shrine where he had been imprisoned. You didn’t get the chance to work on it, as you had to move away due to one issue or another. It allowed you to come in contact with so many other spirits and Yokais, a slew of experiences and promises exchanged that matured you into the person you were today.

Still, you never forgot the first promise you ever made.

His name was Madara.

He talked to you when you were a young, crying child, often seeking shelter in the clearing around his little shrine. His presence, although imprisoned, had warded off the spirits who followed you. He was arrogant and rude but still let you stay until the worst of the spirits were gone. Through many conversations and many visits, your young mind had latched onto his tales of glory, and when you had to leave this place, you had made a promise with him.

You told him that you would come back to free him, break the wards that had been too strong at that time. It had taken life much longer to return you here, but now there you were, various Yokai-given items in your bags in the hopes that they might break the seals. But as you reached the location where you remembered his imprisonment to be, you were met with a surprise. You froze as you laid your eyes on the sight in front of you, jaw dropping in dismay.

What once was a rope barrier strung up with zig-zagging shide papers was severed into two. More importantly, the small wooden shrine that was once there was nothing more than splinters of rotting wood on the ground and bits of porcelain.

“Ohhhhh my god,” you muttered, dropping the bag and sitting down on the grass. “It broke?? He got out??”

You muttered incoherently, flopping back on your back against the springy grass. All this workout for nothing, hauling a heavy bag up steep stairs. Though a big part of you wondered just who broke the seal. It was powerful enough to keep someone like Madara within the small area, so it must have been someone truly powerful to break it.

Your mind flashed back to Natsume, warm and glowing, but quickly brushed it away as you fully laid back to simply accept your fate.

Almost like a figment of your vivid imagination coming to life, you heard the pounding of feet on stone and the sound of Natsume’s voice.

“S-Sensei, wait up!”

You screamed as a doughy mass popped into your face, assaulting your vision with blurs of orange, white, and black fur. Reflexes brought your hands up to pull the thing away from your face.

“Finally! After years! You finally showed up!” A nasally voice came from the creature as you pulled it off. In your hands was what seemed to be an immensely round feline–wait.

You glanced at the cat.

You glanced at the remnants of the shrine, fragments of porcelain there. If you looked closely, you could see faded paint on it. An eye here, a whisker there.

You glanced at Natsume, connecting the dots and startling to your feet in a move that made the boy flinch and the cat in your arms meow in displeasure.

“You freed him?!?!”

“He did not!” Madara squawked angrily in your hold, wiggling back and forth. “The foolish boy tripped and ripped through my barriers. I took care of freeing myself thank you very much!”

Natsume rapidly switched his attention between you and Madara. “D-Do you know each other??? Nyanko-sensei is this why you were so insistent on coming here???”

Nyanko-sensei? Was that the name that he was called now?

You fought to reign in your hysterical laughter as the spirit bucked himself indignantly out of your grip. Kicking you in the chest with surprising force for such a blobby form.

“I can’t believe it! Wow! You actually freed him!”

Seeing the boy slowly backing away like he was about to bolt, the cat meowed, “Natsume, this is the brat I was waiting on! The one I said made a promise to free me.”

Seeing the boy’s confused expression, you reigned in your emotions and filled in the blanks. “When I was younger, I sought out this place as shelter. His aura and the seals were strong enough to ward off the Yokais that followed me. As thanks, I told him that I would free him when I got stronger. But I didn’t think you’d come to free him before me!”

The flighty look on his face was replaced by a tentative hoe, so achingly raw on his open face. “So it’s you… You can see them too, then…”

You nodded, taking a seat on the grass and indicating for him to do the same. Nyanko-sensei didn’t hesitate in jumping into your lap. Your stomach rumbled, and you dragged your backpack closer to rummage through it for the food you packed. “Among other things. My sight has always been abe to detect… more. I can see spirits and any distinct auras in humans that indicate their powers.”

He seemed fascinated by your words, barely noticing the sandwich that you decided to discreetly shove into his hands. “What do you mean?”

“You have an incredible amount of power, Natsume,” Nyanko replied for you. “This one was probably drooling over you the first time you two met.”

His crass words made you flail, dislodging the cat. “N-No it’s not like that! I’ve just–It’s just that you shine so brightly that I couldn’t help noticing you!”

Recognition flashed in his eyes as he let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, leaning back to prop up on his arms. He was still holding the sandwich. “Was that why you froze in front of the class?”

Being reminded of the incident made you groan, unwrapping your food to take a big bite out of it. “Don’t remind me about it… That was so embarrassing.”

He smiled at you, a soft, gentle thing. “No. It makes sense now…” His pondering turned into confusion when he finally registered the item in his hand. “Huh..?”

You looked away, pointedly taking another bite of yours. “I brought it along just in case. I always pack extra food for anybody who might want it. It’s… about time for lunch anyways.”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Madara yapped, beginning to root for the paper-wrapped food. “Natsume if you don’t want it, I’ll take it!”

The boy leaned away, sticking his sandwich up into the air out of the Yokai’s reach. “No way, Sensei! You ate almost half of my breakfast this morning I’m not giving you this.”

“Madara can have half you mine,” you said, splitting your sandwich into two. You paused, upon their silence, glancing between them. “Yokais aren’t allergic to anything right?”

“Uh-Uh, no… I didn’t expect you to call him Madara. I call him Nyanko-Sensei”

“Hmph, it’s because this one has marginally more respect for truly power beings,” Madara harrumphed as he waddled closer to you. He settled down on the grass in front of you, expectantly waiting for the food so you put it down in front of him, on top of a piece of paper.

The feline wasted no time tearing into it, so for the next few minutes, the warm air was filled with the sounds of you three eating and the noise of distant wildlife. 

“I’m… glad. To see another person who can see them,” Natsume murmured quietly, tossing a bit of his sandwich to Madara despite his rejection earlier. 

“Yeah…I’ve never met another person who had abilities like mine. I’m glad you’re the first.”

So in that little clearing, you allowed yourself to bask in the warmth of both the sun above you and its incarnate in the boy next to you. From the way you saw him interact with Madara, he has nothing but kind intentions. He talked and dealt with the spirit with an ease that you had. It allowed you to relax, eyes drooping in a haze of sleepiness. Though this was the first promise you didn’t fulfill for a Yokai, you didn’t mind. Based on Madara’s content purring, ti didn’t seem like he did either.

Natsume Takashi was so incredibly warm. Radiant and glowing and suffusing the air environment with an air that was so distinctly him. Even with the short time you’ve known him, you couldn’t ask for a better person to have freed Madara. You hoped he wouldn’t mind you becoming a part of his life.

You let out a content sigh.

It was a beautiful sunny day.

#masterlist #natsuyuu posting #natsume week #natsume yuujinchou x reader #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #gender neutral reader #fanfiction #natsume yuujinchou oneshot #natsume's book of friends oneshot #natsume's book of friends x reader #reader is an awkward gangly teen LMAO

[jean-vi]

A Quoi Bon Dire? | Levi x Reader

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader Inspiration:  “There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember / It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender / And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning / I never know what to think about” - About You by The 1975 Summary: What could have been. Genre: Angst, fluff (?) Warnings: Major Character Death, takes place in Season 1, but no specific spoilers. WC: 3.6K A/N: What good is there to say? Other: Masterlist

    Levi didn’t like to fall asleep. To fall asleep meant that he had to dwell on years past, people who’d passed. So instead he busied himself with work. He’d file papers, clean his room for the fifth time, restlessly pace, anything to keep his mind off things. Then, once he’d completely tired himself, he’d sit in a chair and sleep. The nature of this schedule meant that he never had to address the things he’d lost. 

    This night wasn’t unusual. He was busy filing away his papers when he spotted a crumpled piece of paper in the corning of his drawer. Of course, he was confused. He didn’t leave stray pieces of paper around usually. 

    The man plucked the paper up and carefully unwrapped it. His eyes widened, instantly. Right. He knew what this was. 

    Soft smiles, notes back and forth. 

    Written on this paper were words he’d sought to forget. Maybe it was because they reopened old wounds or that the memories were simply far too painful to bare thinking about again. So he simply refolded the paper from its crumpled mess and tucked it away in a different corner. 

    The clock’s hand moved to four. Levi let out a deep sigh and reclined in his chair. Now, the man never dreamed. Really. He often just blinked and was suddenly waking up. This time, however, and maybe it was because of the note he’d found, he started to dream. 

     He’d found the first note a while ago. It was slipped under his door and since he was a busy man, he didn’t know when it appeared or who sent it. This note was followed by several more over the following days. They were little messages that read things ranging from Busy day? To Take it easy. Levi was relatively new to the job at the time, so he didn’t exactly know how to handle these notes. He would refold them and slip them in a drawer or throw them in the trash. 

    He didn’t have time to keep up with a secret admirer, nor did he want to entertain the thought. Still, he kept some of them. Perhaps he’d make it a goal, someday, to catch the perpetrator, but for now, he was too busy, too tired, too done with this existence. 

    “You got a secret admirer?” You asked with a cheshire grin as he pulled the letter from under the door. You had been walking by and the Captain had never seen you before, but for you it was quite the opposite. You were new to the area, but not a recruit. 

    Then he noticed your jacket. Garrison. The man put the note in his pocket and stared at you squarely in the face. You weren’t perturbed. In fact, your eyes lit up in fascination, reminiscent of Hange. 

    “What is a Garrison soldier doing here?” He questioned in response. 

    “Oh, I’m just a messenger, but also, being so close to the wall, my squad has been stationed here. I live a little ways….that way.” You pointed in a general direction behind him, towards the wall. “We reinforce it when there’s issues, but we seem to be sitting around for now. I thought I’d check out the Scout regiment.” 

   “I’m sure there’s nothing of interest for you here.”

    “True,” You tilted your head a little, “but I still enjoy it. It’s something new and maybe that, in itself, is interesting.”

    He scoffed at that, but dropped the subject. “What’s your name?” 

    “Y/N.” You responded as you turned to leave. “My name is Y/N.” You smiled shyly at your little secret.  

    And so it would be from that moment on that you would be seen around quite often. He’d see you around the wall, of course, but also chatting with other Scout members. You would help in the gardens or with the horses and you seemed to have a particular interest in the special operations squad. 

    He swore he always saw you with Petra or joking with Eld. It got to the point where you’d even befriended Oluo, despite his attempts to intimidate you. You always just laughed at him. Then there was Gunther. You seemed to hold a mutual respect towards him. He wasn’t your friend, but you were friendly with him. Then that left Levi. You never spoke to him, never joked around or hung in the same spaces as him. 

    It wasn’t that he wanted you to, of course, but it was odd to see you surrounded by his team. A Garrison regiment member was making more connections with the Scouts than he’d ever seen before. It was strange, considering you were a real nobody in your regiment. 

    The Captain wanted to know what your deal was, and maybe he was on edge since the notes hadn’t stopped. Even when he stayed up all night, he never could find the culprit. So, he approached you. Petra had just left to help clean the floors and you were feeding the horses. 

    “Oy.” He announced his presence, which, unlike others, didn’t affect you as you worked. “Don’t you have your own regiment to help out?” 

    “Oh, they don’t need me.” You chuckled. “Sure, I’m another body to help with the work, but I’m really not needed. My team has it handled and honestly there’s nothing to repair.” You explained, “so I’m here now.” 

    The Captain was displeased with your response and walked over to where you held the bucket of feed. “Why are you so friendly with my squad?” He demanded. “It’s suspicious at best.” His face was an ever-present, unemotional, blank slate. The man really gave nothing away. 

   You shrugged and went to clean the bucket at the outside faucet. There, you began to scrub the metal and he followed you. 

    “I guess I met Petra by chance and we got along well, so then I just became friends with everyone else.” You smiled. “Are you jealous, Captain?” You eyed him and he had the most incredulous look on his face. 

    No one ever spoke to him like that. No one. There was a challenge in your tone and he hated being challenged by someone so clearly not worth his time. Still, he couldn’t place his finger on any of it. 

    “You have some nerve.” He muttered and turned on his heel. The man left quickly and you were left to yourself. He never knew what you were thinking or why you’d suddenly invaded his life. 

    So here was day 10 of waiting to catch the note placer. He stood by the door, listening for the slightest creak. Then, he heard it. He heard the smallest footstep, the quietest creak of the floorboards. Levi took a breath and swung open the door.

   The Captain wasn’t usually caught off guard, but he was now. You stood before him, a note in hand, which immediately gave away your secret. He just blinked and you looked shocked, horrified. The man then frowned and gently plucked the note from hand. 

    “Why?” He finally spoke and you were frozen. He didn’t know what you were thinking, and he wished he did. If there was anything the man couldn’t do, it was reading people’s minds. You seemed to collect yourself before smiling. 

    “Levi,” You started, “It seems as though you are a deeply saddened person. I don’t know why or how you became this way, but I just wanted to alleviate…some of it. Not all of it, that would be impossible, I am sure your wounds run deep, but just a little.” 

    He was taken aback, yes, but he refused to show that weakness. He shifted a little and shook his head. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looked at you through slanted eyes. 

    “Do you pity me or something?” The Captain reached for the door and closed it in your face with a soft click. 

    This event set off a number of other…things. He definitely became more intrigued than before. He became a bit obsessed with why you were the way you were. Really, the biggest question on his mind lately was why. He knew you still stopped by his door, a note in hand, at 12:00 A.M. sharp. He didn’t try to stop you again. If the first time being caught didn’t scare you out of your mind, then he needn’t try again. 

    Levi observed. He was a man that was often aware of his surroundings, so he was no different with you. He wasn’t heartless, but he couldn’t understand how you joked with his team so easily, how you befriended them when even he didn’t feel completely involved. The man often sat silent at dinners, contributing to the conversation here and there, but never more than necessary. The others, however, were like a family. Even though they’d lost so many people, they never lost each other. Sometimes, he couldn’t stand to see that, so he’d simply walk away. Soldiers in the Scout Regiment had short life spans, that was for sure, so he never could get close with anyone. 

    You must understand this too, right? You must know that these people that you were speaking with wouldn’t be around much longer. Considering the next reconnaissance mission, there were surely going to be casualties. It wasn’t too long now, either. The mission was in less than a month and he wasn’t sure how many would live. Maybe you were smart. The special operations squad was sure to survive. But the others…the others not so much. The stable boy, the soldiers who you laughed with in the garden. Those people wouldn’t be so lucky, he was sure. 

    It was a grim thought, but death was something the Scouts faced every day. Still, the regiment continued on in hope for humanity. 

    He had stopped paying attention to the notes. When he saw them, he kicked them to the side. They were now piled in the corner. He’d clean them up, stack them neatly, but he didn’t know what to do with them. Levi didn’t want to throw them away, for some reason, but he didn’t have anywhere to put them either. 

    It was getting to the point where he was sure they were a fire hazard. So, in the name of safety, of course, he decided he’d put an end to it. The man scribbled out a quick note. Let’s talk. Then he listed a time and place. 12:00 A.M. Rooftop. He left it under his door to face the outside.

   Levi waited. He sat on that rooftop and waited. There was a chill in the air, but it certainly wasn’t a cold night. One leg dangled over the roof’s edge and the other was pulled to his chest. The wall towered to his left and the expanse of humanity’s land was to his right. 

    “You wanted to talk?” He heard your voice. Your feet tapped against the tiles and you sat next to him. You dangled both legs over the edge. Levi looked away from you and up at the sky. 

    “What’s your deal?” The man started and you opened your mouth to answer when he continued, “You’re so self-righteous, it’s irritating.”

    “Self-righteous?” You questioned and your cheeks turned red with annoyance. 

    “Yeah, you act like you’re better than everyone else. Helping out the poor Scouts, right?” 

    “Maybe I just like being nice.” You fired back. “I’m sorry you’re not predisposed to it.” 

    “I don’t want to get into a ‘who’s the better person’ battle.” He muttered. “Just stop the notes. It’s enough.” He stood abruptly. 

    “Why? Are you scared?” You called as he walked away. “Are you scared to form a connection with someone?” 

    He didn’t respond, simply slipping back inside to continue his work. The mission wasn’t too far away now. In a week, the regiment would be gone and things would be back to normal. 

    That’s what he assumed. But instead, a few days before the reconnaissance mission, he found a note slid under the door. He thought the notes had stopped, but this one was thicker and seemed less hurried than the other scribbled notes. 

    What a fool he was. He threw it to the side and went back to his work. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about this unrelenting kindness, the way you paid such close attention to him and how he was doing. And maybe it was something in the way you spoke to him, like a human being, that got him thinking about you more. You didn’t address him as ‘Captain’ and it made sense. He wasn’t your captain, but still, it was like having a conversation with a peer. The way you laughed and smiled lingered on his mind. 

    But why? Why did it matter? Your words rung in his ears. Maybe he was scared of a human connection. This life was cruel. Death haunted him everywhere he went. It was just rational to stay away. Yet every thought of you was so irrational to his brain that he refused to acknowledge you. 

    So he kicked away the notes, he swept them under the rug, pushed them into the trash, and only addressed his team if you were around. If there was anyone who had mastered the cold shoulder, it was him. This didn’t faze you. 

    You bid the squad goodbye as they mounted their horses. He couldn’t help a sneaking glance. You were dressed in your uniform, but you had a sad look in your eyes. Your smile was unwavering, but you didn’t laugh. You didn’t joke as they left. 

    The world began to morph. He was standing over a fallen building. Trost was destroyed, humanity was probably going to be pushed to the next wall. It was his worst nightmare, worse than Shiganshina’s demise.

    He’d done some thinking over the reconnaissance mission. He’d thought about what you’d said as he watched his team. Maybe it was time to let someone in, someone patient and able to keep up with his harsh attitude. Maybe that person was you, like you’d begged for weeks. You’d wanted to know him and he’d pushed you away. 

    It was over this mission that he decided he’d let you in. He’d get to know you and maybe, just maybe, he’d make a friend, for once. Whether he felt anything more for you was to be determined. 

    Then the news came. It was like lightning struck him. He stood still as the messenger informed the regiment of Trost’s situation. There was no deliberation. Erwin ordered the troops back immediately. Levi wasn’t even concerned about the failed mission now. 

    “Isn’t she…” Petra started. 

    “Don’t think about it.” Eld muttered. “It’ll be okay. She’ll be fine. She’s smart.” 

    Levi eyed his teammates. That familiar taste of death’s kiss was on his lips. He held onto hope, for once, but it was followed with a crushing feeling in his gut. 

    “Heads down.” He ordered. “Let’s just go.” 

    The world morphed again, twisting and swirling in his vision. His mind moved from scenes of destruction to bloodied bodies. The man didn’t even pay attention to the monstrous titan holding a boulder. He was on the hunt for you. 

    There, amongst other soldiers he assumed to be in your squad, you sat. You leaned against a stone building, but you didn’t seem injured, just exhausted. He supposed it was a miracle you were alive. 

    “Oy, what are you doing down there?” He called, his eyes roving your body for injury. You seemed normal, just dazed. Levi jumped down to you and he looked around at the bloodied bodies of the Garrison soldiers. 

    “My squad fought valiantly.” You whispered. “I just saw them yesterday. We were fortifying the wall, loading cannons, laughing.” 

    You looked down at your hands where the steaming blood had long since floated away. Levi didn’t really know what to say. He’d seen death so frequently, it was like an old friend. 

    “I understand now, Captain.” And that was the first time he heard the word ‘Captain’ leave your lips. He frowned but let you continue. You looked up from your shaking hands and into his eyes. “I understand, at least the smallest bit of, your pain.” 

    It was uncharacteristic of him, but he bent down and clutched your hand in his. “I wish you didn’t have to.” Was all he said. 

    He remembered the note, the heavy one, the last one you sent. With the squad celebrating the victory of Trost, he supposed he’d entertain your notes for once. While it was a rather tame celebration, mostly murmured conversations while wine was drunk, the Captain remained upstairs. He preferred tea anyway. Levi searched the corner of his room where the notes he didn’t part with were stacked. At the top of the stack was the larger note. The paper was crisp and didn’t have the rough edge of torn paper. 

    The man unfolded the paper and he couldn’t help widening his eyes. It was note with the usual greetings, but there was something else. He could just hear your voice now. 

    I don’t know if you’re much for poetry. The line started. But here’s a favorite of mine. 

A Quoi Bon Dire? by Charlotte Mew

Seventeen years ago you said

Something that sounded like Good-bye; And everybody thinks that you are dead, But I. So I, as I grow stiff and cold To this and that say Good-bye too; And everybody sees that I am old But you. And one fine morning in a sunny lane Some boy and girl will meet and kiss and swear That nobody can love their way again While over there You will have smiled, I shall have tossed your hair.

    His hand crumpled the paper. Something about these words just weren’t right. And everybody thinks that you are dead, / But I. No, no. His world was cracking. The illusion was fading. Surely, surely, he’d walk downstairs and he’d see you standing there, laughing with Eld and Petra. Levi stood, swaying on his feet. Something wasn’t right. Why was the ceiling wavering?

    “Levi?” 

    He snapped his head to the door. If the room would just stop spinning, he could get a good look at you. You, who just entered and called his name. You, who was walking closer with a smile on your face. You, who sent him this letter. Why were you so blurry? 

    “You really burst into my life, you know that, right?” The man began. “I didn’t ask for you.” 

    “I see.” You nodded and you shut your eyes for a moment. Then you dipped your head and opened your eyes with a brilliant smile. “Hm, well I’m here now!” 

    What was it, about that cheerfulness, that didn’t turn him away? He gritted his teeth and placed a hand on his desk, just to remain stable. Light was streaming through the cracks. Why?

    “My mother used to say love does that.” You chuckled and he blinked, confused. 

    “Why are you bringing love into this? This is hardly a subject to be bringing up so suddenly.” He said lowly. You simply tilted your head with an innocent look. 

    “Don’t you wish you’d brought it up when I was still here? That night before you left for the reconnaissance mission? Perhaps then we could have talked about it, Levi.” You frowned and then walked over to the desk, placing your hands over his. “But now it’s too late, huh? You run these fantasies and it doesn’t change a thing.” You leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Isn’t it a shame? What could have been?” 

    His eyes widened, and his head tilted up to look at the ceiling. “No, no. You’re still alive and we–” he stopped himself as the world broke apart. 

    Levi was falling through the inky black. Everything was fragmented, like broken glass, around him. Every motion seemed to rewind and there he was. He stood on the rooftops, staring down at where you sat. The stone building. The battle of Trost. The fallen Garrison soldiers. Your squad lay in pieces around you, literally. You sat, staring at the sky, your head resting so peacefully against the stone wall. 

    That, of course, didn’t distract from the blood pooled around your body or the way your limp arms shook as he tried to wake you. He tried to wake you from a slumber he knew all too well. 

    The Captain woke up with a start. The sun was just rising. Why? Why did he think about you after all these years? He groaned and stretched, finally hunching over. He rested his arms on his knees and hung his head. He never did kiss you. He never spoke to you again, actually, after that night on the rooftop. Were his last words really It’s enough? He was lying. He had wanted more. 

    “If only.” He lightly touched the place where he so vividly felt your lips. His fingertips brushed his lips and then he realized, with some clarity, the true nature of the dream. 

     The man never dreamed, so why now? The only answer was that it was perhaps your spirit coming to make amends with him. You had seemed satisfied, even as you drifted away from his reach. Maybe it was because you’d seen his dumbfounded face and not many people got to see him truly shocked. Maybe it was that you’d made him realize something important, something special. 

    His memories with you weren’t painful until the end. The entirety of his memories of you were tainted in violence, but the memories you’d just shown him were sweet. They were full of what ifs and hope. Gardens full of roses, laughter with his squad, notes that he’d sought to forget. Oh, you had made sure he’d never forget. You’d permanently made your mark on his life. Like a shining moon on the darkest of nights.

     So what good is there to say? You. 

 Fin. 

#aot #snk #shingeki no kyoujin #attack on titan #levi #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #angst #fluff #Major Character Death #a quoi bon dire

[littleperilstories]

The Prince of Thieves: I'll Settle for the Ghost of You

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03! | Playlist | Story Intro

Warnings: chased/pursued, hypothermia, lost in the woods, mention of death, physical violence (choking, tackling, punching), angst central

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Word count: 2244 || Approx reading time: 10 mins

I'll Settle for the Ghost of You

Teaser: Rage mingles with terror as my pace slows, hobbled by the uneven ground and the thick darkness beneath the trees. Why did he do it? How could he? Why did he simply…give up?

Bree

The woods at night are eerie and quiet, nothing but shadows and noises that crack the air. Did I kick a stone, snap a twig? Am I being followed? It’s all terrifying, of course—but the silence itself is not nearly as terrifying as the reason for it.

I’m right here. Don’t turn back. Keep running. Those were Will’s exact words.

His exact goddamn words right before the stupid bastard stopped running.

He better hope Hatchett kills him, because if I ever see him ever again, I might just murder him myself.

Rage mingles with terror as my pace slows, hobbled by the uneven ground and the thick darkness beneath the trees. Why did he do it? How could he? Why did he simply…give up?

I know why, deep down, I think. It hurts too much to accept.

What is Baden Hatchett going to do to him for trying to escape again?

What is he going to do to me for actually making it out, if he catches up? When he catches up?

There must be constables out looking for me now. Hopefully they’re searching the town, storming through the streets and alleys to find a stupid girl in a stolen coat and bare, frozen feet and a ruined, bloody dress. But I’m not so naïve as to think that none of them are checking the woods.

I don’t dare to slow my pace too drastically, or pause to cry or rage or lament the fact that I’m alone. Again.

I’m on my own again.

It was supposed to be us both.

I was stupid, so stupid, to pull him into this. I was there, saw how hard Hatchett struck him for his lies during the last interrogation. I knew he was hurt, and bad. But what was I supposed to do? Leave him there? Or worse, stay with him and die?

No. I did what I had to do, I tell myself. I took the only choice that I could. I did what I had to do.

Which was leaving Will behind to die.

I fucking deserve to freeze to death.

Fall days are fickle, quick to switch between summery sunshine and wintry wind. Fall evenings are crisp, quick to bring a chill.

Fall midnights are frigid, quick to bring misery.

I stop by a stream for only a minute or two, plunging my hands into icy water to quench my thirst and scrub my face even though it’s cold enough to sting my skin.

The threadbare prison dress and the shreds of it hanging off me hardly make appropriate attire for wandering the woods at night, but I’m glad that I stole Gysborne’s jacket, as it offers some protection from the cold. Even so, within an hour, my feet are frozen and my teeth are chattering.

So cold. I left him behind. Need to find shelter. I deserve this. Find shelter soon.

Exhaustion drags at me, and other evils, too: guilt, worry, fear. I want to walk with an empty mind, to just keep putting one foot in front of the other and move and get farther away from Hatchett and his cursed prison.

But my limbs are cold, so cold, so cold they hurt.

Still, I know if I stop, they will go numb completely, so I push forward, propelled by the same tormenting thoughts I might never escape.

Will.

Is he dead? I’d give anything for the answer to be no. How angry was Hatchett when he found out? I can’t even imagine his rage. Did he beat him again? I think I know the answer to that. Why didn’t I listen? He told me he couldn’t run.

It isn’t only Will who haunts my thoughts. Gysborne, too, comes to mind. I don’t care about him, not as a person, because he’s as wicked as the rest of them who work within the prison walls. But he was bleeding on the floor, and I did that to him. Did I kill him?

And me? What am I supposed to do now? I’m alone and lost and fucking freezing and so tired.

Sleep. Just go to sleep.

I’ve been here before; the reminder rises sluggishly from my slowing thoughts. I kept going. I survived. And that is what I will do now.

Please, I beg the sky. Let me live through the night. Let me see morning. And please… Please let Will be all right.

The stars were out earlier, and the moon, but cruel clouds are creeping over them now, little by little blocking out the only light by which to see. Soon, I’ll be lost in complete darkness.

Maybe this is what I get for murdering one man and leaving another behind to torture and death.

When the barest hint of dawn creeps into the horizon, pinkish-grey and sullen, I hear them. Footsteps.

My gait has slowed to reluctant, agonized dragging, and my eyes can barely stay open, but at the sound of the voice behind me, I am given life anew.

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t kill you, Breanna.”

No.

I’m too tired, too cold, too angry, and too heartbroken for this. Still, shivering, I turn around.

There he is. Standing…standing alone. Big talk, but no weapon drawn. Head cocked to one side, face pale against the gloom that swallows us both, arms at his sides.

“You’re n-not allowed to do that,” I say. “Y-You said it yours-s-self.” My chattering teeth do nothing to make me sound more intimidating.

“We find ourselves in quite a different situation.” A cold breeze rustles the brittle leaves still clinging to their branches, shifts the folds of his heavy coat. No danger of him freezing to death out here. “You’re a fugitive now. And if I say you’re a violent madwoman who attacked me, there is no one around to dispute it. No one who will wonder if you… If you had to die.”

Something inside me is withering, shrivelling up from cold and from terror. If you had to die.

“After all,” he says, opening and closing fingers as if he might twist them around my throat, “no one would be surprised, would they? After what you did to Gysborne.” My breath catches in my chest. “You better hope he wakes up Breanna, or you’ll be remembered as not just a thief but a murderess, too.”

I desperately want to believe he’s bluffing.

“Does it m-matter?” I take a step back. “You were going to h-h-hang me anyway.”

He smiles grimly. “It appears, Miss Cooper, that despite your best efforts—no matter what you do—your pitiful life will end only in disgrace.”

Maybe he’s right. But something else he said snags in my memory.

No one around to dispute it. He came after me alone? This… This must be good news. Mustn’t it?

Maybe Baden Hatchett is wrong. Maybe, for the first time, he's made a big fucking mistake, lured in by rage that lay dormant for so long. That’s the only explanation for his foolishness… Because between him and me, it’s personal.

I glance around, wondering if I can make a run for it. Though my numb, frozen limbs tell me it’s unlikely, I have other weapons to hurl at him. 

“You’re n-n-not going to kill me,” I say. “You’ve had p-plenty of opportunities. And s-still you haven’t.”

“Bold assumptions, Miss Cooper. I kept you around because you were stupid enough to let your insipid feelings for the boy show. Not unlike you, I saw an opportunity and grasped it. Nothing more.”

Now that I’ve stopped moving, I can’t feel the ground beneath my feet. Too cold. I wiggle my toes, praying the tiny movement will bleed life back into them. “Or m-maybe… Maybe there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to watch me die.”

“Incorrect,” he growls. “You assume too much.”

“I don’t b-believe you.” Please, please. “You say you don’t c-c-care, but you do, don’t you? Care enough to be pissed off that I ran. That I challenged you in front of everyone. That I care—” Does that word really encompass everything I feel when I think of Will Wardrew? “—more for a—for a lowly thief than I ever d-did for you.”

He stands still, shaking with unspent rage, and it feels good to hurt him in at least one way he can’t hurt me.

“The thief…” he says, drawing closer now, eyes wrathful and wild and wide. “He will die.”

I know this, and I wish I didn’t. But it means that Will is not dead yet.

“He was playing the hero again, you know. Giving you your chance to run.” He lets his pause drag on. “For nothing, obviously.”

There must be something warm and alive left in me yet, because there are tears welling in my eyes. Burning, stinging heat.

“Still you left him behind. Left him to die. Because that’s what Breanna Cooper does, isn’t it? She runs away.”

No, that’s not true, I want to say.

“Are you going to run again? Make me chase you?” He takes a few more steps, fast and sure and agile now. Flaunting the fact that he is healthy and not half-frozen. I back away, breaths coming more frantically now. “I don’t wish to turn this into a spectacle. But I will.”

Why can’t I stop shivering? “You could choose not to, Baden. If no one else is here, then you c-can just look the other way. Nobody would ever have to know.”

“Indeed. And perhaps while we’re at it, I’ll just let the Wardrew boy go, too. How about that? And then I’ll forget about the whole gang. Yes. Everyone will live happily ever after.” He laughs. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.” A dream, nothing more, cruel in its temptation. “But you won’t do that.” I’m not as stupid as he says I am. “Your pride won’t allow it.”

“You think this is a matter of pride?” He closes more distance between us, and I back away again. “You and he and Iustitia aecum have been making a mockery of the law for far too long. And my duty—it is to maintain order, plain and simple. Pride has nothing to do with it.”

“That’s what you want to believe? Fine.” I brace myself for his fury. “Doesn’t change that you’re a sadistic, repulsive worm of a man, Baden Hatchett, and I’m not going anywhere with you.”

I turn and run.

From behind me, three words: “So be it.”

My frozen feet are clumsy, sliding along frost-flecked ground. Darkness from the cloud cover should be a gift now, a shroud of invisibility, but my panicked steps and gasping breaths give me away.

I’m doomed.

Once, my pathetic legs fail me. Such stiff, frigid muscles can’t avoid a fallen branch, and I find myself sprawled on the ground, one elbow screaming in pain. A fresh scrape decorates my palm, drops of blood beading on torn skin, the redness muted in the watercolour night.

Hatchett starts to say something, but I’m not finished running yet, not ready to die. I scramble to my feet.

Ahead, a miracle.

Maybe. Maybe.

A cabin.

I know it is unlikely that the house before me will be my saving grace—it is tiny and dark and dilapidated. What chance is there that anyone is inside? Even if there is, why would anyone help a fugitive bearing the sigil of Iustitia aecum?

But I have to try. I fling myself against the door, pounding and screaming.

Hatchett yanks me backward, and I know then it’s over.

“Foolish girl.” My limbs crumple beneath me as he hurls me to the ground. “What a life you might have known.” He appears above me, and a heavy boot presses into my chest. “Instead, this.”

I close my eyes when his fingers close around my throat. Forget going to my death with dignity, or whatever it is the great poets are always going on about. I don’t want Baden Hatchett’s face to be the last thing I see while I draw my dying breath.

Crash.

At the sound of one body crunching into another, my eyes fly open.

There is no way I am truly seeing what seems to be before me: some monstrous figure flying from the darkness, all fists and too-long limbs. Attacking my attacker. Knocking him right to the ground.

I must be dead, if I am being rescued by terrifying beasts born of night, appearing out of nowhere and dwarfing even Baden Hatchett with their bulk.

The creature and the constable scrabble in the dirt, the sickening sound of blood-pulling, skin-splitting punches echoing through the woods. I didn’t think there was anyone who could best Baden Hatchett in a fight.

But this thing, this man, whatever it is, is huge.

I don’t know if I’m screaming or crying or gasping in silent, breathless terror as I scramble backwards, still on the ground, the too-long jacket ensnaring me with every movement. All I know is that one minute Hatchett is bellowing and brawling, and I am close to freedom, ready to snatch up this precious gift of a moment as he is distracted and hopefully getting beaten into the dirt.

The next, he falls silent.

From the darkness, someone—something?—grabs my arm, pulls me upright, and covers my mouth with a hand that sears my skin like molten iron, stifling a fresh, terrified scream.

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Tagging: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @gala1981, @kixngiggles .

#lps the prince of thieves #whump #dungeon whump #whump writing #whump story #whump fiction #original fiction #original writing #original story #original content #whumpblr #whump community #writeblr #lps-writes #oc Bree Cooper #oc Baden Hatchett #oc whump #lady whump #blood #hypothermia #violence

[stuckysdaughter]

Goodbye, My Love

Billy Hargrove/Reader

Summary: You visit your boyfriend Billy to try and say a final goodbye, but you know deep down this isn't the end. Just a pause for a while. (No spoilers for Season 4, just the end of Season 3)

Requested by: no one, just me :)

Tagging: N/A

Warnings: angst, mentions of major character death, crying, no fluff

------

You slowly made the trek up the grassy hill of the cemetery. You made this trip like clockwork, visiting one person and one person only each and every Sunday. When you made it to the top of the hill, there was the headstone marking the person you were here to see. Billy Hargrove, your boyfriend. You sat down in front of the marker, and heaved a deep sigh, twirling the small ring on your left hand.

“Hey, Billy. It’s me again. I know you probably can’t hear me, but either way I need to get this off my chest. I miss you, like, a lot. Every day since you’ve been gone there’s been this gaping hole in my life. I mean, who’dve ever thought I’d miss an asshole like you.” You gave a wet chuckle, a small smile despite the tears starting to make their way down your face. 

“I miss your smile, I miss your eyes, and the way they’d shine when you were trying to be sneaky. I miss our car rides at night and how we’d blaze a trail down the road. God, I even miss your stubbornness, and how you just always had to get your way with everything. That stupid smirk when you thought you won…” 

It was becoming overwhelming, all these thoughts and emotions swirling around your brain. But you wanted to, no, needed to get this out. With the state of Hawkins the way it’s been these days who knew when you’d get the chance after today.

“I’ve tried my best to keep going, but deep down I know there’s no getting over you, no replacing you. I keep checking in on Max for you, by the way. She puts on a good show, but I think she’s in more pain than she lets on. Your dad skipped town a long time ago, thank god. I wish that you had been able to get free from him a long time ago. Maybe then things would’ve turned out differently. Maybe then you’d still be here…”

Now the tears were flowing freely, with a careless abandon. You folded in half, your head falling to your thighs. You could feel the wetness growing on your legs, not caring anymore about how you looked. Nothing else mattered but Billy.

“I’m sorry, Billy. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry you were abused, I’m sorry for everything. You mean everything to me, my love, and I can only hope that wherever you are now is better than this hell here. I love you so much Billy Hargrove. I will love you from now until the end of time itself. But it’s time to say goodbye until we meet again, and I know we will.” You reached out and put a hand on the stone. “Til death do we two part, right? I know we never really made it to that part, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve always been yours just as you have been mine. And nothing will be able to take that from us, from me. Goodbye, my love. I’ll see you next week.”

And with those final words, you dropped a quick kiss to the stone and made the somber walk back to your car and drove away.

------

Author's Notes: Ok, so I binged the whole show in like two weeks and just loved it. I don't know if anyone will read for Billy things, but I've got ideas for him, Steve, and Eddie in the works. This came to me yesterday, and I knew I had to get this one out fast. As always, if you liked it, please reblog and leave a comment! I can add you to the taglist if you want, just leave me a message somehow. Requests are open as well, feel free to send me things. I love y'all so much, thank you for all your love and support!

-- Butterfly

#stranger things #billy hargrove/reader #billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #reader insert #stranger things s3 #angst

[softbobamilktae]

Snowy Cat Café

Pairing: Idol!Jimin x Teacher!OC

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: none

Summary: Jimin and Nubia go on a date to the cat café.

Nubia scooped the little cat up off the floor.  Jimin had brought her to a cat café today, and she was thrilled.  There were cats everywhere, and she loved it.  She didn’t often get to just relax because of how much she taught, so this was Heaven for her.  She glanced down as a fluffy paw was set against her thigh.  A kitten was climbing onto her lap.

“Jimin, look at this one!”

Jimin was standing between all the cats a few feet away from her.  He glanced down at the black kitten with white spots that was curled up in her lap now.  He smiled. 

“He’s pretty.”

“Isn’t he?  I should get a cat.”

“You like cats?”

Nubia nodded. 

“I like them too,” he laughed.  He crossed the room and squatted down in front of her and ran his hands over the kitten’s fur.

“This is really nice.  School has been insane lately.  Since the school year was ending, I was up working so late every night trying to get everything graded.”

“I’m glad you get a few days off right now.”

“Me too!  I was hoping to go hang out with Zelda sometime soon.  I haven’t gotten to see her much since Zoro was born.”

“Well, having a baby is a lot of work.  I haven’t seen Tae a lot either.”

“I’m sure they love it.  Zelda was so excited when she told us all that she was pregnant.”

Jimin smiled as another cat wandered over and sat itself in his lap. “What about you?  You want kids?”

Nubia nodded. “Definitely.  I love my nieces.  I’m sure you know that after meeting Kema and Lateefah, though.  I’d love to have kids of my own.” She giggled. “I wish I lived in Egypt still sometimes.  Kema is getting so big!  She was a newborn when I moved, and she’s seven now!  I haven’t gotten to meet either of Omar’s girls yet,” she frowned. “Zahra has said hi to me over video call a few times, but she’s never really met me.”

“You’ll get to meet her when we go in April, right?”

Nubia nodded again. “I can’t wait,” she admitted. “They’re all so adorable.  I’d bet they’re even cuter in person.”

The two of them sat in silence for a few moments as they pet the cats.

“Is there anything else you’d like to do today?” Jimin asked.

“I’d love to get some food.  Something savory.  My kids were bringing me sweets occasionally, and I haven’t had any time to cook or order takeout, so I’ve just been eating whatever I have around my apartment.  I want some real food!  The only time I’ve eaten anything good recently was the night I cooked dinner for Tae and Zelda.”

“We should cook together sometime.  The food you guys made last May was amazing.  Maybe we could try something like that again.”

“Yeah.  Not now though.”

Jimin laughed. “Of course not.  We could go get some bibimbap?”

“Oh my gosh, yes!  That sounds amazing.”

“Should we go, then?”

She glanced up at him. “Can we stay with the kittens for a little longer?  I have coffee to finish, anyways.”

He chuckled. “Sure.  Just don’t give the coffee to the cats, though.”

◇◆◇◆◇

The two of them wandered around town after they’d finished dinner.  It was snowing outside, so they had to stay close to each other for warmth.

“I can’t believe we met two years ago already,” Nubia laughed, pulling her scarf over her nose.

“Me neither.  It feels like we were in London just yesterday.”

“Doesn’t it?  I’ll be meeting my third class of students in about a month.  Isn’t that crazy?”

He nodded. “Jungkook’s getting married in the fall.  That seems surreal.”

“He’s been dating Astrid as long as I’ve known him, so I’m not too surprised.”

“Well, I met you before I met Astrid.”

“Really?” Nubia asked, shocked.

“Yeah.  I met her at Jin and Jasmine’s wedding, which was a month after we had the incident at the restaurant.”

“Wow.  Well, I’m flattered.”

The two of them walked on for a bit.  The streets of Seoul had less traffic than usual with how heavy the snow was coming down this evening.

“Do you ever get snow in Egypt?”

Nubia scoffed. “No!  I was shocked when I woke up at my aunt’s place one morning and the windows were white!  It was such an odd experience.  I like it, though.  It’s pretty.  And I’ve gotten used to the cold by now.”

“That’s good.  Korea’s not the warmest place out there.”

“It’s certainly warmer than London was most days!”

It wasn’t long before they were walking through a park, and Nubia glanced down at their feet as they left indents in the snow.

“We should take walks like this more often,” she smiled.

“Should we?”

“Yeah.  I enjoy being with you.  We don’t get to see each other a lot during the school year.”

“Well, maybe that could change.”

She glanced up at him and smiled. “What do you mean?”

He turned to her then and knelt down in front of her.  He pulled a ring box out of his pocket and popped it open. “Nubia, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.  Will you marry me?”

She grinned from ear to ear. “Yes!  I’ll marry you, Jimin.”

He smiled and pulled the ring out of the box, sliding it onto her finger.  It was a small emerald nestled onto a silver band.

“It’s stunning, Jimin.”

“You think so?  I saw it and thought it was something that would look great on you.”

She grinned and tugged him onto his feet. “I love you, Jimin.” Then she kissed him soundly on his lips.

This is part of the Dad!BTS series that can be found here

A/N: Happy friendshipiversary to wifey @jiminie-and-his-pinky-finger 😚

It would be greatly appreciated if you reblogged the story if you liked it!

Taglist: @jinnie-forthe-winnie @aianloveseven @fly-you-dam-fools @thornedswan @armys-dna @kookstempo

#bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts one shot #bts fic #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts #bts jimin #bts x oc #bts x reader #bts drabble #jimin drabble #jimin reaction #jimin oneshot #jimin scenarios #jimin imagine #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #Jimin #the joys of parenting #bangtan castle

[stegrossaurus]

Halloween Zodiac

Halloween Zodiac

by Boris

“It’s the Howling Moon that did it!” the old homeless man hollers, jabbing his knife at one of the symbols. “I thought it was gonna blast laser beams or turn me into a wolf or something! I didn’t read the other side. You always got to read the other side. You know that, right, kid?”

I nod quickly as he whirls his manic eyes away from the large stone altar and onto me. The rag he tied around my mouth isn’t very tight, but I’m too afraid to answer or call for help. I could easily get my hands out of the loose ropes, but running or fighting is also out of the question. Even if I wasn’t terrified, this man is a foot taller than me and clearly has the strength and speed of the insane. I don’t know my way through the forest and he clearly does; he found this large altar easily. He’d catch me if I ran and there’s no one here to hear me scream.

The old man grabs my shirt and pulls me closer to the altar so I can see it clearer. It’s a large table of black stone with 13 dinner plate-sized discs of gold set in a circle around a jagged hole in the center. It’s pitch black in that hole and I can’t see any hint of the forest floor. It might just be the reflection of the fire-colored autumn leaves (brighter than the leaves anywhere else in the forest, it seems), but the 13 discs look like they’re glowing orange. He jabs his knife at the disc featuring a screeching bat. Then the hanged skeleton. A blazing jack-o-lantern. A leering cat. 

“I survived everything until the Howling Moon!” His knife once again finds the disc of a large full moon hanging over howling beasts and cowering humans. “I didn't understand! It doesn’t kill you, it just drives you crazy!” He stops yelling long enough to take several deep, shuddering breaths and starts again, quieter and slower. “It was another homeless man for me. We heard the rumor, we wanted the power, we fought…” His rambling trails off into despondent mumbles as his grip loosens. I still don’t run away. “I killed him to wake it up ‘cause I thought I could beat it. And now here I am holding a teenager hostage and I barely remember why.”

He starts to cry and, with a sudden burst of energy, he yanks me forward and forces me to lean down of the altar. “It shows up every October.” He holds his knife to my throat as I start struggling. “It demands a sacrifice and it offers power.” He ignores my garbled pleas as his blade pierces my shoulder. “If it doesn’t get one, it stays asleep and nothing happens.” Something rumbles hungrily in the pit a foot from my head as my blood drips on the stone. “I’d love that, but the Halloween Zodiac wants to come out. It wants to play. So it will do anything to get the sacrifice.” He lets me go, jumps up onto the altar, and walks forward in a daze. He walks shakily and almost giddily, like a kid playing Don’t Step On The Crack. “Learn the rules. Beat it before October ends. Don’t look at the Moon. Best advice I can give you, kid. Good luck.”

He falls into the pit so quickly, it looks like he was pulled. I don’t hear anything hitting the bottom. This time, the rumbling coming from the pit sounds…satisfied.

I pull myself up, undo to the rag and ropes, and inspect the cut. It’s not very deep, but that knife looked filthy, so I should get it cleaned. 

I can’t believe that happened. I’m still not sure what happened. That man just grabbed me as I was walking home from school and pulled me into the forest. He just muttered ‘Halloween Zodiac’ as he dragged me farther and farther from the road.

I keep the altar, specifically the pit in the middle, in my sights as I back away. He said it only appears in October, which would mean it appeared today. But he couldn’t have been serious, right? The man was clearly insane. But I heard that rumbling when he cut me and when he jumped in. And now, as my eyes drift away from the hole and to the little pool of blood, I see movement. The blood is moving, forming itself into letters.

Boris Bane. My name, drawn in blood like a signature. Or a target.

“Oh, God no,” I moan in dread. “What is this? What’s happening?”

As if answering my question, the blood changes again. Choose. 

“Choose what?” I ask a split second before a glow catches my eye.

 One of the discs is starting to shine, a little brighter every second. But it’s not so bright that I can’t make out the image: a fat, goat-legged creature smiling as people are impaled on its horns and pitchfork. The inscription on the bottom reads: Hungry Devil. 

“No no no. Not that!” I don’t know what’s happening, but I don’t want any kind of Devil anywhere near it.

I scramble around looking for a way to change the selection and notice a small white skull-shaped rock set into a groove outside running outside the discs. It’s set next to the glowing Hungry Devil disc, so I pull it away. The glow immediately transfers to the next disc and the next as I move the skull. Not that any of the discs seem much better. The Witch’s Mirror, the Haunted House, the Forbidden Road, the Living Mask, and more less than pleasant names adorn the discs on the altar. I’m not sure what I’m looking for and it doesn’t matter. I lose my grip on the skull in my haste and it slips up the groove, bringing the brightening glow to another disc. Before I can get a hold of it, the glowing stops and I can tell the choice has been made.

“Black Cat?” I read the inscription on the chosen disc. A cat perched arch-backed on a fence glares menacingly at me from the metal scene. I try to remember the old man’s words or think of something that will put this nonsense into place, but I can’t. “I can’t do this. I don’t know what this is. I don’t want to know what this is. I just need to go home.”

 I pick a direction and run, hoping I’ll hit the road eventually. Then I can go home and just forget about all of this. 

The forest has an unnatural type of silence as I run. The kind where the softer sounds of the leaves falling on the forest floor are louder than the snapping branches and crunching twigs. Falling leaves, the slowest breeze, and a clacking, scraping sound, like claws on wood, all of these quiet sounds smother my panting and crashing through the woods.

Something black jolts through the orange and yellow forest and I jump as far away as my legs will take me. My foot snags on a root and I tumble towards a tree. My shout of pain as my shoulder cut echoes through the forest, but it still doesn’t drown out the scratching. Or the soft laughter.

It’s dark by the time I find the road and the backpack I’d dropped (with my wallet, cellphone, and homework inside) is gone. I barely care about that since I’m just happy to be out of the forest and away from the altar. When the moon starts to become visible in the sky, I remember the old man’s warning and I keep my head down as I walk. And then I hear it again, a long, deliberate scratch. I veer slightly away from the sound and hit a mailbox that I hadn’t seen with my head facing the sidewalk. I don’t hit it hard, but it’s enough that my foot hits the pavement oddly and my ankle surges with pain. Now I have to hobble home with a bloody shoulder and a sprained ankle.

Just as I put the key in the lock of my front door, a yowling screech like a car crash comes from somewhere in the bushes. I lurch forward on my sprained ankle and tumble into the door. It comes off its hinges, the key breaks in the lock, and my forehead meets the banister. 

Mom is less than thrilled when the world stops spinning. I prop the hat rack against the door so that it stays in the frame, but we might need to buy a new one, which Mom makes clear is coming out of my allowance.

No one asks about my head or my shoulder or my missing backpack as I trudge up the stairs. No one suggests that I reheat dinner, not that I’m willing to risk going into the kitchen with all the terrible things that can happen with all those knives and appliances. I go slowly, waiting for the sound of scratching or hissing. Then the banister of the stairs or ceiling will start to crack and I’ll wake up in the hospital. If at all. Mercifully, I make it to my room without incident.

My basset hound, Holly, is waiting for me under my bed. She perks up a bit when she sees me, but doesn’t get up. She just waits for me to sit down next to her so she can lick my hand. Mom and Dad suggested a more energetic dog breed when I asked for a pet, but my little lazy floppy girl is so much less stress. 

I rest my throbbing ankle, head, and shoulder as I rub Holly’s head and alternate between trying to forget the day and trying to piece it together. I’m not an idiot; I know what’s going on. I’ve had nothing but bad luck since what happened in the woods and it can’t be a coincidence. 

The Halloween Zodiac is real. And it’s coming for me. But I don’t know how to stop it. What did the old man say?

“Don’t look at the moon?” Well, that’s no help. The Moon isn’t what’s attacking me, the Black Cat is. That whacko said so many things, but how many of them were useful? Eventually, I land on, “Read the other side? Maybe there are instructions on the other side of the altar? Oh God, I’m going to have to go back to the altar, aren’t I?” Holly, of course, doesn’t answer. She just looks up at me and lolls her tongue out. “I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want any of this. But I need to know what’s going on. You believe in me, right, Holly?”

I cup her head and let her lick my face, but immediately, I hear the awful scratching. Holly tenses and whimpers as I look around for the source of the sound. 

“Where are you?” I whisper.

In the space of a second, my lamp’s lightbulb goes out with a pop, Holly’s bark makes me twist in a way that bursts my scab with a fresh surge of pain, and a hiss draws my attention to the doorway. There are two pinpricks of green light hovering a foot off the floor in the slab of darkness where the exit should be.

“Holly should not believe in you, Boris Bane,” a soft, mocking voice says. “Because you are going to fail and die. Simple as that. And if your dog does believe in you, then she must not have a good head on her shoulders.”

Something rumbles and creaks in the walls, pipes or the structure settling, most likely. But it’s enough to startle me into backing against my bed. A bolt or screw pops audibly and I feel the frame give. With far better reflexes than I ever thought possible, I twist around and shove my arms under the bed. Just in time to stop the frame from crashing down and decapitating my dog.

Holly races out from under the bed just before its weight becomes too much and it pins my forearms to the carpet, but she goes no further. The Black Cat is still here. I painfully turn as much as I can and see it still blocking the doorway. Its body is now visible, an unnervingly normal feline body silhouetted against a halo of purple energy radiating around it. It looks like it’s trying to spread towards me, but something barely keeps it curling inward.

A low, bone-rattling growl shakes the room…and then stops. Everything stops. The Black Cat, with all of its darkness and terrible sounds, vanishes.

When my parents and sister come upstairs to check on Holly’s barking, I just tell them about the lightbulb and the bed. Luckily, my arms aren’t broken when they help me pry the bed frame off and Holly is unharmed. I know this should be a victory, but the Black Cat was so angry and not knowing why it didn’t kill us doesn’t make me feel any safer.

That settles it. I need to go back.

I wake with a headache, swollen foot, and pus-oozing shoulder cut. I’d barely slept huddled in the corner of my room with Holly waiting for that thing to come back. I’m late for school, but I’m not really planning on going anyway. My sister’s already headed to school and my parents are already at work, so Holly and I have the house to ourselves. 

I look up the Halloween Zodiac and, to no real surprise, I find nothing useful. Then I put some antibiotic cream on my shoulder, already knowing that it probably won’t work. But I can’t stall forever. I hobble around the house collecting a compass, flashlight, hunting knife, my sister’s mace, bicycle helmet, bugspray, and everything else I could need. Dad once said that he didn’t believe in luck, just preparation, so I’m preparing for everything.

The walk to the forest is painful and every sound makes me jump, but I get to the spot where I was kidnapped without incident. I keep expecting the scratching sound as I walk through the forest, but it doesn’t come. Why won’t it attack?

I put stickers on the trees as I walk to mark my way and avoid bushes where snakes could be hiding. I keep an eye out for the eye-searing reds and golds that surround the altar and when the brown-hued oranges and yellows of the trees begin to ignite, I know I’m getting close. Soon after, I find myself back at the black stone table among fire-colored leaves.

I scan the rim and base of the altar and find nothing. I hoist myself onto the altar and peek at the pit. Still nothing and I’m not willing to risk a closer look. All the leaves on the altar make a perfect opportunity to slip. 

Next, I check the discs. I spend a minute to look at the other 12 dreadful sounding options and wonder if any of them would have been a better choice than the Cat. But I know I’m just stalling. I swallow my fear and fiddle with the Black Cat disc until it twists clockwise and inch and flips around on a hinge. This side of the disc is simple bronze with black letters engraved on.

The Black Cat is the sign of misfortune and manipulation; the unfortunate possibility made into dreaded certainty. It is death by pure happenstance and is undone by caution.

It can be defeated if it is undone seven times.

“Undone by caution?” Dad was right; if I’m careful and smart I can avoid the Black Cat’s bad luck attacks. I reread it a few times until I realize something. “That’s why it hasn’t attacked again. It doesn’t want to risk being undone again.” The Black Cat won’t attack until it has a sure thing.

The second I say that, I hear the clacking scratching sound. And then I hear the leaves crunch under the feet of something big. I turn slowly and my blood freezes.

A bear. A large black bear is coming towards me. Not quite running but certainly not hesitantly. I can barely breathe. I can barely think. I can’t believe this is happening. But it is. Bears live in forests and sometimes they attack people; an unfortunate possibility made into a dreaded certainty.

 A soft laugh (slightly) draws my attention away from the beast and to a patch of shadow with two pinpricks of light in between two trees. 

“I await your undoing, Boris Bane,” the mocking voice says as the bear wanders closer. It doesn’t look very hungry or scared so I try to keep my head. “Truly. How will you escape? What bit of caution and preparation do you have in your pockets that can fight a bear?” 

I scoot away from the edge of the altar while minding the pit behind me. The bear’s close enough that it can jump up if it wants to.

My mind spins looking for something to say or do and quickly lands on, “If I die, your game ends.” I’m rasping a little, trying not to spook the bear, but I’m sure the Black Cat hears me. “You need me alive to sacrifice me next year. Otherwise, you won’t be able to wake up and play.” 

I have zero idea if this is even remotely true. The old man said that the thing needs a sacrifice to wake it up and the Moon drove him crazy so that he’d sacrifice himself. I don’t know what the Black Cat will do to sacrifice me next October, but it won’t work if I’m eaten by a bear today. 

I hope.

I chance a look at the catlike being barely visible in the blob of darkness. It waits and so does the bear. Then the thing laughs.

“Foolish boy. Do you really think we need you? We find our sacrifices one way or another.” The bear’s lips raise in a low growl as the Cat continues. “We appear in books, nightmares, and prayers. We are in the ramblings of lunatics and the visions of seers. We whisper everything you need to hear at a party or in a classroom, and your tiny mind does not even try to remember where you heard the rumor.” The bear rises on its hind legs and roars. I fumble backwards, my heart in my throat. “We will have another sacrifice. You, Boris Bane, may die.”

The bear swipes its paw, but without being on the altar with me, it only grazes me. And where else but my wounded, most likely infected, shoulder? I’d worn the most padded sweater and jacket I could find, but the burst of pain still makes me scream. It spooks the bear back a bit, but I take a step back too and trip on some leaves. I have just enough presence of mind to fall away from the pit. I try and fail to get up before the bear clamors onto the altar.

I fumble in my pockets, but I’m too scared to tell the mace from the bug spray. The bear lowers its head as it straddles me, opens its jaws, and without thinking I shove both cans into its mouth.

Roars turn into chokes and into bangs as its teeth puncture the cans. I feel a little bad for the bear as it bellows in pain and tries to get poison and metal out of its mouth. It’s not the bear’s fault that the Black Cat used it as a pawn. But I can’t do anything to help. I need to run.

I ignore the pain in my foot and shoulder and bolt for the trees, aiming for the sticker I placed on one of the trunks. I give my compass a glance and head in the opposite direction that I came in. I keep an eye out for falling branches, sneaky roots, hidden snakes and beehives, and more stickers. I try to tune out the bone-rattling angry thrum followed by the clacking scratches as the Black Cat tries to curse me again.

When I make it to the road, the Black Cat is waiting for me. Once again, the black shape is surrounded by a nimbus of malignant purple light that looks like it desperately wants to kill me. Once again, I hear the deep, snarling boom of defeated anger. And once again nothing happens, the Black Cat disappears. I’d escaped the bear and being lost in the forest. Two more victories down and just four to go.

I’m not very relieved, though. It’s going to step up its game and it can make almost anything happen. And what if it does nothing? The old man said I have to win by the end of October, but he never said what happens if I don’t. Will the game be over or will the Cat keep coming after me no matter how many times I beat it. If it doesn’t attack for the rest of the month and I can’t undo its bad luck, I’ll lose by default.

I hobble to a bus station, sit on a bench and force myself to calm down.

“I can do this. I did it three times and I can do it again.” I mumble this to myself a few  times until I almost believe it. But I can’t risk going home until the Cat is gone. “I can’t go anywhere that I don’t want torn to the ground by that crazy thing. Maybe I’ll hide out at school.” 

I laugh a bit at my gallow’s humor and spend a few minutes morbidly guessing all the ways the Black Cat could cause a building collapse. Then I start to think of something the old man said and something I read on the disc. By afternoon, the Black Cat still hasn’t attacked and I have a plan.

I hear the scratching a few times while hanging around the front of the school waiting for the last bell. But other than the one football striking my infected wound, nothing happens. The Black Cat is laying the groundwork for something and I don’t think I’ll enjoy what it is. 

It’s already the last period so the end of the school day ends quickly enough, but I don’t go inside. I don’t need to in order to see how many people are still in the building. After-school clubs, administrators still working, people who missed their rides or stayed behind to get something, all potential collateral damage for whatever the Black Cat is planning next. I suppose that’s what it was doing. I’m not happy that I’m taking such a risk with their lives, but I need to end this.

After about an hour, I see my parents’ car and a police cruiser pull up. My blood chills, but I manage to avoid running to them or inside the building. That’s what it wants. There’s going to be hell to pay if I survive this, but I can’t let them stop me. I circle the school and head to the football field earlier than I’d planned. I’d hoped to wait until practice was over, but if I stay away from the bleachers, players, and lights, I should be fine.

I wait for another hour until practice ends, anticipating something awful that never comes. The people in the school and the possibility of me going back must make the building too tempting of a target. But that won’t last. If this plan doesn’t work, it’ll be a miracle if I’m the only one who dies.

The last of the people leave and I quickly enter, making a beeline for the center of the field, out of range of any falling bleachers or stadium lights. I stand and wait as the sun starts sinking and a presence wells up behind me. The Black Cat is there when I turn.

“What are you planning, Boris Bane?” it asks. There’s no mockery in its voice, only suspicion.

“What are you planning?” I return. I recite the reasons I’d given myself for coming here, as much for myself as for it. “There’s nothing to fall on me. The grass is too green for a fire to spread. And even if the guards come, they don’t carry guns.”

“I will find a way,” it snaps, harshly and maybe a little desperately. The aura of blackness flickers purple. “Maybe one of the boilers in your school will explode and a shard of metal will find its way here.”

“You’ll have to put your back into that one. It’ll take a pretty big explosion and the school’s not even a decade old.” I’m fairly certain the Cat can manage it, but I don’t say that out loud.

“I can easily make that happen,” the Cat hisses. The purple aura starts to billow. “Clogged plumbing, loosened screws, and the whole building collapses!”

“But I’m not in the building,” I say, trying to sound smug. It’s trying to hold everyone hostage, but I won’t let myself be baited. “Destroying it will just be another failure.”

“I can send owls to peel your face off!” it shouts. The aura swarms around its arched feline body. The scratching sound mixes with far off hooting.

I’m scared but I stand my ground. “You couldn’t get me with a bear and at least those will actually attack humans. You’ll never make an owl attack me.”

“I can make anything possible, brat!” The aura almost surges outward as the monster bellows in anger. “How would you like a sinkhole right under your feet? You can suffocate in agony, unable to move! I can make it last hours!”

“It hasn’t rained in a month!” I shout back. “You can’t just retroactively make water underground or erode soil. That’s not how it works.”

“I decide how it works!” the Black Cat roars. The aura, so purple and bright that looking at it is like a punch in the eyes, finally storms forth. It sinks into the ground and saturates it with water. “I have choked people with four-leaf clovers and made them bludgeon themselves with horseshoes.” I sink to my knees as mouse-sized green beetles crawl from the soupy mud. “I have trapped people in the basements of collapsing skyscrapers and had them drown in deserts and given them food poisoning from their own chewed off tongues!” The purple waves strike out at the stadium lights. They explode into flames which race down the wooden poles and surge across the lawn. “I’ll give you gangrene and cancer and dementia! You won’t even remember your name as you excrete your last drop of blood! You! Will! Die!”

I try to wade out of the mudhole and swat away the biting insects, but it’s no use. The Black Cat’s aura shoots into the sky like a rocket. The clouds rush away to reveal the impossible: a fiery meteor headed right for me. The booming of the meteor and the laughing of the Cat and everything else almost drives me insane within a second. 

And then a second later it’s all over.

The surge of purple light snuffs out, the mud dries in a heartbeat, and beetles and the fires and the meteor all vanish. What stands before me as I pull myself out of the loose dirt looks like a normal black cat.

“What? No! What happened? What did you do?” the Cat sputters in terror. It arches its back, trying to reignite its power, but nothing happens. No scratching sounds or sudden bad luck or ominous aura, black or purple. By the time my legs are free and it gets the idea to run, it’s too late. “You cheated!” are its last words before my foot lands on its head.

The Cat’s mangled corpse evaporates into dust. The swelling in my shoulder and ankle start to lessen almost immediately. I flop down on the grass and breathe for what feels like the first time in two days. It’s over.

The old man said to learn the rules. The disc said ‘death by pure happenstance’. But a conjured meteor isn’t something that just happens like a sprained ankle or a hungry bear in the woods, so it doesn’t really count as happenstance. The Black Cat broke the rules and my guess was on the money. How lucky of me.

I start to head home before anyone comes to check on the noise. Facing my parents and the police is not going to be fun and being linked to a disappearing meteor won’t make it easier. But I don’t make it out of the stadium before I hear it.

It’s not the scratching sound, though it sends the same shivers down my spine. The harsh grind of stone against stone comes with an image in my mind: a skull-shaped white rock sliding down a groove. Away from the disc of the Black Cat and next to the disc labeled the Howling Moon. The old man may have said something about facing more than one sign of the Halloween Zodiac.

My breath quickens as I remember the discs he pointed to: the Vampire Bats, the Baleful Boneyard, the Wicked Lantern. If the stone keeps sliding, I’ll have to face all of them eventually. How far was the Hungry Devil from the Black Cat? 

The sky darkens much quicker than it should and I hear and feel as much as I see a golden light rising in my periphery. 

“Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look,” I remind myself. I need to get to the altar and read the Howling Moon’s disc. I need to read all of their discs.

I run for the forest. I don’t stop when the voices from the school turn to howls or the lawn starts to ripple and warp like a wet painting. I don’t stop to wonder if it’s really happening or if the Moon is already driving me insane. And when the Moon’s light becomes so thick and heavy at my back that I swear that massive ball of golden rock is an inch behind me and all I want to do is turn and let the light sink into my eyes and gums and nail beds…I don’t. I keep going for the forest. I’ll find the Howling Moon’s inscription and I’ll figure out how to beat it.

If I’m lucky.

#short story #magic #halloween #friday the 13th #bad luck

[yoakkemae]

oh my god, this is so funny. // fanfiction excerpt: 

Shikaku purses his lips. "Hey, why don't you ask Kakashi here for a spar? The Chunin Exams are close but any experience will give you an edge."

Shikamaru raises an eyebrow. "Even if I ask now, I'd still have to wait two hours before he's ready to start."

"My reputation proceeds me," Kakashi drawls but he easily slips to his feet because if Shikaku wants to owe him a favour then Kakashi will take it. "Come on, I think Shikaku needs a moment alone with those lotus seed cakes. And to scrape his dignity off the floor."

Shikaku is already dragging the tray closer. Shikamaru grumbles a bit but staggers up to his feet and, because Kakashi stops only a few steps in front of the deck, Shikamaru is forced to walk even further and then spin on his heel, back to the forest.

"Count us down?" Kakashi asks, stretching his arms out in front of him.

Shikamaru sets a solid stance because he's not running from a jonin, so he needs to put everything he has into trying to catch Kakashi in a shadow. Shikaku counts them down from three as Kakashi swings his arms back to stretch his shoulders.

Shikamaru rapidly forms hand-seals – and only gets to two and a half. Then his hands fall away, one shoved into his pocket, the other coming up like he's holding something. His shoulders slump and he closes one eye.

"First of all," Shikaku begins, pointing at Shikamaru. "That's adorable, and I'm pretending he's holding a textbook instead." Shikaku's raised finger then swings around to point at Kakashi's back. "Secondly, that's cheating, using it against a genin."

"Only genin fall for it anyway," Kakashi retorts and he turns to face Shikaku, his hands still holding a seal behind his back, having pretended to stretch so Shikamaru wouldn't be expecting it.

Shikamaru is frozen where he stands, and he knows the feeling because his dad uses it on him in their spars. It's shadows holding him, and high-level control at that because Shikamaru can't even speak – Kakashi doesn't even need to move himself to move Shikamaru.

Shikamaru's open eye whirls around trying to see the shadow and finds it stretching from Kakashi, backwards into the deck, then skipping around the base of trees to disguise itself as it arcs around, before it probably grabbed Shikamaru from behind.

But it's not over, because when Kakashi turned towards Shikaku, he took a step sideways to very casually block Shikaku's sight. Shikamaru's hands come close to his stomach, keeping his arms in and as still as possible. His hands flash through signs faster than his brain can understand them so he only realises what's happening when his own shadow leaps forward.

"I can't believe this is working," Kakashi says as he takes a step to the side out of the way.

Shikamaru's shadow hits the first person it finds, like all Nara kids are trained, which is Shikaku who has his tea half raised. Shikamaru's control is basic however, so it only moves the body when he moves.

"I…did not know it could work like this," Shikaku admits in confusion, but otherwise is perfectly happy to just stay trapped.

"Hand signs are instinctive for genin, he probably couldn't stop himself. I wouldn't try it on a chunin though," Kakashi muses, shifting so he can see both Naras. "My genin didn't know how to tree-walk, can you believe that?"

"That's how normal kids come out of the Academy," Shikaku says with an eye roll.

Shikamaru is still stuck and he's confused how Kakashi would know the Nara shadow jutsu -it's not bloodline but it is a secret clan jutsu- except his dad seems fine with it so that's not the biggest problem right now. Kakashi isn't releasing him because Shikaku hasn't called the spar.

Shikaku can also break out of Shikamaru's jutsu, he has before, so right now he's just playing along. Because he wants to see how this ends? Because he's expecting Shikamaru to do something?

Okay, think, how does he break it? No, impossible unless Kakashi is distracted. So how does he distract Kakashi? The only piece Shikamaru can use is his dad but he can't move Shikaku while under Kakashi's influence.

Then how does he drop his dad first so Shikaku can make a play? Kakashi said it was instinctive with hand signs, so Shikamaru needs to…make the hand signs useless? Pull back on his chakra?

"How many Nara do you think you can link up?" Kakashi asks in curiosity. "If you get all of them spread out and linked up to two or three others, as soon as an intruder steps foot in Konoha they get stuck in fly tape – ninja tape? You might be able to feel the vibrations like a spider web and with Ino-Shika-Cho trios, that's…"

"Oh," Shikaku says in wonder. "That's going to be a nightmare to pull off." His arm starts moving again and he just sips his tea like there wasn't a pause in the middle. "Good job, Shika! You figured that out really fast."

Shikamaru slumps as he's released, panting. "Troublesome."

#tbd. #honestly would not surprise me if kaka COULD use the nara clan jutsu

[suna-reversed]

Jujutsu Kaisen hcs- “please don’t leave”

alt. title- needy late night moments

Characters- Yuji, Gojo, Sukuna, Megumi

Tags- angst if you squint but mainly fluff

Yuji- 

- You fell asleep on him while watching a horror movie late night. 

- His one hand clutched the popcorn bowl, the other coming around to cradle your head subconsciously as your body slumped over into his side. 

- His main task for the next hour was to not move a single muscle in fear you’d wake up and go inside the bedroom to sleep.

- He’s just been a little touch starved and liked the warmth you were radiating.

- His task proves to be quite difficult considering he was watching a horror movie with jump-scares every two minutes. 

- It takes 5 failed attempts at Yuji trying not to jolt up whenever something pops up for you to finally stir awake, and you find your eyes meeting with the absolutely terror filled ones of your lover.

- “Please don’t leave” he whispers in a voice that makes your heart break. You end up taking that as him being scared of the movie

- Still in a sleepy daze, you crawl over into his lap, affectionately nosing at his neck while his strong arms come around to hold you tightly, 

- “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here mmkay?” A smile of pure tenderness forms across Yuji’s face, soon enough turning into choking laughter as you sleepily mumble, “I’m ready to throw hands with them dead people”

- “Zombies, babe. They’re zombies.”

- “The only thing they’ll be once I’m done with them is...dead” You slur out that last part, falling back into slumber with a small smile on your face as you feel Yuji shake with silent laughter, his hand coming up to gently pat the back of your head,

- “Thank you baby, I’d throw hands with zombies for you any-day too.”

Gojo Satoru 

- You rolled over in the empty bed for the thousandth time that night. You had learned long before that on most nights you’ll be sleeping without your Satoru.

- So what was different today? Maybe it was the fact that he had informed you of his return. But it had been 2 days since then, and Gojo had never not shown up the same day that he’d told you he was coming back.

- Despite knowing the man you loved was practically undefeatable by most, your mind had considered every single possibility, from him getting captured by a curse to him tripping over and falling into an abandoned sewage line.

- Your stomach churned with anxiety as you considered whether calling Nanami this late to check on Gojo would be a good idea.

- You were halfway into typing his number when you heard the familiar click of the door unlocking, your feet carrying you to the front door faster than your mind could process it.

- And there he was. The bag of sweets he gets you each time in his left hand as he apprehended you with a raised brow and cocky look, 

- “Couldn’t sleep without me sweetheart?”

- He was met with eerie silence as you continued to stare at him. Your sleep deprived mind still processing that he was home. He was safe. 

- Gojo immediately sensed that something was wrong, but before he could react, you were walking towards him, crashing into his arms as he brought his hands around you when-

Thump! 

- Did you just...punch his chest? 

- “I was- I was so scared” you sniffed into his chest. “...you idiot.”

- Gojo’s heart twisted in pain as he heard a sob escape you, his arms tightening around you as he rested his chin on your head. He let you cry it out, gently picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom in midst of you murmuring various swear words at him 

- He finally felt you beginning to calm down as he tucked you in the on your side of the bed. But, as he pulled away, he felt a hand clutch onto his wrist, 

- “Please don’t leave” you said, your voice quivering. 

- “Baby...” he said with a gentle voice, “I’m just going to go change, okay? I’m not going anywhere”

- Even as Gojo changed, he felt your eyes digging into his back like he’d disappear if you let him out of sight for even a moment. 

- He quickly pulled on a pair of sweats, opting to not wear a shirt as he moved into bed with you, your limbs immediately coming to wrap around him. 

- You laid in silence for a while 

- “y/n?” You hummed in acknowledgement, face still buried in his chest

- “I’m always going to come back home to you my love. That’s a promise okay?” 

- You nodded in response, eyes turning glassy once more as Gojo leaned forward to pepper kisses all over your forehead, cheeks, and nose. 

- Gojo lifted his blindfold as he felt your breathing slow down, his ocean eyes filled with utmost adoration as he simply let himself admire your sleeping form. 

Sukuna

- The curse found itself being stuck in its vessel at the most useless of times. - 

- After a late night mission when the brat crashed at your surveillanced apartment, while you completed the formalities and paperwork to submit to Nanami the next morning. 

- Walking out of the guest room, Sukuna found himself amused by your ability to fall asleep in the weirdest of places

- Currently, you sat hunched over the kitchen table, head resting sideways in your arms, tiny snores leaving your mouth as your eyes remained shut. 

- The curse looked back to a few days ago when it had found itself in it’s vessel’s body unwillingly again, a strange warmth curled in his left side. Looking down, he had realised that the strange warmth came from your huddled up body. 

- You had immediately snapped open your eyes and moved away as soon as he had let out a low chuckle. 

- So this time, he approached you carefully. But even then, he had expected you to sense someone’s presence so close next to you. 

- But there was no reaction from you, even as he pulled the chair right next to you and sat down on it.

- “Oi brat”

- Still no response.

- Oh, had you finally let your guard down?

- A dozen different malicious ideas filled Sukuna’s mind, but he found himself simply sitting there, awaiting for a reaction from you. 

- He wondered how you could sleep so comfortably on what was practically a wooden slab. And he found his answer questioned as he curiously leaned down on his own arms, facing you, your noses merely an inch away as he regarded your calm face with a raised brow. 

- He had imagined you to be snarky and biting at him even in your sleep. 

- Why had he imagined you sleeping at all?

- He found himself avoiding the question.

- He stilled as your eyes fluttered open, a cocky smile making it’s way on his lips as he awaited your fear filled eyes. 

- Instead, he found you simply staring back at him, the most of a reaction being you furrowing your brows slightly 

- He didn’t know whether he was a little offended by your lack of response or highly unsettled by your piercing gaze. Nonetheless, he found himself turning his head away, almost in a petty childlike manner. 

- Why did he not get up and leave?

- He felt a hand come to the back of his head, and his senses instantly got ready to go into offensive mode. 

- But this was something much much worse than an attack.

- He found your fingers gently brush over his hair, almost like you were absorbing it’s softness into your fingertips. The breaking point was you gently scratching his head with your nails. He almost purred. 

- But he also found his own hand coming up to grip your wrist, stilling your hand in place.

- “What-are-you-doing?” He emphasised each word as he turned his towards you again, hand still holding yours above his head.

- You continued to stare at him with a look he didn’t quite understand,

- “Your hair is...soft” You slurred your words a little, wiggling your fingers that were trapped in his hand. He let go, only to find you entangling your hand back into his hair, quite shamelessly this time as you closed your eyes once again.

- He didn’t know whether it was the tiredness of that night or simply your sleepiness, but you didn’t acknowledge it the next day. He chose not to either even though he had spent all night thinking of how he’d get to tease you with this.

- But, the king of curses did find himself leaning more towards you whenever you were in his presence. Your hand brushing with his every now and then. Him gently tugging on a strand of hair before tucking it behind your ear and you letting him. Staying right there if he woke up with you on his shoulder while on the train back from a mission. 

- Eventually, you show up to Yuji’s room on a day much similar to the night where you first touched the curse, eyes sunken and shoulders slumped, desperate for any sort of comfort and almost relieved at the fact that he was there. 

- He was taken back as you climbed into the bed, arms wrapping around him, hands going straight to tangle themselves in his hair as you buried your face in his chest.

- “Please don’t leave” 

- He found his own arms pulling you further into him because who was he to deny you when your touch felt so divine? 

Megumi

- Getting a call from Megumi at 2 am after you had just returned from a mission was the last thing you had expected

- Megumi had grown considerably close to you for a boy who didn’t always wear his emotions on his sleeve.

- However, perhaps it was the fact that you had ended up giving him a tiny huge scare by going missing for a few hours on the mission

- It wasn’t anything major, you had gotten injured and accidentally strayed off the path you were ordered to follow

- Nonetheless, the news had reached the school, particularly Megumi, who was halfway out, ready to go and save you from whatever had taken you when the message had come that they had found you unconscious in some corner of the forest. He had only left the infirmary after being assured countless times that you were fine and being pulled away by Yuji.

- Still, he found his mind running and all he wanted was to hear your voice to make sure you were okay.

- He honestly hadn’t expected you to pick up, but he hadn’t known that the nurse had allowed you to go back to your dorm once you woke up.

- So he found himself speechless as he heard your voice

- “...Megumi? Is everything okay?”

- “Yes” he murmured.

- “The nurse told me you were there with me for quite a while…”

- There was a beat of silence before he said,

- “You scared me”

- He immediately hung up after that.

- You knew that it was difficult for him to express such emotions and so you found your feet carrying you to the front of his door

- You weren’t exactly sure of what you were going to do, but you didn’t have to figure that out as the door opened in your face, Megumi gesturing for you to come in.

- As soon as you shut the door, you felt your body being pulled into his warm embrace. You sighed, taking in his familiar scent of night-chilled mist and cedar as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

- You eventually ended up on his bed, limbs tangled with each other under the sheets as he traced random patterns onto your arm to convey the words he couldn’t say, till he fell asleep.

- You found yourself noticing the time, sighing as you got ready to go back to your dorm, but Megumi noticed the slight movement,

- “Angel...” he murmured sleepily, nuzzling his head into your neck, “Please don’t leave.”

- Your heart melted at his words and the consequences of sleeping in another student’s room seemed to fade from your mind as you tightened your grip on him,

- “Never”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu Kaisen headcanons #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #gojo saturo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo headcanons #megumi x reader #megumi fluff #sukuna x reader #yuji x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna smut #gojo smut #jjk hcs #jujutsu kaisen fluff #megumi headcanons #yuji itadori #fushiguro megumi #sukuna headcanons #jujutsu kaisen hcs #gojo satoru hcs #yuji fluff

[monsterbroth]

I think my finger is infected or something

#thoughts #ask to tag #or something?? I have no idea #it was sore for awhile and not getting better #and now it’s like #funky #so #it’s something #it’s probably fine #it doesn’t hurt More so! #if it stops being I’ll #ok honestly I Suck at taking care of myself when it comes to like. this. #my hand could fall off and walk itself away right now and I’d still be like it’s probably fine #wow it’s cold #it will #probably be fine #though #like it doesn’t hurt too bad and it’s only a small part and I can still use it so #I should stop messing with it that’s for sure gonna make it worse

[searidings]

hi, i just love you and your writing

can i suggest something - you are in love (taylor swift) and supercorp

i cannot listen to that song without going yeah, that's them

(also on ao3 if you prefer)

Five years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, five years from now, Lena will think back to this moment.

This moment, which is as close as Lena's come to happiness since she'd woken up ziptied to a chair in her brother's office. This moment which, despite the fuzzy feeling of her unbrushed teeth and the pungent aroma of burnt toast filling the air, is perfect.

Kara, bed-warm and sleep-heavy, is gazing beseechingly down at the charred remains of a slice of a bread as though if she only pouts hard enough, its edges will un-blacken and its corners will stop smoking.

“I'm so sorry,” she says as Lena rounds the screen separating Kara's bedroom from the rest of the apartment and perches herself on a barstool, tugging her borrowed sleep shorts a little lower down her thighs.

Kara's tone is mournful, her face so forlorn she looks to be one deep breath away from tears. “I wanted breakfast to be perfect, since it's your first time staying over and if it's terrible you might not want to stay again and I, I really want you to stay again, but I don't know why you would since you probably have a private chef waiting for you at home and I can’t even manage toast—”

“Kara,” Lena interrupts, biting at the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as Kara's bottom lip trembles. “It's fine, really. I once set fire to my dorm kitchen trying to boil an egg. And besides,” she winks as blue eyes meet hers. “I like to give my personal chef the weekends off.”

Kara huffs out a relieved chuckle, her face brightening. “Oh, well, in that case,” she grins, a sparkle returning to her eyes. “I'd better feed you up before you go home. Never let it be said that I don't look after you.”

Lena can't help the smile that pulls at her as the warm bright feeling in her chest grows and grows. She tugs the sleeves of Kara's sweatshirt over her hands, fighting the urge to fidget as the blonde orders a frankly obscene amount of food from the brunch place on the corner.

She feels exposed like this, face bare and hair sleep-mussed, unshowered with unbrushed teeth, huddled inside borrowed clothes after the impromptu invitation to stay over when last night's movie marathon ran late. It's a far cry from the regimented composure she fights so hard every day to project, and something in her chest twists anxiously.

Kara is a reporter, after all, and National City really doesn't need any more reasons to hate Lena right now. The darkest corner of her mind – the one which has been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everything to come crashing down ever since the whirlwind of Kara's too-good-to-be-true friendship had come blazing into her life – still worries that this may all be an elaborate ruse. A trap, a way to get close to her in order to assess her weaknesses, to bring her down with an inside scoop.

But in their six months of friendship, Kara's never given her any reason to believe she has any kind of ulterior motive. And despite the suspicions and anxieties hammered into her by a lifetime of hurt, Lena knows now that even if this is a trap, she'll take the bait willingly. Especially if it means Kara will keep looking at her like there might just be something in Lena that's worth her time.

"Hey,” the blonde says gently, leaning back against the counter opposite and pinning Lena with a searching look. “You okay? You kind of zoned out on me there.”

Lena jumps, blinking back into herself with a start. “Yes, sorry. I was miles away.”

The blonde only smiles, flicking on the coffee machine at her elbow. “You sleep okay?”

“Very well, thank you,” Lena answers, fighting to lessen the formality of her tone, to soften the edges her harsh childhood had sharpened into a fortress to keep the world at bay. “Your bed is surprisingly comfortable. I had a great night's sleep.”

"Perhaps the company had something to do with it,” Kara winks as she turns to pull two mugs down from the hooks at her shoulder. Lena thinks back to the smell of Kara's sheets and the soft pulls of her breathing, to the warmth of Kara's ankle against her calf and the strong fingers that had wrapped themselves in the sleeve of Lena's sweatshirt in sleep, anchoring them together. She blushes.

Kara only smirks, pouring their drinks and grabbing the milk from the fridge. “Well, the food's all ordered, it should be here soon,” she says over her shoulder, the waterfall of her golden ponytail mesmerising in the bright rays of morning light filtering in through the vaulted windows. “And you don't need to head off in a hurry, unless you have plans—?”

She glances back at Lena, who shakes her head. “Great!” she grins. “’Cause I was thinking, maybe we could check out the botanical gardens, since it's such a nice day? Oh, and there's a new bakery right across the street that I've been dying to try—”

Lena listens to the blonde's excited rambling with an endeared smile plastered to her face, feeling happy and warm and wanted with every fibre of her being. The feeling is new but so welcome she could cry, and Lena wonders – not for the first time – how she ever got so lucky.

Kara's presence in her life is like sugar in her coffee; meant only to sweeten that which has always been bitter.

Lena's always taken her coffee black. Softening the blow was never much her style.

But here, now, perched at Kara's breakfast bar with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug the blonde has brewed to perfection, sunlight streaming in and highlighting the angles and planes of Kara's face, the way she’s smiling at Lena like there's nowhere else in the world she'd rather be, she realises her reasoning is twofold.

Sugar isn't just appetising. It's addictive. And now that Lena's had a taste of sweetness, she's hooked.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

-

Four years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, four years from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which may well be one of the lowest of Lena's life. And she's had some doozies.

The two bottles of wine she'd managed to mainline between Sam leaving to orchestrate damage control at L-Corp and Kara arriving and attempting to confiscate her glass have well and truly caught up to her now. She sways heavily on her stool, the room spinning. Tears sting her vision and guilt scorches her throat as she presses a hand over her eyes so she won't have to look at Kara's face anymore.

“Please, just— just, stop believing in me, okay?” she slurs, heart full to shattering with the faces of lead-poisoned children. “I am not worth it.”

She hears Kara sigh, and the room falls silent for a long long time. Lena drops her head fully into her hands, fighting the nausea that's taken root in the pit of her stomach. It could be the booze that's causing it, of course, but it could also be the incessant headlines baying for her blood, the bullet James had taken for her that she'd fully deserved, the curse of her family finally fulfilling itself.

The guilt, the worry, the crushing disappointment of the knowledge that despite her very best efforts, she'll never be anything but a monster— it's too much to feel. It's too much to bear.

So, Lena drinks.

She drains her glass. She pours another. Kara watches, silent and disapproving, fingers twitching against the granite countertop between them.

Lena finishes her glass. Splashes the last dregs of the bottle into it, blood on ice. Still Kara watches, motionless and mute. It's only when Lena's swallowed the last of the red and is lurching unsteadily to her feet to source another that she moves, a hand reaching out to encircle her wrist.

Shame ignites beneath her skin and she pushes Kara away. Snaps at her to go home, to learn to recognise a lost cause when she sees one and just give up already. Kara refuses with a stoic shake of her head, and Lena sighs.

They repeat the same routine three times en route to Sam's wine rack, the blonde shadowing her every step. Each time, Lena wobbles, head fuzzy and room spinning. Each time, Kara steadies her, and Lena flinches from her touch like her palm is a brand, snarls at her to leave, to cut her losses, to just fuck off. Each time, Kara refuses.

She eventually retrieves the wine after a number of unsuccessful attempts but overbalances on her toes, bottle slipping from her grip as she sways dangerously. And then Kara is there, glass bottle caught a split second before it can shatter, a firm arm at her waist that will not be rebuffed.

Lena struggles, shoving and protesting, but this time Kara does not give in. “Enough,” she says quietly, firmly, blue eyes burning a mere inch from Lena's own. “Lena, enough.”

Lena's unsteady legs buckle further and Kara’s basically holding her up now, walking her slowly over to the couch and she shouldn't be this strong, surely, shouldn't be lifting Lena onto the cushions quite this easily. But it's such a minor concern when weighted against the fact that Lena is personally responsible for the hospitalisation of children that her mind brushes over it, forgets it immediately.

"Please go home,” she slurs as the blonde arranges her on the couch, as she stashes the unopened wine far out of reach and sets about finding blankets and pillows in various cupboards. “Please, just— leave me alone.”

“No,” Kara says, almost snaps, glancing back over her shoulder. Partially hidden in the linen cupboard, her face is cast deep in shadow, a splinter of half-concealed truth. “I made you a promise, I gave you my word. I'm your friend, and I will protect you. Always.”

She crosses back to the couch, soft blankets and pillows held out in invitation. When Lena refuses the offering Kara sighs, draping a knitted throw over her anyway and perching on the cushions beside Lena's hip. “I'm not going to leave you, so you might as well stop asking,” she hums, softer now, a hand reaching toward her that Lena no longer possesses the strength or coordination to bat away.

Long fingers make contact with her cheek, with the mussed curls tangling in her eyelashes, and Kara sighs. “You are not your brother,” she murmurs, fingertips grazing Lena's cheekbone, sliding back to thread into the fine hair at her temple. “And you never will be. There's too much light in you to allow for that kind of darkness, so put that fear down, Lena. Let it go. Be free of it.”

Tears spring unbidden to her eyes. “I poisoned children.”

Kara tilts forward and Lena wonders if it's just that her vision has upped its spinning, but then warm lips are pressing against her forehead, soft and delicate as gossamer wings. Kara's mouth moves against her skin, breath damp and sweet and unmistakeably her. “You saved the world.”

Neither one of them moves. When Lena speaks again, the words hit the elegant hollow of Kara's throat. “I don't deserve your kindness. I don't deserve you.”

Kara's lips are still on her forehead. “I don't care.”

Lena feels as if her throat is splitting open, every last fear and hatred and worry and insecurity gushing out of her in an unstoppable stream. “I'm scared.”

“I know.” Kara's lips press once more, and then withdraw. They watch each other in the dim light from the kitchen. Lena's vision is beginning to blur at the edges. Kara's hand is still in her hair.

“You will get through this,” the blonde whispers, so earnest Lena almost manages to believe her. “We'll figure it out. Together.”

Heart in her mouth, tongue sticking behind her teeth, Lena's eyes slide closed.

The sweetness of Kara's words, her gentle touches, seep inside her like honey. She doesn't deserve it but God, she wants it. She wants to be worthy of Kara's faith in her more than she's ever wanted anything in her life. She wants Kara more than she's ever wanted anything in her life.

And it's telling, she knows, that she's just lost the trust of all of National City, that she has no way of easing those children's suffering and no way to prove that she isn't the cause of it, that she's finally living up to the Luthor name she's been running from ever since she'd learned what it truly meant and yet in this moment, with Kara's hand in her hair and the ghostly imprint of her lips on Lena's skin, none of it seems to matter.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

-

Three years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, three years from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which stands alone as an oasis of calm in the turbulent tumult of the past days, weeks, months of chaos. Lex's escape from custody, Eve Teschmacher's betrayal, James’ shooting, the Harun-El serum, the whole shitty totality of it all has been weighing Lena down like an nth metal chain around her neck.

And Kara, Kara hasn't been around. The one person who has always managed to ease Lena's suffering has deserted her when she needs her the most and it feels like she's been sliced open, cracked in two.

She tells her as much, when Kara at last comes to see her. Tells her she's missed her, tells her she needs her, all but begs her to stay. And what does Kara do? She leaves.

And when she leaves, Lena is gripped by a panic so intense she fears she may never breathe freely again. So terrified is she that Kara is gone for good, that she's forced away the best thing that's ever happened to her, that almost before she knows what's happening she finds herself at Catco with apologies dripping from her own tongue.

Anything to get Kara back. Anything to keep her.

Lena apologises. Kara apologises. Lena cries, and Kara holds her, and tells her that the decision to help her brother when he was dying of cancer doesn't make her the monster she now believes herself to be. And standing on her office balcony with Kara's fingers wrapped around her biceps, with her own tears spotting dark on Kara's blazer, Lena manages to believe her.

When she's collected herself, smoothed away the wetness coursing down her cheeks, she speaks. “I really want to help you with your investigation on Lex.”

Kara's face lights up; Lena's whole world along with it.

“I'd love that,” Kara says, voice quiet and still a little tentative in the wake of their new truce. “But first— would you, um. Would you like to have lunch with me?”

Lena blinks. “Don't you want to get started on the exposé?”

“I do. But—” Kara's face is still painted that earnest shade from earlier, when she'd smoothed her hands over Lena's shoulders and whispered you are a brilliant, kind-hearted, beautiful soul against the sensitive skin of her neck. Lena feels her cheeks heat up at the memory, at the intensity in the blue eyes still roving her face.

Kara shuffles her feet but her gaze is clear, unwavering. “But you were right. I've spent too much time recently prioritising the wrong things. So, I want to work on this exposé with you, and I want to bring your brother down. But first, I'd really just like to have lunch with my best friend.”

Lena's heart trips in her chest. “I'd like that too.”

So, that's what they do. Kara asks her to wait, which she does, idly tapping out a few emails on her phone. And then the blonde is back, far quicker than should have been possible, with her arms full of takeout bags from the café on the third floor and she's taking Lena by the hand and leading her to Cat Grant's private elevator. She presses the button for the roof and Lena's gaze jumps to her face but Kara only smiles, and squeezes her fingers. “Trust me, it'll be worth it,” she hums, her excitement infectious. “You'll be safe with me.”

And Lena believes her.

That's how she ends up sitting at the edge of Catco's roof on a clean sheet Kara had borrowed from the builders on the second floor, heels kicked off, Kara's red blazer draped around her shoulders. It is worth it, she'll admit; the view from this high is phenomenal. The sun burns bright in a cloudless sky, glinting off the glass-sided skyscrapers of the business district, the glittering waters of the bay beyond.

Kara had picked up Lena's favourite salad, some flatbreads and dips, and they drink kombucha and eat strawberries in the sunshine. They talk and they laugh and they catch up and there's no more fighting, no animosity, no megalomaniac brothers or backstabbing secretaries or worlds needing to be saved. There's only them, she and Kara, and it feels like all she will ever need.

The blonde's hands are braced behind her on the rooftop and she looks happy and carefree as she regales Lena with stories of her upstairs neighbour's antics, and Lena feels the tight knot of tension that had taken up residence in her chest begin to unfurl.

"Hey,” Kara hums, pushing up straighter as Lena licks strawberry juice from her fingertips. The motion brings them closer, their shoulders brushing. “Look up.”

Lena does. High above them, a huge murmuration of starlings whirls and swoops through the air. Thousands of birds move together as one, a vast wave cresting but never breaking against the blue canvass of sky.

“Wow,” Lena gasps, awed.

Against her side, Kara hums. “Yeah.”

They watch the birds for a long moment, captivated by the ceaseless swirling and diving. When Lena at last tears her gaze away from the sky, Kara's eyes rest intently on her face. "Here,” the blonde murmurs, reaching out. The pad of one finger makes feather-light contact with her cheek. Lena's breath catches in her chest.

Kara holds out her finger, proffering the stray eyelash she'd captured with a smile. "Make a wish,” she whispers, her fingertip an inch from Lena's mouth. Her eyes never leave Lena’s.

Lena looks from Kara's face to the eyelash, and back again. From somewhere deep inside her heart, the truth bubbles its way to the surface. “I don't need to.”

Kara smiles, a brilliant, beautiful smile, and Lena knows. The stresses and anxieties of their current crisis feel far away here, harmless as birdsong. She's meted out forgiveness, received it in return. For the first time in her adult life Lena has communicated an issue with a loved one and been heard, understood. She has admitted her own mistake without having it spell out the end of her relationship.

Lena smiles back. The weight of the world sublimates into nothing beneath the bliss of a simple picnic in the sun.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

-

Two years from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, two years from now, Lena will think back to this moment.

This moment, which has sapped the both of them to the bone. Another fight, another screaming match, another quick-fire back and forth of accusations and recriminations. Another night of cursing and crying and choking on all the things they never said before this, on all the things they can't now that Kara's secret has detonated in the shrinking space between them like a nuclear bomb.

Another round of bloodshed, and for what?

Lena sags against the arm of the couch, exhausted. Her face is hot, scratchy with salt from the tears still drying on her skin. She's dehydrated, probably, and half hoarse from shouting, tongue blistered with the bitter sting of betrayal.

Across the no man's land of her living room, Kara slumps against the floor-length windows, drops her temple to the cool glass. She's breathing heavily, cheeks wet, posture battered and eyes dark-bruised beneath the force of Lena's wrath. As Lena watches, her eyes slide closed.

It's been three months since Lena found out. Three weeks since Kara found out that Lena had found out.

Every night since, they've done this. Every night, Kara has shown up on her balcony and begged, pleaded, apologised, cajoled, defended, rebuffed, and sobbed. Every night, Lena has unleashed the hollow agony of Kara's deception masquerading as anger in her chest, incinerating the both of them in the fires of her desolation.

She would have expected the wounds to have cauterised by now. To feel some kind of release, the relief of catharsis. Or at least, to have expended some of her fury after all this time.

She hasn't.

They've been at this for three hours already this evening, and gotten nowhere. Kara's skin is pale above that fucking supersuit, face drawn and complexion sallow.

Lena knows how she feels. The singular exhaustion that is her rift with Kara has sapped her in every way imaginable. She can't sleep. She barely eats. She's no longer interested in work, research, friends. There's nothing in her life that isn't tainted by the shadow of the lies her best friend told and kept telling, every day for four years. Lena doesn't know how any amount of screaming and crying is ever going to get them past that.

Across the room, Kara sighs. It might be the saddest sound Lena has ever heard.

“Should we keep doing this?” she asks after an interminable silence, voice rough with tears still building. Her eyes are still closed.

Lena manages, with exorbitant effort, to raise her drooping head. “What?”

“Is there a point to all this?” Kara asks quietly, hunched body sliding a little further down the glass. "The explanations, the fighting?”

Blue eyes blink open. The weight of the sadness in them is unbearable. Lena struggles to find it within herself to care.

“Lying to you about who I am is the single biggest mistake I have ever made, and if it will make even one single shred of difference I will apologise to you every day for as long as I live,” Kara says into the aching chasm between them. “But I can't keep doing this. Not if it won't change anything. I can't— I don't want to keep hurting you.”

An hour ago, Lena would have scoffed at a sentiment like that. Would have parried back with some piercingly dry comment about how the blonde should have thought about that before she decided to betray Lena's trust as soundly as she possibly could.

Now, though— now, she's just too tired.

“So, should we keep doing this?” Kara whispers, throat working. “Or— God, Lena. Should we just— should we give up?”

Green eyes meet blue, two shattered hearts haemorrhaging between them. “Is that what you want?”

“No.” Kara's voice is loud, fiercely determined in the face of Lena's hesitant whisper. “God, no. Never. I don't ever want to give up on you, Lena. I don't ever want to give you up.”

Kara straightens then, with a strength Lena cannot imagine mustering herself. Perks of being a superhero, she supposes. Perks of being Kryptonian. The thought stakes another shard of ice through her bleeding heart.

“But I know that I've spent four years calling the shots for both of us by keeping you in the dark,” Kara continues. “I've taken away your agency. I've taken away your choice. I won't do that again.”

She sucks in a deep breath, a little of Supergirl's regality seeping back into the defeated slump of her shoulders. “So, I'm doing what I should have done from the start. I'm being honest with you, and hoping that you'll be honest back. I'm asking what you want.”

Kara's fingers twist anxiously before her, bottom lip bleaching white beneath the nervous pressure of her teeth. “Do you think we should keep doing this? Or do you— fuck.” Her voice cracks, the tears brimming in her eyes once again breaking free. “Do you want to give up?”

Jesus Christ. Lena never knew that the prospect of doing the right thing could hurt so much.

“Fuck,” she mutters as she kneads her knuckles over her closed eyelids, digging in until white lights starburst across her vision. “Fuck, Kara.”

“I know,” the blonde whispers from across the room, brittle and broken. “I know. I'm sorry.”

Lena slows her assault on her own eyelids, pinching thumb and forefinger hard at the bridge of her nose instead. “I want to give up,” she mutters, and in the taut silence between them she hears the blonde gasp, watery and thick.

Lena blinks open her eyes to find Kara's face crumpling, every facet of her seeming to fold in on itself even as she visibly fights to keep herself upright.

Lena sighs, and hates Kara, and hates herself even more. “I want to, but— I can't.” She sucks in a ragged breath, hating the truth that's just fallen from her lips, hating the lies that had necessitated it. Hating everything and everyone and most of all, hating just how much she's hurting. “I can't give this up.”

The tiniest spark of hope flares to life in Kara's eyes. Lena hates that she notices, hates that she cares, hates that the sight eases the tight knot of devastation clawing at her ribcage just the tiniest bit.

She also knows that this was inevitable. She knows that, though she hates Kara, though she's nowhere close to forgiving her, though she has no idea how they can rebuild from here or even if she truly wants to try, a question like Kara's could only ever have one answer.

In this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

-

One year from now, Kara is going to reach across the table at Noonan's and take her hand. She's going to look deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice will barely rise above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And when she does, one year from now, Lena will also think back to this moment.

This moment, which is barely even a moment at all. It's more like a dream, warm and faded and fogged in darkness, seconds stolen when sleep should have long since claimed them.

Kara's nightmare had woken them both. In the month since they'd pulled her out of the Phantom Zone, she hadn't slept alone once. Often, she stays with Alex, curling into her sister's side the way she would when they were just kids after one too many late-night horror movies. Once, she stays with Nia, tucked up snug in a borrowed pair of puppy print pyjamas.

Mostly, she stays with Lena. It's natural and unspoken and easy as breathing, the way Kara will show up at her place after a Supergirl save or Lena will let herself into the blonde's apartment after a late night in the lab. They cook dinner and watch Celebrity Masterchef and brush their teeth elbow to elbow at the bathroom sink and when Kara is inevitably tugged screaming and sobbing from her night terrors, the way she presses her face to Lena's neck and her hand over Lena's heart is natural and unspoken and easy as breathing, too.

Kara's racing pulse has calmed a little, her grip on Lena's body beneath her losing some of its urgent desperation. After a long moment of Lena's hand stroking her hair, of gentle reassurances and lips pressed to her temple the blonde pulls back, just enough to rest her head on the pillow facing her.

In the dim light filtering in through the bedroom window Kara's pupils are blown, her face solemn. There's something in her heavy gaze that Lena can't identify; something weighted and potent that prickles goosebumps up the length of her spine.

"Feeling better?” she whispers into the inch of warm air between them, reaching out to tuck a sweat-matted curl reverently behind the blonde's ear.

Kara catches her retreating hand and holds tight, twining their fingers together on the narrow swathe of pillow between them. If either of them were to move so much as a millimetre, their clasped hands would press against their lips.

The blonde nods and sure enough, the soft heat of her mouth brushes the back of Lena's knuckles. She shivers.

Kara is still watching her, the intensity of her gaze causing Lena's heart to thud hard in her throat. She squeezes lightly at the fingers threaded through her own. “What?”

A pause, heavy and sweet as overripe fruit. Kara blinks once, slow. “You're my best friend.”

Lena swallows down a sudden swell of emotion. The blonde nudges closer and when she speaks, the wet seam of her lips catches on the angle of Lena's bent knuckles, painting her skin with the words.

“You're the most important person in the world to me,” Kara whispers, breaths skating fire-flashes across Lena's fingers, voice muffling out past the mouth pressed to her skin. “You know that, right?”

Lena's voice deserts her in the wake of the quiet words. She leans forward instead, presses her lips to Kara's fingertips where they rest against the back of her own hand. It's answer enough.

She hears Kara's breath catch, feels the disruption mirrored in her own chest. Both their mouths are pressed to the joined hands clasped between them. If they were to move their fingers down even just a fraction, there would be nothing separating their lips but a promise, a prayer.

Kara's eyelashes flutter in the semi-darkness. The tip of her nose brushes Lena's own. Neither one of them moves their hands.

They only gaze at one another a long moment, and Lena wonders if the blonde is memorising the planes of her face the way she's memorising Kara's. She could look at her forever, be happy here with her forever, and in this moment, Lena knows. She's in love.

For the first time, she wonders if she might not be the only one.

-

Right now, Kara is reaching across the table at Noonan's and taking Lena's hand.

It's been three weeks since they'd taken down Lex for the last time. Three weeks since Kara had stormed into the Tower's med bay to cup Lena's bloody, bruised face in her hands; since she'd brushed her thumbs feather-light over Lena's split eyebrow and purpling jaw and growled don't you ever scare me like that again. Three weeks since she'd leaned in and pressed her lips to Lena's.

It's been two weeks and six days since Lena, confined to a gurney but utterly uncaring thanks to the warm Kryptonian curled against her side, had pressed her aching face to Kara's shoulder and first whispered that she loved her. Two weeks and six days since Kara had first said it back.

It's been two weeks and five and a half days since Nia had walked in on Lena in Kara's arms, lips pressed to her neck and hands wandering beneath her sweatshirt, and promptly shrieked the place down. Since their friends had exchanged pointed glances and relieved sighs and congratulated them on finally making it official, their expressions ranging from overjoyed to exasperated to plain exhausted.

It's been two weeks and four days of she and Kara dating; of morning kisses and shared showers and the perfect partner at game night and all of Lena's wildest dreams coming true.

It's been less than a minute since Kara had admitted, hushed and wondering, that she'd known she was in love with Lena ever since she'd found herself suddenly prepared to poison National City's entire water supply rather than let Lena fall. That she hadn't been able to fully it admit it to herself until she'd found herself suddenly prepared to alter the course of all of history in order to get Lena back.

And right now, Kara is reaching across the table at Noonan's and taking her hand. She's looking deep into Lena's eyes, biting her lip as her thumb rubs gentle circles into Lena's palm, and her voice barely rises above a whisper when she asks, “When did you know?”

And now that she has, Lena is sure of her answer.

The highlight reel of her relationship with Kara lays itself at Lena's feet, each precious memory between them stretching out like a roadmap of her growing affection, with every hard-won step leading her right to this moment.

And in this moment, Lena knows. She's in love with Kara. Really, she always has been.

#sorry this took approximately 8932018207402 thousand years to materialise #if you've ever sent me a prompt and thought well fuck she's taking so long with this she's clearly forgotten about it i'm just here to say: #nope! #still here #unsure how inspired by the song this actually was in the end #it's either way too close to the lyrics or not close enough #who can say #but anyway yeah. supercorp song #thank your for the prompt and the lovely message! hope you like it #asks #anonymous #ridings writes #supercorp #supercorp fanfic #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers

[whoacanada]

(Hey, look! That Zimbits AU where Jack goes into PR after retiring from the NHL and NHL!Bitty comes looking for advice about coming out!)

“Your ten-o-clock, remember?” April gestures to the conference room with her pen. “The cutie the Hurricanes coughed up for Pride Night outreach? He’s here.”

Jack tugs down the blinds with a cautious finger and zeroes in on the handsome blonde sitting awkwardly at one end of their large conference table, conspicuously alone. “There’s always suits for outreach talks,” Jack hazards, looking back at his receptionist over his shoulder. “They never send players alone.”

“It’s what we’ve got on the books. Eric Bittle, Carolina Hurricanes. No plus ones.” April whispers, checking her calendar. “Well? Get in there, Boss; and buckle up, he’s got an accent.”

.

Eric Bittle looks up, his dark brown eyes wide and unfairly attractive as Jack extends his hand, Bittle rising to take it. Everything about Bittle is polished and perfected; suit tailored, hair coiffed so neatly Jack would posit he’d gone in to have it trimmed before he’d arrived this morning. He’s pulled together so tightly, in fact, that Jack can’t find any loose threads, and if he remembers his time in The Show correctly, no loose threads means Mr. Bittle’s probably hiding something.

“Eric? I’m Jack Zimmermann. It’s great to meet you.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Bittle chuckles, and Jack’s heart would skip a beat if he wasn’t so certain there’s a huge piece of context still missing from this meeting. “It’s still very nice to meet you in person.”

“So, tell me about Pride Night,” Jack pops the button on his suit jacket and settles down across the table. “What, exactly are the ‘Canes thinking about doing that involves you coming to see us?”

Bittle bites his lip briefly, gaze darting off before coming back to settle on Jack, and Jack is reminded of so many media training sessions it’s like he’s back in Vegas again.

“I may have, ah, fudged the reason for my visit a bit. Yes, we have Pride Night coming up, yes I’m the designated sacrifice, but I’m more here on personal business.”

Jack eases the tip of his pen from the legal pad, recognizing an off-the-record admission is coming. “How personal?” He questions. “Are we talking potential legal trouble or just potential social trouble? Or no trouble at all.”

“I’m gay.” Bittle says plainly. “Whatever trouble that may be. My team knows it, my family knows it, and I want to come out — I need to come out — and I can’t mess it up.”

Jack is grateful for his game face, reaching for the coffee carafe near him to couch his surprise and no small measure of his excitement. “Oh, you mean like I did?” Jack jokes, earning a soft smile.

“No active player has come out since you retired,” Eric skirts Jack’s comment, taking the mug before gingerly amending, “Not voluntarily, at least. I’d like to break that streak. Given your experience, and what you do now, it seemed like the smart move to come speak with you.”

“Well, I’ll be the first to admit my behavior didn’t lend itself to much confidence with the public at large, but that’s why I’m where I am today. Making sure people like you can learn from my mistakes.”

“And you made a lot of mistakes,” Bittle murmurs, taking the mug from Jack gingerly, glances back out the window as he takes a sip, and Jack fights a smile when he realizes what’s happening.

“Are you . . . chirping me?”

“Makes me less nervous,” Bittle admits, apologetic. “But that was rude, I’m sorry.”

Bittle’s eyes are bright. His smile is bright. Everything about him is warm, inviting. Jack might be biased, though, he’s always had a soft spot for compact blondes.

“Don’t apologize.” Jack leans back in his chair, feeling lighter than he has in weeks. “You might be the only one in the whole league right now that doesn’t need to apologize.”

“I think I need to have a partner,” Eric clears his throat. “I can’t come out without a reason, otherwise what’s the point.”

“That answers one of my first questions, gives us a place to start. Yes, a boyfriend gets you points, but not in the way you’re thinking. If you come out with a guy on your arm, the story becomes maintaining the relationship, not that you have one or that you are ‘out’ at all. The scandal is the relationship falling apart, or you flirting with a fan when you have your partner at home, that kind of drama.”

“And if I just say, ‘hello, I am a homosexual’ people will think I’m promiscuous, or just trying to get laid.”

“Maybe. Are you?”

Bittle’s expression turns indignant, lips twisting into a judgmental frown that reminds Jack of his grandmother before a scolding.

“What kind of question is that? Yes, of course, but they don’t need to know that. But that doesn’t — You know, you gave me hope?”

Jack doesn’t quite startle, he’s well beyond the jumpyness of his youth, but he has no clue where this conversation is about to go.

“When you came out, when you were drafted, your cup season . . . every time you succeeded, beat the odds, it made me think, maybe, I could do it, too. I could be a professional athlete, I could play hockey, and it didn’t matter who I wanted to be with.”

Jack knows there’s a ‘but’ coming, he can feel it; so he gets there first.

“But . . . then I overdosed.”

“Then you retired.” Eric corrects. “Two years before I signed with Carolina, and you just gave up. I was going to be the first out NCAA men’s hockey captain, you ‘retired’ in scandal, and suddenly the trustees didn’t want the attention. Back to square one.”

“Eric, I wasn’t well.” Jack defends gently, knowing Bittle isn’t trying to be cruel.

“You let them get to you! You were supposed to be untouchable. I needed you to be untouchable.”

“Eric.”

“I’m sorry,” Bittle looks down at his hands, the table, anywhere but Jack. “I genuinely didn’t intend for any of this to come up so quickly, you’ve been nothing but charming and here I am dumping all my baggage on you like we’ve been talking for years . . . ”

“It’s actually alright. I’ve made peace with what happened to me, what I put myself through, and I wasn’t kidding that I’m very intent on making sure I can help others avoid the same pitfalls. So, what do you need from me right now?” Jack asks, genuinely curious. “An apology? A hug? You wouldn’t be the first to ask.”

“I want . . .” Bittle huffs, closing his eyes and evening his breathing. “I want dinner.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve loved the idea of you since I was sixteen, but now I actually need your advice on how to do this without losing my mind, and I can’t plan my future from a boardroom, so, I want you to take me to dinner. I want to hash this out like two normal, well functioning adult men. Also, maybe alcohol.”

“Speak for yourself on the well-functioning part,” Jack chirps himself, “but I think dinner can be arranged. I assure you, you’ll have my full support moving forward. The firm’s, as well.”

Bittle’s lips quirk, holding Jack’s gaze. He caught the slip, and now there’s nothing to do but own it. They lapse into a gentle silence. Jack sipping his coffee, Bittle doing the same. Jack isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, the puck is at the end of his stick. He flashes a smile. Bittle blushes.

“So,” Jack begins. “Do you like Burmese?”

____

They part ways and April’s eyes are huge with suspicion. “Should we discuss fees?” she asks. “Do we need to start billing? Sounds like it went well.”

“Nah, we’ll talk later about payment,” Jack replies, folding his jacket over his arm, hiding the slip of paper with Bittle’s personal number and trying not to stare as the forward walks away. “I have a strong feeling I might be handling this pro bono.”

#Zimbits #OMGCP #my stuff #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #PR AU #NHL!Bitty #tw: overdose mention #I know I’ve been gone forever here’s a treat to say sorry

[idy-ll-ique]

unlike any other

pairing: mob boss!bucky barnes x maid!f!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut (AH THE HOLY TRINITY)

warnings: mention of blood, mention of wounds,,,,,,,,, sex (but only a lil bit)

requested: nope

word count: 1.8k

summary: bucky barnes, among many things, owns a strip club. y/n works there as a maid, but she has only recently joined so she has no idea who he is. one day, she catches him napping in one of the private rooms after closing time and, not knowing that he owns the place, asks him to leave because it's a "staff only" room. mesmerized by her, he leaves without a word but a few days later, she finds out who he truly is. sparks fly? sparks fly.

author's note: hiya peeps! enjoy!

masterlist

---

James Barnes was tired.

All he wanted to do was go home and get a good night's sleep, but this moron in front of him was proving it to be very difficult. "What aren't you getting about my plan, Johnson?" he growled, a deep glare etched on his face as he disdainfully stared at one of the men who worked for him. "Why are we doing this at all?" Oh, Johnson has quite the mouth on him, can't wait to break all his fucking teeth.

"Are you the boss or am I?" Bucky countered, putting his arms up, exasperated. Johnson was about to reply when Bucky decided he was too tired to deal with him at all. "You know what, how about we talk tomorrow, hm? Leave, now." With an audacious huff, Johnson got up and left the room. As soon as he was gone Bucky groaned loudly.

"That man," he muttered to himself, "Is a fucking idiot. I'm gonna have to talk to Sam tomorrow, why did he even suggest—" Bucky then relaxed back onto the couch he was sitting on, leaning further and further back until he was simply lying down, head resting on the armrest.

James Barnes was tired.

And he needed a fucking nap.

James Buchanan Barnes. He commonly went by the name Bucky, and he ran the biggest, most affluent mob in the city. Currently, he was at a strip club that he owned, which also had private rooms for… basically hooking up, but he never used it for that, using it only to hold meetings with potential allies or his men.

He dozed off on the couch but was able to sleep for only about 30-45 minutes before someone was shaking him awake.

---

“Phew, last room! Why does this place have so many rooms?” Y/N grumbled to herself, opening the door to the private room. She was a maid recently hired by the club, and her job was to clean up all the private rooms after the closing time. They paid her well so she didn’t mind doing the job. When she opened the door, though, she noticed a man sleeping on the couch.

All his clothes were still intact and his hair was also done nicely… She scrutinized him for a while longer, taking note of his handsome, chiselled features and how he dripped of power even when he was asleep. Finally, a few minutes later, she decided to wake him up. However powerful he might seem, the rooms after closing were for staff only and he needed to leave.

“Excuse me, sir?” Y/N gently shook his shoulders, startling him awake. He blinked his eyes open and in his hazy state of mind, he thought there was an angel standing above him. “What?” he yawned and Y/N offered him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, you gotta go, the club is closed for the night and this is a staff-only room,” she told him and he blinked.

She didn’t know him? “I, uh, yeah, I’m sorry,” he complied, sitting up. He took in her appearance as well; she was wearing a cheesy maid’s costume that fit the aesthetic of the strip club perfectly, yet there was a sort of innocence to her, the kind that would make even the most cold-hearted and powerful of them all want to cater to her every whim without question.

“Uh… see ya around,” she raised her eyebrows and Bucky offered her a quick smile, getting out of the room. “Behaving like he owns the place,” Y/N scoffed to herself as she began cleaning up the mess in the room starting with the empty alcohol bottles. She couldn’t stay mad at him for long, though- his handsome face could make anyone’s heart melt. As the thought passed through her head, a small smile bloomed on her face.

Oh stranger, I really hope we meet again soon.

As Bucky drove home, he, too, thought of the maid. Who was she? Why had he never seen her before? And why didn’t she know him? That night, as he went to bed for the second time, all he saw in his dreams was a lovely maid’s costume and a pretty, pearly white smile.

---

“I’m firing that guy,” Bucky told Sam determinedly. A few days had passed since Bucky’s meeting with Johnson and he was more determined than ever to get rid of the guy. Something about Johnson seemed off. “Wh- You hired that guy like a week ago, what happened? He used to work with Pierce and Rumlow before, he can give us valuable intel-”

“What if he never stopped?” Sam quieted at the retort. “He told us how horribly they treated their own men,” Sam answered a little while later. “What if he’s lying?” Bucky asked impatiently. “Give him a chance-” Just then, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Bucky sighed and Johnson poked his head in. “Got a minute, boss?”

“Oh sure, come in, we were just discussing you! Have a seat!” Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky’s sudden cheerfulness as Johnson happily bounded into the room, plopping down on the couch. “What were you discussing?” he questioned. “How I was just about to fire you,” Bucky smirked and Johnson’s face fell.

He didn’t speak for a few minutes, causing Sam and Bucky to glance at each other. “Hello…?” All of a sudden Johnson stood up with a fit of rage. “Damn it, Barnes, you ruin everything!” Bucky shouted triumphantly as Sam gasped. “I knew you were a fucking two-timer, you son of a bitch!” Bucky yelled at him. “And you made it so easy!” Johnson laughed dryly.

“Why you-” Bucky swung a punch at Johnson’s face, breaking his nose. “What have you told Pierce?!” Johnson retaliated right back by kicking his knee into Bucky’s abdomen, making him fall back. A fight soon broke out between all three of them, so loud that the commotion could be heard from outside.

Approximately 20 minutes later Y/N, who was passing by the room at the time, heard the loud noise and stopped in her tracks. It sounded like… two people fighting. It wasn’t her cleaning time yet, but she still rushed to the door, opening it up with such force that the door loudly banged on the other side. At this, the fight instantly halted.

Bucky was holding an unconscious Johnson by the collar, his fist an inch away from Johnson’s jaw. Both of them looked pretty beaten up, with blood all over their faces and clothes. Sam, meanwhile, was half-lying on the couch, clutching the side of his abdomen with a pained look on his face. Y/N’s hands flew to her mouth at the sight of them.

That was when she recognized the man from a few days ago. Oh shit, he does own the place. Bucky immediately got up and dusted his suit, staring down at a passed-out Johnson with a sneer. “Sam, take him to Wanda, she’ll know what to do with him. And please, for the love of God, go to the hospital.” With the help of a few others, Sam and Johnson left.

It was only Bucky and Y/N in the room now. She continued staring at his face in horror and Bucky chuckled, wiping away a trail of blood near his lips. “That bad?” She snapped out of her trance. “You…” Bucky gave her a wry smile. “Bucky Barnes at your service. And you are?” Y/N blinked a few times before answering. “Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.” Bucky looked around.

“Well, Y/N, if you’d be so kind as to fetch me a first aid kit.” She instantly walked out of the room and got the first aid kit for him. When she returned to the room, Bucky was sitting on the couch, his jacket and shirt removed. Even his torso was covered in black and blue bruises. "It looks bad," she blurted out.

"Will you help me clean up?" Y/N couldn't deny him. He was her boss, after all. She sat down next to him and wordlessly started cleaning the blood off his face. He didn't so much as flinch, which Y/N found to be extremely impressive. After all the blood was cleaned, Y/N grimaced when she saw his broken nose. "Your, um, your nose…" Bucky easily grabbed his nose in both hands and clicked it into place.

Y/N flinched badly at the action, making Bucky laugh. "Come on, princess, it's not that difficult," he teased her and she shook her head, a smile blooming on her face. "So, um, I'm sorry about that day," she mumbled as Bucky kept the first aid kit away. "Sorry? For doing your job? Don't do that."

She looked up at him. "No, I- I should've known it was you, and I just… maybe I could've been more polite-"

"Sorry, you gotta go, the club is closed for the night and this is a staff-only room," Bucky quoted verbatim, "You couldn't have been more polite." Y/N's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and she shuffled her feet. "Please don't fire me," she whispered under her breath, yet Bucky managed to hear her. And when an opportunity presents itself…

"On one condition."

She looked up at him, wide-eyed and nodded excitedly. "Anything you want." Bucky smirked and sat back down next to her, placing his hand on her bare thigh. "Go on a date with me," he breathed out, leaning close to her. Y/N's breath and heart rate hitched at his forwardness, but she didn't have the will to deny him.

He was good-looking, he was rich, he was polite, why not give it a try? Y/N offered him a small smile. "Um, okay, I'd like that a lot," she agreed truthfully and Bucky grinned, pressing his lips to hers without wasting a moment. Y/N kissed him back, cupping his face with her hands.

In the heat of the moment, Bucky bent forward until the back of Y/N's head touched the armrest; still, they didn't pull away from each other. Bucky sneakily got his hand under Y/N's blouse, the skin on skin contact making them both groan. "Ugh, you really are very pretty, you know?" Bucky whispered as he unbuttoned her blouse and threw it away.

He stared in awe at her bra-covered breasts, his shaft twitching impatiently. But, just as he was about to unbuckle her bra, the door swung open. Bucky immediately hid Y/N under him and looked up at a horror-struck Sam, who ran out of the room screaming, "At least lock the door next time, asshole!"

Y/N giggled when she saw Bucky's flustered face. "He's right, you know," she whispered cheekily and Bucky playfully narrowed his eyes at her, attacking her neck with kisses and love bites.

"Talk to me like that again and you'll be in for a long night, pretty face."

"Oh, I'd like to see you try, boss."

---

a/n: thanks for reading, leave a like if you enjoyed it!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #mob!bucky barnes #maid!reader #winter soldier #mob au #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan characters #disney #mcu #marvel #avengers #fanfic #writing #writeblr

[apocalypticgargoyle]

I read the edgy!karl, I’ve just finished reading the alt!dream, WHEN IS GEORGE GONNA BE NEXT 😩😩

*cracks knuckles* the hcs that everyone has provided me with has hella prepped me and I'm ready. this is dedicated to 🍭 anon, whose fanart always steals my entire heart. i love u babe

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄. ᶤ 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐤!𝐠𝐧𝐟

± pairings: punk!Georgenotfound x fm!reader

± word count: ~3300

± warnings: smut (18+), language, tattoo work, sadism, pain kink (if you squint), domination, mentions of needles, asphyxiation

song recommendation: Cent Fois by Alice et Moi

George’s mind wandered to his curiosity of the shop across from his tattoo parlor; bright neon signs advertising the local psychic. It was a stark contrast to the dark, wet city housing the businesses. Each night he locked up, he found himself standing on the other edge of the street, staring at the signs and draperies peeking from behind the glass windows and considering shedding his skeptical nature just for one night.

While your business was alluring in and of itself, his true draw to the place came after he had spotted you moving into the apartments above. Your clean appearance completely juxtaposed the business you ran. In his opinion, all natural healers and psychics were born scam artists only focused on the quickest way to pinch a penny.

Yet day after day, he found himself having to tear his eyes from your business just to get home or he would actually venture inside. He was rather subtle about his fascination when it came to his co-workers and regular customers, but each day he prayed you would wander in, requesting some kind of tattoo in a place hidden from outside eyes.

A place he’d like to see again in a less professional setting.

You flipped the textbook page after finishing your paragraph, highlighting a date you were looking for before leaning towards your notebook and scribbling down the fact. You gnawed on the end of your pen absent-mindedly, positive you still didn’t know what your professor had been rattling off about in class a few hours prior. Your sights drifted up to the incense burning across the store from you, the stick on its last few centimeters of wood as the smoke went stale.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, debating if you should light another or wait until morning. You capped your marker and stretched your back, the bell over the door letting out a telling chime as a man peeked in.

You leaned over the counter, closing your books. “Good evening! Welcome to After Life. Can I help you find anything?” You rambled, your mind flashing to the sheet of paper tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror so you didn’t forget the basics of customer service.

The man stepped further into your view, stuffing his fists in his jean pockets as he walked closer in a cautious motion. His dark t-shirt advertised a band you had vaguely heard of, but couldn’t think of a song even if your life depended on it. What really drew your attention were his tattooed arms; branches from a grand tree twisting every which direction to peek out from beneath his sleeves; bright floral designs and litters of birds decorating the dark wood limbs. You bit back a smile at the small mushroom tattoo near his wrist that seemed to be out of place.

The laces of his Chuck Taylors grazed the floor before he was standing in the middle of your store, looking around briefly. “I actually co-own the parlor across the street. I realized I never welcomed you officially,” he stated, hints of nervousness reflecting in his tone. His accent was calming and husky from the season change.

At the mention of the tattooist across the street, your memory flashed to the various walks of life that found themselves in your store after getting work done. You also thought of the fact that you had seen the man before you break up fights in the street stretching between your properties. The tall muscular people seemed to have no effect on him as he’d pull them apart like school children on the playground.

You pushed your books further to the side. “Oh yeah, that’s right! I should have come over and introduced myself, so don’t worry about it,” you eased, swatting the air of his comment.

He chuckled softly before reality seemed to snap into his head, making him step forward and extend a hand to you. “I’m George, by the way,” he introduced. You took his hand, muttering your own name and hoping your attention span would hold for long enough that he would be entered into your long-term memory.

His hand was calloused in yours, something that you wondered came with the job or if he was some kind of carpenter in a past life of his. You gently pulled his hand closer to you, slipping your hold out of his to look at his palm. He tittered nervously, peering at the flesh with you. Your finger traced along the mounts in his hand, finding Jupiter to be the most prominent. “That checks out,” you mumbled to yourself, nodding softly.

His eyebrows perked up. “What? Am… Am I gonna meet a tall dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?” He joked, making you smile as you looked at his Sun line.

“I didn’t peg you as an Outlander fan,” you chided.

His brows flattened for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip and playing with his snake bite piercings. You found it hard to look away from him. “Honestly, I wasn’t. A girl I was fooling around with really liked it. I don’t know…” he trailed off, making you giggle.

Your nail grazed along his heart line. “You guys were just fooling around?” You quirked, eyes meeting his. His expression narrowed smugly as if urging you to continue. “Your heart line begins below your index finger. You’re not the fooling around type.” He let out a snort. “You fall in love easily too.”

He sighed with a slight sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell if he was amazed or mocking you again. “Well, yeah. That’s…” He paused with a swallow, biting back a grin as if he was uncomfortable, but didn’t retract his hand from you. “... That’s why we’re not anymore,” he admitted. He leaned his elbows on the counter as you sat in your chair. “What else does it say?”

Your lips curled into a soft smirk, his curious eyes trailing over your face as if to watch your brain work. “You have a fire element hand which indicates that you’re confident and passionate. Maybe a bit cocky sometimes,” you teased, making him chuckle with you. You could feel his eyes on you, sending heat to your cheeks as you tried not to focus on the mount of Venus under your touch.

You wanted to ask him about his sexual indulgences, mainly because of the prevalence of Venus in his palm. “You have a mount in Jupiter, which means you’re a natural leader, and rather dominant.” You looked up at him again, watching as he bit back a smirk, seemingly understanding the subtle innuendos behind your statements.

George seemed to have some kind of effect on you, your thoughts clouding with the idea of what his snake bites would feel like against your lips. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but there was no discoloration to his skin to suggest he was the one smoking. He watched you through the hair threatening to dangle over his eyes, his gaze hinting at an attraction he had for you below his collected form. “Go on,” he murmured, voice soft and wispy as the space between the two of you seemed to warm.

You made a conscious effort to keep your sultry thoughts at bay as your thumb brushed over the area you had been avoiding telling him about. “You’re driven by desire,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… very in touch with your sexuality and you thrive on your indulgences.”

You couldn’t help but meet his eyes, the dark irises swimming with some kind of cocky smugness at what you had just told him. He pulled away from you, gently standing up. Part of you wished the counter between the two of you would vanish just so you could be pressed up against George at the mercy of his driven mind. “I feel it's only fair I tattoo you now,” he quipped, making your eyebrows raise. Your confidence shriveled yet you swore you wouldn’t let him know that fact.

You chewed on your lip, looking up at him with a hint of suspicion. “Oh, I’ve never been tattooed,” you avowed, voice carrying the slightest bit of your coaxing nature.

He smirked. “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he cajoled, teeth playing at his piercings again as you were sure he was already undressing you with his eyes. “You read me, I’d like to do the same.”

And how could you refuse such an appealing offer?

You leaned back on your elbows, your skin sticking to the leather chair beneath you as you watched him pull back his hair, elastic band dangling from his white teeth. Despite securing back his locks, bits of his bangs still hung over his forehead. You liked the interior of his parlor, maybe because it was only the two of you.

George began to fill small caps of dark ink. “I think you should get some crystals in here,” you teased, making him smirk. “I could hook you up.”

“What, like a salt lamp?” He joked, pulling on a pair of dark plastic gloves.

You snorted, lying back and looking up at the ceiling. “It might be good. Lighten the place up a bit.” George swiveled his chair closer to you muttering some kind of line about only getting them from you, but his words fell silent on your ears as his hand pushed up your shirt. You were silently thanking whatever divine force above for swaying you towards slinkier lingerie earlier that morning.

You knew he could see the lacy edges of your bra by the way his eyes nonchalantly flashed up to you before laying out his template on your ribs. You could feel hints of his warm breath against your skin as he studied it. “You can look at it if you want,” he stated.

You shook your head, wanting him close to you as long as he could be. “I trust you,” you muttered, your eyes meeting his again. His tongue pressed against his cheek as he struggled not to smile at your statement. He had promised to cover a small scar for you and by the way he explained it, you were ready to be in his hands. You wet your lips as he adjusted the speed on his tattoo gun. “Will this hurt?” You asked, tucking one of your arms behind your head.

The look of unadulterated lust that he gave you made your toes want to curl. “Probably a bit. It feels good sometimes, though,” he answered. He came closer to you, resting his forearm on your stomach to angle himself in the right position. At the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, you swore your body was on fire. It took everything in your power not to moan. It could have been the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, but his soft breath and the anticipation of the needle made you feel like a junky. “I’ll be gentle, darling,” he leered, his accent muddy and low. He let the needles drag against your skin and you bit your lip, trying not to hiss at the pain. His eyes met yours. “See, not bad.”

You let out a breathy wheeze. “Shut up, you sadist,” you quipped, his chuckle coming out rather roguish as he focused on the work in front of him. Your nerves were more focused on the way George’s hands were barely caressing your body as if teasing and hinting at what he could do to you.

You drew in a sharp breath as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Shhh shh. It’ll be over soon,” he cooed, his voice sending goosebumps spreading across your body as his lips tugged into a light smirk. By your palm reading, you knew he was enjoying having this much control over you.

Part of you found it almost torture when George would look at you with soft and lusty eyes for merely a second before his gaze jutted back down to his work, murmuring soft praises about how well you were taking the pain. You would go under the needle anytime he asked, just to receive the sultry treatment he gave.

He was so close, you could have driven your fingers into his dark hair if you wanted. “How did you get this scar?” He asked, cleaning off some of the ink before continuing.

“A knife fight,” you answered without missing a beat, making him scoff. “Actually, I fell into my grandma’s glass table one time. My cousin was teaching me the Electric Slide,” you corrected, making him laugh, shaking his head slightly as he filled in a spot.

He let his tongue dart across his lips. “That’s so cute. Did you ever get it figured out?” To this you shook your head, the both of you laughing. You let out a groan as the needle dug into another area on your ribs, the sound making his eyes dart up to you. He leaned off of you, slipping one of his gloves off. “Wanna hold my hand, sweetheart?” He joked, but you took his offer, squeezing his hand in yours when it got painful enough. You held it close to your chest, hoping he would feel your heartbeat quicken each time he looked at you.

As he finished up his work, his thumb brushed against your hand absent-mindedly. You could tell by the way he gripped your hand as well that he enjoyed that the tattoo hurt you. Most of your mind was excited by how easily he was stirred up by you, while the rest was completely unsurprised and even threatened to bite out that he was a cliché.

When he was finally satisfied, he cleaned you up and stuck on a SecondSkin, biting back a grin at his work as he pulled you up by the hand he was holding onto you with. You couldn’t help but smile at how excited you were to see, swinging your legs over the side of his hair and walking towards his mirror. You held your shirt up, chewing on your bottom lip as you grinned at the ink. George rested a hand beside the mirror, watching you beam at his work.

All of his lines were flawless, your scar completely disappearing within his shading. You’d pitched the idea of an ode to the Creation of Adam. While it was cliche, what better to fit in the space below your breast and give George the impression that you were cultured. Yet you told him he could do whatever he wanted to it, resulting in one of the hands resembling a skeleton and the other holding a sucker. As you praised him, he shrugged off your comments, murmuring about it being his pleasure. He reached out his free hand, letting his thumb smooth over one of the edges of this bandage, which brought you closer to him.

Your cheeks warmed at the close proximity to him as his eyes grazed over your body before meeting your own. His hand moved from the bandage to your back. You leaned on your toes, pressing your lips to his. The tension between the two of you dissipated as he hungrily reacted, pulling you against him and savoring your moans as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

George’s hands moved down your body, swiftly hooking around your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you back to his chair. Your hands moved into his hair, letting it loose and wrapping the band around your wrist. The leather was cold as your back pressed to it. George leaned back to pull his shirt over his head, revealing more of the tree painting the expanses of his skin.

If you weren’t so eager to be touched by him, you’d be studying the work of art.

As his lips met yours again, you ground your hips against his, eliciting a moan to vibrate through his chest. You raked your nails down his back, trying to further draw out reactions from him as his hands attentively played with the lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the skin pressing against the cups.

His lips left yours only to travel the length of your jaw and inch his way toward your waistband. Your pants were discarded with a swift tug from him before he pulled your thighs flush against his, grinding his hips against yours, hands gripping onto your sides to keep you in place. You tilted your head back, relishing in the friction as your body screamed to finally feel him take advantage of you.

You reached between the two of you, tugging at his zipper as your hunger for him escalated. His tongue flattened against your collarbone before his teeth pressed into your skin. You could feel his arousal through his jeans at the sound of your whimpering.

He pumped himself in his hand before pressing into you, the feeling of him inside of you making your head spin as if you were on some kind of ecstasy. Your moan came out needy and desperate as he thrust into you, gripping the edge of the leather seat as his breath hummed against your skin. Your fingers threaded into his hair, raking your nails down his neck as he groaned in your ear at the feeling.

One of his hands grasped your wrists together, pinning them above your head while the other wrapped around your throat. His eyes burned into yours as he leaned back, leaning his weight on your wrists and squeezing your throat, the lack of oxygen making each of your senses more heightened as he pounded into you.

Your moans of George’s name were grated as they slipped through your mouth, his relentless pace and intense hold nearly making you drool from the stimulation. By the practice of his actions, you wondered how long he had been stewing on demolishing you in this way.

He loosened his grip on your neck, leaning down to press his lips against yours, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip just to hear you groan from the rough action. You rolled your hips against his, letting him slow his pace to reach deeper within you. A sadistic grin spread across his face as he rubbed a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the makeup smudging around your eyes from his antics and the heat between the two of you.

He pressed his lips to your neck, wrapping his hand around the edge of the chair again to drive himself into you, the new angle muddling your mind and vision as your body ached to come undone. You sank your nails into his back, earning his low, raspy whispers of your name.

At his praises, you came, tugging on his hair as he bit into your shoulder again, basking in the feeling of you clenching around him.

The next day, George stretched his shoulders, peering through the front window of his shop. His mind sparked with the feeling of your legs around his waist and the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He could practically hear you whimpering his name in his ears as he went back to touching up a fading tattoo on his friend’s arm.

“OW, George,” Clay rumbled, thigh flinching at the jab from George.

George snorted, his mind still on the high he got from your pure trust in him as you laid out on his chair. “I’ll give you something to bitch about,” George grumbled, releasing just how gentle he was during your tattoo. The way your voice got soft and quiet when he rolled over a spot that was rather tender already would most definitely be a guilty pleasure of his.

Clay barked at him again as George jerked his hand, fulfilling his promise. “I’VE BEEN NICE TO YOU ALL MORNING.”

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