#whoever touched up the paint just did up to the edge where the stairs start so it’s two different colors...

[laceyeb]

Doing a little home improvement today. My stairs are dark and dungeon like and I bought these super basic puck lights off Amazon and it’s like a whole new house! They just stick to the wall. They’re dimmable and have two remotes (most important feature for me so I could keep one remote downstairs and one upstairs). This is the difference they make for light even in the middle of the afternoon!

#it doesn’t help that the walls along the stairs are like a dirty beige color #that might be a summer painting project #whoever touched up the paint just did up to the edge where the stairs start so it’s two different colors...

[ghost-party]

hi! i love your writing and would like to request season 4 reiner & fake dating w/ a female reader, if that’s ok. 🥺👉👈 maybe porco’s her ex & she wants to make him jealous?? thanks!

Thank you so much, anon! ❤️ I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this request, which is probably why this oneshot ended up being 2.8K... 😂

Warnings: alcohol, swearing, physical affection, bed-sharing, mention of depression and parental neglect, slight angst, brief recollection of coercive behavior (not Reiner) A/N: This story takes place in a modern AU.

And thank you to @clovertitan, @wasabito, @bricktheprettiestsiren, @darkcloakedinfinitevoid, and @bundleofyarrow for encouraging this. I love you all! 🤗

• • •

Reiner + Fake Dating

Every summer, you and your high school friends spend a weekend at a cabin on the lake close to where you grew up. With all of you now living in different cities, it’s an opportunity to get together, catch up, and relax. You’ve always looked forward to it... until now.

“Is it too late to say I can’t go?” You’re sitting on the couch with Reiner, trying to ignore your suitcase, already packed and sitting beside the front door.

“Yes,” he replies, draining the last of his beer. “Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

“Porco’s going to be there. With his new girlfriend. You know he’s going to be a little shit about it.”

You’re not sure if you can handle teasing jabs from your ex-boyfriend and watching him shove his tongue down a stranger’s throat. It’s not because you still have feelings for him. That ship sailed months ago. The idea of it just feels somewhat nauseating.

Reiner frowns. “Yeah, I know. But I’ll be there with you. Just do what I do and ignore him.”

It might be the alcohol, or something in his words, that inspires the idea. But regardless, you turn and look at him. “This is crazy, but... what if you... pretend to be my boyfriend?” When Reiner’s eyes widen, you quickly assure him, “Just for the weekend! I know, it’s stupid, I know. But I...”

“You want to make him jealous?”

“Maybe? Or prove that I’m not still single and pathetic, almost a year after breaking up...” You groan and flop back onto the pillows. “I’m horrible, aren’t I?”

“You’re not pathetic, and you’re not horrible.” He hesitates. “But I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“It’s definitely not,” you admit. “Pieck would probably believe it. She’s been wanting us to date for years now. Same with Bert and Annie.” You miss the slight flush in Reiner’s cheeks as he stands, heading to the kitchen for another drink.

“Zeke would know,” he counters. “He’s like a human lie detector.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think he’d say anything.” You sit up and lean over the back of the couch, resting your head on your arms. “If you really don’t want to, it’s okay. But it might be fun.”

You watch as Reiner walks back in, seeming deep in thought. He’s been your closest friend for as long as you can remember. But some small part of you is curious to know what it might be like, to be something more than that, even just for a few days...

He sits down beside you, and you give him a pleading look. “One weekend. I promise. Then everyone will go home, and things will go back to normal.”

Reiner sighs but then offers you a half-smile. “Alright, you win. One weekend. Let’s do it.”

• • •

When you and Reiner arrive at the lake the next morning, you enter what you call “Couple Mode.” But you very quickly come to a startling realization: Even as your fake boyfriend, he’s acting pretty much the same as he always has.

He rubs your shoulders when you grumble about the long drive, carries your luggage without asking, and holds the cabin door open for you, placing a hand at the small of your back when he joins you inside.

Pieck immediately notices your increased closeness and smiles warmly, asking how you’ve both been — and how long “this” has been going on. Bertholdt seems excited, in his own quiet way, and even Annie eyes the two of you, her lips curled up at the corners.

As Reiner suspected, Zeke seems to know better, shooting you a smirk as he walks past, carrying bottles of whiskey and vodka to the kitchen.

And then there’s Porco, sprawled on the sofa with his new girlfriend, staring at you so hard, you’re surprised his gaze hasn’t punched a hole straight through you.

You’re distracted when Zeke walks back in and says, “Your room’s at the end of the hall upstairs.”

“Our room? One room?” You blink at him. Neither you nor Reiner had told any of them ahead of time that you were now a couple. There should have been enough rooms for both of you to have one to yourselves.

“Eren and his friends decided to tag along, do some hiking, boring teenager shit.” Zeke grins. “What’s the problem? Don’t want to share a bed with your boyfriend?”

Before you can respond, Reiner interjects. “Sounds great. Come on, Y/N.” You trail behind him up the stairs, mouthing “I hate you” at Zeke as you walk past. He merely winks.

“He did that on purpose,” you hiss, walking down the hall. “If things were different, he probably would’ve had me share a room with Pieck.”

“You still can, if you want.”

Reiner sounds strangely distant, and you notice his grip tighten on the handles of your bags.

“No,” you say, touching his shoulder gently. “It’ll be like our sleepovers when we were kids. Remember?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah... Just like that...”

• • •

The rest of the day passes quickly. Zeke rents a pontoon boat at the nearby docks, and you all pile onto it, carrying beach towels, a radio, snacks, and several coolers full of water and contraband booze poured into plastic juice bottles.

After cruising around the lake, you pick a spot to stop for a while. Porco makes a show of stripping off his shirt and then tossing his shrieking, bikini-clad girlfriend into the water. The way he shoots you a look over his shoulder — somehow both cocky and pouting — causes Reiner’s arm to tighten around your waist.

Bertholdt and Annie join them, keeping their distance from the excited splashing, and Pieck lies on one of the padded benches, stretched out in the sun like a lazy cat. Zeke reclines at the wheel, a worn-out paperback held open in one hand.

And you and Reiner sit together at the front of the boat, gazing out at the lake. He seems more relaxed now, leaning back, his face tipped up towards the sky. He’s wearing dark green swim trunks and an unbuttoned shirt, revealing lean, sculpted muscles.

Sometimes you think he hasn’t changed all that much since high school. But looking at him now, you know he has. He’s taller, his softer edges more finely honed, and he always has a bit of scruff on his cheeks, unlike the clean-shaven boy you remember.

As if sensing your eyes on him, he turns to you and smiles. “You okay? Want to get in the water?”

“Not really.” You snuggle into the warmth of his shoulder, seeking out that slip of bare skin between his collar and neck. “I’m fine right here.”

He kisses the top of your head, the softest brush of lips against hair. “Me, too.”

It’s been less than a day, and already, the lines between you are starting to blur. Maybe it’s because it all feels so familiar. There’s very little exaggeration in his actions, his boyfriend persona almost entirely overlapping with the real Reiner Braun. It’s unexpected and terrifying and exciting all at once, and you have to remind yourself that this isn’t real. One weekend. I promise.

• • •

That evening, you step away from the bonfire, where Pieck is reminiscing about a senior prank gone horribly wrong — something involving spray paint, super glue, and Principal Magath’s portrait that hung in the school library. Closing the patio door behind you, you quietly pad through the living room, heading for the kitchen. But then you hear two voices.

You peer around the corner to find Reiner and Porco standing in front of the fridge. It’s clear that this isn’t a pleasant conversation, but before you can do anything, Reiner says, “You’re here with someone else, Pock. Why do you even care?”

Porco bristles at the nickname. “Because of course it’s you. I always knew it would be, what with the sappy way you look at her.”

Reiner ignores his taunt. “If I remember correctly, you broke up with her. She’s free to date whoever she wants.”

“Yeah, well...” Porco scoffs. You can tell from his posture, and the way he jabs a finger into Reiner’s chest, that he’s drunk. “If you want my sloppy seconds, she’s all yours, buddy.”

It happens so fast, you have to stifle a gasp. One minute, Reiner’s standing there, and the next, he has Porco shoved against the wall. His face is contorted with anger as he warns, voice low, “Watch your fucking mouth.”

Porco blinks up at him, mouth agape. When Reiner pulls back, he stumbles out of his reach, running a shaky hand through his hair. Without a word, he turns on his heel, headed straight toward you. But you manage to duck into the nearby bathroom just in time, watching as he walks past. He looks upset, dazed, and more than a little embarrassed. You hear the patio door open and close, and then Reiner, someplace close by, heaves a sigh. “Shit...”

He exits the cabin a few minutes later, and you lean against the bathroom wall, trying to process what the hell just happened.

• • •

It’s two in the morning by the time you brush your teeth and change into pajamas. When you walk into your shared bedroom, you find Reiner, wearing boxers and an old football t-shirt, retrieving some blankets from the tiny closet.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll sleep on the floor. You take the bed.”

“Reiner, no.” You reach out and still his hands. “We can both sleep in the bed. It’s fine. It’ll be warmer, too.”

He gives you a strange look, seeming almost nervous. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You offer him a reassuring smile. “With you? Never. Besides, is it really that different from when we fall asleep on your couch while watching a movie?”

His laugh sounds strained. “I guess not...”

But when you’re both lying beneath the covers, you realize it is different — especially when it’s a twin-sized bed rather than a large, comfy sectional.

Reiner is lying on his side, as close to the edge as possible. It’s almost comical, watching him try to find a position that accommodates his large frame and still gives you space.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, half-sitting up. “I’ll —”

“No, stop.” You reach out and grab his shoulder. It’s warm and firm beneath your hand, and you feel a jolt of something in the pit of your stomach. “Just... come over here.”

You pat the bed next to you, and he lies down, posture still stiff. With a huff, you grab his arm and pull it around you, hesitating once to ask, “Is this okay?” He nods, and you tug him closer, until his chest is pressed against your back.

“Now I don’t have to worry about you falling out of bed and cracking your skull open,” you mutter, trying to ignore the heat spreading across your face.

When he chuckles, you can feel it, and the sensation is both comforting and thrilling. “Like I said, just like a sleepover...” you say. At this point, you’re mostly trying to convince yourself.

“We’re not kids anymore,” Reiner replies softly, making your insides feel as if they’re doing a somersault.

You lightly kick back against his leg. “I know that. This does feel... different.”

He hums, and his head inches forward, tucking yours beneath his chin.

His steady breathing begins to lull you to sleep. He’s big and warm and safe, and he feels like home, more than anything or anyone ever has. The realization is fuzzy amidst your growing exhaustion, but it fills you with a peculiar kind of joy.

You almost miss his words as you drift off. They’re quiet and soft, like an exhale of breath.

“I love you.”

• • •

When you wake up the next morning, you’re alone. You push away your disappointment and get dressed, following the smell of pancakes downstairs to the kitchen. Bertholdt turns from the stove, and you can’t help but smile, noticing the “Hot Stuff Coming Through” apron he’s wearing.

“Pancakes?” he asks, and you nod. As you busy yourself with pouring a cup of coffee, Annie comes up beside you, leaning in to murmur, “Porco and Hanna left an hour ago.”

“What?” You look up at her, surprised. “They’re not coming back?”

“He said she had a work thing that came up.” Annie tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I think he and Reiner got into it last night, and he was feeling weird about it.”

“You know how he gets,” Bertholdt says, holding up a bag of chocolate chips. You nod, and he sprinkles some into the batter. “He’d rather run away than apologize.”

You nod absently, sipping your coffee. When you sit down at the dining room table a few minutes later, Zeke nods at you over his book, Pieck waves cheerfully, and Reiner looks up at you, concern etched across his face. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” You sit down beside him and poke at your food. “Annie told me Porco left.”

“Oh... Yeah, he did.”

You’re quiet all the way through breakfast, listening to the others talk about going kayaking or playing beach volleyball. When the time comes to clean up, you offer to handle the dishes, and Reiner silently joins you, washing while you dry. 

You’re sure there’s a better way to bring it up, but you’re so preoccupied, those three little words running on repeat through your head, that you simply blurt out, “Did you mean it?”

Reiner glances at you, his brow furrowed. “What?”

Your grip on the mug you’re drying tightens. “What you said last night.”

Instantly, his expression shifts to one of shock. He nearly drops the sponge in his hand and stammers, “Uh, I... I thought you were asleep...”

“Is that why you said it?”

He stares at you for a long moment. “Yeah... It sort of... slipped out. After yesterday. Being so close to you, it felt...” A dark flush colors his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t want something real.” He grabs a nearby towel and dries his hands, leaning against the sink. “But I did — I do. It’s why I tried to say no, at first, to doing this. I didn’t think I’d be able to fake what’s already real for me, and then just... pretend like it never happened. I have a hard time saying no to you, though, so...”

You set the mug down and realize you’re trembling, your heart beating a mile a minute. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugs, and the sadness in his face pierces right through you. “I thought you deserved someone better than me.”

You know he’s talking about his struggles with depression and self-confidence, the lingering pain of his childhood, growing up with a mother who never made him feel like he was enough and a father who never wanted him.

Without thinking, you reach up, hands gently cradling his face. “Hey... Look at me.” He does, and you murmur, “There’s no one better than you.”

Your thumb strokes along his cheek, and he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. It’s so sweet and endearing — so perfectly him. 

Even in high school, beneath his wise-cracking, popular jock façade, he was soft and kind. He was the one who cried with you when your grandmother died, never letting go of your hand throughout the whole funeral. He was the one who made mix CDs of songs you both loved and belted in the car on the way home from movie nights at Bertholdt’s house. He was the one who punched your prom date when he tried to force you into the backseat of his car, knocking out two of his teeth. He was the one who wrote you notes in college, tucking them into your jacket pocket or bag whenever you met up for coffee at the campus library.

He’s always been there for you — always. The realization feels stupidly simple and long overdue. How could what you feel for him, what you’ve felt for him since high school, be anything other than love?

“You’re more than enough. And I don’t want to pretend.” He opens his eyes, and you smile up at him. “Say it again?”

His arms slide around you, pulling you close. “Say what?” he asks quietly, kissing your forehead. “You’ll have to be more specific...”

You rest your hands on his chest, tracing the faint letters on his t-shirt. “Mm... I think it went a little something like this.” Standing on your tiptoes, you angle your lips toward his ear, brushing against his stubble. “I love you.”

He squeezes you so tight, you gasp, and as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, he whispers back, “I love you, too.”

#200 followers event #attack on titan #aot #reiner braun #reiner x reader #reiner braun x reader

[nnightskiess]

𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

₊° - 🦉✉️･ﾟ✧

‧₊° 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐬.

Pansy Parkinson walked the familiar route through her girlfriend’s family manor. It was not as grande as Draco’s, but massive nonetheless. She walked through the hallway were many portraits of late Y/L/N family members were decorating the walls. Pansy preferred these painted portraits over the few moving portraits in the grant hall, where one particular great-great-great aunt of Y/N always made snide comments about the girl. But when she had passed her just now, the woman had glared at her before leaving the portrait instead of calling her names to try and get a rise out of her. 

Pansy walked the last set of stairs, leading her to the last floor of the manor. Y/N’s door was ajar, giving Pansy a glimpse of the girl scribbling away behind her dark oak desk.

“You should really lock all the doors if you’re home alone, especially the front door. ” 

Pansy’s teasing voice made Y/N turn around in an instant, a wide smile on her face when she saw her girlfriend leaning against the doorframe.

“It was locked,” She walked to Pansy, “It’s a temporary charm. Only you could walk through.” 

Pansy’s hands wrapped around the girl’s waist, tightly holding her against her body, “Clever girl.” 

They brought their lips together in a chaste kiss before Y/N wriggled herself out of Pansy’s embrace.

“Is that all the attention I get after I haven’t seen you in a week?”

Y/N looked back, giving her a playful smirk, “Later. First, I need to send an owl to mum to let her know you’ve arrived.” 

Pansy nodded, knowing how protective her parents were now that there had been multiple attacks in wizard homes, especially in those of employees of the Ministry of Magic, where both of Y/N’s parents worked. However, with the war approaching, they couldn’t afford to not come to work. It was pure chaos at the Ministry and having employees drop out would only make it worse. 

The Slytherin let herself fall onto the queen-sized four-poster bed and looked at the Victorian carvings in the ceiling, “Does she know I’ll be staying for the rest of summer break?”

“Wait- What? You will?” Y/N turned around immediately, having thought Pansy was only going to come over for the day.

“I mean, I kind of just decided that.” Pansy smirked, her elbows keeping her up to have a look at her girlfriend. “So, I hope she’s okay with it. If not,” She shrugged, “I could just hide somewhere and you can smuggle me bits of food every few hours.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N halfheartedly rolled her eyes and walked to the window to open it. Right on cue, as if the animal had felt he was needed, Y/N’s black owl landed on the windowsill, chirping happily when the girl coddled him. With a flick of her wand, a treat appeared in her hand. He let out a few happy chirps before indulging the small mammal, giving Y/N the time to attach the rolled up piece of parchment onto his leg. “Go to the Ministry of Magic, deliver this to mum.” The owl closed his eyes slowly, as if to tell her he understood, before flying off into the thick mist.

Pansy huffed, “Even that damn bird is getting more attention than I am.” Y/N heard the playfulness in her voice.

“Aw, you want some baby mice, too?” Y/N teased and walked over to the bed where Pansy was still looking up at her. Without warning, Y/N grabbed the girl’s legs and pulled her closer, so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed, making it easier for Y/N to slowly crawl onto Pansy’s lap, not breaking eye-contact. Pansy’s initial reaction had been surprise, but it didn’t last long and her hands immediately pulled her girlfriend close as Y/N straddled her waist.

Their foreheads against each other’s and their lips inches away, “That’s more like it.” Pansy smirked, having missed her girlfriend’s touch. She kissed her lips hungrily. 

She bit Y/N’s lip and her hand went to the girl’s butt. Y/N gasped at the action, giving Pansy room to slip her tongue into the girl’s mouth.

Y/N pressed herself even closer to Pansy and pulled at the hair in the girl’s neck. She thrived on physical contact and felt touch starved after not having seen her girlfriend in a while. Pansy made the two of them fall back onto the bed and Y/N let out a small moan when she was suddenly turned on her back, their roles reversed. Pansy rid herself of her top and helped Y/N with hers, leaving both of them in their bras. 

Pansy started to roll her hips against Y/N’s, while one hand tightly held the girls neck. But instead of letting out a moan or sigh of pleasure, Y/N froze. She had heard something. Pansy hadn’t, she was too eager to make the girl feel loved. 

“Pans...” Y/N let out with a heaved breath, wanting to warn the girl but to Pansy, it was only a sound of encouragement. 

It was hard for Y/N to be serious and not get distracted when her goddess of a girlfriend was making her way down her body, but she still opened her mouth. “P-Pansy-” Of course, this only made the Slytherin smirk in return, not realising Y/N’s mind was elsewhere. And so, Y/N yelled out the only word that would Pansy freeze her movements.

“Toasted troll ears!”

Pansy immediately sat up at hearing their safe word. Her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes filled with worry,

“I’m so sorry, did I go too far?” 

She quickly got off Y/N’s lap and sat next to her, scanning the girl’s face for any sign. Both girls were a bit out of breath.

“N-No, I just- I heard a noise.”

Instead of making fun of the girl, Pansy pursed her lips and nodded in understanding. She was about to tell Y/N that she had nothing to worry about- they were home alone, yes, but the whole house was locked - but then Pansy heard footsteps running onto the stairs. 

“How temporary was that charm of yours?”

Y/N widened her eyes and Pansy quickly reached to grab their wands, throwing Y/N’s to the girl, and ran around the bed to form a barrier between whoever was in the house and Y/N. 

The door creaked open and if Pansy hadn’t looked down, she wouldn’t have seen their ‘intruder’.

“Master Y/N.” The house elf bowed slightly. 

Pansy rolled her eyes and threw her head back in frustration but she laughed when she realised the situation they were in. Y/N looked flushed and grabbed her shirt off the bed,

“There’s someone in the fireplace who wants to talk to you, master.”

He bowed again and then left the two girls. Y/N gave her girlfriend a silent look, who then smirked.

“Ah, go on, answer it. I’ll be waiting.”

#pansy #Pansy Parkinson #pansy parkinson x reader #pansy parkinson imagine #pansy x reader #pansy imagine

[secondhand-trash]

A Night in Heaven

A/N: I have no idea why I thought that using my own doodling and handwriting in the banner is a good idea but, um, adds some texture to it I guess?

(Much thanks to @leeswritingworld for making the masterlist for this collab! Go read the masterpost before you carry on so you would know what is happening^^)

Word count: 3022

Warning: nsfw below cut

Taking the box in your hand, you tilted your head at how it weighted barely anything considering the size of the card box it came in. Carefully sliding the cutter into the seal at the edges, you sighed when you opened it to see bubble wraps stuffed to the brim. 

You groaned as you hold onto the box for support and stab the blade in there. Whatever it was in there, it better be something worth all this hustle.

You weren’t sure if you were underwhelmed or amused when you finally got to the Center if the parcel to find a quaint ornament of a Portuguese rooster. It was colourful, carefully carved out on a small piece of wood with paint dotting on the vibrant patterns on the rooster’s body. The tiny statue was small enough to be placed in your palm and as you inspected it, you wondered if it was supposed to hint at anything.

Was it supposed to be a play on words or did you overthink too much and steered the wheel towards the dirtiest direction you could think of?

Looking into the box once more, you held it upside down to see if there was anything else in there. Reaching into the depths of the box and rummaging your hand in there, you paused when the tips of your finger touched a sharp line.

It was a card. A small card stuck under the pile of bubble wrap, very easy to just throw away with the rest of the trash if you didn’t look for it specifically. You were expecting an address or at least a room number, but there was none of those among the line of scribbled letters in black marker on the plain white card.

Was this really the right place? We’re you really going to meet up with a stranger who presumably you would really, and like really, “get to know” each other at this place? There? You pondered as you read it once again, but the fact that it only told you to go to the rooftop of a nearby office building this weekend at 6 in the evening didn’t change as the words stared back at you.

You sighed as you placed the card on your table and put the rooster on it as a paperweight. Fine, you would go, you thought to yourself as you looked as the rooster now standing happily at a corner, it was not like there was anything else you could do this weekend anyway.

To say that you were nervous would not exactly be far from the truth but in all honesty, you were more doubtful and confused as to whether this was legit or not. Climbing up the back stairs from the emergency exit, your heart beat faster and faster as the number on each floor increased until there were no more stairs ahead of you.

Putting your hand on the railing of the heavy-duty metal door, you took your phone out to check the time, your hand brushing past the small wooden ornament as you reached into your pocket. You were equal part relieved and anxious when you saw that you were a few minutes early from the supposed time. 

You waited as time passed, your hand froze in place as you stood there. You were afraid of looking too desperate by waiting for the person to show up even for just a few minutes when you weren’t even sure if they would show up at all. You sighed when the number on the clock finally jumped, showing the glowing 1800 on your screen. 

Taking a deep breath before pushing the door open with a sudden force, the cold evening wind hit your face as you stepped out, a sharp contrast to the stuffy stairway. You looked around the empty rooftop, the unsettling idea of being alone started to stir up inside you.

Should you wait? Part of you wanted to give whoever you were supposed to be waiting for the benefit of the doubt, but another part of you was already contemplating at what point should you assume that you had been stood up on and go home. 

You took the rooster out of your pocket and mindlessly traced the smooth edges of the polished wood. To be quite honest, you had grown to be rather fond of having this little fella at the corner of your home, staring at you with those big eyes as you carried out your errands. If no one showed up by the end of this, does that mean that you got to keep the rooster as a compensation?

“Seems like you quite like that thing.”

You jumped at the sudden voice, feeling slightly embarrassed by how squirmish you were after regaining your senses as the person laughed. Your jaw hung open when you looked up to see who was standing in front of you. No, not standing, mid-air in front of you. The man smirked as you stared at him with wide e the s and a dumbfounded expression, his red wings flapping leisurely as he landed on the edge with ease.

If there was anyone you were expecting to see, the number two hero of the nation would be ag the very, very back of the list.

“I would say I’m growing attached.” Still processing the situation you were in, you tried your best to calm yourself down and responded like you would had it been anyone else that showed up, swallowing the nerve of talking to someone who was basically a celebrity and smiled.

The corner of Hawks’ lips tilted up to form a crooked smile. He did not know what he was expecting when he signed up for that sketchy looking website. There were people lining up just for a chance to spend time with him. If it was just the company he wanted, he probably didn’t need to go through all the risk. An urge for a thrill maybe, or perhaps it had been a long time since he had met someone new outside of his professional relations that he was willing to give it a go just for a chance for some good fun.

He flew to the rooftop he would pass by every day after patrol that evening, fully prepared to fake his exit if whoever he was paired with happened to be one of those people who would make a big deal over who he was. But seeing that you at least had a sense of humour, there seemed to be no need for his fake “emergency phone call” after all.

"Ready to go?"

"Go where?" You asked as you shook his extended hand, his finger soothing over the skin at your wrist as he didn’t seem to have any intention to let go.

He chuckled. "You wouldn’t think that this," he motioned to your surroundings, "is where we’re spending this little ‘night in heaven’ of ours, will you?"

You shrugged, heat slowly creeping onto your face at how he held onto your hand. A smirk danced across his handsome features. Taking your hand, he pulled you closer to him so that you could reach your arm to his back and you instinctively hooked it around his neck. Goosebumps rose on your skin as his hand sneaked onto your waist and the other at your thigh. 

You knew you were in for a wild night when he took off, but not before sending shivers down your spine when he leaned down and whispered into your ear, telling you to hold on tight.

When you signed up for this, you were fully expecting to meet up with a random soneone and just get down to business right away. To say that you were pleasantly surprised when you saw a table nicely set up inside of the hotel room when you leaped in through the window was an understatement.

“Classy.” You grinned when he pulled out a chair for you, leaning your jaw on your hand as he took out the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket at the side.

“I might have wings, but I’m no animal.” He said as he handed you one of the thin glasses, “Cheers.”

You smiled, taking the glass before clinking it against his. “Cheers.”

Hawks was charming, more charming when he was sitting in front of you laughing along something you said than he was on tv, which really said something about the hero. You were hoping that it was more than the glasses of champagne you poured down your throat, but this was the most fun you have had with a guy in a very long while, and you could swear that he was getting flirtier and flirtier as you talked, and the excitement of what that could mean bubbled up inside of you.

You watched in anticipation when he got up, his eyes never leaving you as he walked over to your side. Leaning down, his fingers brushed against yours as he took the empty champagne glass from your hand and placed it on the table. You could feel his warm breath against your face with how close he was, the scent of the wine in his breath still apparent and it added to the intoxication he was already putting you through with his close proximity. You smiled as you toyed with the hair at his neck. If you had moved any closer, your lips would touch. 

“I hope that I’m living up to your expectations so far?”

“You’ve exceeded all of them,” you whispered, very tempted to just close the bit of painful distant left between the two of you. The way you could feel every vibration of his voice was sending heat down your core, and you were not sure how much longer you could endure being under his presence without embarrassing yourself. “all except one--”

Your words were cut short when he slammed his lips against yours. You kissed him back, your hand hanging around his neck as you welcomed the way his tongue invaded your mouth. He pulled you up with a hand around your waist, his lips never stop as he pressed you against the wall. A gasp escaped your lips when he trailed down, leaving wet kisses along your jaw and the sensitive skin of your neck. 

Breath hitched at the back of your throat when his hand hiked up your dress until it was around your waist, exposing the thin lace that covered your most intimate areas before reaching further up and pushed your bra to the side. Hearing how your whimpering got louder as his soft lips ghosted across that one particular spot, he groaned at how you shuddered when he sucked at the spot all while teasingly circling your nipple with the pad of his finger. 

“You were promised heaven," you were holding onto his arms desperately as the hand that wasn’t toying with your chest moved down the side of your waist, a loud moan echoed off the walls when his finger dipped into the band of your panties and found its way to your crotch that was already slick with arousal. “and I won’t stop until I give you what you came for.”

Your mind was clouded over with a haze as he pushed two slender fingers inside of your pussy with ease. Still standing, it took you all your might to stop yourself from wobbling. His face was buried at the nape of your neck as he started moving those digits inside your velvet walls, his breathes and soft murmurs only served to fuel you further. He was moving agonizingly slow as if he was trying to drive you off the walls deliberately, and there was nothing you wouldn’t do to get more friction. 

He didn’t stop you when you started grinding down in response to the rhythm he was setting, desperate to get more of the painfully little he allowed you to have inside you to relieve your burning ache. You gripped onto his shoulders, your whimpering growing louder and louder as you rocked your hips against his fingers. 

Your voice nearly broke when he added another finger in there, the sudden stretch prompted your movements to get even wilder. Piercing at your face with his golden eyes, the way your lips parted and eyes struggling to stay open from the pleasure making his erection straining against the fabric even more. You could feel how his chuckles reached your ears from his throat when he nibbled at your earlobes, a soft yelp escaping your lips when he suddenly held onto you and forced you to stand still. 

“I can watch you get off on my fingers all day,” you mewled when his fingers were replaced by a sudden emptiness. He made a show to lick off the evidence of your lust that was dripping on his fingers, sucking on the tip and releasing with a soft pop. His lips curled up at how you were gripping onto his shirt, eyes flooded with wanton lust and begging for more. You gasped when he pushed you onto the bed in the center of the room, the sound of belt buckle rattling made tingles sparked across your exposed skin.

Your back arched off the mattress when he pulled your panties off, the ventilated air hitting your wet folds. Your breaths were rigid when you felt him sliding his length against your lips, the tip nudging at your clit that was puffy from stimulation with each roll of his hips. He gripped at your knees, hooking your legs at either side of his pelvis for a better angle. Each push had you yearning for more, and with the way he applied the pressure to your folds in a languish pace, it didn’t seem like he would give him to you just so easily.

“Please...”

You whined when he pushed the tip and only the tip in, the stretch that was barely there did not do anything but pushing you to the edge.

“Please what?” He smirked, tilting his head cockily and arching his brows to encourage you to keep going.

“Please put it in-” you moaned when he pulled back just to bury his cock deep inside you with one swift motion, the stretch made you claw at the sheets and he groaned. You were hanging on the edge of the back as he thrust up in an erratic pace, his balls slapping against your cheeks as he bottomed out of your every single time. The sound of your slick along with his heavy huffs with each motion rang in your ears, making your face heated up and the coil in you tightened.

You could not control yourself, erotic noises slipping past your lips as your mouth gapped and your eyes rolling back from how his head rubbed against your walls, the vein along his shaft adding to the friction.

“Hawks-”

“Keigo,” he gritted his teeth, keeping himself from breaking apart at how good you felt all wrapped up against him and your body shaking against his riling. “Say my name, remember who is making you feel so good.”

His name rolled off of your tongue like a mantra, the bed shaking under his rough movements as you got closer and closer to your high. You lids were heavy with lust, but you managed to force them open to look at the man who was making you see stars. His brows locked together, his lips that he was biting down on now parted as rumbled moans slipped out. His wings, those glorious plumages spasming and each feather ruffling as its owner approached his own edge. 

With one hard push, his tip brushing past your cervix was the final step to breaking you apart as your walls contracted around him, your toes curling at the sensation as your orgasm washed over you. The way you clamped down on him had him throwing his head back, thick spurts of his release painting your insides as he came crashing down.

With your body still buzzing with numbness from your high, you used your arms to push yourself up against the mattress and get under the covers. You were still heaving as Keigo flopped down next to you, throwing an arm across your waist as he looked at you.

You snuggled closer to him, your thumb running along his jawline as you stared into his eyes, a soft smile finding its way onto your lips.

“Rest,” he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, pushing your hair out of your face in an affectionate manner that shocked even himself. You hummed as you buried your face into his neck, letting your lids dropped and for slumber to take over your worn out body.

Blinking to accustomed to the light, it took you a quick second to remember where you were at when you woke up the next morning to a strange bed and sheets so crisp that there was no way it could be yours. Moments from the night before flashed in front of your eyes as you slowly picked up on where you were and you could feel your face heating up at the delicious details. You looked to your side to find the other side of the bed empty, with nothing but the ruffled sheets reminding you that there was someone lying here next to you last night.

Getting up to retrieve your scattered clothing from the floor, a vibrant shade of red on the writing desk at a corner caught your eye. It was one of Hawk’s feathers, pining on a torn out piece of paper from the notepad with the tiny ornament of the rooster on top. You smiled at the familiar handwriting, the same as the one on the small white card in your dress pocket. This time, instead of telling you to go to a rooftop, it was a string of numbers.

“Heaven does not need to be a one time thing. Call me?;)”

Cocky bastard. You chuckled as you took out your phone to put in his contacts.

#hawks x reader #hawks smut #hawks imagine #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo smut #takami keigo imagine #bnha imagines #bnha smut #bnha x reader #bnha imagine

[dercolaris]

Broken

Hey guys. Today there is something different than usual. No Scriddler :/ *sadness intensified!*

I started writing stories in the Batman universe seriously in 2016, but often without any paarings at all in the beginning. It was mostly based on friendship between characters. I decided to translate this one with Harleen and Jonathan, because I was kind of thinking about it today. Maybe some of you will enjoy it, I don’t really know. 

Song: https://youtu.be/P2H4tCc9E3U

"Hey boss! Look what we have over here!” The thug rubbed his white-painted chin, stared at the lifeless body in the water in front of him. The leader of the squad appeared behind him and looked past the large muscular shoulder into the black and almost frozen liquid. He paused for a moment, then mumbled confused to himself: “Fucking god. Is that him?" The man shook his head in pure disbelief, then screamed at his henchmen:" Come on guys! We need to get him out of there! Otherwise the poor soul will freeze to death in seconds. And be fucking careful you idiots!” The tallest thug of the group stepped further on the pier, then bent down to lift the lifeless body up. It was unusually light. The muscleman carefully laid the man's body on the wood. The leader of the squad rubbed the back of his head, then spoke hesitantly to his followers: "We urgently need to report this to Joker or at least Harley I guess. Holy fucking shit. I always hate to do that. Wish me luck guys." He grabbed his walkie talkie and radioed the headquarters. After a short wait there was a loud cracking noise, followed by a deep male voice: “What is it?” The leader of the patrolling group replied excitedly: “We have found a body in the murky water that looks a lot like Scarecrow. What should we do with him?" A few seconds passed when the radio crackled again: "Are you guys sure that it's really Scarecrow?" The thug looked down at the demolished body, got on his knees and tried to wipe the mask carefully away. At that moment the body came to life, firmly grabbed the leader's forearm and panted heavily in the cold air. His head moved spastically, apparently looking for something. The injured man wanted to get up, supported himself with one hand on the wet wood. There was a croak like sound from his throat as he tried to talk: "What are you doing to me?" The henchman carefully placed his hand on the man's shoulder and gently pushed him back to the ground. He spoke softly: “Take it easy, Doc. We won't hurt you, promise.” The words calmed down the man on the pier. His grip loosened until he finally let go completely. A deep sigh came from his bleeding throat. The leader operated the radio again and spoke into it: “We are 100 percent sure. What should we do now? He's in miserable condition, about to freeze to death and yeah, he's probably bleeding out right now." The walkie talkie crackled for a few seconds without any new information, then a female voice suddenly replied: "Take him to the sawmill as soon as possible. I will take care of him here. And don't say anything about this to Puddin. That remains our little secret, gentlemen."

With these words, the radio died, only emitting a faint hissing noise. The mostly dumb thugs on the pier looked at the squad leader. He only nodded slowly towards his men and spoke loudly to his followers: “You heard the lady. Let's take him to the sawmill. And not a single word to the boss! I want to keep my balls for a while.” The tallest of them lifted the body of the rogue, laid him over his shoulder and carried him the short way to the sawmill. The guards there were already privy to it, only stepped aside when they arrived without a word. It was unusually warm inside. They went up the stairs into the former office department of the business, knocked a few times on the wooden door. The leader pushed the door open and stepped inside, lowering his gaze. He didn't know about the lady's mood. Sometimes she vented all of her anger on her servants, so it was safer to remain submissive. Harley sat at a desk with her feet on the metal surface and chewed very sweet bubblegum out loud, then looked up from her cell phone. “It was about time,” she grumbled, getting up from the chair, “where is he?” The leader waved the thug to come inside. The muscleman carefully carried the body through the door. Harley stepped closer and examined the body, her eyes grew bigger every second. She mumbled softly: “Oh my god. Who was doing this to him?Is he still alive or what?" A faint gasp came from the mouth of the man believed dead. The young woman put her hand on his partly open cheeks, gently stroking the flesh. She looked up and pointed to a door behind her. Together they entered the strongly heated adjoining room. In this was an old bed. The mattress was already sagging, but that probably wouldn't bother the patient. The henchman carefully laid Jonathan on the bed and took a few steps back, clearly confused what to do next. Harley nodded to the men, then spoke surprisingly calm: “You did very well, guys. Take a short break and then back to the pier. Who knows what else washes up in Gotham tonight.” The patrolling group nodded in understanding and then withdrew without to many noises. The door closed behind them, bringing a moment of calmness to those who remained. Harley sat on the edge of the mattress and put a hand on the former psychiatrist's cheek. He winced hard, tried to raise his own hand. Harley took his fingers and squeezed gently, then spoke quietly to him: "It's all right, John. You are safe now. It's... not so bad."

The Master of Fear blinked slightly, then apparently looked into the eyes of the clown. His voice was nothing more than a croak: "Don't lie to me, Harleen." The young woman examined the battered body a bit more. One of his arms was broken several times, as were both of his legs. The nose and lips were almost entirely missing from his face. They had literally been torn from his skin. Something similar had happened to his cheeks. His eyes stared into empty space. They still responded a bit, but they were faded into a light grey tone. Harley bit her lip lightly. He was most likely blind by now. She leaned closer to him and breathed softly: "As you wish. It doesn't look good, John. Can you see anything? I mean, maybe a faint glimpse of light or something.” Jonathan blinked again, trying to meet her eyes. He didn't succeed. The former psychiatrist suddenly became stiff, probably realizing what had happened to him at that moment. His good hand came to rest on his disfigured cheek. He touched tentatively, winced from the pain. The clown was breathing a little faster, looking behind her in a chest of drawers for a disposable syringe and a cannula. There were already some bottles of medicine on the wood. She hummed softly as she searched for the right painkiller. She found the morphine in the whole mess of strong medication and drew it up with the plunger. Harleen turned back to Jonathan and sat down on the edge of the mattress again. The young woman checked the pressure, then pushed the rags off his arm. There were wounds there too – wounds like those of a wild animal. She put the needle to his pale skin and gently pushed the cannula into one vein. Hopefully the remedy would work quickly on him. Harley cleaned the puncture site with a swab and pulled the pressure off. He must have lost enough blood already. Finally, she put a small plaster with a dinosaur army on his arm. A small smile lurked on her lips. She loved those bandages, to Puddin's annoyance of course. He berated her as childish and not very humorous. The crazy girl had a very different view on this, but to discuss with Joker was almost impossible. At that moment, however, this unimportant argument was of no concern anyway. She watched Jonathan relax slowly. The remedy worked. Harley rose again and opened the bottom drawer. There she looked for sewing kits and bandages. Behind her came the hoarse voice of the former psychiatrist: “I don't see anything, Harleen. I just don't see anything.” The addressed villain lingered briefly at the chest of drawers, staring at the worn wood. She took a deep breath and said slowly: “I know, John. Whoever did this to you tried hard to completely dismantle you. It's a miracle that you are still breathing and are among us."

Jonathan remained silent on this answer, dropping his good arm on his damaged chest. Harley brought the material to the bed and turned to face the door. She spoke softly: “I'll get some water and disinfectant for a moment. I'll be right back.” With these words the clown stepped out of the room and went to the dirty bathroom. Couldn't the henchmen even leave something clean for once? She shook her head slightly and picked up a bowl and filled it to the top with warm water. The young woman returned to the office, dragged a chair up to the bed. She gently felt a wound on his leg. There was no response from the older man. Apparently the morphine was working on his brain. She looked into the demolished face and said soothingly: "I'm starting to clean the wounds on your legs, disinfect them and finally stitch them up. Is that okay for you, Prof?" The man on the mattress only nodded slightly, then finally closed his eyes. Harley fumbled in the mess of materials for useable scissors, started to cut the grey fabric from his legs. Her breath stopped for a second. Some of the wounds were inches deep, near the bone. Slowly a suspicion crept into her mind. She cleaned the largest of the wounds with a handful of swabs and asked him nervously: “What happened, John? Do you remember anything?" The person addressed gave a low grunt, then apparently was lost in his thoughts for a while. He then replied, almost in a whisper: “I had a new sample of the fear serum and wanted to drop it into Gotham's groundwater. That was in the underground catacombs of Arkham. Batman was there too, and then something caught me off guard in the water. After that everything is just spongy in my memory.” The young woman nodded slightly, then cursed herself for the typical reaction. He was blind after all. She replied quickly: “Do you have any idea what caught you there in the water? Those injuries indicate a beast or more a monster.” The former psychiatrist frowned, puckered the scraps of skin on his bones. After a few seconds he replied dryly: “I guess it was Waylon. Killer Croc.” Harley cringed a bit and tried to shove the thoughts about the crocodile away, now sewing up a small wound on his right leg. He didn't feel the punctures, or at least didn't show it. She smeared some iodine on the stitched up area. Harleen would need a lot of that. The young woman sighed softly, then answer muffled: “I had already suspected it. You look like you've been gutted by an animal. Especially your face, John. It's a nightmare.” The older man shifted a little on the mattress. His voice croaked harshly: “This is all Batman's fault. If he hadn't stopped me, I would never have fallen into the water."

The clown looked into the light grey eyes of the Master of Fear and pulled her lips into a fine line. Was it right to blame Batman for this? Definitely to some extent, but the main culprit was Killer Croc. Harley looked again at the wounds in front of her and said calmly: "Do you really think it's Batsy's fault alone? I mean, he's always in the way, but in the end he wasn't chomping on your organs." The former psychiatrist laughed hoarsely. He raised his hand a little and spoke calmly: “How can one harbour an abomination on a wild animal? No, Waylon only did what an animal like him does. The Dark Knight should never have cornered me so much. He wasn't even checking on me, when Croc got a hold on me and pulled me into the sewers. No, Batman is absolutely to blame for everything that went wrong that night. He alone. And the Bat is going to pay for it – so much that Gotham will finally sees what a failure he is.” The young woman looked worriedly into the doctor's disfigured face. He had made his decision. The clown went back to closing the wounds on his body. In addition, she splinted the broken bones, starting with his left leg. The older man remained calm throughout the procedure. Whether it was the morphine or his extreme self-control, Harley didn't exactly know. She finally got to his face, staring into the former psychiatrist's empty eyes. The loose fabric of his mask was still over the torn skin. Suddenly his good hand took hold of the young woman's forearm. She didn't resist, just looked calmly at the suddenly tense face. He croaked softly: “Sew the mask directly on my face, Harleen. Otherwise you'd have to skin someone to patch me up again." The young woman froze for a moment, then spoke just as softly:" I would kill a thousand men for you if it helps you John." The Master of Fear shook his head slightly and replied weakly: "To finally beat Batman I need to be whole, Harleen. Set Scarecrow free.” The clown moved her arm a little and freed her hand from him. She took a few deep breaths, then took another swab. Slowly her fingers worked the torn face of the man in front of her. Finally she put the sewing material on the mattress and looked at the result. The mask and his face were now one. The deep voice of the man in front of her made her shudder: “I thank you, Harleen. Without you I would still be out there in the icy water, probably frozen to death." The crazy woman leaned back in the chair, then said jokingly:" You have to thank the thugs who had more than a few brain cells and not confusing you for a worthless piece of burlap." The former Psychiatrist laughed softly, then coughed a bit. He was still far from being healthy, but the first step had been taken.

#DC #Batman #Scarecrow #Harley Quinn #Harleen Quinzel #Jonathan Crane #Joker somehow? #HateSquadOnJoker #Join for free! #Psychiatrist Buddies #Arkham Asylum #Translating day

[the-oak-owl]

Submitted by @merleyfox

A story of mine, that I would like a stew from! It’s pretty long, and I apologize for that, but I hope you enjoy!

Bushes cracked and swished, almost like angry claws tearing at the young woman’s clothing. Each swish of the leaves whispered in her ears

“You won’t outrun him”

“He sees all.”

“You know you won’t escape.”

She pushed herself to run faster, not caring where she ran, as long as it was far away from her pursuers.

The sky was dark and eerily silent, each cracking branch like a gunshot.

Then the howling started up.

The howling began behind her, urging her to run faster, her breath coming in ragged pants. Like echoes, howls came on either side of her.

She wasn’t running away, they were forcing her to go where they pleased.

The young woman skidded to a halt, pale eyes wide as she searched the forest around her. Her long blonde hair hung limp with sweat, ragged, torn from the clawing branches. The howling was getting closer on all sides.

They were already here.

The wolves were silent, almost as if their paws were floating above the earth, as they pushed through the foliage. Their slavering jaws hung open as they began to mill around her, close enough for her to feel their ugly breath, but they never touched her.

The young woman clasped her arms around herself, crying out in prayer.

“Creator, I fear for everything I’ve done. If I am saved from this horrid death, I will never break your laws again.” She paused, a sob breaking from her throat as she watched the wolves. She squeezed her eyes shut, raising her voice.

“Deliver me into the hands of the Creator, oh wicked Fiends!”

As if commanded the wolves leaped upon one another, piling one on top of the other in a horrible tower of fur, silent as they devoured and smothered each other.

Her eyes flew open and the woman leaped backwards in fear. She fell back to the ground, scrabbling back through the frosty grass away from the writhing mass of wolves.

In a heartbeat the pile of gray bodies cleared away, like a dirty fog, and He rose.

Three times larger than any of the wolves that had been there a moment ago, the great wolf stood on his hind legs, his long grey-green tail wagging stiffly, and his face...

Her gaze traveled to his face, what she saw there caused her to cry out and tear her eyes away from his terrible visage. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, willing the monster to leave her.

His muzzle was split in a grin, teeth pulled back to show his dripping fangs. Above his sickening smile, more than enough eyes glared back at her, gleaming a terrible gold.

This was the Five-Eyed Wolf.

“Well, well, well. It seems you can’t run forever, my dear.” His voice was deep and deceptively smooth. “You do know that your actions have consequences, hmm?”

The woman kept her eyes shut tightly as she spoke. “I.. I’m sorry! I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to break your rules.”

“You just can’t stop, can you? You may want to think of what you’re doing.” He paused, golden eyes set on her like a helpless dove. “Let me give you a hint… It is rude not to look at someone while they are talking to you.”

The woman’s eyes ripped open, flying to the wolf’s face, trying to focus on him and not make contact with any of his eyes.

“This town is very strict on the Rules of Civility, and you madame were not being very civil. If you can’t seem to remember, let’s take a look back at it, shall we?” The wolf took a few steps forward, and seated himself gingerly beside the woman. Using one huge paw he reached towards her.

“May I?”

She hesitated, eyes wide and fearful. Not wanting to anger him any longer, she managing a shaky nod.

The wolf touched his paw to the side of her head. As soon as he did, the scene of their first meeting played like a movie infront of them.

~

The sea wind gently puffed the docked ship's sails. The salty warm air seemed to hug the people as they went about the festivities of the day. On the large docks, people waved their hats and kerchiefs to the men, women and children who departed from the bellies of the docked ships.

One of the people coming off of the ships was a young woman, eyes and hair pale. This woman was Jezzabelle. Dressed in dark green finery, she wore the outfit of a merchant’s daughter.

The young lady retrieved her things, a small wagon piled high with luggage, from a ruddy shipworker, dismissing him without much more than a click of her tongue. As she left the docks she made her way deeper into the town, wheeling her cart behind her, heading towards the place she would stay alone for the next few days.

Jezzabelle made her way through the winding roads, eyes flicking up to the wobbly buildings, face pinched unpleasantly. She was glad she was heading for the nicer end of town, further away from the salty water that wore away paint and shape, happy her father hadn’t boarded her in any of the buildings portside, all of them in need of a fresh layer of paint.

After a ways of walking Jezzabelle noticed a boy, who couldn't be much older than her, about seventeen, walking on the other side of the street. She frowned, not having noticed him before, as if he materialized out of the shadows cast by the afternoon sun.

The boy was wearing scrappy clothing, pants patched at the knees and shirt at the elbows. He wore a crooked flat cap on top of his ruffled hair, which lingered somewhere between green and gray.

He whistled as he walked, glancing fondly at the tall buildings. His eyes wandered down the building before landing on Jezzabelle. He paused in his whistling to raise a hand in greeting..

She cast a glance at him, and tipped her head. Her gaze flicked pointedly away, and she marched on like she had never seen him in the first place.

With her acknowledgement the boy crossed the street, and settled into pace beside her. “Hello Miss.” He said with a tip of his flat top hat, hands adorned in thin gloves patched much like his other clothes. “How are you doing on this fine day?”

Jezzabelle gave the boy a soft hum, not turning her eyes towards him. She had interacted with his kind too many times.

The boy’s lips turned down at the corner, and yet he continued. “My name is Lupin.” He offered.

Jezzabelle once more, didn’t give an answer, this time not even deaming to look at the boy.

His lips once more twisted down. “And you are?”

Jezzabelle heaved a sigh and frowned. She stopped in her tracks and whipped around.

“Alright, streetrat.” She pointed a neatly manicured finger at him. “I didn’t come here to be harrassed by some kid. Now go try to steal money off some other traveler.”

Lupin didn’t react, eyes flicking from Jezzabelle’s face to the finger she had stuck in his chest. His expression darkened, and he furrowed his brow. He took a step back from the angry woman, straightening his tattered coat front. “If you don’t mind me saying, Miss, that was rather rude. And if you don’t mind, I’ll now take my leave.”

“Yes, get out of here, you slightfinger.”

Lupin then turned, and disappeared just as he had shown up, melding into the shadows. It was like he had never been there at all.

Jezzabelle huffed, happy to be alone once more and went on unbothered, finding the hotel her father had booked her quite easily. She received her room key and left her baggage with the rather surprised desk-woman, telling her that it would be returned to her room after washing.

“These people,” She murmured to herself as she mounted the stairs. “Is the entire town full of fools and thieves?”

She went to sleep early, turning in after a long week of traveling, happy to finally have a bed on sturdy ground again. The desk-woman still hadn’t returned her things by the time she had turned out the light, leaving an irritated Jezzabelle to sleep in her traveling clothes.

The silent night air was broken by a knock on her door. Jezzabelle awoke with a groan, sitting up in the bed. “Who is it?” She called, voice bleary with sleep.

Whoever was on the other side of the door knocked again, and she tore back the covers, padding to the door. “If that is you, desk-woman, with my clothing I will not be very-” she opened the door, mouth dropping open. It was Him.

The Five-Eyed Wolf stood there, face set.

Instantly she knew this creature had been the street rat she met earlier.

“Hello Miss,” He said, “Would you care to accompany me to tea?”

“T-Tea? At night? No, I think not. Goodbye now.” Jezzabelle’s face had gone deathly pale, eyes locked on the monstrous face of the wolf.

“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s horrible rude to stare?” His lips curled back, all five eyes narrowing.

“I…I apologize.” Her eyes didn’t leave the wolf’s face.

A growl lifted in his throat. “I ask again, would you accompany me to tea?’

“No.. No thank you.” Jezzabelle said.

“Wrong answer.”

~

The wolf removed his paw from her temple, and Jezzabelle crumpled into herself.

“That’s right. You were not very civil the entire time you were here. And manners mean very much to me,” He pulled back, padding over to a felled tree on the edge of the clearing. He seated himself on the stump, which as if it had always been, swiftly transformed into a wrought iron chair.

“Now that I’ve found you, I will be taking you back with me down the Path of the Fae, and you will serve me.” He leaned on the body of the fallen tree, absentmindedly, slowly, tapping each one of his massive claws against the wood. It followed suit of the stump and swiftly transformed into a long garden table, laid with steaming tea cups and desserts of all kinds.

“Hopefully you will find some manners while you do.” His lip curled, eyes shifting back to land on the girl. “Now,” he said, picking up one of the teacups to take a near silent drink. “Mmm. I’m sure you have heard of me, even from where you hail from. I am the Five-Eyed Wolf. I am also known as Lupin, Gela, and The Grimmwulf. You may refer to me as Lord.” He paused for a moment, glancing at the table. “I know you turned down my offer before, but would you like some tea?”

Jezzabelle shakily nodded, not wanting to anger the Fae, and climbed to her feet. She walked over to the table, perching nervously on a branch, long broken from the tree, which almost instantly shifted into a dazzling wrought iron seat.

“Good, now you’re beginning to understand.” He chuckled dangerously, nudging a cup towards her. “Drink, drink, please.”

As she did, savoring the flavor like nothing she had tasted before, he leaned forwards. “And your name is?”

“Jezzabelle.” As soon as the word left her lips she regretted it, wishing she had given something, anything else but her true name.

A grin split his maw once more, and he set the teacup down with a soft clink.

“Jezzabelle…” as the word left his lips, it was as a powerful clawed hand gripped her mind-matter. “Now Jezzabelle, this whole predicament could have been avoided if you had manners. Every person, and fae, you meet is worthy of some respect.”

Jezzabelle didn’t answer, nervously sipping from her cup of tea.

“Some acknowledgment, yes?”

Pain shot through Jezzabelle and she shot to her feet with a yelp, dropping the cup with a clatter. “What was-” The pain doubled, and she fell to her knees, a low whine breaking from her throat.

The Five-Eyed Wolf gave her an exasperated look. “Manners, Jezzabelle… you will learn them.”

“Yes.” Jezzabelle strangled out, crying out as the pain increased yet again.

“Yes, what?” The Five-Eyed Wolf seemed to be getting tired of her.

“Yes… Yes, Lord.’

“Good! You’re learning already.”

The pain released Jezzabelle, and she gasped, scrambling to her feet once more. She didn’t want to be at this horrid tea party any longer. Anything would be better than this. “Oh creator, that was horrid.” She snapped her gaze to The Wolf. “I want to leave.”

“Already? Proper etiquette for tea is to take your time, sweet Jezzabelle.” He said, and Jezzabelle readied herself for another lash of pain.

Instead The Wolf stood, nodding. “But yes, it is rather late. We should be going.” As he stood, the tea set and furniture resumed their wooden state. Even the splattered tea from when Jezzabelle had dropped her cup disappeared without a trace.

She stared at where the tea had been for a moment before looking back up at the Five Eyed Wolf.

Where he had just been standing, the same pack of gray-green wolves stared back.

They were silent, golden eyes unblinking.

Jezzabelle shivered, taking a step towards them, nervous that they would devour her like they had each othee.

But they didn’t move, except for those golden eyes.

The young maiden dipped into a hesitant curtsy, and she could swear the wolves began to smirk.

In turn, the wolves of the pack dipped into a series of bows.

And in only a moment they were around her. They pushed against her, flipping her off of her feet. She screamed as she fell, the noise echoing in the cool night air.

Landing on the backs of the wolves, Jezzabelle struggled. They were carrying her like a wave as they ran, always a wolf there to catch her. Jezzabelle dug her fingers into their thick hides, holding on for dear life, squeezing her eyes shut against her fate.

The wolves carried her onwards, only slowing as they came to their final place.

A ring of old hawthorne trees greeted Jezzabelle’s eyes and she tried to scramble upright on the roiling tide of wolves.

She was set to the ground, the wolves once more leaped upon one another, quickly turning into the Five Eyed Wolf.

“Here we are!” His voice was joyful. “I welcome you to the Fae Path.” He said, motioning with one paw to the trees around him. “This will take us to my plane of existence.” He turned, fixing her with a gaze. “You must walk freely into the circle, and once there we will depart.”

“If I have to walk freely then I won’t go.” Jezzabelle said, taking a step back from the circle of trees.

The Wolf looked at her for a moment, then sighed. “You just have to keep making things more difficult, don’t you?” He lifted a claw and pointed at the ground beside him. “Please come here, Jezzabelle.” His voice was like that of a strict father’s.

As soon as he said her name it was as if she lost all control of her body. Even as she fought back she obediently took the place beside him. Tears began to stream down her face, asage realized the depravity of the situation.

The Wolf looked at her, politely averting his gaze until the sobs became nothing but sniffles. He cleared his throat, and turned back to her.

“We must go now. It’s terribly rude to show up late, hmm?”

She gave a stiff nod, and took a shaky breath. “I’m ready.” She would put up a strong face. She would do what her father always told her to. Clasp fate’s hands in the waltz of life.

“Good,” The Wolf cleared his throat and announced to the trees. “Take us to the summer court manor, if you will.” And immediately they began to thrash as if a mighty gust of wind had come on suddenly.

Jezzabelle wrapped her arms around herself, cowering from the whipping branches, “Death be sure to take me,” she whispered.

“Not yet, my dear Jezzabelle.”

She jumped as the wolf responded to her, withering under his gaze:

A jolt of pain ran through her and she gasped, clenching her fists tightly.

The Wolf clicked his tongue “And I thought we were making progress on manners already,” he shook his head, “No matter. We’ll be sure to fix that,” A wicked grin had split his maw. “But the important thing is, we’ve made it.”

Jezzabelle looked to see everything had changed around her. The dreary winter forest had disappeared, though the ring of hawthornes still remained.

In its place was a field, warm and ripe with grain, grasshoppers singing among the tall stalks of wheat.

She looked back at The Wolf, surprised to see the beast now adorned with a suit of fine silk, finer than anything she had seen at the Merchant’s Balls. Golden rings adorned his paws, and perched between his ears sat a small golden circlet.

The Wolf stood aloft, looking proudly over the land, before turning his gaze back to Jezzabelle.

“Welcome to my court.”

—————— 

Goodness! What a story, such vibrant penmanship. There’s a strong voice here which I do hope I was able to portray well.

Here’s your stew, friend!

#mine #skunk lady writes #five eyed wolf #submission #long post #february menu

[brokenjardaantech]

absorbance of the deep (chapter 5: rest)

written for a mermay prompts challenge. my prompt is ‘monochromatic.’

previous chapter can be found here.

also on ao3

----

No matter how much Simon wanted to avoid it, he had to return to the lighthouse in the end. Before he left the cave, Markus made him promise two times that he would call for the sea whenever trouble arose, and both times he solemnly swore that he would rely on him for support in case things went down, that he would cry for help, that he wouldn’t pretend that he could solve it on his own, because truthfully, he knew the attack changed everything; his parents could no longer ignore the fact that the only thing standing between him and his death was three teenagers of his age, nor could they pretend that Daniel didn’t even want to stay in their village anymore, and thinking about it, what did he do at school apart from reading on his own anyway? He hadn’t passed any exams since eight or nine, all his promotions were due to the lack of funding of their village and, therefore, the reluctance to waste money on a student for more years than strictly necessary. Of course they didn’t tell him about it in his face; he learnt it a few years back when a disgruntled Daniel complained about how his twin could advance a grade despite not putting any effort into studying at all and threatened to complain to the authorities - whoever they were - until the school or their parents gave him a reasonable explanation that promoting Simon was the cheapest and fastest way to get rid of him. They thought that because he didn’t speak, he certainly couldn’t understand what they were saying either.

Well, it did take him a few months to decide his feelings on the issue and a lot of effort to focus on the entire conversation instead of being distracted by other thoughts halfway through, but that didn’t make it hurt less. It still hurts from time to time when he thinks about it, but the civilisation on the surface is gone, he has Markus to distract him, so he tends not to be very bothered even though he never had been in the first place.

He rode the waves until they placed him gently on the pier connected to the lighthouse, and he thanked them one last time before taking a deep breath and forcing himself to walk along the pier until he was standing in front of the backdoor. He pressed his ear against the wood carefully so that it didn’t make it creak to listen for any sign of struggle and chaos, but all seemed quiet. He could neither hear a single movement nor feel the slightest vibrations apart from the gentle thud, thud, thud of the structure being lapped by the tide, though it could be his bias towards the ocean that made it less terrifying than it probably was in reality. But still, for safety, he climbed up the improvised ladder Daniel built to enter the house through his bedroom instead of through the backdoor, holding onto one of the ledges with one hand while trying to slide the window open.

He should’ve known that his clumsiness would one day cost him.

His heart nearly burst out of his chest as his hand slipped on the glass and he lost his balance. The momentum of his upper body sent him reeling, his other hand let go of the plank, and without at least three points of contact, he started to fall, his limbs flailing but not touching anything solid as his brain processed what was happening, his mind bracing for the inevitable impact and maybe his early demise -

Just to be cushioned by something soft and bouncy.

He was slowly lowered onto the pier until he was lying on the cool wood. Pushing himself to a sitting position, he turned around and saw Markus hanging on the edge of the pier with his arms outstretched and his head peeking out with a chastising look on his face. Go through the door.

It won’t be wise, was Simon’s explanation. Going to my room is safer.

Fine.

A tendril of water rises from the sea and extends up to the window of the twins’ room, nudging it open until a gap just big enough for Simon to climb through before sliding back down again and disappearing completely. Go on, Markus said in his mind. I won’t go until you’re safely inside.

Simon picked himself up once more and climbed the wall more carefully this time, feeling Markus’ gaze on his back all the way up until he silently rolled into his bedroom - one of the advantages of having his bed next to the windows - and he knelt on the mattress with his arms on the windowsill just to stare at Markus for a long while, memorising the way the rising sun painted the ocean a rippling gold and creating a halo around his head. He looked absolutely stunning.

Just like the entire ocean he should be.

The thought came unprompted and without any explanation, but somehow, in his entire memory, it made sense. It didn’t surprise him that Markus and the sea were the same. It didn’t surprise him that Markus let him know. It didn’t surprise him that Markus brought him the courage to look at the overwhelming brightness of the ocean just to take one more look at him before he disappeared under the pier and proceeded to go back to wherever he lived - if he had a corporal form at all. But it wasn’t a time for poetic musings and pining; he kept his window open for the morning breeze, but as soon as he turned around to face the empty bed on the other side of the room, reality crashed down onto him harder than any tsunami, and he nearly fell off his bed from his attempt to scramble off the bed in search for his twin. Daniel? he asked in his mind before remembering that telepathy was limited to between him and Markus. Creeping out to the corridor, he first checked on his parents’ room and discovered that his mother was sleeping, then he stuck close to a wall as he padded down the stairs to take a peek at the situation in the living room, finding out that his brother was waking up on the sofa. He didn’t look pleased to see Simon.

‘Should I even ask?’ Daniel grumbled as he ran his hand through his hair.

Simon wished he had his dictionary with him right now because then he would be able to tell his twin to clarify, but since rushing upstairs to grab it seemed like a bad idea, all he did was to shut up and listen.

‘Well, it worked,’ the twin walked straight to the kitchen and started preparing his breakfast by banging the cupboard doors and slamming eating utensils onto the counter, the sharp noise assaulting Simon’s ears and forcing him to protect them by covering them with his hands. ‘I’m officially out of this place.’

Simon followed his gaze towards the suitcase by the door, a soft, worn-out thing that looked like it was on the verge of bursting. So that was why Daniel’s bed and the space around it looked so empty when Simon climbed in a few minutes ago - he had probably shoved everything into the suitcase.

‘Don’t worry, I think the other guys are out too,’ the fridge door slammed shut. Every single movement from his twin was forceful, harsh, as if he wanted to unleash his wrath on anything and everything, and even though Simon knew Daniel would never hurt him, his brain told him to stay on guard, to run as soon as he could. Or it was Markus keeping track of everything and silently nudging him towards the direction. ‘They won’t hurt you anymore.’

That didn’t quite match what Josh had said the day before, but Simon wasn’t in the mood to confirm right now; he managed to rush upstairs before the first scrape of metal spoon against teeth as Daniel shoved the first of many mouthfuls of cereal into his mouth to fetch his dictionary, already flipping through the pages as he ran down to perch on the sofa so that it was close enough to let his brother read the word he was pointing at but not hurt him, and he asked, [where - are - you - going]

‘Away from here.’

[where - exactly]

‘Does it matter?’ Daniel exploded, and Simon wished he had grabbed his headphones as well. ‘Not that you care, right? All you ever do is reading your damned books and disappearing into the fucking sea for hours and making us worry. They don’t even want you in the system!’

A particularly hard wave of the hand he was holding the cereal bowl with sent a mixture of milk and soggy cornflakes onto the ground. With a particularly loud curse, he threw the bowl - cereal and all - onto the floor, the ceramic shattering into a few large jagged pieces that Simon knew could be used against him with the loudest clank that echoed in the room. The sound triggered every single alarm in his system, snapped the last thread that held his self-control, and then he stopped caring, he stopped being the supportive twin brother he always wanted to be but couldn’t, he stopped thinking about everything apart from the simple thought that he had to run. He was aware of the sofa, then the suitcase, then the door, and he was out in the sun, his feet were pounding against heating asphalt, the usual soft ocean breeze had turned into blades cutting into his cheeks from how fast he was running, but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t look back, not with Daniel doing that to him and leaving, leaving, leaving and he was angry and so was probably his mother and his father who wasn’t even in the house but it was a small village and there wasn’t a lot of place for a lighthouse keeping to go at the crack of dawn so WHERE CAN HE BE? His vision became blurry, his ears were filled with nothing but the high-pitched whistling of the wind, and one moment of hesitation was enough for him to trip on completely flat ground and land painfully on hard ground paved with pieces of sett, but despite the pain, despite the wounds he couldn’t feel, despite his throat constricting and his legs burning, he picked himself up, moved forward; walked when he couldn’t run, put one foot in front of another when he could barely walk, collapsed onto his feet and crawled when he couldn’t support himself - anything to get away from his brother who betrayed him and his mother who didn’t care about him once he stopped being a baby and his father whom he didn’t even know the location of.

He didn’t have any reason to stay, he realised, but neither did he have anywhere else to go.

Somehow no one stopped him before the texture underneath his hand turned from pavement to wet grass, and he used the last of his strength to drag himself to a shaded spot under a tree so that his senses didn’t get overwhelmed again from the sunlight. Without direct light, the morning dew was even more prevalent and soaked through his shirt quickly, but even that was better compared to the heat he had absorbed from the sun or generated from running from one side of the village to another. He had no water, no food, nothing to help himself recover apart from time, time which he didn’t have because his entire body was hurting so much that he might as well be dying, and even though the logical, life-loving side of him knew that dying here wouldn’t solve anything, he wouldn’t mind if he just closed his eyes here and never wake up, because if he did, his parents would probably send him off to the deep ocean on a boat in his favourite clothing and possession - the latter which probably consisted of nothing more than his noise-cancelling headphones and his trusty backpack that was too small on him but he refused to replace - then he would be able to be with Markus forever because he no longer had to return to the bright surface world where there was no Markus -

Cut that thought, Markus’ voice wasn’t loud but neither was it gentle like before. I’ll ask someone to tend to you. Wait there.

Markus had never been that harsh (firm, the reasonable side of his mind reminded him, but it wasn’t that he had the capacity to be reasonable and level-headed right now) with him before. Simon knew the words were out of genuine care, so why was his vision turning blurry and the sockets of his eyes heating up? I want you to be here.

I know, but you were just attacked yesterday and people wouldn’t be kind when they see another stranger with you.

They didn’t see you yesterday?

I made sure I stayed hidden.

That didn’t help Simon’s argument. But I don’t want anyone else.

I’ll be there as soon as I can.

But I want you here now, Simon knew he didn’t have an excuse anymore and was throwing a tantrum, but he just couldn’t seem to stop, couldn’t seem to stop hurting. I can come to you.

No. Stay where you are. You are under no condition to move.

The last sentence sparked his defiance, the sudden pounding in his heart giving him just enough strength to put some of his weight into his arms and push his upper body up by a few centimetres before they suddenly gave out and the back of his head hit the grass once more with a soft thud. His fingers on the grass tightened, the force enough to tear a few poor strands of vegetation out of the soil, and he curled into a ball with frustrated tears rolling down his face. He was tired. He didn’t know how long he lay there sobbing and crying until he exhausted the last bit of his strength and he could only melt into the hard ground, feeling the soil soften underneath his body and release even more moisture and wetting his clothes to an uncomfortable level.

He just wanted Markus.

It was hours later when the sun was high up in the sky that he heard footsteps approaching, and he had to cover his ears once more because he had been with nothing but his own breaths for so long that anything more than that set him on edge. He did risk a peek at the person and realised that it was Josh, who knelt down next to him and blocked most of his vision with his body. ‘Markus told me you’re here,’ he explained, the volume of his muffled voice just right. ‘I’ll take you back to my place. Then we’ll see what we can do, okay?’

Anywhere that was neither the lighthouse nor here sounded good enough to Simon right now, so he nodded and attempted to pick himself up once more, managing to sit up but not stand on his feet because the burn in his muscles was too much to bear. Josh offered his hand for him to grab as support, but when Simon reached out to grab it, his friend surprised him by taking his wrist and pulling him up almost painfully in a way that reminded him of North. When he swayed, Josh didn’t even ask before taking one of Simon’s arms and draping it on his shoulders and then dragging him towards the car he didn’t even realise was there. How did he miss an entire car engine?

Josh helped him fasten his seatbelt before going to the other side of the car to climb in. North was, once more, their designated driver, and their gazes only met once in the rearview mirror before Simon averted his eyes and she made the car go. How Markus contacted them or how they managed to arrive in such a short time, Simon had no idea, but all he knew as the air-conditioning started drying his sweat and his wounds from tripping and falling started to sting. North might as well have run him over with her car and he probably wouldn’t know the difference.

The drive to Josh’s house was short, a fact that Simon was grateful for because of how much his wounds were suddenly hurting. When they arrived, he let Josh lead him into the house, sat down on the too-soft sofa when he instructed him to, mentally prepared himself for the sting of Rivanol after Josh warned him about how he was going to treat his wounds, and all the warning he got was North holding him in place before a cotton ball soaked in yellow fluid was swapped against the scrapes on his arms.

If his voice worked, he would’ve screamed.

But it didn’t, and all he could do was sit there trying not to pull his muscles all over again by hissing and breathing through the gaps of his clenched teeth as one of his best friends hold him down and the other quickly sanitised all open wounds on his body by lighting fires on top of it. His muscles flexed and spasmed, beads of sweat broke out on his already soaked body, and there was nothing he could do when Josh accidentally dragged the material of the dressing against one of the scrape wounds on his arm against broken skin, tugging layers of tissue towards a direction it shouldn’t go. Suddenly he was back on the street again, his legs paralysed and too weak to support himself, he could taste the salt of his own sweat, he could swear the sunlight was going to burn him, his skin was boiling, sweat and blood and other fluids were leaking out of his body, he needed to get out and run and run until he was one with the ocean and maybe then he could be -

‘Look, Simon.’

North’s voice, one that she usually reserved for situations where they had to abandon everything and run, cut through his mind, and so he looked, he heard the sound of running water, and it didn’t take long for him to notice the clear stream of running water moving across the floor towards where they all were and crawling up the sofa in a defiance against gravity, the second time that he saw Markus in such state. This time, the sea showed up and solidified next to him and immediately pulled Simon against his side, the weight of his arm across his shoulders and the warmth his body radiated equally comforting. Markus said something but he didn’t catch it, but it was also fine because Markus’ hand on his face helped numb his senses, and the next thing he knew was Josh pulling away and setting the first-aid kit to one side. ‘Go take a shower,’ North said before taking the kit away. ‘I’m sure Josh can lend you something.’

‘The dressings are waterproof,’ Josh explained. It got harder to hear his voice when he walked to the other side of the living room, but somehow Simon managed to catch everything instead of drifting away. ‘Just make sure that the adhesive doesn’t fully peel back and the wounds should be protected well. I’ll get you some clothes; do you want long sleeves or short sleeves?’

Just as Simon wondered how he could request for a dictionary, a small one was gently placed on his lap, and unfamiliarity meant that it took him longer than usual to find the word he needed. [short]

‘I’ll put them in the bathroom. Hope you don’t mind they’re a bit big.’

Simon looked at the clothes he was wearing. His shirt used to belong to his father who was both stronger and broader than Simon himself would ever be, his mother had to add an elastic around the waistband of his trousers so that it could stay on without a belt because he was too clumsy to use one, and he constantly had to wear two pairs of socks so that his shoes fit and the hard material didn’t scrape his skin. [use - to - it]

He wasn’t sure if all the flipping and scanning even paid off because his friend was already moving on to his next task, and the thought that he was once more left alone simply for being slower to communicate his thoughts - not letting that chain of thought continue. Seeing nowhere to return the dictionary to, he placed it on top of one of the many piles of books on the coffee table and hoped that Josh didn’t mind in case he screwed up the arrangement, but from the layer of dust on the once-topmost book, its owner probably hadn’t touched it in quite a while, so Josh probably wouldn't care that much - if he remembered the pile existed at all.

Come on, Simon, let’s get to the bathroom to clean you up.

The stairs in Josh’s house were hard to climb because of the big steps. With every single movement came a sharp wave of pain from the dressing brushing against his scrapes, and by the time he reached the upper floor, it felt like he had been running all over again, his body aching in places he never knew could hurt or exhaust and making him even more drained than before. Markus’ presence behind him probably saved him from falling backwards and hitting his head against the corner of a step multiple times, but it didn’t prevent his legs from seizing up from a cramp, didn’t help him prepare for the slight moment of panic he felt before he met the floor painfully, didn’t remind him to breathe as the air was knocked out of his lungs. The floor was hard but cool and smooth. He might lie there for a moment so that he can rest -

He was rolled over before an arm slid underneath his back and another his knees, and suddenly he was in the air, a bounce and suddenly his head rolled uncontrollably against Markus’ chest, and in Simon’s head was the sea’s voice, Let me help you. It’s been a restless two days.

Simon realised that any other person would’ve been at least somewhat embarrassed had the circumstances been the same, but as Markus carried him to the bathroom, as he was gently placed on the countertop between the sink and the pile of clothes Josh no doubt prepared, as he watched Markus fumble with the taps next to the bathtub, he felt oddly numb apart from the usual anticipation and sense of safety the sea brought to him. Like he was underwater riding the waves while being half-asleep and his entire vision was tinted a deep, deep blue. He heard neither the sound of water hitting the smooth surface of the bathtub nor the telltale murmur of running water, but when Markus filled his line of sight with his body by standing so, so close again, Simon looked up and saw that the tub was nearly full.

I hope the temperature is appropriate, the sea said. Do you want me to stay or leave? I know people on the surface tend to bathe alone.

You may stay, Simon replied. I don’t mind. It’s up to you.

His hands reached for the hem of his shirt so that he could take it off - one of the rare complex actions he could do on his own after years of practice and embarrassment - but one thing he failed to account for was that he had run across town not a few hours ago and had tripped countless times before lying for hours on melting soil, and the smell of his own sweat, the stickiness of the mud sticking onto his clothes and parts of his body, the bruises and muscle cramps making themselves known when he tried to raise his arms - his mouth fell open in a silent scream while his body stayed frozen despite his pounding heart and his racing breaths. He couldn’t finish the motion.

He was stuck.

His shirt was tugged away by a pair of hands that didn’t belong to him, returning both his vision and mobility, and he held his breath as Markus casually dropped his shirt onto the floor with his green eyes fixated on somewhere below his face as if he was taking in every bruise, every small scar he left on himself when he picked on the thin, tiny hair that was the only thing his body seemed to be able to grow, every single cell that made him who he was. Slowly, Markus reached for him, touched him first with the pads of his fingers, then with his entire hand, then sliding said hand across his body, slowing down on dressing-covered flesh, smoothing down his arm, then holding Simon’s slender wrist, his bony hand, and he couldn’t help but notice how dark Markus’ skin was compared to his own, how strong and shapely his hand was, how he could feel the sheer power humming underneath Markus’ skin as if asking for permission to… enter him.

And the thought that he wouldn’t mind was equally terrifying and exciting.

What do you want to do? Simon asked. Had they been alone, he would’ve let Markus have his way, but unfortunately they were still in Josh’s house at the moment.

I can heal your wounds in a blink of an eye, Markus made it sound like something normal that he did on a daily basis, but I’ll need your permission. It might feel strange for you.

Being pain-free did sound nice, but Simon dared not think of how his friends would react if they realised his wounds were gone. They had enough speculations and suspicion about Markus that neither of them was in the position to answer, and to think that on top of turning into a gravity-defying puddle and controlling the ocean, he could heal whatever aches and pains Simon had in his body… the questions would be endless. Not this time. Josh and North will notice and they’ll ask questions.

Doesn’t mean that we need to answer them.

I don’t even want to hear them.

Fair enough. May I help you undress, then?

Simon gave Markus a nod, and the sea knelt to take off his socks before beckoning him to slide down the counter so that he could remove his torn trousers next. What Simon didn’t expect, however, was his underwear being removed at the same time, and in one smooth motion he was completely bare, but instead of feeling exposed like when he was with… anyone else, for that matter, he felt… relieved. As if the final barrier he constructed between the ocean and himself finally crumbled and collapsed, all with a pull of fabric. He found Markus staring again, except this time Simon was the one overlooking and Markus the one below him, and it was neither awkward nor unnatural even though his experience had been the opposite, the sea as destined to look after him as he was destined to be drawn to the depths of the ocean. The idea of letting the sea take him came unprompted, and Markus stood up in a sudden, abrupt movement that startled Simon. Evidently their bond ran deeper and less controllable than he had thought. More unexpectedly, the sea took his cheeks and yanked him in for a kiss rougher than any one they had shared up to that point, one of Markus’ thumbs pressing down on his chin in a wordless command to open his mouth which he complied, welcoming the sea’s mouth to devour his own, submitting to the ocean’s manipulation when strong fingers angle his head to gain better access to his lips, his tongue. A heat so foreign to him that it quickly became terrifying pooled in his guts, and as if sensing Simon’s discomfort and fear, Markus finally pulled away but stayed close enough to press their foreheads together, their breaths mingling and their hearts roaring in sync. Then they kissed again, this time no more than a light peck of their lips - an apology from Markus.

I lost control, he said. I should’ve slowed down. I’m sorry.

You did, answered Simon, and even he himself wasn’t sure if it was referring to the first or second statement. I… liked it.

I scared you.

I scared myself.

Markus sighed and took both of Simon’s hands in his. Let’s get into the bath.

He obeyed the request and stepped into the warm water with a hand on the edge of the tub and the other holding onto Markus’ wrist, his subsequent exhale draining the remaining strength out of him, and his back hit the slanted side of the tub with a dull thud and a splash of water. His arms drifted beneath the surface in an odd show of buoyancy, his legs started floating upwards if he didn’t use some of his strength to ground himself - which he eventually got over by spreading his legs and sticking them against the sides of the tub - and he discovered soon enough that he couldn’t stop moving because everything felt so strange when the water wasn’t flowing.

He was used to the vastness of the ocean. He was used to the waves either carrying him to his home or gently cradling him as he floated on the surface with Markus as they both gazed at the stars. He was not used to still water and the noises he made echoing in the confined space of a bathroom.

Close your eyes, Markus distracted him with a kiss on his cheek. Imagine yourself sitting in the tide under the sun with my protection. I’ll wash you if you allow me to.

Simon did as he said. Please.

He let his mind drift as he relaxed into the bath while Markus… did his thing. He was aware of a soft sponge being carefully pushed between his fingers, then along his body, then his toes, the smoothness that followed indicating that Markus was using some sort of soap that somehow managed to not irritate Simon’s fragile skin. It was more solid and stern than Simon would’ve treated himself, but because it was Markus, he was relaxing nonetheless, and somehow he found himself leaning into the ocean’s touch as Markus washed his hair and kneaded his scalp with just enough pressure to make it therapeutic instead of painful.

We should do this more often, Markus said as he washed away the bubbles in Simon’s hair. As the water automatically avoided his eyes, Simon risked opening them and discovered that the water in the tub was still as clear as when it was first prepared. It is… more relaxing than I expected.

You’re doing most of the work.

Indeed I am.

This isn’t cumbersome?

Not when it’s you I’m serving. Come on, we’re finished here.

This was the first time Simon emerged from a bath completely dry immediately, saving him the trouble of dragging a towel across his skin and making himself all sweaty and annoyed, and it didn’t take long for him to get dressed despite the dull throbbing of his muscles and wounds thanks to Markus’ help, but he insisted to walk down the stairs himself even though he had to keep a vice-like grip on the sea’s arm because of course a staircase narrow as this didn’t have any railings. He made a beeline to the sofa and sank into its corner right before his legs gave out, and Markus joined him immediately afterwards and placed his arms around his shoulders. Drifting together at last, as things should be. Distantly, he heard Markus talking to someone with his physical voice, but it was all muffled and illegible to his exhausted mind, and it wasn’t until the ocean’s voice echoed in his mind that he woke up from the light doze he had fallen into.

I presume that you heard nothing.

And you are correct.

The arm around his shoulders tightened as Markus buried his nose into Simon’s hair. Are you up to going back to school?

Why?

They want your input in deciding your future education.

Simon was confused. They never listened to me before.

He could hear a smirk in Markus’ voice. They will now. Don’t worry, I’ll always be on your side.

#simarkus #dbh markus #dbh simon #dbh north #dbh josh #dbh #detroit become human #detroit: become human

[justablobfish]

An unusual snowman

Day 12 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

No witchers were harmed in the making of this fic. Everyone’s fine! :3

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

______

This is bad. Very bad. They should never have stopped in this goddamn village. 

When they arrived, it was the middle of the night and - with everyone and their grandmother trying to sell Ciri out to Nilfgaard - they decided to get a room at the inn and smuggle the princess in through the back door unseen. 

Which turned out to be a mistake. Because that way no one could tell them. 

The next morning they woke up and Ciri had vanished without a trace.

When they asked around the village they soon found out that she hadn't been the first child to disappear. A few weeks ago children suddenly started disappearing overnight. No one had seen where they had gone to; no amount of locked doors and safety measures could keep them from being taken. 

Jaskier paces up and down in their room, uncertain what to do. 

It's been three days since Geralt set out to find the missing kids, since Geralt ordered him to stay here in case Ciri comes back. 

When Geralt took off, he only said he'd be back 'soon', unspecific and unhelpful as ever. Surely three days were no longer encompassed by the term 'soon'. Something must have gone wrong. 

And the more time passes, the less likely it becomes that Ciri and the other children will return unharmed. 

Jaskier stops in his tracks and gives a short, determined nod. There's only one thing to do. He has to go after them as well! 

While the children have disappeared without leaving any kind of clue to mortal humans, Geralt must have found some sort of trace, because once Jaskier reaches the edge of the village he can see a clear and straight trail of Geralt's footprints leading into the nearby woods. 

"Dark, gloomy forest. Always a good sign!" Jaskier tries to encourage himself and sets out to get his little family back from the clutches of whatever monster stole them. 

The tracks lead deep into the forest. While at first there are some felled trees, bird houses or the occasional discarded apple core, eventually the signs of nearby civilization become rarer and then disappear altogether. And still Geralt's tracks lead further. 

Jaskier soon falls into a sort of trance, placing one step in front of the other and with his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. 

He almost doesn't notice when Geralt's trail ends. 

Jaskier blinks and Geralt's heavy boot prints are gone, replaced by a variety of far smaller imprints, that criss-cross all over the place. Surprised, he looks up. 

The first thing he registers is a small, crooked hut several feet away. The way it's decorated with pieces of candy and pastry (most of it clearly chewed on) practically screams evil magic trap. 

In front of the hut stands Geralt. 

Actually, no, at more than a glance it turns out it's not Geralt. It has Geralt's pauldrons and it holds Geralt's swords but other than that, it's a snowman. 

Dread spreads in Jaskier’s guts and he quickly jogs around the figure to get a closer look. On the other side, yellow eyes and furrowed eyebrows glare back at him. 

Except the yellow eyes are slices of carrots and the eyebrows are made of twigs. 

"Oh Geralt! What did they do to you?" Jaskier gasps. His knees suddenly feel very weak and he begins to think that following Geralt all by himself might not have been the smartest idea. 

The child of legend, whisked away right from under the nose of a Witcher, said Witcher turned into a snowman and only a humble bard left to save the day. What chance does he stand? What was he thinking? 

Then again, maybe there's something he can do. It always works in the old stories told to children and the weird hut with its candy decor definitely gives off the same kind of vibe as those tales. 

"Here goes nothing," Jaskier mumbles and places his lips on the snowman's mouth. Or, well, on the coals arranged in a frown on the snowman's face. 

And then he waits. 

For a moment. 

For a minute. 

For ten. 

Nothing happens. Seems true love's kiss only works in the stories, after all. 

Which begs the question of what he's supposed to do now. 

What chance does he stand where even a Witcher failed? And yet, what choice does he have? Whoever did this has taken his daughter, his family. He can't exactly just walk away. 

He'd never be able to look Yennefer in the eyes again. 

Hell, he'd never be able to look himself in the eyes again. And he so loves mirrors! 

So Jaskier reaches forward and grabs the steel sword from where it's sticking out of the large ball that makes up the snowman's torso. 

As his fingers close around the grip of the sword his hand brushes against the snow. 

And like a - well, like a snowman left in the sun for too long - it crumbles. 

"No, no, no!" Jaskier screams. "Stop! Don't do that! Please!" 

Before his eyes, the snowman that is his lover falls apart. He can only watch helplessly as the fractured part falls in on itself and slips off the bottom part. The head rolls to the side in an almost human-looking manner, until it falls to the ground as well. Before his eyes, Geralt turns into nothing but a pile of snow. 

The fact that his kiss didn't work he could live with but this? Even if there was a way to undo the spell that turned Geralt into a child's plaything, there's no coming back from this. Geralt is gone, his body destroyed. Jaskier’s best friend, the love of his life, has died. 

"I'm so sorry, Geralt," Jaskier whispers as he sinks to his knees. A dislodged slice of carrot glares at him accusingly. 

Jaskier absentmindedly places the sword he acquired at such a high cost on the ground beside him and wraps his arms around himself. 

"I shall write you the most glorious ballad ever written," he mumbles. "The whole Continent will know of your bravery." 

The words sound hollow, even to his own ears. A song won't bring Geralt back. What he really wants to do is curl up on the snow-covered ground and never get up again. 

But he can't do that. There's still Ciri. And he will get his daughter back, if it's the last thing he does. 

So Jaskier slowly gets up, grabs the sword again and turns towards the hut. The fear that had settled into his bones earlier at the idea that even Geralt couldn't best this sorcerer is gone. Now there's only fury and rage burning inside of him. This villainous toad-spotted miscreant of a mage has taken his family from him. They're going to pay! 

He opens the door and steps inside. 

The hut is bigger on the inside. Of course it is. Jaskier doesn't know why he expected anything different. The foyer itself is wide enough that the hut's exterior would fit into it twice. 

He also shouldn't be so surprised that the inside of the hut is entirely made of ice. Everything from the floor to the windowless walls to the twin set of stairs leading up to a second floor, which the hut definitely wasn't high enough for, looking at it from the outside. The mage is really going heavy on the whole fairy-tale villain aesthetic. 

Flickering candlelight from the huge chandelier overhead reflects off of every surface and makes the whole room seem to move and shift constantly. Jaskier starts feeling nauseous. 

It's hard to tell how many doors there are and which ones are only reflections, so he simply walks towards the large double door underneath the stairwells and heads through it. 

Unlike what he expected, the ice isn't cold to the touch and feels more like normal wood under his fingers. Maybe the ice is just an illusion. 

The room he finds himself in next is an even larger hall, equally made of ice and very clearly once intended as a ballroom. Various sconces illuminate an intricate pattern carved into the wide floor, while once colorful paintings of fancily dressed dancers on the walls are glossed over with the ever-present ice. 

Now, the room seems to serve a different purpose though. The floor is littered with various toys, dolls and plush animals. Chalk drawings cover not only several stacks of paper, but also the long banquet table at the far end of the room. It appears Jaskier is getting closer to the mystery of the missing children. They must have been playing here recently. 

While Jaskier looks around and tries to find any proof that Ciri was here as well, a side door opens and a curious voice asks "Hello?" His presence has been noticed, then. 

He turns around slowly, sword at the ready. 

In the door stands Ciri. 

"Jaskier!" she yells, relief and happiness swinging in her voice. Then she takes off running in his direction, followed by a group of other children. 

Ciri throws herself into his arms and clings to him like a curious kid's tongue to an icicle. Not that Jaskier has any experience with that particular situation. 

"I tried to get back to you but every time I tried to run away I always just ended up in front of the hut again," she whimpers. "It's enchanted or something!" 

"Well isn't that just adorable," comes a sneering voice from the other end of the room, where an elegantly dressed woman has appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Her flawless skin and almost unnaturally symmetrical face mark her as a mage from Aretuza. 

Jaskier wraps his free hand around Ciri and pushes her behind him, while eyeing the sorceress warily. 

Ciri pays him little mind and steps back to his side. 

"Look, Gretel, you got it all wrong!" she tells the woman. "Parents do care about their children. This proves it." 

 "Nonsense!" the sorceress huffs. "My parents abandoned me as soon as money got a little tight. If Aretuza hadn't taken me in, I would have ended up just like my brother and died a horrible death at the hands of the awful witch that built this house!" 

"Then why is Jaskier here, risking his life to get me back?" Ciri counters "And Geralt, too?" 

"That proves nothing!" the mage all but shrieks. "The Witcher came to do his job. He came for the money he was promised. And this one? I bet he doesn't even know you well enough to keep you apart from the other children!" 

With that she raises her hands menacingly and suddenly, instead of Ciri and a dozen or so other kids, Jaskier is surrounded by several perfect copies of the Cintran princess. 

It's his worst nightmare. As if one Child Surprise wasn't already more than enough to handle. 

The Ciris stare at each other in surprise for a moment, before one of them breaks the silence by yelling "I'm the real one!" 

A split-second later Jaskier is surrounded by the gaggle of Ciris, yelling and giggling and trying to convince him that they're the right Ciri. It all seems to be a funny game to them. Jaskier’s head starts to spin from trying to get a good look at even one of them. 

"Stop!" he screams at the top of his lungs. "How am I supposed to pick someone if you keep running around me?" 

The children come to a halt and arrange themselves in a loose circle around him, quiet except for the occasional giggle still breaking through. 

However, only one of them rolls her eyes at Jaskier’s demanding tone. 

Jaskier places his hand on top of the real Ciri's head and glares at the sorceress. 

"See? I told you he couldn't do it! Parents are useless!" she gloats and waves her hand dismissively. The Ciris turn back into the children they were before. 

Only the one Jaskier chose remains the same. 

"Impossible!" Gretel shouts as the smug grin falls from her face. "But that doesn't prove anything! We need another test! How about-" 

With few short strides Jaskier crosses the room, grabs the sorceress by the front of her dress and shoves her against the wall. 

"Enough," he presses out between clenched teeth as he places the sword across her bare throat. "I am done with your games! Undo the spell that keeps the children trapped!" 

"Cute," the witch muses without any sign of fear or worry. "But you do know that I can turn you into a pile of dust with a snap of my fingers, right?" 

"Do I look like I give a damn?" Jaskier growls. "You took my daughter away from me! I don't care what you do to me, I will tear you to pieces if you don't let her go!" 

"Hmm," she replies solemnly. "Interesting. Perhaps I was mistaken in my judgment. There do seem to be some parents who love and protect their children." 

Before Jaskier can further comment on that, the witch is gone. Vanished into thin air, just like how she appeared. He stares at his empty hand in surprise, where he had clutched the fabric of her dress a moment ago. 

There goes his chance to avenge Geralt. The fury that was gnawing at his guts starts to settle. Jaskier holds onto it desperately. He knows that once the anger is gone, only grief will remain. 

At least Ciri is unharmed. Jaskier turns around slowly and faces the group of children, who stare back at him expectantly. 

"She wasn't malicious, you know?" Ciri explains. "Just misguided and lonely. Although she did curse Geralt with a spell that turned him into an inanimate object." 

"I know," Jaskier whispers, barely audible with the lump that has formed in his throat. How can he possibly tell Ciri what happened to Geralt? That her guardian is gone and won't come back? She's lost so many people already in her short life. 

"He's in the room over there," Ciri adds chipperly and takes off. 

"... wait, what?" Jaskier stutters as he scrambles after her, followed by the rest of the children who chatter with one another excitedly. 

Ciri leads him to an adjacent room. It's not nearly as big as the ballroom, but still large enough that it couldn't possibly fit into the little hut he saw from the outside. An enormous feather bed occupies most of the opposite wall, big enough for at least three or four grown people to sleep on, or a dozen or so kidnapped children. 

The rest of the room is taken up by various shelf boards mounted to the walls, filled with dozens upon dozens of porcelain dolls. Their empty eyes seem to stare at him as Ciri leads him further into the room 

"Over there," Ciri declares and points at one particular doll. It doesn't look much different from the other ones, safe for its face. Its mouth is sculpted in the shape of a frown instead of the cheerful smiles of the other ones and its yellow eyes, despite being made of lifeless glass beads, seem to glare back at Jaskier angrily. 

"That's… That's Geralt?" Jaskier asks carefully, not quite ready to allow himself to hope. 

"Of course," Ciri chides. "Who else would it be? Look at the face! I tried to sneak around Gretel's laboratory and look for a way to turn him back, but I couldn't find anything."

"We had lots of fun playing with him while Ciri was away!" a little boy announces happily. Some other children giggle affirmatively. 

"Anyway," Ciri sighs as she gently pats the boy's head and ruffles his hair. She seems to be the oldest kid around. The others appear to be looking up to her. 

"I'm sure if you just kiss him that'll break the spell!" Ciri continues. "And then we can finally get out of here and return these little monsters to their parents." 

"So uhm…," Jaskier mumbles. "Entirely unrelated, totally random and unimportant question, but, uh, what's with that snowman outside the door?" 

"The children built it earlier today," Ciri shrugs. "I told them not to use Geralt's armor, that he'd want it back once he gets uncursed, but I don't think they listened. Why are you asking?"

"No reason!" Jaskier huffs and quickly grabs the doll before Ciri can notice how he's turning bright red. 

She narrows her eyes at him, but he turns his back to her and presses a kiss to the doll's…well, face. It's not exactly big enough for more precision. 

A bright light emits from it and Jaskier has to close his eyes firmly. 

Suddenly, his hands are no longer holding on to the doll but instead are wrapped around a very firm and familiar waist. 

The light slowly dims and flickers out. Jaskier opens his eyes carefully. In front of him stands Geralt of Rivia, unharmed and scowling even more than usual. 

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, my fair lady," Jaskier teases. 

"What?" Geralt grumbles and looks down at himself, taking in the bright pink dress made up of an abundance of ruffles, as well as the intricately woven braid that rests on his shoulder. 

"The fuck?" he concludes. "When the witch cursed me my clothes stayed the same size. Why did the dress grow with me then?" 

"Well, there are children around," Ciri huffs with an annoyed click of her tongue. "Now can we finally get out of here?" 

"I need some pants," Geralt growls. "This is far too impractical. I can't fight the witch like that." 

"Well, the witch is gone," Jaskier shrugs. "And I don't think she'll be coming back." 

"Then what about the enchantment that kept the kids trapped here?" Geralt huffs. 

"Lifted," Ciri explains. "At least she said she would." 

"Oh," Geralt remarks. "Any… other monsters in the area? Some rabid dogs? Anything else?" 

"No, dear," Jaskier answers. "I think all the work is already taken care of. You can relax for once." 

"Riiiight," Geralt mumbles slowly. Then he nods to himself. "Then I guess I'll just keep wearing this for now." 

"Absolutely, love!" Jaskier encourages. "It suits you tremendously." 

"Gross," Ciri comments as Jaskier leans in for a proper kiss with his rescued lover. "Now can we please get out of here, already?" 

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #ciri #theblobfishwrites

[dontshootmespence]

Random Chance

Summary: Y/N yields to peer pressure and Spencer loses a bet. Did fate bring them together or was it random chance?

Words: 1,689

Warnings: Gross fluff.

A/N: My next entry for @cmbingo​ 2020! This fulfills my meet cute square.

This was the fifth outfit change.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” You screamed, glancing into the mirror before ripping off your shirt and pants for a sixth outfit. “Speed dating? Fuck my life. This is peer pressure. You suck.”

Under pressure, filled with nervous tension, you tended to run your mouth, and right now Piper was at the opposing end of your razor sharp sword. But she still had a smile on her face. “You need to get out there and you won’t do it yourself, so I had to push you,” she laughed, pushing passed the mountain of packed boxes and pulling one of your favorite dresses out of the closet. 

“A dress? Really? For speed dating?”

Dating sucked. It was the most horrible thing ever. All you wanted was to fall into the perfect relationship and then cuddle on the couch. Was that so much to ask? 

Piper laughed and stood behind you, holding the dress over your body. “Yes, it’s not an evening gown or anything. And it’s you. Just because you’re going speed dating doesn’t mean the guys you meet shouldn’t see exactly who you are.”

As much of a pain in the ass as she was, Piper was still your bestie, since you were in diapers. And she wanted the best for you. She’d pulled out your Harry Potter dress, the one with the first chapter’s words written all over. “Pair that with your cute red flats and the guys will be falling over themselves to get to you and the ones that don’t are stupid.”

You snorted and stepped into the flats, taking yet another glance into the dreaded mirror. “You know you couldn’t have picked a worse time for me to go speed dating,” you said, finally content with your outfit. Within the week, you’d be moving and starting a new job at the local community college. “Next week, dude.”

“Life’s too short to wait,” she said, playfully smacking your butt. “Plus, at least it’s at that kitschy bookstore you love. Now go take a nice relaxing walk and breathe. You’ll be fine. I gotta go to work.”

“Text me when you get there so I know you’re safe,” you call, hearing the thud of the heavy apartment door close behind her.

After grabbing your red sweater, you headed down the stairs, locking the door behind you. The bookstore was only a few blocks away and it was a beautiful day out, so you decided to take advantage of the sunny weather.

A breeze brushes through your hair as you walk and the sun beats down on your skin. There are a few other people around, but mostly people are at work. You would be too if it weren’t for the whole “new job, new place, new life” kick you were on. Decided to take a few weeks off before starting your new job. 

The entrance to the Old Fox bookstore was as obnoxious as could be, at least when compared to the rest of the stores on the block. The door was painted a bright red, but it was somewhat worn by age. The store opened up during the 60s and it was still just as popular today.

Like the three bears, the store wasn’t a giant chain or a teeny tiny hole in the wall, it was just right. The walls were a muted turquoise, which you’d alway loved. Everyone seemed to think that neutral was the way to go but you’d always been a fan of in your face color - at least after your goth teen years. 

Noise filled the air - not normal for this place - it was always on quiet side, but given the event you weren’t surprised. Seemed to be an equal amount of men and women, which made you feel a little better, not wanting to be outnumbered.

Since there was still a little time to waste before everything started, you figured there wasn’t any harm in looking for another book or two...or five. One of the first things you planned to put up in your new apartment was this scratch-off list, kind of like a lottery ticket, the listed nearly 200 classics. You'd read a lot of them before, but there were still some that you hadn’t, so maybe you could find one and pick it up before the nausea-inducing speed dating began. 

After reading Good Omens, you’d been hankering for another Neil Gaiman book, so you slithered between the masses in the store toward the section in question. American Gods, Anansi Boys, Eternity’s Wheel, you weren’t sure which one to pick. 

All - all was a good choice, right?

The colorful spines of the books called out to you, another one of Gaiman’s works. Your hand crawled along the edges of the nearby books, your hand just brushing up against someone else’s as you reached for The Graveyard Book. “Oh, sorry,” you said, staring up into the face of a beautiful stranger. He was thin and tall with delicate features, but he had a sharp jaw and deep set hazel eyes that were complemented by wavy brown hair. “I’m apparently on a Gaiman binge. Have you read any of his stuff before?”

“Yea,” he replied, eyeing the stack of books already in your hand. “American Gods, Good Omens and Eternity’s Wheel. I tend to read textbooks most of the time, but I’ve been told I should delve into more fun reading, so-”

He cut himself off and took the book off the shelf, offering it to you. “You saw it first.” Aw, gallant, too. “I’m Spencer by the way.”

“Y/N,” you said, extending your hand. “What brings you here? You live around here?”

Spencer glanced toward the tables set up for speed dating. “No, actually I lost a bet to two friends of mine and if I lost I had to go speed dating. Can’t say I’m all that comfortable with it.”

“Me either,” you laughed. “My friend Piper peer pressured me into it. I don’t drink but somehow she got me to agree to this.”

The owner of the store gave a five minute warning that speed dating was about to start. “So how long will it take you to read those?” He shifted on the balls of his feet, probably nervous, which you understood. 

“Well, I have a few weeks off while I move apartments and start a new job, so these...probably four, five days.” You laughed, feeling every inch the nerd you were. “Been an avid reader since I was a kid. Why do you read textbooks though? Fiction is so much more fun.”

“I can read 20,000 words per minute and I’m always trying to absorb as much knowledge as I can. Helps with the work I do.”

“Which is?” He was cute and intriguing.

“I’m an FBI profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico.”

And smart. Shit. There had to be something wrong with him. Dream guys like this didn’t grow on trees. “Impressive, Spencer. What’s your background in?”

He looked down at the ground, almost like he was embarrassed, speaking softly. “I have BAs in psychology, sociology and philosophy, as well as PhDs in mathematics, chemistry and engineering.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed. Really smart. Like stupid smart. “That’s amazing.”

“Really?”

“Of course!” How could that not be amazing? “Why?”

“It’s just that people normally think I’m a freak for having so many.” 

You wanted to punch whoever made him feel that way. “Definitely not a freak, just insanely impressive considering you’re so young.” He couldn’t have been much older than you. Maybe five years at the most.

“I started college when I was 12.”

As the owner called out to start the most awkward dating experience known to man, you turned to Spencer. “Hey, would you maybe want to get out of here? Go grab a cup of coffee? I mean, we both had friends insist we come here, but we never said we actually had to go through with it.”

Tension fell from his shoulders, like he could finally be at ease. “I’d like that. I’m really not good at this whole date thing,” he said nervously. “Just a heads up.”

Both of you shuffled over to the register, so you could pay for your books. “Neither am I, don’t worry. I’d prefer to just magically be in a relationship and not have to work for it, you know?”

“Absolutely, so Y/N, what do you do for a living? What’s the new job?”

Now it was your turn to be embarrassed, well not embarrassed, intimidated. “It’s definitely not as fancy as FBI profiler. I have my master’s degree in English literature. I’m going for a PhD too, but to pay for the half of my doctorate that scholarship won’t, I’m teaching. First, it was an online course through a University in New Hampshire where I’d travel occasionally, even though I live her, but now I got a job at the local community college.”

“That’s awesome,” he said, seeming genuinely interested. “What’s the focus on your thesis?”

So few people asked you that. Most people’s eyes glazed over when you talked about books. Everyone except your mom. “Analyzing Othello through the lends of racism as it relates to the Elizabethan period.”

After handing the cashier your money, you and Spencer walked out together, talking about your favorite Shakespeare plays, when he bumped into someone. A muscular, equally tall black guy. “Hey, kid. Funny meeting you here. Aren’t you supposed to be fulfilling your end of the deal? You lose, you speed date?”

He was one of Spencer’s friends. That much was obvious. But Spencer looked 1001% done with his bullshit - whatever it was. “Y/N, this is my friend Derek Morgan. We work together at the FBI. Morgan, this is Y/N.”

“Well, hello, Y/N.” A charmer. 

“Good to meet you,” you replied on a laugh. “Technically, he didn’t go speed dating. Neither did I and I promised my friend Piper I would, but...he is leaving with a date.” You grabbed Spencer’s hand, a jolt of something awesome moving through you at his touch. “We’re going for a cup of coffee now actually.”

“Yea, so as you see, I’m the one busy with a woman right now.” Morgan seemed quite the ladies man and Spencer looked mighty proud of himself right now. “See you tomorrow at work?”

“See you tomorrow,” Morgan replied, a note of surprise in his voice. “Nice to meet you Y/N.”

“You too. I sense we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

When you both walked away, you pulled The Graveyard Book out of your bag and handed it to Spencer. “You read this first. I think this date might go pretty well, but if you have this, then you have to return it to me and I’m guaranteed to see you again.”

Spencer smiled, his fingers tightening around yours. “I’ll have to thank Morgan for being a pain in my ass.”

“So, you lost a bet?”

“Yea, he bet I couldn’t go a day without spouting statistics and I lost. I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Piper just peer pressured me. Guess I’ll have to thank her too.”

The strong, heady scent of coffee began to fill your nostrils as you approached the cafe. When he opened the door, he seemed to finally catch a glimpse of your dress. “Wait, is that the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone on your dress?”

“Yup. I’m a Slytherin by the way.”

“Oh, you definitely won’t need a guarantee to see me again, as long as you want to, I think I’m smitten.”

Piper was going to get a big hug later. Maybe dinner. And lots of wine.

#cmbingo #cmbingo2020 #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fluff #meet cute #dontshootmespence

[banditthewriter]

Get Out Alive - Billy Russo

Here we have the Halloween fic that I’ve been working on all month and then FORGOT TO POST! Like a dumbass. But anyways! Here we go.

Warning: Violence, stressful situations, more violence.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

*****

The envelope was golden, your name and addressed penned in an elegant script in black. It was mixed in with your water bill and a reminder of your yearly gyno appointment. Both of those were tossed onto the coffee table before you turned the golden envelope over.

A red wax seal held it shut. The insignia was a skull. You carefully pulled on the ribbon tab to open the envelope. Inside was a glossy black index card.

As you toed off your heels, you read over the invitation. 

Y/N Y/L/N, 

You are cordially invited to a dinner at the Wellman's Manor on All Hallow's Eve.

Following the dinner there will be a mystery guest and an announcement of great magnitude. Your presence has been requested. 

The invitation held no signature, just the address to the old Wellman's Manor, a note about it being a black tie affair, and the time you should arrive. You read it twice just in case you'd missed something. 

Jesus. This was almost too good to be true. You pulled your phone out of your purse and dialed your best friend as you headed down the hall and into your bedroom. 

"Hey Janine, do you remember me telling you that someone was refurbishing the old Wellman's Manor?"

"I love when you start halfway into a conversation," Janine grumbled, then laughed immediately afterward. "Of course, you could barely contain yourself and wondered if they were going to open up for tours."

"Well apparently they are opening up for something. I got an invitation to a dinner there. There's going to be a mystery guest and some big announcement."

Janine made the appropriate oohs and aahs as you told her about it, but you knew it was for your benefit. She didn't have your interest in the history of that house.

"It's on Halloween. Do you realize how creepy that is? Isn't this the 150th anniversary of the murders?"

It was, actually. And that was part of the draw, to be completely honest. Who didn't love a house with a murderous past? And the many tales of ghostly visions over the years.

"This is just the distraction I need right now," you said with a sigh as you settled onto the edge of your bed.

Work was a disaster, your family was driving your crazy, and your love life was a train wreck. The only thing you had was your cat and Janine.

"Just be careful Y/N," Janine warned from a distance, your mind already working on an outfit for the dinner, "I don't want you to get in over your head."

"Of course, definitely not."

------

The dress was stellar. It fit you just right, the lacy black material folded over the black satin to give waves and extra length. You tugged on a dressy overcoat and buckled into your shoes. 

Everything was perfect. Your hair was styled, your make up was subdued but looked good. You had painted your nails black with some silver glitter at the top. All in all, you looked like you were going to a very fancy funeral. 

You grabbed your clutch. The clock showed that it had just turned five thirty when there was a honk outside. 

Your ride was right on time.

The driver had opened the door to the backseat by time you got out there. You smiled and thanked him, but he didn't react.

Odd.

Whoever it was that put together the dinner had spared no expense. They had sent a car that had champagne in the back. You didn't touch it, wanting to be completely aware of every moment you were in the house.

It was about twenty minutes to the Manor, so you sat back and fiddled with your phone. Janine had asked you to stay in touch with her so you sent her a picture of you in the town car. 

You decided to do a little research into the company that held the lease on the property. You'd seen their name in the paper a few times when the sale first happened. Oddly enough you hadn't seen anything about it being open to the public, but maybe that's what this was about. 

You'd entered your name into a raffle to win a piece of the original furniture of the house. Maybe that was tied into this.

The company didn't have much to go on except that they restored historical landmarks to their formal glory. As you clicked to see a list of their previous work, your phone refused to load.

You knew you had unlimited data so it shouldn't be that. Instead of worrying about it, you put your phone into your clutch. 

Right on time too. As you did, the car went around a curve and the Wellman's Manor was visible. It was massive, three stories and an unknown number of rooms. It was a Gothic Victorian mansion rather than a Manor, but the Wellman family had another larger home in the south somewhere. 

Well they used to have one. This was the home where the entire family and their party guests were killed. It was a well known piece of history in these parts.

The driver stopped in front of the long set of stairs that led to the porch. He came around and opened the door for you, his hand gesturing up the stairs. 

As you started up them, the car pulled away. You wanted to ask him where you needed to go, but you figured someone else would be there. 

You went to the porch first, your eyes wide as you took it all in. It was beautiful. There were sculptures instead of columns.

At the door, you tried to large handle, but the door didn't budge. In the middle of either door was a dragon's head with a knocker in its mouth. You used that to knock on the door.

Moments later, the door opened up. A man bowed at you before he led you in.

He was also silent as he took your jacket and placed it in a coat room off the foyer. Then he led you into a sitting room where you saw a large group of people waiting.

And you recognized some of them. 

That was Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson. And was that… yeah, Frank Castle. There was a woman with him that had her back to you, so you weren't sure who it was.

In the corner was that PI, what was her name... Jessica Jones. She's wasn't wearing a dress, because that would have been terrifying. And she was still wearing a leather jacket. She was with a blonde woman you didn't recognize, but she was dressed in a red gown that made you envious of her body.

There were a few others people you didn't recognize, but you weren't the only one that came alone.

With nothing else to do, you moved over to Matt and Foggy. Foggy touched Matt's arm to let him know someone was coming up behind them. 

"Hey Y/N, welcome to the murder house," he greeted with a grin.

"This is amazing. I still can't believe I'm here. And you boys look dapper," you complimented after you shook both of their hands.

"Foggy keeps telling me my tie doesn't match my suit," Matt said with a smirk, his eyes unmoving behind his red tinted glasses. 

You rolled your eyes at Foggy's snickers.

"It's fine, but it's a little crooked. Here, can I?"

With Matt's nod, you reached up to fix the knot. While you worked on it, the door opened and let in another guest.

Hopefully you didn't tighten the tie too much in your shock. Here you were about to enjoy a wonderful meal for the first time in a long time and in walks the man that broke your heart. 

What was Billy Russo doing here?

His eyes scanned over the room. You weren't sure they rested on you for more than a second before he moved over to where Frank was standing with… that was journalist Karen Page.

Well okay then.

"Friend of yours?"

You lowered your hands and shot Foggy a reproachful look. He grinned and cleared his throat.

"Why don't you get her a drink instead of making fun of her?"

You squeezed Matt's arm in appreciation as Foggy walked away with a quick apologetic look. You tried not to look over to where Billy was, but you couldn't help it.

He looked… amazing. His hair was pushed back, his facial hair professionally trimmed. His tux was obviously tailored to him.

"It's the ex, isn't it? The one you told us about?"

Thankfully Foggy got there just at the right time to hand you a glass of wine. You took a long sip before you answered Matt's question. 

"Yes, that's the one," you offered faux jovially before you took another drink from your glass. "You guys mind if I stick with you tonight?"

"Do we mind a very attractive woman—you can't see her but she's really attractive—hanging out with us in a Gothic murder house? Hm, let me think."

Matt nudged his friend with a laugh. 

"You're welcome to stick with us. Wouldn't have it any other way."

You were grateful that at least someone in this group was someone you were friends with. You weren't sure you could handle it if Billy was here and you were alone. 

Especially when he looked that good.

As you started to wonder who else would be joining the group, a man came into the room wearing a black suit and black gloves. He wasn't dressed like the man who had let you in, so he must have worked for the company that bought the Manor. 

"Welcome, welcome to Wellman's Manor. If you all will follow me, we will have a quick tour before dinner."

A quick tour? You were excited thinking that meant you would see the whole Manor but you soon learned it just meant the first floor. And not even all of it, if you were remembering the layout correctly.

The group was led through the library and an office, plus a room that housed paintings and plants. The kitchen was visible from the hallway, but he didn't go that direction. 

The man, who still hadn't introduced himself, detailed the restoration process of the house. He ignored any questions about the house or who he was. His focus was solely on what he was saying. 

It almost sounded scripted. 

You led Matt around with your arm linked through his. You would whisper to him to describe what was being discussed and sometimes made off the cuff comments about your tour guide. More than one of them made him laugh. 

Near the back of the group was Billy, Frank, and Karen. You'd made eye contact with him once and had immediately turned away, whispering to Matt about something or other to distract yourself. 

You almost wished this night would go faster.

"Here we have the dining room. Please find the seat with your name."

It seemed that people who had come here together were separated. Foggy was next to a blond man whose fingers kept twitching and a black man with a frown. Matt was on an end with Jessica Jones beside him. She at least seemed to know Matt so you weren't worried about him being by myself.

Not that you were very worried about him anyways. 

Then you walked around until you found your name tag. As you pulled out your chair, you froze when you saw who was sitting down beside you. 

Billy. Shit. Could this night get any worse?

On your other side was the blond man with twitchy fingers. At least you were near Foggy.

On Billy's other side was the blonde who had come with Jessica. You realized it was Trish Walker, the radio personality. She was even more beautiful than her billboards. And the two of them side by side looked like a couple from a magazine. It was a little sickening honestly.

The man rang a bell at the front of the room and the doors that must have led to the kitchen opened up. One by one servers came into the room. They placed silver trays in front of each of you, uncovering them to show a side salad and soup. 

“Enjoy,” he said before he made his way out of the door you all had come in through.

It was quiet for a while before people finally started to eat. Then there was a slow rise in the noise level as people started talking to each other. 

Your eyes cut over to Billy, wondering if he was already talking to the beautiful and successful Trish Walker. Instead he was looking at you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said conversationally as he picked up his fork to start in on his salad.

“I could say the same,” you said as you looked back down to your own food. “I didn’t even know you knew anything about this house.”

You didn’t remind him that you talked about it all the time when the two of you’d been together. Instead you simply left it at that. Whatever Billy might have said in response was ignored in favor of the man at your other side who decided you were a better conversationalist than Foggy.

The man on your left was named Benjamin Poindexter—”Call me Dex,”—a former Army vet who had recently stepped down from the FBI. When you told him about your job, you kept it simple because you knew he’d know what it entailed.

“I work for the CSU in New York City.”

“No shit, really? We probably crossed paths at some point. Although,” he added with a grin in your direction, “I think I’d remember you.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you looked away for a moment. He was attractive, funny, and interested in you. Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a bad evening after all.

The rest of the courses were brought in one by one. Dessert was an array of different types of sweets, each one more decadent than the last. It was a meal fit for royalty. Or at the very least for famous people. Your hours usually meant you didn't have time to cook for yourself so it was nice to get something not out of a paper bag or a ziploc.

You continued talking to Dex for most of the meal. Both of you had similar stories and a similar sense of humor so it was an easy conversation. Not as easy was catching glimpses of Billy deep in conversation with Trish Walker. 

It shouldn't matter who he talked to. It had already been six months since the last time you'd seen him; you highly doubted he'd been a monk in that time frame. 

No, he was more than welcome to chat up the beautiful radio star. He could go home with her for all you cared.

Maybe you'd give Dex your number. Keeping in touch wouldn't be a bad idea.

Conversations around the table varied from different subjects. The most common was the news that a prisoner transfer bus with almost two dozen of the most violent offenders in the state had gone missing. 

No one believed it was an accident. You and Dex had some theories, but nothing would be able to be proven until the investigation continued. 

Once the plates had been cleared, one of the servers gestured to the large doors you all had entered through. Realizing this meant it was time to get up, you started to rise when your chair was pulled out for you. 

"Thank you," you told Dex, ignoring Billy's look as you stood up and turned towards your dinner companion. "Shall we?"

The whole group followed the server into what could only be referred to as a screening room. There was a large projector like screen on the wall as well as cabinets and shelves of movies and television shows.

You could live happily in that room.

Everyone either took seats around the room or stayed standing. You gravitated to Matt and Foggy, Dex not far behind. 

"Think this has something to do with the mystery guest and the announcement?"

You shrugged in response to Foggy's question. His guess was as good as yours. 

The lights went down in the room, causing all of you to look around for the source. But before anyone could pinpoint it, the projector screen came to life.

The man who had given a quick tour of the first floor was seen on the screen. He was dressed the same, but there was something in his eyes as he looked into the camera. It was like he could see you all. 

"I hope you enjoyed your meal. It was a perfect recreation of the last meal that was eaten in this house before the tragedy of that night, one hundred and fifty years ago." The man dusted off his coat and looked at the camera again. "You were all asked here for a reason. You showed an interest in this house or the family who owned it. Some of the interest was professional, some personal, but it all meant the same thing. That the tragedy that fell upon this house all that time ago was a mockery. A tourist trap."

And unease settled among you and the other guests. This man seemed a little unhinged.

"It has been one hundred and fifty years to the day since the tragedy and I have taken it upon myself to get the revenge that we were sorely refused. Tonight, all of you are in danger."

That got everyone's attention. The raised voices were quieted by the man's next words. 

"If you survive the night, you will be released, but survival is not guaranteed. The servers in the kitchen are prisoners from some of the worst prisons in the state. You might have heard about an ill-fated transfer."

A hush fell over the room. All of you had just been talking about that. If it was true, there were some very horrible men in the house.

"Well then let's just leave," someone said, but the man on the screen turned towards the voice. 

As if he could hear and see you all. 

"The doors are high tech, locked. Not even the most powerful of you will be able to bust through them. And the windows are made of an unbreakable glass."

That meant you were all locked in the house? With murderers? Your mind started to work overdrive as someone else posed a question. 

"So what's stopping us from calling for help? Or from just barricading ourselves into this room until you release us?"

The man smiled, but there was something detached about the movement. Like he was anything but pleased.

"None of your phones will have service. As for why you wouldn't want to just stick together, well, obviously one of you is a murderer as well."

All of you looked around at the other guests, trying to gauge reactions to that. You had no idea who might be the murderer. Although you noticed most people looking at Frank Castle. 

"No, not Mr Castle, that's too obvious."

It was Karen Page who spoke up next.

"So there's a murderer in here. If they try anything, there's more of us. They wouldn't stand a chance."

She had a point. If you all could get to one room that was easily defended from the prisoners, then you could wait it out. He said that you'd all be released if you survived the night. That meant just a few hours until–

"Oh, one more thing. Hidden around the house, very well hidden, is a vial. One for each of you. In this vial is an antidote to the poison that was in your food. And depending on the person and how much you have eaten, you might not make it until sunrise."

The room exploded, everyone yelling over each other as they demanded an explanation from the man on the screen. Now his grin stretched over his lips as he stared down at the room, please by the reaction he was receiving. 

"Survive until sunrise and you will be released and given the antidote if you haven't already found one. Otherwise you can join the Wellman family and their guests in the afterlife."

The screen went dark, pitching the room into sudden blackness. Then the lights came on. 

Frank and Billy moved first, barricading the door that the group had walked through to begin with. The rest of the group realized what they were doing and followed suit, barricading the other two doors.

It left the group of you trapped and alone. And up against the clock. 

"What's the plan here? Stay locked up until we die from being poisoned? Hope that he keeps his word and let's us out in the morning?"

"We don't even know if we were really poisoned," Trish pointed out as she smoothed down her dress.

Matt turned to face you, moving his hand so that you stepped closer. He leaned in close and took a deep breath.

"There's something there," he said as he pulled away, turning to face the room, "I can smell the difference. At the very least, Y/N is poisoned."

The people in the room that were in the know of how Matt could tell all swore under their breaths. Slowly people approached Matt to be checked. And the people who were not in the know were told that he had a heightened sense of smell because he was blind.

Technically it wasn't a lie.

All of you were poisoned, just as he had said. And poisons reacted differently with some people. Not everyone would be able to hold off until the morning, just like the man had said.

"What if we throw it up?" That came from Dex who looked around the room before he met your eyes. "We could get most of it out of our system, right?"

"The poison coming back up after being exposed to our stomach acid could cause more harm than good, especially without knowing what it is."

Shit. The room was in an uproar again. It was a verbal sparring match between going to try to find a way out, trying to find the antidotes, and staying in the room. 

"Me, Bill, and Cage can go and try to find some of the vials. Rest of you stayed here and if someone tries to come in–"

Foggy was mumbling something about splitting up in horror movies, but it didn't last long. There was a loud crack that came from a door in the back of the room. Everyone turned in time for a second crack to resound from the back. 

Someone was using an ax to break the lock on the door. There was a table in front of it, but it looked flimsy. Apparently they weren't sure if they believed that they were in danger when they blocked that table. 

"Guess now we know it was true," Jessica grumbled before she grabbed a wooden chair. She shattered the thing over her knee and started distributing the legs and sides to be used as clubs. 

Cage, as in Luke Cage, did the same with another chair before he handed out some makeshift clubs. Frank grabbed two heavy golden candlestick holders, one for Karen and one for you.

"What good is this stuff against an ax?"

Frank didn't have time to answer. The back door came flying open and a man stalked through the length of the room. It was the one who had driven you to the house. He swung his ax at Dex who had surged forward, knocking the man off balance. Next was Frank and he caught the edge of the ax against his temple.

The man with the ax turned and caught a glimpse of you. He smiled and pointed the ax at you before he started your way. Matt was coming up behind you, Luke and someone else telling you to get back. 

You reacted on instinct. With as much strength as you could muster, you threw the candlestick holder at him. It bounced off his shoulder, slowing him down for a second as he winced. He was within feet of you as you tried to stumble backwards.

A dull thud echoed in the room before his body crumbled. Behind him was Billy, the leg of a chair held aloft like a baseball bat. There was even a little blood on the edge.

"Grab the ax," he told Frank in a low voice, "and find something for us to tie him up with. Unless you think we should just kill him."

Billy stepped almost as if he was going to help you up, but Foggy got there first.

"Jesus he was heading straight for you," Foggy breathed as he pulled you back some more.

"He was the guy that picked me up. That means he…" You hesitated, your eyes meeting Billy's. "He knows where I live."

If you all survived this and they weren't caught, he could come after you again. Billy merely looked at Frank who had just picked up the ax. Whatever silent communication passed between them, Frank shrugged his shoulder before he swung the ax down onto the man's neck. 

"Jesus Christ," Trish yelled from nearby, "want to warn us before you do that shit?"

A man that you didn't recognize and you hadn't heard speak finally stepped up, his hand on the woman beside him. They both look scared shitless.

"We aren't staying here," the man explained as he dragged his wife towards the door that led out into a hallway. "This is sick. And it's not going to happen, it's not... "

The two of them disappeared out of the room despite almost all of you yelling for them to come back.

"They don't have any goddamn weapons and this guy having an ax means that the prisoners are armed. Talk about a fair fight," Dex said as he hoisted his chair leg onto his shoulder.

"Yeah, but not a lot of good being armed did you," Billy shot back as he made a show of wiping the blood off his chair leg on the back of the dead man's jacket. "I say we relocate, make sure the room isn't able to be breached, and then we follow Frank's plan. Get a few vials and wait it out."

There was a pretty even divide over who thought that was a good plan and who thought it was a bad one. You just wanted to get away from the dead body. It was part of your job, but in those cases, it wasn't a body you had watched be killed. Or someone who had almost killed you. 

"Guys," Matt said in a careful voice, his face turning towards a wall, "there's gas being fed into this room. I can smell it. We need to get out of here."

That was a good enough reason for the rest of you. The group moved forward, with Frank and Billy in front and Dex and Luke at the back. Jessica was in the middle, her body poised for a fight. And Matt looked like he wished he was wearing his other suit. 

The group of you moved from the screening room and down the hall. The kitchen was locked up. Frank tried to use the ax but it didn't even dent the door. 

"Let's get settled somewhere first," Billy urged before the group started the move again. 

The next room was a small library. The bigger one was upstairs, you knew that. The first door was blocked off with a bookshelf, hoping it was heavy enough to keep the door shut. Then once the room was cleared, they shut the door you all had just walked through.

"We shouldn't split up," Karen said as she went around checking behind books, either for a weapon or maybe even a vial of the antidote. "We're more vulnerable in groups."

"Yeah but we can't move a group of ten of us around the house looking for vials, we'll be like fish in a barrel."

You moved over to one of the shelves, ignoring the fight behind you. Once again the room was divided on what to do next. Instead of focusing on that, you focused on what else it meant. 

Twelve people originally. Twelve people came to this house to enjoy themselves and have a dinner but then this? Now you were all in a fight for survival. The man and woman who left probably didn’t stand a chance against the prisoners. 

This house was three stories tall with an unknown number of rooms. The man that built it had built in secret passages and trap doors as well as false rooms. He wanted it to be a maze.

A hand touched your shoulder and you jerked, unaware that anyone had been behind you. Matt removed his hand and gave you a small smile. 

"I think the group is splitting up."

You looked around and sure enough, Jessica, Trish, and Luke were already gone. Dex too. Matt motioned to him and Foggy.

"We're gonna stick together. I'll hear if someone's coming."

You looked over to Billy, Frank, and Karen and bit your lip. 

"The six of us should stick together," you said as you stepped away from the bookshelf. "Foggy and I can't do much defending and Matt is just one person. There's still what, twenty-three more prisoners?"

Karen and Frank were already nodding, not needing you to try to prove that it was a good idea. Billy gave you a look that you couldn't quite decipher.

"Plus she knows the layout the best. Could come in handy," Billy explained with a quick nod. "We're gonna try to find a few vials, maybe some weapons. Then we can come back down here until sunrise."

It was the best plan. You wished you had paid attention to figure out why the others left.

You were a little disappointed that Dex was gone. 

You stuck close to Foggy and Matt, with Billy behind you. Karen and Frank were in front of you.

"Let's head up one floor," Frank said, eye contact with Billy to get the point across, "do some checks up there. Heads on a swivel right now."

Frank kept the ax close. Karen and Foggy had chair legs. Billy had a chair leg and a fireplace poker. When he noticed your attention, he handed the fireplace poker to you. 

"Try not to stab anyone unless it's a prisoner," he said before he gave you a push to follow the others. 

"I think we can agree to a truce for the night," you said as you followed the others down a hallway.

"Alright tour guide, where to first?"

You looked around to orient yourself, ignoring Frank's quip. The two of you hadn't interacted much when you and Billy were dating. That probably had something to do with the fact that you weren't really dating, you were just fucking with meals in between.

God, you'd been falling in love with him and he didn't even consider the two of you a serious relationship. And you found that out when he was out with someone else.

"The stairs on this side of the house lead first to a library and an office. There's some smaller closets I think. There also should be a storage room there too."

"Good enough for me," Frank said before he turned towards the stairs. 

All of you made your way up the curved staircase. Just as your feet cleared the last stair with Matt at your side, you heard a ferocious yell in the distance followed by a loud thud. Then more thudding.

"Tell me that was Luke Cage making mincemeat out of someone," Foggy begged. Karen grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall.

Not even halfway down the hall, Matt grabbed your arm and stilled. You turned to him, worried about what was wrong. His head was cocked, obviously listening to something else. 

"Someone's in that room. Rapid heart rate, smells like sweat."

Billy reached for the handle, counting to three under his breath before he yanked the door open. Him and Matt sprang into action as another prisoner launched himself at the three of you from inside the closet.

While Matt did his usual martial arts styles, Billy seemed to just want to end the man. You knew Daredevil didn't kill, but Billy didn't have that hang up. And the two of them together worked pretty well.

"Y/N, watch out!"

You spun around just in time to see another prisoner darting your way. He came out of a room between where the others were and where you were, so they weren't close enough to stop him. 

The fireplace poker in your hand felt heavy in your hand as you swung it out, but the man blocked it with something metal by the sound of the ringing in your ears. 

Then your ass was on the ground, the man looming over you. The crowbar in the man's hands was pressed against your throat as he climbed on top of you. 

You couldn't find the poker but, as your vision started to go blurry, you fell back on old self defense methods. Your thumbs went to his eye sockets, pressing as hard as you could. You also dug your nails into the side of his face to gain more leverage.

He let out a scream of pain, leaning up just enough for you to get a breath. You aimed a punch for his throat and when that didn't deter him, you aimed a punch for his kidneys. Your dress had your legs pinned but you put your feet flat and rolled, tipping the two of you to the side.

"Don't move," Frank called as he swung out, his ax catching the man on the back. 

As he screamed at the ax cutting into his back, you crawled away from him. Frank continued to hack away and you rolled out of the strike zone.

"C'mere," a familiar voice said as you were lifted back onto your feet. "Shit, you okay?"

You nodded even as Billy tilted your face up to check your throat. It hurt to breathe a bit, but at least you could breathe.

Matt came up between the two of you, a smudge on his face. Blood. You winced as you looked between him and Billy. 

"Guess you finished your guy off too?"

Billy released you and bent down to pick up something. It was the crowbar the man had used. He also picked up the fireplace poker you had dropped.

"If they are moving, don't swing, stab. Momentum will get that end through them," he said as he gestured to the end of the poker. 

"Thanks for that," you said as you grabbed the poker from him. 

You leaned against the wall and kicked off your heels. Then you frowned at your dress. 

"You wouldn't happen to have your knife on you, would you?"

Billy raised his eyebrow before he pulled out a small knife. It wasn't his usual knife, but he usually had something on him. He held it out to you hilt first and you accepted it.

You cut through the lace first, then the satin underneath. You only cut off a few inches but it was enough to move around without tripping. Between that and your shoes off, you felt a little better. 

Karen grabbed the knife from you and did the same thing. Afterwards she handed the knife back to Billy. 

"Let's try this again," Frank said before the six of you started down the hall once more.

Foggy came to your side, letting Matt listen for more hidden prisoners. He looked around at the other four people and then leaned towards you. 

"Who do you think the murderer is?"

You snorted as you gestured for Frank that the room nearby was the library by holding your hands like a book. 

"I thought it was you," you joked as you knocked your shoulder into Foggy's. "But really I don't know. If he meant that there was someone capable of murder, there's too many to count. If he meant there was someone who had murdered and gotten away with it, there's still probably too many to count."

Foggy nodded as he hefted the chair leg he had been given. 

"No offense but my money is on your boy the FBI agent," he said with a tense smile as you both approached the library door. "Something about him just made me uncomfortable."

He was very intense but you didn't get a dangerous vibe from him. Then again you were focused so much on ignoring Billy that maybe you missed those signs. 

Speaking of Billy. He came up behind the two of you and shut the library door. There was another door on the far side that opened the room up to the other side of the house, but Frank shut that door. 

Once both doors were blocked, you all looked around and the library. There was a maze of stacks blocking view of the back of the library. 

"The vials could be hidden anywhere," Karen said as she lifted up a few knickknacks on a table. 

"The prisoners too," Frank reminded before he looked at Matt. "What about it Red, hear anything?"

Matt strained his hearing before he shook his head.

"Six heart beats, just us."

You let out a small, petty laugh as you looked at Billy. 

"Well look at that, guess you do have a heart," you quipped before you stormed off down through the stacks.

You weren't interested in his response. 

There were more and more bookshelves the further into the room you went. The books were all different genres and languages, some newer and some obviously from when the house was first inhabited. There didn't seem to be any kind of shelving process as far as you could see.

You ran your fingers along the spine of the books of one shelf. It was eye level, the books older than the rest. Once again it wasn't in any sort of order. 

Who would put a book that starts with V next to I?

You hesitated as your eyes moved to the next few books. A. L. S.

Vials. The order of the books spelled out vials!

You stepped back and started at the front of the shelf.

T. H. E. V. I. A. L. S. A. R. E. H. I. D. D. E. N. H. E. R. E.

Was it too easy? You looked around but to here wasn't anywhere to hide them. Then one by one you pulled the books down to check behind them. The back of the shelf was solid.

Was it a trick? Except…

The book that started with the H in here was heavy. Heavier than it looked. You opened the book and your eyes widened. A small vial was secreted in between the pages.

Carefully you plucked out the vial. Then you stepped over the books and headed to where you could hear voices.

"Just keep it Karen," Frank snapped as he pushed something small into her hand. Neither of them could see you yet. "I'm not fighting with you on this. I'm bigger so the poison will take longer."

There must have been a second vial in the room. You looked down at yours and then stepped into the light.

"Where did you find yours?"

They seemed surprised to see you, but not guilty. They weren't hiding that they'd found one. Karen pointed to a book that was appropriately named "Cures for Poisons".

"A little on the nose," Karen remarked as she tucked the vial into her cleavage. "And you?"

You ran your fingers over the spines of the books near you. 

"The first letter in the title of the books spelled out a clue. So they aren't just hidden, it's a scavenger hunt?"

Matt and Foggy were next to find you three. They hadn't found anything but Matt did say he could hear someone on the other side of the wall. 

"They weren't talking and didn't seem to be rushing. Couldn't get to them without going through the doors."

"We need to tear this room apart. We already found two vials, who knows how many are here?"

Seconds after he said that there was the sound of running out in the hall the six of you had just come through. The footsteps grew quieter and then you heard a louder set follow just a moment later.

"Shit," you breathed as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Then, "Where's Billy?"

"I'm right here," he said from the dark corner, a book in his hand, "just waiting for the next order."

All of you, minus Billy who seemed to just be along for the ride, decided to look through as many books as possible. You warned them to look at the titles and arrangement of the books. Clues could be anywhere. 

Everyone scattered to different corners of the room except for you and Billy. You looked at the book in his hand. There wasn't a vial in it, but it looked like sketches.

"What is that?" He wouldn't have picked it up for no reason.

Billy turned the inside towards you. 

"Richard Wellman, the architect of the house," he explained as he turned the book back towards him. "This is his journal. It talks about trap doors and hidden rooms all over the house."

You remembered that from your own research. 

"They said he was insane," you explained as you turned away from Billy to look at the shelves. "The love of his life left him the day of their wedding and he never really recovered. He built this house as a distraction. People said it resembled the inside of his head."

Billy made a noise low in his throat at that.

"You uh, you always loved this place. Could recite the names of the people who died as if they were your friends." He shut the book and let it rest at his side. "It was part of the reason I entered into that raffle."

You were stunned silent. Then, with curiosity brimming, you began to question him on that. Only you didn't get the chance.

The floor rumbled as something gave way not far from where you were. There was a loud scream and a crash.

Billy went first, keeping you at his side as the two of you made your way around the shelves. In the middle of the floor was a circular hole. It was obviously made that way. If you looked hard enough, you could briefly make out the mechanisms that made up the trap door.

And then there was something else. In the middle of the floor down on the bottom level was Foggy. He wasn't moving. 

"No," you cried as you moved forward, but Billy held you back.

"He hit a trap," Matt explained as he paced around the edge of the circle, side stepping Karen and Frank who arrived moments later. "Fell right through. I should have sensed it."

But how could he have? The trap looked to be a book that Foggy had pulled out that opened the trap door. There was no telling what could have triggered it until it happened. 

"Is he–"

"No," Matt cut off Karen, shaking his head, "I can hear his heart. I think he hit his head. I can smell blood."

With Billy's help holding you steady, you peered through the trap door as best you could. 

"It's one of the lower rooms. He can't stay down there by himself, one of the prisoners might–"

"I'll jump down," Matt said as he tugged off his glasses and then his jacket. "None of the prisoners will get past me."

Whether or not he'd give up his vow not to kill, you weren’t sure. As Matt got ready to drop down, Billy held out his crowbar.

"Might need something other than your right hook to take them on. Get somewhere safe and hole up. We'll be down there in no time."

You went over to Matt and pulled the vial out of your dress. You pressed it into his hand and kissed his cheek. 

"Good luck. Be careful."

He gave you a nod before he dropped down through the trap door. He landed a little wobbly but then he was at Foggy's side. Once you heard Foggy's confused groan, you knew he was alright.

"Let's head to the office now," Frank said as he motioned away from the trap door. "Better to keep moving. Quicker we find these vials, quicker we can get back down there."

All of you agreed that that was the best plan and started towards the front of the library once more. You felt a hand press to the small of your back to help you ease around the large trap door in the middle of the floor. The touch made your heart speed up and you were glad that Matt wasn’t there to hear it.

You didn’t need anyone else knowing just how far gone you still were over Billy Russo. It wasn’t fair.

The four of you made it to the front of the library and looked between the doors. Frank then turned to you to get your opinion.

“That way,” you said with a gesture to the door you all had entered through, “will lead to the office, a storage room, maybe a bedroom, and then some stairs. This way leads to a few bedrooms and the other stairs.”

It was a tough decision because none of you really knew what was around the corner. There were murderous prisoners, albeit a few less than before, and trap doors. Were there more traps waiting for you all?

“I say we check the office. We found two vials in the library, so maybe there’s more clues in there,” Karen said as she looked around for confirmation.

Unable to think of a better idea, all of you decided to go back the way you had come. Frank and Billy moved the things that were blocking the door. Frank went out first, followed by you and Karen. Billy brought up the rear once more.

You all made it to the office without incident, but it wasn’t that far away. The inside looked as if someone had come through and flicked through a few things before they ran out in a hurry. Maybe whoever that was that you had heard being chased had been interrupted while looking for something.

Just like in the library, the door was blocked once the four of you were in there. The office was smaller so you thankfully didn’t need Matt’s capabilities to tell you if anyone was in there. But once the room was sealed off, you all started to look in different corners of the room for another vial.

There was a smear of blood on the wall near where you were looking through some books. The blood looked fresh.

Was it someone you knew?

“Don’t think about it,” Billy said as he crossed over to look through a desk nearby.

“Think about what?” At his look, you let out a huff and turned away from him. “Oh, you’re a mind reader now?”

“No, but I know you well enough to know what’s on your mind.”

There was a pain in your chest that you associated with Billy. If he knew what was on your mind, if he really knew you, he never would have broken your heart. He would have known that you were falling for him and he wouldn’t have gone out with other women. He wouldn’t have told you that you weren’t right for him. He wouldn’t have–

You stumbled a bit, your hand coming out to prop yourself up against the wall. The pain in your chest expanded a bit and you frowned. It felt almost like indigestion, not heartbreak. Was dinner causing a problem?

That reminded you of the secret ingredient. The poison might be getting to you. 

“Y/N?”

You turned and caught Billy’s eye. He looked concerned as he took a step towards you, but you waved him off. You didn’t want to draw Frank or Karen’s attention right then. They didn’t need to worry about you being poisoned as the four of you fought for your lives.

You couldn’t let them think you were a liability.

“How long until sunrise? I just wanna know how long we have to get through this.”

Billy shrugged his shoulder as he went back to the desk.

“Seven twenty, give or take? It’s almost midnight now.”

Midnight? Where had the night gone? You had arrived at the manor at six. How was it possible that six hours had already passed? Although you were in the library for a while. And it had taken a long time for people to decide what to do once it was revealed that your sadistic host hadn’t been joking about any of it.

After about twenty minutes of looking, you all realized there weren’t any vials in the office. If there had been any to start with, they were gone now.

“Where to now?”

Once more the door was unblocked. Billy went first and you kept near to him, unable to stay away. You felt safe with him. It was something residual from your relationship, but how many times had he protected you tonight already? For whatever reason.

“Here,” you said as you pointed at a door. 

Billy opened it slowly and checked around. It was supposed to be a storage room but it was just a wide hallway that connected this side of the house to the other. The two of you walked through the doorway and started across the hallway, you only a few steps behind Billy.

In the distance you heard a clock begin to chime. On the third chime, you heard a scream from the hallway behind you. You and Billy turned to see Karen pulling a knife from her side, the sickening thud of Frank using his ax on the prisoner who had attacked them. 

“Karen!” You rushed forward back down the hallway to the door where she had stumbled out of sight. “Karen?”

You heard her say that she was okay on the eleventh chime. Then, before you got any further, the twelfth chime sounded. The moment it did, a large metal door slid down from the top of the door frame. It cut you off from Karen and Frank.

“No!” You slammed your fists against the metal, but it didn’t even rattle.

A loud sound echoed from the door, most likely Frank hitting the door with the ax. You thought you could hear his voice, a low rumble through the metal, but you couldn’t make out the words.

“It’s hopeless,” Billy said as he put his hand on your shoulder, “you’re not making it through that. Come on, maybe we can get back through one of the other rooms.”

“But Karen–” you began but Billy grabbed your wrists and turned you to face him.

“I know she was hurt, but she’s with Frankie. He’s not gonna let anything happen to her. And with those two together, I’m more worried about the prisoners. Now c’mon, let’s keep moving.”

At least you weren’t alone. You didn’t think you could do this alone.

You and Billy stayed close to each other as you came out into the other hallway. It was empty and neither of you could hear anything.

“We could go to the library, try to cross there,” Billy said as he looked down the way to the library.

“You blocked the door for this side,” you reminded him as you gestured with your fireplace poker. “And I’m confident that you and I wouldn’t be able to open the door alone.”

“Shit,” he breathed. Then he looked at you with a wry smile. “So what’s on this side again?”

The two of you started down the rest of the hallway towards what you were pretty sure was a bedroom. 

Of course the thought of being alone in a bedroom with Billy was just about as terrifying as being stuck in a house with two dozen murderous escaped prisoners. You just wouldn’t say that to him.

But that did make you think of something else.

“You said that you entered the raffle because of me. What did you mean?”

Billy froze for a second before he opened the door. The room was empty so the two of you went in. He shut the door and leaned against it.

“You should have told me.”

That came out of nowhere. You turned to face Billy, both of your hands tight on the length of the poker you still held.

“Told you what? What are you talking about?”

He shook his head and looked away from you. When he looked back at you, you found yourself nearly sucked in by those dark eyes.

“I heard you that night. You were on the phone with your mom and you told her you were falling in love with me. But you should have told me.”

The poker fell to the floor and you jumped at the sound it made when it connected. You bent down to pick it up, using the moment to take a deep breath.

“Wait, so you heard me and you think I should have told you that I was falling for you, but… you cheated on me Billy.”

It was all too much. You were trapped in a murder house with your ex and he was talking about you falling for him. If you knew your night was going to be even half as bad as this, you would have torn that invitation to pieces.

“I didn’t… you said when we started to see each other that you didn’t know if you could be with a guy long term that was in such a dangerous line of work. I thought that meant we were going to be casual.”

Casual. You still had a box of the belongings he had left at your place. And he possibly had your belongings still. Including your favorite bra which you had left at his place.

“So we’re together, having sex and going on dates for almost a year, and you never thought to ask me what we were instead of just assuming and… and breaking my heart? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?”

Billy laughed and ran his free hand over his face. His knuckles were bruised and the cuff of his jacket was stained with blood.

“You didn’t want long term with me because of Anvil and I wasn’t going to just leave the company I created. I figured… figured you’d leave anyways. You falling for me wasn’t going to work if you resented what I did for a living.” Billy leaned back against the door, shaking his head. “I’ve never had this before Y/N. I’ve never wanted it before. But then all of a sudden I have you and then when I start to fall, I figured it was time for me to leave before I do something I regret.”

You let out a laugh. Your legs felt weak so you sank down on the bed. Was the weakness from the poison or just from Billy’s declaration? That he was falling for you at the same time that you were falling for him. And now here it was, six months later and you could barely be in his presence without remembering how it felt to be in his arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, but we both fucked up,” he said as he pushed away from the door, crossing over to sit on the bed beside you. “You should have told me how you felt and I shouldn’t have assumed anything. But it’s a little late to go back in time and do it over.”

That was the truth. 

“And depending on how tonight goes, we might not get that chance anyways.”

You said it with a laugh, feeling a lead weight settle in your stomach as you finally admitted that you might not make it out of this house. Just as you started to shake your head, Billy grabbed your chin and made you face him.

“Don’t talk like that. Don’t talk like you’re not gonna get out of this house. We’re both getting out of here. And once we do, I’m going to take you to breakfast and then I’m going to take you to my place. After we sleep for forty eight hours, we’re gonna try again.”

It was the words that you had longed to hear. Well, not all of the words, but trying again? In the dark of night, you had dreamed about those words. You had wondered what it’d be like to hear them from Billy. An apology and the chance to try again? 

All you had to do was survive.

You opened your mouth to say something but instead your teeth began to chatter. Billy raised one hand to press the back against your forehead and then cursed.

“You’re burning up,” he said as he tilted your head up to check your pupils.

“Which is odd because I’m so cold,” you said as you rubbed uselessly at your arms.

Billy pulled off his suit jacket and wrapped it around you. Then he swore and stood up, pacing a short distance in front of you.

“You gave the vial to Murdock and the poison is affecting you already. Fuck.”

If you were already having this many symptoms, you weren’t sure that you could make it to sunrise. Instead of saying that to Billy, because you were sure he already knew, you reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Sit with me for a little bit? Then we can search the room for a vial.”

You weren’t giving up hope, you refused to do that. Billy nodded before he joined you back on the bed, his shoulder pressed against yours. He gently pulled you into his chest and you closed your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder.

You’d almost forgotten how good it felt to be held by him.

After a little while of being held, you finally pulled away from Billy. The two of you looked around the room, but there weren’t many places things could be hidden. Once you were in agreement that there was nothing else in the room, Billy went back to the door. He gestured for you to wait as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

Almost immediately he swung his crowbar, the thing crashing into the top part of a prisoner who launched himself at Billy. The other man had a knife, a long blade that shone under the hallway lights. Billy surged forward with the crowbar again. He did something complicated when the man swung the knife out, his hand grabbing the wrist of the prisoner and twirling the two of them around. It gave him leverage and movement to plunge the knife into the man’s throat.

You looked away from the blood, but that didn’t stop you from hearing the man gurgle, choking on blood. 

“You’re a crime scene tech,” Billy said as he stepped into your view, the bowie knife tucked under his belt, “you telling me you haven’t seen worse than that?”

You let out a helpless laugh as you twisted the fireplace poker in your hands.

“The crime is finished when I’m on scene,” you reminded him as you stepped around the feet of the man, careful not to look at the carnage, “not being committed.”

Billy kept you at his side, keeping his attention focused on the surroundings. The two of you cleared the next few rooms in much the same way but nothing was found. 

As you walked down the hall, you stepped on something and heard a faint click. You barely had a moment to register the sound before you were being tackled to the floor. On your back with Billy pressed on top of you, you heard a rush of air above you. Your eyes peered over his shoulder to see that some sort of pick ax had swung down. 

If Billy hadn’t tackled you, the ax would have gone into your chest.

“Thank you,” you breathed as you turned to catch Billy’s eyes. 

He was staring down at you with a strange look in his eyes. You opened your mouth to ask if he was okay, but you didn’t have a chance. He leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss, his mouth moving along yours desperately. Your hand went to his neck to pull him in closer, desperate and ignoring the need to breathe. The way his tongue moved over yours and the feel of his hands on your body were better than you remembered.

Except you were on the floor in a house where people wanted to kill you. You pulled away with a laugh, your hand dropping to cover your eyes. 

“What’s funny about this?”

You moved your hand to meet Billy’s eyes, seeing him grin down at you.

“Are you kidding? We’re being hunted by murderous escaped prisoners, we’re both poisoned, and we’re lying on the ground making out like teenagers. You realize if this was a horror movie, we’d both die right now?”

Billy laughed and leaned in to give you another quick kiss before he got off of you. He carefully helped you up and then handed you the poker that you had dropped.

The ax hung in the middle of the hallway. Billy grabbed the thing and pulled on the mechanism, shaking his head.

“It’s welded to the mechanism, can’t take it down.”

“Well where to next? Up to the third floor or back down to the first?”

Billy looked back down the long hall the two of you had moved through. Then he looked in the direction of the stairs.

“Let’s head up. What’s up there?”

“Bedrooms on all four sides. In the middle was a large room with paintings and statues. It was the architect’s favorite room.”

He checked the ground to see the trap you had stepped on so that he could identify if there was another one. He looked up at you and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure the architect’s favorite room has plenty of traps. We’ll avoid that if we can help it.”

The two of you went down the rest of the hall to the stairs, careful of where you stepped. You noticed more blood on the stairs but Billy once again told you not to think about it.

Up the stairs, the two of you made your way to the first room. It was more grand than the ones on the second floor. Both of you looked over the room just like the others, but there was nothing to be found. And then the next one. And the next one.

“It’ll take hours to search all these rooms,” Billy said as he looked down the hall. There were probably only three rooms left on this hall, but there were still three other halls of rooms. “We don’t have that kind of time.”

“Do you have plans or something? I’m pretty sure all we have is time,” you joked as you leaned against the wall, your hand going to your chest where you could feel your heart racing.

“You don’t have that kind of time,” Billy said, coming to your side and checking your pulse. “Where’s this room with the paintings? There has to be at least one vial in there.”

It would be a hidden door. You explained to Billy the general way it worked, that you’d press on one side and the other would open. Then both of you moved along the innermost wall to try to find the one that would be a hidden door.

There was a line on one of the walls that didn’t look natural. You followed it up and then stepped so that you were beside it. One hand on the wall, you used a little pressure. There was a click and then the wall seemed to swing open soundlessly.

Billy was at your side in an instant, knife raised as he entered the room first. Satisfied that at least there wasn’t someone lying in wait, you followed him.

The wall rushed closed behind the two of you, but it didn’t matter. You were frozen as you looked at the room. There were hundreds of portraits and statues in the room. 

But that meant hundreds of chances to find a vial, so you weren’t discouraged.

“How long until sunrise?”

Billy looked at his watch and frowned.

“It’s almost three so we still have at least four more hours.”

Four hours. And with your symptoms progressing, you probably had half that.

“Let’s get started.”

The two of you stayed close to one another as you made your way through the first portraits. Some of them were just paintings, nothing special about them. A few swung around to reveal a different painting on the backside. One or two pulled out to reveal a hidden cabinet, but there wasn’t anything in any of the cabinets that you checked.

Billy stayed close to you for protection, but you thought it might also be for comfort. Now that the two of you were on the same page, you didn’t want to be separated from him either. 

You’d spent six months hating him but you’d been wrong. While you wouldn’t be able to start where you had left off, you thought that starting over was a good possibility. And that kiss in the hallway told you what you already knew—you were still very attracted to Billy. And at least he seemed to still be attracted to you.

He had been falling for you. The thought made you giddy. He had been falling for you and while yes, what came next was stupid and could have been avoided if either of you had been able to talk about your feelings, but that wasn’t something you could change.

What’s done is done. But now you change what happens next.

Billy was inspecting a statue, his back to you as he looked it over. You watched his hands move to the base where he felt around for something.

“I think this might have a catch,” he said over his shoulder.

You opened your mouth to reply, but all you could do is gasp as a hand clapped around your mouth as you were yanked backwards. The portrait shut in front of you, separating you from the portrait room. Separating you from Billy.

You swung out wildly, the fireplace poker nearly catching the person who held you.

“Calm down, it’s just me,” a somewhat familiar voice said through a grimace, “it’s Dex.”

Dex? You settled down until he let you go. Once he did, you yanked yourself away from him and took a few steps back towards the hidden door you had just been pulled through. You could hear Billy banging on the portrait, trying to find a way in.

“What are you doing? Why–why did you take me?”

Dex scoffed as he gestured at you.

“You’re sick, the poison is getting to you. I noticed it earlier and knew I needed to get you alone. Get you away from him.”

Him? Get you away from Billy? You shook your head and turned to the portrait, your hands seeking out the mechanism to open it.

“Let me out of here Dex. Billy is probably terrified for me right now.”

You were sick and abducted; Billy would be beyond terrified and straight into furious. Something told you that he would tear this house down brick by brick to get you back, and his constant yells to bring you back supported that idea.

“He’s dangerous Y/N. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

Except you did know. You’d known from the start, way before tonight. It had been the reason you’d been so unsure at first. He was a Marine, he ran a private security firm, he was skilled and yes, dangerous. But he wasn’t a danger to you. And while you could worry that something might happen to him one day, tonight proved that no one was safe. 

And he had protected you tonight. 

“I know what he’s capable of Dex, he’s my… boyfriend. We broke up but we’re together again. Now let me… out.”

You had turned around to face him to ask him to let you out, but you noticed that he was holding a vial in the air. Your chest hurt from the adrenaline and you were starting to have trouble breathing. You needed that vial. 

“Can I…?”

You reached out for it, but Dex threw it onto the ground and let it shatter. You jumped back and your back thumped against the portrait. 

“Why did you do that? You said you knew I’m sick. That could have cured me!”

He shook his head as he pulled something out from behind his back. It was a knife. He held it loosely at his side, not pointing it at you.

“You were nice and sweet. I thought you might be someone I could count on, someone I could get to know,” he said as he paced in the small room. He pointed his knife at the portrait he had pulled you from and shook his head harder, his eyes going a little wide. “He is dangerous. You shouldn’t be with him. He’s exactly the type of person that Rawlins meant to bring here. Not you, you shouldn’t be here.”

You had seen a few people have a nervous break, but this didn’t look like one. This was more like an unhinged person not hiding that they were unhinged. This was like seeing a completely different person wearing Dex’s face. It was…

Wait.

“Rawlins? Did you… the man that brought us here?”

Dex’s eyes were wide as he looked at you.

“Yeah, he told us his name before the tour. The guy that arranged this all.”

You thought about it again, playing it over in your head. You knew for a fact that the man hadn’t given his name because you had thought it was strange.

But there was something else that you remembered now. You started to walk in the opposite direction since Dex was coming closer to you.

“The papers said that the prison transfer was supposed to be guarded by the FBI, but that there had been an issue with car that was following the bus.” You swallowed as you held the fireplace poker a little tighter. “And you recently resigned from the FBI.”

Dex rotated the knife in his hand. And a grin started to spread over his lips.

“You’re clever. You could have made it through the night.”

He raised the knife up and started towards you. He only got two steps before the portrait slid open. Dex turned in an instant and threw his knife. You watched as the blade imbedded itself in Billy’s shoulder. Then Dex rushed towards Billy. 

Billy had his own knife held up. As Dex threw himself forward at Billy, the knife was knocked out of Billy’s hand. Not like this, you told yourself as you watched the two men grapple.

And then you moved. You started to swing but you remembered Billy’s words. Instead you thrust it forward. The momentum of your movement plus Billy, who had seen you coming and had pushed Dex backwards, the tip of the poker speared through Dex’s back. He let out a scream and stumbled backwards, but Billy was on him in a fluid move. He pulled the knife from his shoulder and slid it across Dex’s throat, cutting the scream off at the source.

You looked away as the body hit the floor.

“Y/N? Y/N are you okay?” Hands were on your face as you were pulled out of the little hidden room. “Talk to me. Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

You closed your eyes and leaned forward until your forehead could rest against Billy’s shoulder.

“I’m so dizzy and tired,” you admitted as you felt your body sag a bit. “He had a vial but he crushed it when… I guess when I picked you over him.”

Billy pulled away, but not far. He reached into his pocket and lifted something up for you to see. It was two vials of the antidote. 

“Found them in the statue right before you were taken,” he said as he pressed one into your hand. “Come on, drink it. It might take time to kick in and we need to get somewhere safe until sunrise.”

You nodded and twisted off the cap. You held it up to your lips but froze as you thought about it.

“This man is twisted, messed up in the head. What if this isn’t a cure? What if it’s more poison?”

Billy nodded and unscrewed the top of the other vial. He raised it to you and you realized what he meant. Both of you would drink from the vials. Then either you would both be cured or you’d both die.

“This is some Romeo and Juliet shit,” you mumbled with a bit of a smile before both of you drained your vials.

Once that was done, both of you left the room with the portraits. Billy kept his knife and handed you the crowbar since you weren’t getting your poker back.

“Should we just hole up in one of these bedrooms until sunrise? For safety,” you added with a roll of your eyes as Billy grinned at you.

“Let’s get back downstairs. That’s where the others would have gone if they found vials. And we can check on Murdock and Nelson.”

He guided you down the hall and down the stairs. In the hallway on the second floor, you saw someone standing there. Except… they weren’t standing. 

One of the prisoners had been pushed onto the pick ax that you had triggered. Either it had been triggered again or someone had impaled him there. Billy moved so that you were against the wall as the two of you moved past the body. 

Further down the hallway you passed by the library doors. They were opened. Another prisoner was there with blood all over his face. It looked like his head had been crushed.

“Come on, one more floor,” Billy said as he guided you away.

Once on the first floor, Billy and you found more bodies. This time it included the bodies of the man and woman who had left the viewing room when you first found out that this was a trap. They hadn’t made it far it seemed.

It was your turn to guide Billy. He said to go back to the library on the first floor so you took him the quickest route. At one of the doors, you knocked and called out in a soft voice that it was you and Billy. No one answered and you tried the knob, but the door was blocked.

“What now?”

Before either of you had a chance to make a plan, you heard something scrape across the door. Billy moved to stand in front of you just in case, but the door swung open to reveal Frank.

“Jesus,” he said as he tugged you in first, then Billy, “we were starting to worry.”

As Billy and Frank put the bookcase back in front of the door, you looked around the room.

Karen was leaning against Foggy’s shoulder, her hand on her side. Matt was nearby, pacing. Trish, Luke, and Jessica were on couches nearby, all of them looking worse for wear.

Granted you probably didn’t look too good yourself. You were pretty sure you had blood splattered on your face.

“Where’s the blond guy? Anyone see him?”

Billy put his knife on the table before he wrapped his arm around your waist.

“He was the murderer. Sounded like the guy that brought us all here must have known him or paid him, I don’t know. But he’s been taken care of,” you added as you leaned your head against Billy’s shoulder.

“We have a few extra vials,” Jessica said as she pointed to them on the table nearby. “Trish took one within the first hour after we left and she’s fine now. Murdock said we’re all cured.”

You sagged even more in Billy’s shoulders. Matt came over and did his thing, smiling when he was sure that both of you were cured as well.

“At least that was true,” you said as you slumped into the couch with Billy on one side and Karen on the other. You checked her side and then grabbed Billy’s hand. “How long until sunrise?”

“Roughly an hour,” Frank said from where he was pacing. “Now we just gotta hope he didn’t lie about letting us out at sunrise.”

You didn’t think he was lying. But that did make you think of something else.

“What’s going to happen to us? We’ll have to tell the cops what happened here. Can we… will we go to jail?”

“For killing escaped prisoners who were trying to kill us while we were locked in a creepy mansion?” Trish scoffed and leaned against Jessica’s shoulder a bit. “I’d like to see them try.”

Billy tugged you against his chest a bit.

“Try to rest. I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered into your ear as you leaned against him.

And you knew he would.

------

There was what sounded a bit like a stampede right around when Billy said sunrise was there. Frank peered out through the door and confirmed what most of you suspected.

“Front door is open. Looks like all of the prisoners just took off.”

You all stepped out of the library and went towards the door. As the group got there, someone came out of the corner room right off the foyer.

“So you are the lucky survivors,” he grumbled, obviously dissatisfied that so many of you survived. “There are eleven vials of the antidote in case some of you didn’t get yours. And of course you’re all free to leave.”

“What’s to stop us from turning you in… Rawlins?”

The man turned to you with surprise in his eyes. Then he shook his head.

“I guess that explains why Dex isn’t here. I offered him a large amount of money if he survived the night. Guess I won’t have to pay up. And I’m not worried about you turning me in. They’ll never find me once you are all off the property. I’ll never spend a night in jail.”

Having the man’s full attention on you made you feel like your skin was crawling, but you stood up straighter. You had been scared for your life all night. You had faced death and come out into the sunlight. You weren’t going to be intimidated by this small man.

“You’re right. You’ll never spend a night in jail.”

Rawlins looked confused for a split second. But before he could spew any other bullshit, Billy snuck up behind him and rammed the bowie knife under his chin and up through his head. You looked away and closed your eyes, but you didn’t feel sick this time.

You felt safe.

“Someone find a phone and call the cops. Let’s get this over with.”

Arms wrapped around you. You turned and buried your face in Billy’s shoulder.

“So you said breakfast and then not letting me out of your sight for forty eight hours, right?”

Billy laughed and brushed his lips against your cheek.

“At least forty eight hours. Probably more.”

You smiled and tightened your hold on him. The events of the night before would haunt you for a long time, but if Billy was beside you? Well then you’d know you were safe.

“That sounds good to me.”

X

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#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfic #my writing #halloween fic

[sincerlypadfoot]

Maledicite Terrae (Curses 5)

Word Count- 2498

“You're not even trying!” McGonagall yelled sitting on her chair as my hair turned red from anger. “People like you aren’t looked at as great in the wizarding world Josie!” She said putting her hand on her forehead.

“I don’t need your help, just give me some paper and I’ll write some lines, anything from this,” I said angrily, leaning back on my seat. 

“You done for the day, I’ll see you for class on Monday,” McGonagall said using her wand to bring the book that laid in front of me onto her desk.

“Yeah whatever,” I huffed grabbing my bag and walking out. “Just stupid!” I yelled closing the door and walking away, back to the common room which wasn’t so much better than detention.

“How was detention?” Dean asked as I walked past the Hufflepuff common room, taking the long way to my room. “Heard some yelling,” He chuckled walking along with me,

“Horrible, I have it for the rest of the year just for protecting my brothers, just stupid,” I groaned stopping and looking up at Dean. “How was potions without me,” I chuckled smiling up at him, making my mood brighten.

“Would have been better with you,” Dean chuckled running his hand down my hair. “Do you wanna meet up tonight in the tower again, like normal,” He said with a smile putting his hand on my cheek now.

“Of course, I’ll see you tonight then,” I smirked leaning in the kiss his cheek. “Same time like always,” I shouted as I walked away from the blushing boy who’s gaze met mine as I walked. I got to the common room, Lily, Alice and Marlene all sitting on the couch crammed together.

“Well hello there Miss. detention,” Lily chuckled as I sat on the edge of the couch with them. “How it goes today, less yelling than last week?” She asked making the other girls chuckle.

“More yelling than last week, I swear she hates me,” I muttered leaning my head back on the couch and looking up on the roof. “Dean and I are meeting up again tonight, I think he’s gonna ask me out,” Without finishing the rest of my sentence the footsteps of the group of four echoed in the common room.

“Another date with lover boy huh,” James said leaning over me so we were face to face, you done being mad at me?” He asked causing me to stand up and look at him. I leaned down to Marlene whispered something in her ear.

“Josie says that she doesn't wanna talk to you right now, or any of you,”  Marlene chuckled as I walked away up to our room to get ready for my meetup with Dean. I changed my hair from Blonde to Brown, chuckling.

“I understand why you're mad at him, he almost said one of your dirty little secrets, I could tell by both of your faces and pushed you,” Sirius said making me almost jump out of my skin. “But he loves you,” Sirius said walking up behind me, both of us looking into the mirror.

“I have to go meet up with Dean, I’ll talk to you later,” I mumbled putting my hair back to normal and walking past Sirius who grabbed my wrist, pulling me to him. “Let me go, Sirius,” I poked at his chest looking up at him.

“Dean Grudge,” Sirius choked out overreacting. “You could do better,” he muttered letting me go making me angry.

“You know you're really getting on my nerves unless you wanna end up like my brother stop talking like that,” I shouted turning around and walking out of the room. “I’ll see you later,” I mumbled at the girls whose eyes went from me to Sirius who stood at the top of the stairs.

“Padfoot what did you do?” I heard Remus shout as I walked out of the common room, making my way to the astronomy tower to meet with Dean.

“Hey,” Dean whispered behind me slipping his arms on his sides making me laugh. “You're in a rush,” He giggled turning me around.

“Just in a rush to see you, come on before we get caught,” I whispered grabbing onto his hand and dragging him inside the tower and up the stairs. “Flitch has been wondering the ha-,” I started to say but Dean crashed his lips into mine, nudging me into a wall, my arms wrapped around his body, his hands cupping my face.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Dean chuckled catching his breath, I was starstruck but a smile appeared on my face. “Josie?”

“Dean that was perfect,” I said with a smile. “I was hoping tonight that would happen,” I chuckled as we both walked to the blanket and sat down on it, laying down like normal.

“How's detention going, McGonagall treating you like crap,” Dean asked grabbing my hand and interlocking them. “Everyone hears you’re two muffled screaming every Friday,” He chuckled making me chuckle.

“Overworking me with paper, she’s the one who started the yelling anyways” I laughed gripping onto Deans' hand harder. “Can I ask you a question,” I said seriously, sitting up making Dean sit up and look at me “If there was something wrong with me if I was different than everyone else, would you view me differently, thinking I was a freak?” I asked nervously making my palm go all sweaty.

“I would never think you we’re a freak, your the most beautiful girl in the world, whoever thinks your a freak must be a freak themselves,” Dean said looking down at me. “Why do you ask,” He asked.

I stuttered for a moment, looking up at the blond-haired boy who looked down at me with his brown eyes tracing my face. “No reason, we should go back to our rooms, tonight has been a disaster,” I chuckled leaning my head on Dean's chest. We both walked down the stairs in silence.

“Goodnight Josie,” Dean said letting go of my hand and leaning down to kiss my lips. “Don’t murder your brother, I’d like to see your pretty face tomorrow,” He whispered leaning down, kissing my lips again, soon leaving me to walk into the common room to disaster. James and Sirius sitting on the couch.

“We don’t think you a freak,” James said grabbing my hand but I pulled back. “Can we talk about everything, about what happened a couple nights ago?” James asked

“I accept your apology James, I do and as your twin sister if you ever tell anyone about me, you won't see me again, the ministry I heard doesn’t like my kind,” I whispered kissing his cheek and walking away leaving him speechless and Sirius looking at me confused. I laid down in my bed, my hair turned a deep shade of red uncontrollably.

~

“What do you wanna do today?” Marlene asked me, crawling into my bed waking me up. “I’m really bored, Lily and Alice left to go study,” She whispered in my ear.

“Marlene McKinnon you stop it now,” I chuckled sitting up making her mouth drop. “I know I look scary in the morning but you don’t need to make that face,” I said crossing my arms.

“Your hair is red, like dark red,” She said touching my hair. “You're a metamorphmagus!” she shouted making me cover her mouth. Before I could say anything to her she licked my hand causing me to take it away.

“Marlene McKinnon, did you just lick me?” I shouted curling a smile. “Don’t freak out okay,” I calmly said putting my hands up in the air.

“How could you not tell your best friend that you're literally the coolest person in this place,” Marlene chuckled jumping on me, tackling the both of us to the ground. “Your hair is so cool,” She shouted taking a piece of my red hair into her hand well she sat on top of me.

“Marlene gets off of me,” I chuckled laughing. “I’ll tell you everything if you get off my stomach,” I howled laughing until both stomachs are hurt.

“You tell me everything and I won't tell I soul, I promise,” She said getting off my stomach and helping me up. We both sat back up on my bed and across from each other.

“If I tell you everything, everything that James knows, you can’t be afraid of me and you can’t tell anyone,” I said to Marlene putting my pinky out. “Pinky promise,” I muttered as we connected pinkys.

“I promise on my soul that I will not tell anyone else until the day I die, your secrets are safe with me,” Marlene said smiling at me, my hair turning back to blonde.

“I’m a metamorphmagus, you already know that,” I started to say. Something about telling Marlene everything about me felt like a weight lifting off my shoulders. “I can read your mind,” I chuckled putting my hands in front of me and wiggling my fingers making causing Marlene to smile again and let out a laugh.

“That's AWESOME!” She shouted putting her hands on her head. “What am I thinking about right now?” Marlene asked closing her eyes. “I had a date with a year six the other day,”

“You had a date with a six-year the other day and didn’t tell me?” I asked letting out a laugh. Marlene dropped her jaw in amusement. “I,” I started to say but hesitated. “My nightmares aren't nightmares, they’re dreams from the future that comes real, most of them,” I mumbled, Marlene, grabbed my hands giving me the confidence to continue.

“No one knows but James, not even my parents because I was so scared,” I whispered leaning back on my bed. I chuckled at the memories of my brother and me. “I think I need to go talk to my brother, I overreacted the other night,” I mumbled leaning up and hugging Marlene.

“Now I understand why your always top of our classes,” Marlene chuckled making me chuckle. “Is that why McGonagall yells at you every Friday because she knows your a meta?” 

“We can talk about it later Marlene,” I chuckled letting go of Marlene and walking out of the room and two the boy's room swinging the door open to everyone still asleep. But one.

“Josie what are you doing here,” Remus croaked sitting up and looking at me. “It’s so early,” He mumbled rubbing his eyes.

“I came here to make an apology, just let James know when he wakes up I was in here,” I asked walking back to the door, turning around once more.

“Yeah I’ll tell him when he wakes up, where will you be?” Remus asked tossing his blanket up so I couldn’t look below his neck.

“Just around the school, he’ll find me sometime today,” I chuckled turning around and walking out the door back to my room.

“How did it go Josie?” Marlene asked still sitting on my bed using her wand to paint her nails and toenails.

“He’s still sleeping, what do you wanna do today?” I asked laying down on my back and looking up at the roof. “We could go to Hogsmeade?” I asked again turning my head and looking over at Marlene who was drying her nails.

“I like that idea, I could go for some good old dress shopping, I hear that the Slytherins are having a party in the room of requirement and we should go cause I think it’ll be fun,” Marlene suggested jumping off my bed and grabbing her bag.

“I think that is a good idea, is my hair still red?” I chuckled looking up at the wine-coloured strands of hair that landed on my face. “Yep, it is,” making Marlene laugh and grab my hand, I looked in the mirror, letting Brunnete colours fade into the red, going back to normal.

“Smoking hot hair,” She chuckled tossing me a sweater. “It is cold but comes on, we gotta look hot for tonight,” Marlene said swinging the door open and shut. “Do you think that since Alice and Lily are prefects that they can't go to this party?” Malene said a bit too loud causing four boys to hear.

“I was just looking for you Josie,” James said jumping on my back. “I hear you had an apology for me,” He chuckled leaning over my shoulder so we were face to face. “I also hear there's a party tonight,” He said making me roll my eyes.

“Get off of me James,” I grumbled dropping to the ground so he would fall off. “We can talk later Marlene and I have some shopping to do and there is no party tonight, we don’t know what you're talking about,” I huffed grabbing Marlene's hand and dragging her out of the common room making both of us burst out laughing.

#marauders #marauders fanfiction #the marauders #hp marauders #Maraudersera #young marauders #incorrect marauders quotes #marauders rp #marauders headcanon #JamesPotter #JosiePotter #SiriusBlack #RemusLupin #PeterPettigrew #Prongs #Padfoot #Moony #Wormtail #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs

[littlebitoffanfic]

The Bear Or The Deer

Fandom: Frankenstein Character: Adam/Frankenstein’s monster Relationship: Adam/reader Request: you do a lot of horror and I was just wondering on the off chance: would you do Frankenstein’s monster x reader? AN: Frankenstein is my favourite book! Since, in the book the creature calls himself Adam, I decided to stick with that as his name. also, this’ll probably be a multi-chapter thing as I cant wait to explore more plot with him

 Sitting in your home on a stormy night, in the pitch black, waiting by a window was never something you thought you would ever have to do. But after the last few months, you needed to know. You had to. Something was happening and you didn’t know or understand it. People had reported a monster in the woods that surrounded your home, yet you had had little cause to be frightened. In fact, the only thing that truly scared you about it was not knowing what it was. You had never felt exposed or unsafe in your home. It was about a mile out from the nearest town, and just off a trail that only had one or two horse and carts pass by ever week. You were mostly self sufficient, growing your own vegetables and fruit in your large garden and a few animals such as cow and a few chickens along with your trusted horse. You traded in town with your craft work, using your love for paints, crafting and even mending things. Often, the butcher, who has a young family, will ask you for new clothes and such in exchange for meat. You would sell your art to passing traders and do the occasional jobs for everyone else in the town in exchange for whatever you needed. But it was still hard work. Your home and its surroundings needed a lot of tending to. Only, you had noticed something strange over the last little while. Your log pile, which you kept outside next to the small bard, was kept topped up. Then apples started being left on your back porch every morning, along with oranges and any other fuits. As time grew on, you grew uneasy. You tried leaving out food and some blankets and such, in hope that whoever it is was just looking to trade. But they never took anything. And then the rumours started in town. A beast, like a bear, stalking the forest. A few had seen it moving about, but none dared approach it. It had to be human-like, judging but its knowledge of cutting wood and such, but where did it live? Was it close to you? Tonight, you planned on seeing it for yourself. You had left out a large basket of food for it. Cheeses, hams, a bottle of milk and some eggs, in hopes that it would take it. You sat to the side of one of your kitchen windows, which was close to the back door where the thing sometimes left fruit. You hoped it would see the basket when placing the logs on the pile and come to investigate. You had nearly drifted off when a crash of thunder woke you, making you jump as you sat straight up. Looking out the window, you noticed how the moon was nearly fully covered by clouds, the only light now came from the soft glow of your living room, where you always kept the fire going to heat the house and the small light of the full moon that peaked through the clouds. Another few lightening strikes and crashes of thunder kept you alert. Until you saw the creature. It emerged from the forest like a it might have been a tree itself, judging but the stature. In the rain, it was bend over, walking on two legs with a long cloak drawn over its body. It was human, and judging by the stature, probably male. It, he, carried logs against his chest, only pulling back his cloak to place them onto the pile carefully. He was soaked to the bone, you could see that, and yet he was more concerned with make sure the balance of the pile was right. His face was hidden by the hood, but you saw he had noticed the basket, which was still dry thanks to the porches roof and the wind that blew the rain in the opposite direction. He walked to the porch, placing his foot on the bottom of the three steps, his whole body seeming to tilt to the side in curiosity. He looked up towards the top floor of the house, where he probably thought you were fast asleep. You saw him place his hand up to his chest and he gave a small bow to your house, before retreating without the basket. You were stunned, shocked and so confused. What was he? Why did he do these things for you? Why would he be out in such weather? Where was his family? It was curiosity that lead you to spring up from your seat and run to the back door as a crash of thunder masked you opening the door. “Wait!” You called out, scooping the basket up by the handle. The figure froze, his entire body seeming to turn to rock at the sound of your voice. You took a few more steps out, not daring to descend the steps into the rain just yet. You wanted to keep the food dry. “Please, will you take this?” You asked, hoping your question would draw some kind of response out of him. Which it did. He turned, but in a strange kind of way. His lower half turned a quarter of the way towards you while the top half twisted fully, keeping his head low and covered by the hood. It was very unnerving to watch, and reminded you that something just wasn’t quite right about him. “For helping me. I want you to have it.” You manage to speak, keeping the fear from affecting your voice.   A crash of lightening followed by a roll of thunder as if showing some kind of inner battle the man was obviously having with himself. You were just a woman, alone in your home. He had no reason to fear you. You had no weapons, nor was there anyone close by who would be able to help you. If anything, you should be scared of him. But something was different about him. “Please.” You repeated, keeping your voice soft. This seemed to be enough to persuade him back to you, approaching you in such a manner that reminded you of a stray dog approaching a human who had offered it food. It wanted the food, yes, but it was scared of the hand that gave it. As he reached the bottom of the small set of stairs, you couldn’t help but feel dwarfed by him. Even with you at the top stair, he was taller. The light from the house didn’t give you enough light to see his face. Holding out the basket, you smiled. He hesitated, but raised his right hand to take the basket. As he did so, the sleeve fell back, revealing a wrist with a deep scar running around the wrist and down beneath his sleeve. The flesh itself was a little… off in colour. But the scar looked painful. You couldn’t help the gasp that fell from your lips as you looked up at him. At the wrong time. A bolt of lightening lit up the sky and, for the first time, you saw his face. A gaunt face looked back at you. Thin lips with barely any colour behind them were opened slightly in surprise. His cheeks bones were prominent, and his skin the same as his hand, looking slightly off and discoloured. His nose was missing, and chunk and several scars ran across this face, almost like a doll that had been ripped apart and sow back together again. But his eyes. They were a yellowish colour, with the left one having another scar running from the bottom of his eye right down his cheek to his jaw. They were wide, surprised, like a deep that had been scared by the sudden attack of a bear. How quickly your metaphor for him had changed, from a bear to a deer. He seemed terrified of you. Yet he could easily turn on you and you were very aware of that fact.   But as quickly as the lightening had struck, it was gone, replaced with a thundering bang. The man ducked his head, retreating into himself as he turned on his heels and fled. Caring little for the rain or your own safety, you ran after him, calling out for him to wait. It would seem that his great height left him at a disadvantage to you, as you were able to catch up wit him before he reached the edge of the woods. “Wait, please!” You cry out, reaching out and grabbing his cloak and digging your heels into the ground. The man let out a grunt, twisting towards you as if expecting you to attack him, causing his hood to fall back and reveal black hair. He winced and it hit you. He didn’t want you to see him not because he didn’t want you to know who he was, but because of the way he looked. “Im sorry. The thunder and lightening just frightened me, that’s all.” You lied through your teeth. You were already soaked to the bone from the rain, which pelted down with little chance of stopping soon. The wind whipped your hair out of place, almost blowing you off of balance. Yet he stood strong a tree. As if to prove that you weren’t scared of him, you reached out and took his right hand, raising it with is palm upwards. He jumped at the touch, his skin freezing and his hand now tense. Raising it, you hooked the basket in his hand. Once he had the weight, you used both your hands to close his fingers over the handle. “As a thank you for everything you’ve done.” You smile up at him, his eyes so bright without the hood. He was handsome, at least to you. So unique and unknown. You would be lying if you said he didn’t intrigued ou unlike any man you had ever met. “do you have a name?” You asked, suddenly doubting if he even understood you. Perhaps he was mute, or didn’t understand your language. He nodded, his tongue darting out as if to wet his bottom lip despite the fact his face was soaked. “Adam.” A deep voice replied. “Im [y/n].” You told him, as if the two of you were meeting for the first time at some ball or in a local shop. He repeated it back to you, like it was the most beautiful word he had ever heard and just had to make sure he could say it right. A gust of wind ripped through the garden and hit you like a ton of bricks. You fell forward, loosing your footing as you let out a yelp. But a strong arm caught you and, before you could even realise what had happened, you were swept up like a bride. He had dropped the basket to catch you and now proceeded to carry you back through your garden. You felt your heart hammering in your chest as you stared up at him while his gaze remained solely on the path. You could see how tense his jaw was, like he was grinding his teeth together. As he climbed the bottom two steps and was about to put you back on your porch, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He froze. His mouth slightly open and his eyes wide, as if he were unable to believe it. You took the opportunity to swing out of his grasp, now standing on your own feet. “You’d better get home and dry off. The storm looks like it will only worsen tonight. You’ll catch your death.” You look up at the sky. You were pulled from your thought by a soft chuckle, one which made your cheeks burn and your heart stop. It was low, almost too low to hear. You looked to him and saw amusement in his eyes. He doesn’t hold your eyes for more than a second before dropping them, bowing to you. “Thank you for your concern, but I shall be fine.” He speaks with such an elegance that doesn’t quite fit his features. “well, Adam, perhaps you should come back tomorrow, just to let me know you are safe?” You ask, biting your lower lip. his head snaps up, his eyes wide with disbelieve and… hope. a single nod confirms his return as he retreats away from you for the final time that night. He pulls his hood back up and turns away, walking back to the basket, which had landed on the path, but nothing had spilled out. You hoped the blanket that covered it would be enough to protect the content from the rain. he scooped it out, glancing back at you. You smiled and waved, backing into your doorway and closing it. It was all suddenly so quiet without the wind and rain in your ear. You locked the door, unable to stop from smiling as you went to the window, seeing him take one last look at where you had been before disappearing into the woods. You couldn’t help but bursting feeling in your chest that wanted to dance until he returned, nor how his face was burned into your mind in a good way. There was still so many question in your mind. Who was he? Where did he come from? Why did he have those scars? And you couldn’t quite work out if he was the bear or the deer.

#frankenstein #frankenstiensmonster #frankensteins creation #frankensteins creature #adam frankenstein #adam Frankenstein x reader #Frankenstein monster x reader

[ficklefics]

Purpose - Jeremiah Valeska x Reader

After the bridges connecting Gotham to the rest of the world were destroyed, you lost everything. And that makes you perfect in the eyes of a certain criminal mastermind.

MASTERLIST

Warnings: Blood, Slight suicidal ideation, Depression, Injury, Violence, Murder, Family loss

Broken glass crunches under your bare feet as you limp past empty buildings. You barely feel it. The shouting and screaming that echoes across the dark zone are dull. You’re numb to it. To everything. This isn’t living anymore; it’s existing. And it’s barely even that. The street is a ruin, dead bodies littered across the road and sidewalk, trees torn down, cars destroyed. And yet, somehow, against all odds, you have survived. You’re still here in the destruction of the city. But you wish you weren’t. You feel like you’re walking through a dream. Or a nightmare.

“You look like you’ve lost the will to live,” You stop and turn slowly towards the voice. A young man in his early twenties sits on a bench that you’d just walked past. You hadn’t noticed him before, but now that you have you examine him closely. He’s well-dressed, better than anyone you’ve seen since the bridges were destroyed, wearing a white shirt and black tie.

“That’s an understatement.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself. In the months since Gotham fell into chaos, you’ve lost your family, your friends, your home. Everything.

“My name’s Michael.”

“(Y/N).” You wouldn’t normally tell a stranger your name, but nothing about life is normal anymore.

“What if I told you I know how you could find a new purpose?” He stands and approaches, a cat-like smile on his face.

“Everything has a price.”

“A price?” His grin widens and he offers a hand. “Oh, just your life.” Something tells you he’s not joking.

“Not much, then,” You take his hand and let him guide you away. It’s not like I have anything else to lose.

 *

 Michael leads you into an old, dilapidated building, where four people are sitting waiting, some dressed the same as him while others are dressed in just ordinary clothes. They’re sat on benches, set up like pews in a church, facing a lectern where a woman wearing a mask and a hooded cloak stands at attention. She notices the two of you immediately, tilting her head as you sit.

“And two more makes six,” Her voice is high-pitched, almost sing-song – far too cheery for the state of the world right now. “Welcome, everyone, to the Church of Jeremiah. Here you will find a higher purpose.” I wonder whether she actually believes that. She begins to walk down the pews, examining the people sitting there carefully from behind her mask. You wait with trepidation on your face, jaw clenched as she approaches slowly. She finally comes to a stop behind you, resting a hand on your shoulder and forcing you to crane your neck to see her. “Now, what’s your name, sweetie?”

“(Y/N),” You mutter. She gives your shoulder a sharp squeeze and leans down so her face – or mask – is level with yours.

“Louder… please.”

“(Y/N),” You speak up, trying and failing to pull away from her grip.

“And why are you here, (Y/N)?” You go to speak, but she interrupts you before you can do more than take a breath. “Wait, let me guess.” She releases you, moving around the bench slowly to stand in front of you. Everyone’s eyes are watching the two of you. “You’ve lost everything. Hopeless. Seeking for anything to fill the void inside of you?”

“Yeah, pretty much. That alright?”

“Better than alright.” She takes your face in her hands. Framing it. “You’re exactly what we’re looking for.” You sit there, frozen, as she looks at you for what feels like an age until she drops her hands and returns to the front. “There is only one requirement for you to join the Church. You must be prepared to sacrifice everything, even to die, for Jeremiah.” You turn to look at Michael, finding him watch the woman almost in awe of what she’s saying. If you had been living any other life you would have left now. This is insanity. But what’s the point? You leave and you’ll die on the streets, from dehydration, or starvation, or murdered by one of the gangs. This can’t be any worse than those. “This is your last chance to turn back – to return to whatever pitiful existence came before.” Nobody moves. “Perfect.” She pulls off the hood and mask, revealing messy blonde hair and a face painted white. Her eyes are wide, manic, and her grin matches. “My name is Ecco: Jeremiah’s second-in-command. Now, follow me.” You hesitate while everyone else still stands, but you quickly join the rear of the group as they begin to head up the stairs towards whatever the “Church of Jeremiah” is.

 *

 The room you arrive in is shocking, to say the least. In the centre is a swimming pool, drained of water but stained with blood. The sight makes your heart skip a beat – maybe starvation was a better option. But it’s too late now. Across from the door the group entered through is a stained glass window that displays the image of who you guess is Jeremiah. You descend the stairs with the others, forming a circle around a square table covered with a red cloth.

“Mind your step,” Ecco murmurs softly as you walk through the pools of blood. The cold liquid sticks to your feet and you shudder. Once you have all taken position, some shifting uneasily while others stand confident, she continues. “Before you can have the honour of joining the Church, you must prove your faith, and your loyalty.” She steps forward and pulls away the cloth, revealing six guns and six bullets. Shit. “Six shooters – bang, bang. Each of you will have one gun, and one bullet.” The confident ones step forward immediately. You watch them each place a bullet into the barrel and spin it shut. Russian roulette. “Of course, if you’re too much of a scaredy-cat, we’ll let you leave. Just not alive.” She giggles, eyes firmly planted on you as you hurry to imitate them, feeling her gaze on you the whole time. She beams, excited at your cooperation. In a dramatic motion, she lifts the table above her head and out of the way, climbing out of the pool to watch as the group raises their guns as one. You hold yours as steady as you can, but can’t stop the shaking in your arm. The cold barrel of the one behind you presses against the base of your skull. This is practically a death sentence. And even if you survive, you may become a murderer. Was it really worth it? But trying to leave now would make your demise a certainty – and you’re not ready for that. You grit your teeth, steeling yourself for the sound of the weapons firing, readying yourself for death. Ecco calls out from behind the railings, smiling down at you, “This will make Jeremiah so happy, little ones. Now, on the count of three: One. Two… Goose!” She yells out, making the person standing in front of you jump. You’re surprised no one misfired. “Just making sure you’re paying attention,” She gives a sinister smile, the cheery tone of her voice taking on a more menacing edge. “Three!” Your eyes snap shut as you pull the trigger.

 BANG!

 Bodies fall to the floor. Four to be precise. The girl in front of you is dead. I killed her. You let out a shaky gasp and drop the gun, stepping back into a fresh pool of blood. Only one other person is alive. Michael lies dead, as does the one behind you. You and the other survivor look at each other, joy spreading across his face while horror spreads across yours. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to survive. Now your future is completely in the hands of Jeremiah, whoever he is. Ecco claps, a gleeful squeal escaping her lips.

“Oh, goody!” She joins you in the bottom of the pool, seemingly unaffected by the people that were just murdered. She takes your jaw in her hand and squeezes tight. She draws you close so that your noses are practically touching, and you can’t look away. “I was hoping you’d survive,” She giggles. Her hand forcibly moves your head to look at the person you killed. “And you didn’t just survive. You thrived!” The giggle turns into a cackle and she releases you, stepping back and turning so that she can see both of you. “Now, it is time for you to meet him. The one and only, our saviour: Jeremiah.”

 *

 You follow her through corridors and down stairs, approaching the sound of metal clanking and feet shuffling.

“Who even is Jeremiah?” You wonder under your breath. The other survivor stops for a moment, a look of shock and horror spreading across his face, and he struggles to find words.

“You seriously don’t know?” You shake your head.

“Should I?” The name seemed familiar, but you couldn’t place it to anyone or anything.

“He’s the reason we’re all here; he changed the world.” He tells you passionately – it’s almost like he’s been brainwashed.

“But what did he do?” You just want to know. If this is your life now, you deserve to know who you’ve been ensnared by and why.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Ecco says, turning to face you and bowing dramatically. You’ve arrived in a large room, the windows boarded up to stop the light coming in. Boxes and shelves litter the floor and people move about robotically, pushing wheelbarrows to and fro. Dust chokes the air and you cough. In the centre stands a tall man with dark hair. Jeremiah, you assume. He seems to be talking to himself, muttering and arguing, occasionally gesturing frantically with his hands.

“Do we actually get to meet him?” Joy fills the others face. He must really love this Jeremiah.

“She does,” Ecco points at you dramatically, staying as still as a statue while she turns her head to face him. “You… don’t.” His face falls – he looks like he’s about to start sobbing.

“But… I thought… Why not?”

“You get to meet Jeremiah,” She weaves closer to him until they are face to face. “When you prove yourself!” She screams, making both of you flinch. She shoves him away and one of the many people filtering through the room grabs his arm and drags him off, ignoring his protests. Ecco’s arm wraps around you, holding you tight to her body and pulling you towards Jeremiah.

“What have I done to prove myself?” You question, but her only answer is a finger over your lips, hushing you. “Boss!” She calls out, her voice light and airy again. He turns around and you can’t help but gasp slightly. He’s handsome, that much is obvious, but it’s disguised by the porcelain white of his skin and glassy green of his eyes. A menacing grin appears on his face, his eyes fixed on the woman next to me. Her smile matches his. “The newbie here wanted to meet ya’.” She pinches your cheek as though you’re a child. You try to pull away but she’s unexpectedly strong. His eyes flick over to you and look you up and down.

“Oh, really?” He takes a step closer. “And what is “the newbie” called?” He over-enunciates every word as though he is making a grand speech to a crowd of thousands, rather than just you and Ecco. She nudges you, faux-encouragement.

“(Y/N),” You tell him and he nods slowly, as though deep in thought.

“And why are you here, (Y/N)?” He seems to tower over you – you have to crane your neck up to look into his distractingly clear eyes. Something in them, the intensity, makes you shiver. A shaky gasp escapes your lips when he uses your name.

“Honestly,” Your voice is unsteady, your mind thrown by Jeremiah’s presence, “I don’t know. I thought this wouldn’t be anything, or that I would die as soon as I stepped through the door, but…”

“No, no,” He shakes his head and his smile turns mocking, patronising. “Don’t lie to yourself. I want the truth.” Your stomach twists.

“I… I’ve lost everything. I have nothing, no one. So why not? What else is there? The dark zone? Constant fear?” Why not perfectly sums up everything that lead you here. Why not talk to the strange man on the street? Why not follow him to “a new purpose”? Why not join the strange church? Why not kill an innocent person? Why not? Before you would have been screaming at yourself, the endless reasons twisting in your brain, but now…

“I suppose it’s a good enough reason as any.” He begins to circle you like a shark, sizing you up. Ecco watches on, her head tilted in fascination. “Everything, you say?” His voice is probing, interrogating, digging away at the inner workings of your mind, of your very soul.

“Everything.” You affirm.

“No family, no friends?” Even thinking about them makes your heart ache; you miss them so much. “No attachments?” You shake your head, not trusting your voice. “A shame for you,” You can’t tell if he’s mocking you or if he, in his own way, is being sympathetic. “To have everything taken from you so cruelly.” He moves back in front of me, his face twisted into an unreadable expression.

“I don’t even have anyone to blame,” His lips form a sly smirk, almost smug in a way. It confuses you. “Whoever it was, whoever did this to Gotham, I hate them. But I can’t do anything. And that’s almost worse.”

“To be filled with anger but no direction? I’m glad Ecco brought you to me,” She giggles, proud of her achievement and glad for the approval of her boss. “You’re exactly what we need. What I need.” His words fill your brain, pushing everything else out. The idea of being needed. Of Jeremiah needing you. You barely know him, but the emptiness inside of you longs for connection, to be important to someone again.

“But… What makes me what you need? Why me?”

“Someone with no purpose, empty but for anger?” He grips your chin in a hand clothed in a black leather glove, bruising and vice-like. He pulls you close, hot breath fanning across your face. “You’re perfect.” In an instant his lips are on yours, cold like stone, pressed against your mouth and trapping your senses so all you can feel his him. Your eyes snap closed immediately as he dominates the kiss, controlling your every movement. You hear Ecco yelp in excitement, her hands clapping, but they are drowned out by Jeremiah. Just as you go to touch him he lets you go, pushing you back with a harsh shove so you stumble into Ecco’s arms. “Take her away.” He turns from you, surveying the work being done, as Ecco begins to drag you out of the room. She’s practically skipping, while you are still trembling from the encounter. You don’t know what this means, but it can’t be anything good.

PART TWO

Tags: @yagurlrosie

(A/N: Might do a part two to this, what do people think?)

#purpose #jeremiah x reader #jeremiah valeska #jeremiah valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska x reader #reader #jeremiah imagine #ecco #gotham #gotham fanfic #gotham imagine #gotham x reader #gotham fanfiction

[bat-losers-inc]

Kintsugi: Chapter 12

Summary: Final Crisis/Red Robin AU. Dick admits Tim to a psychiatric facility after Bruce is lost in time. Jason finds him suffering at the hands of a Scarecrow-copycat and breaks him out. While safe in Jason’s apartment, Tim still struggles with panic attacks and drug withdrawal. At a loss for what to do, Jason calls Roy Harper.

Pairings: Jason Todd & Tim Drake, Jason Todd & Dick Grayson, Roy Harper & Jason Todd.

Warning: minor mention of self-harm in this chapter.

                                                            - - -

“Okay. House rules.” Roy turned to the whiteboard and started writing with big slanting letters, “Rule number one; no drugs or alcohol inside the safehouse.”

“Now,” Roy pivoted back to Tim, who sat curled up on one end of the couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “I know this is an obvious one for the both of us, but it’s worth mentioning that Jason has also agreed to follow it as a show of solidarity. Right, Jason?”

Jason offered a thumbs up from his spot at the kitchen counter, his attention still absorbed by the computer screen before him, open to Tim’s research into Bruce’s disappearance. The lengthy document was full to the brim with images and news articles pulled from the web, scientific papers on optics, quantum mechanics and archeological sites — not to mention all of Batman’s previous research on Darkseid and his powers. It was going to take him days to read through all of it.

“Rule number two; keep it clean.”

“Yeah, we’re not trying to live a life of grime.” Tim smiled, clearly proud of himself.

Yikes, that peak dad joke knocked Jason right out of the physics of time travel and square into second-hand embarrassment. We’re really going to need to unteach him Dick’s puns.

Roy sighed, “Hang on. I just have to make an amendment.”

The expo marker squeaked loudly and Jason glanced up under his eyelashes to see him crossing out the first line. “Rule number one. No puns!”

Jason choked down a laugh and returned his gaze to his screen.

“Seriously, Roy?” said Tim, “You know, it’s going to take us all day to get through these rules if you keep—”

More marker squeaking. “Rule number three!”

“I’m still talking!”

“And now I’m talking.” Roy grinned. “Isn’t it funny how that works?”

“Jason!”

“I’m not here,” he called into the other room as he scrolled to the next page. Ooh, pictures… picture he could do. “Also, respect your elders.”

“Unbelievable,” Tim grumbled, just loud enough for Jason to hear.

“We’ll have weekly meetings every Sunday afternoon. We can use this time to talk about what’s been going well, what we’re struggling with that week, any routine changes that need to be made. Etcetera.”

Silence from Tim. That was good. At least there was the hope that he wasn’t going to fight them on every point. Reassured by that, Jason glanced back at a picture of Batman’s symbol painted on a cave wall and... let’s just say it wasn’t a case of everyday graffiti. Unless Batman had a lineage all the way back to early human civilization that Jason didn’t know about.

Jason tilted his head, squinting. “Hey, Tim? Got a question about that picture of the cave drawing in your research. C’mere.”

“Jason!” snapped Roy. “We’re clearly in the middle of something.”

“I’ll only be a sec!” He turned the laptop around as Tim slid off the couch and walked over.

“What about it?”

Jason tapped the screen with his fingernail. “There’s an annotation in this section with a number listed. What’s that for?”

Tim stared at it for a long moment.

“Oh, that?” He picked at a patch of dry skin on his elbow. “Nothing, just a contact for a consultant.”

“A consultant? Were you working on this case with someone before you got locked up?”

“No, not really. It was more of a one-off situation. He was the one who brought the cave painting to my attention in the first place and sent me the picture.”

“A one-off.. But you kept the number?” Jason eyed him.

Tim smiled tightly. “You know me. I keep a record of everything.”

“Except the name of your consultant.” Jason spun the laptop back around to face him. “Spell it for me, I’ll put it in.”

“What?” asked Tim.

“What’s the name of your consultant?”

“It doesn’t matter. Really.”

Jason’s eyebrows hiked their way into his hairline. “Your reaction is telling me otherwise.”

Anger flashed across Tim’s features. “Just leave it alone, Jason.”

Seriously? Tim couldn’t really have expected him to just ignore the glaringly obvious tension in the room. Honestly, it was like the kid didn’t know him at all.

He turned to head back into the living room but Jason caught his arm. It was slick to the touch under his fingertips. The sweating had started two days after they’d done the first taper— the first, and most mild, of his body’s reaction to doing without his usual dosage. “The fact that you don’t want to tell me means whoever it is, they’re probably bad news —”

“Hey, look at me. ” He gave Tim’s arm a shake until Tim’s gaze finally wandered the expanse of the kitchen and locked back on his own. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know who I should be protecting you from.”

Tim’s eyebrows and the hair at his temples were dark with perspiration. It added an extra intensity to the glare he leveled him with.

“You really think I would work with someone who was out to get me? I might be going crazy looking for answers, but I’m not totally stupid.”

“Of course not, but you’re not the same person you were a week ago either. You’re weaker, more distracted, more—”

Tim yanked his arm free of his fingers, his forearm streaked with bands of red where Jason had been unwilling to let go even when he felt Tim starting to pull away. “No, what ‘I am’  is late for my first NA meeting.”

Jason clamped his teeth together and tried not to grind them. Well, you sure fucked that up.

Roy stepped in before he could make a bigger ass of himself. “Tim, get changed. We’ve gotta hustle if we want to make it there by one.”

“And throw on some extra deodorant.” He added. “All the sweating’s making you smell ripe.”

As Tim took to the stairs, Roy flashed Jason a look. “How's that helicopter parenting serving you long term?”

“Oh, please, I’m the furthest thing from a helicopter parent!”

“Prove it.”

Jason shut the laptop and rubbed at his forehead. “Admit it. This mystery consultant has you concerned too.”

Roy rolled his eyes.“Yeah, a little. But, maybe it was just a one-time thing. People make choices that they’re ashamed of later. This could be Tim’s, but he’s not going to tell you until he trusts you to treat him right.”

Jason swept his arm out wide so Roy had a chance to glance around the apartment at all the little spots where Tim had already made himself at home — the rumpled blanket in the corner of the living room couch, the post-it note with Jason’s wifi password taped above his workspace, and the plate with leftover toast crumbs sitting on the counter — just to name a few. “Uh, I am. He can trust me.”

I made a fucking home for him when he felt like he couldn’t go back to his real one. What more do I have to do to prove it to him? What the hell happened to the old saying ‘actions speak louder than words?’ Apparently, Tim was the greedy sort that wanted actions and words.

Roy cut him a look like he could read Jason’s mind. “Trust goes both ways, Jason. And You’re treating him like a child.”

“He is a child!”

“I’ve only known him for a few days, but I can already see that Tim’s got more intelligence and perseverance than I ever did at his age.”

“Which is why I was being honest with him,” Jason countered. “Just like I would have with you if you were back in his position and doing something stupid.”

“There’s a difference between doing something stupid and doing something you don’t agree with.”

God, was this the kind of mental minefield that Dick had to navigate when dealing with Damian? It was tiring as fuck and endlessly confusing. He was honestly never sure if he was making the right decision. Roy wasn’t one to be tired out easily however.

“Right now that contact is just some numbers on a piece of paper. If they’re bad news Tim’s doing the hard thing and steering clear of them, even if it means forgoing easy answers about Bruce. You want to be honest about something? Be honest with yourself about that.”

Jason was still trying to think of a reply to that by the time Roy herded Tim out of the apartment. When he heard Roy’s car pulling away, he went back to cleaning the bike parts in the garage. He always did his best thinking when his hands were busy with some repetitive task. Hopefully, he could miraculously sort out his shit before Roy and Tim came back.

                                                                 - - -

Tim hadn’t realized that when Roy said they’d have to hurry, it had more to do with the fact that they were driving all the way into Old Gotham than it had to do with mid-morning traffic. When he’d made a comment about it on the way over, Roy had simply said, “I think you’ll like the group at this place. They’re good guys who aren’t afraid to call you on your bullshit.”

“Oh, is that a valued quality in NA group members?” He’d ask, mostly sarcastically.

“At times, it can be.”

Tim didn’t know what to say to that, so they drove the rest of the way in silence. By the time Roy pulled up to the curb outside the Church of St. Jude and cut the engine, Tim’s nerves were even more on edge. It could’ve had something to do with the name of the church — St. Jude was the patron saint of lost causes — it struck Tim as an odd and ominous choice that Roy would favor this place.

“Ready to go in?” Roy asked as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

Lacking an answer to such a simple question, Tim stared out the window at the church. He took in its brick facade, the small courtyard hidden behind metal fencing, and the long-limbed trees that were just starting to bud. On a warm spring day like today it had the look of a small haven amidst the terrible giant that was Gotham City.  

So, why was he so scared to leave Roy’s car?

“If you’re wondering when you’ll feel ready, the answer is probably never.”

“No… it’s not that. I know that.” Tim stared down at his lap. “It’s just…”

He struggled to find the right words, aware all the while that this was the first heart-to-heart that he and Roy were having that wasn’t within Jason’s earshot. They were venturing into uncharted territory.

Just breathe, you can talk to him.

This morning, he’d lingered quietly at the top of the stairs, like a child listening in on a conversation that they were too young for, and heard the way Roy had stood up for him. As long as it wasn’t endangering anyone, it seemed Roy was going to let him have his privacy, whether Jason liked it or not. So he knew that this conversation would be something that stayed just between them.

“What do I say to them?” he asked finally.

Roy hitched a thumb toward the church. “What, in group?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He shrugged. “Don’t you have to go around in a circle telling everyone how you started using and how long it’s been since you’ve last used?”

“It’s not mandatory, but yeah, that’s usually the way these things go.”

“Well, how am I supposed to tell them that I started using because some wanna-be villain experimented on me with fear toxin and tranquilizers?”

He threw out his hands like his frustration was something he could physically beat into submission. Instead, all he managed to do was accidentally punch the glove compartment and scrape his knuckles.

Ow. Universe 46, Tim still 0. Or at least that’s the way it felt.

Once he let one of his worries slip, it seemed he could stop it turning into a flood, his words spilling out like a tidal wave into the quiet space of Roy’s car. “ Hell, how do I tell them it’s been zero days since I last used? That I’m in fact still using. I can’t go in there and stare at a bunch of people who are actually clean and pretend to know what they’re going through, I mean—”

“Hey— hey, Tim,” Roy waved his hands. “Fuck that shit. All of it.”

“But—”

“No, I mean it. Fuck it, it means nothing to anyone in that room. Those details— the fear toxin, the mental hospital, your tapering regimen— they’re irrelevant. You think I had to dive into my shitty backstory with Green Arrow and vigilantism when recovering from heroin? Hell, no, I just told the parts of my story that mattered. You can do the same.”

Tim pressed his fingers harshly against his eyelids. “But I’m still using benzos!”

Roy laughed and tucked his long hair behind his ears, “Who told you being completely clean is a requirement for going to an NA meeting? If that was the case we wouldn’t have nearly so many attendees.”

Tim stared at him. That couldn't be right.

“I’m serious,” said Roy. “Most of us have been on and off the wagon more times than we can count. We come to the meetings anyway because it’s supposed to be the one constant lifeline that we don’t abandon. The only thing that matters to the people in there is that you’re trying to get clean.”

He leaned over the center console to look him in the eye. “Okay?”

Tim nodded, “Alright.”

Roy led the way down into the basement level of the church which served as the meeting room. It was much like Tim had pictured it. Fluorescent lighting; a scattering of folding chairs; coffee, water, and boxes of donuts laid out on the tables along one wall. A small group mingled around one of the tables, pouring steaming coffee into styrofoam cups before the meeting started. Tim instinctively tried to skirt around the group, eying a pair of metal chairs on the other side of the room. He was about to slink away when someone recognized Roy and gestured them over.

Roy glanced at Tim and jerked his head. “Let me introduce you to a few people.”

He had no choice but to follow, trailing a few paces behind Roy and hoping to hide behind his tall frame. Now he really was acting like a child. It was no wonder Jason was having mixed feelings. Get it together Drake! You’ve taken down super villains but you can handle some small talk?

“Roy!” A woman pulled Roy in for a hug, her dark curls spilling loosely over his shoulders. “How’ve you been?”

“Yeah,” The man at her shoulder smiled. “It’s been a while.”

Roy shrugged and offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I don’t get to Gotham nearly as much as I used to.” Tim took the last couple of steps forward, drawing the eyes of the group on him. “This is my friend, Tim. I’m gonna be sponsoring him for a bit. Tim, I’d like you to meet Rene and Dominic.”

“Nice to meet you.” He offered them a small wave, but nothing more. The last thing he wanted to do was draw more attention to himself during this meeting. It would be enough to just hang around in the background and go unnoticed while he got his footing.

It was a relief when the start of the meeting was called and everyone picked up one last donut and cup coffee before sliding into their seats. Roy pulled Tim over to sit next to his friends as a man stood up and addressed the group.

“Hi, everyone. Most of you regulars know me already, but for those of you new here my name’s Antonne Mays. I’m the group leader.”

He pulled a folded piece of notebook paper out of his back pocket and cleared his throat. “I’d like to start off with some general announcements. For those of you here by court mandate, come see me at the end of today’s meeting and I’ll validate your attendance cards. Also, Jessica can you stand up, please? Today is Jessica’s birthday so let’s raise a cup in her honor for staying strong and sticking around with us for another year!”

The people around him raised their styrofoam cups of coffee and tapped on them enthusiastically with their plastic stirrers. For a moment the room was filled with whistles and cheers before subsiding back into order. Tim shifted restlessly in his seat as the meeting went on, his attention going in and out of focus as the announcements transitioned into a round-robin discussion.

Roy bumped his foot with his own. “Pay attention.”

Tim nodded. He was trying to pay attention to the accounts from the other members but recently he’d been having trouble focusing on much of anything.

Focus, Tim. He rubbed at his thighs and rolled his shoulders. Just relax and breathe.

He closed his eyes and let his hands rest loosely against his legs, focusing his attention on drawing a deep breath in and then out. In and out.

“Will you relax and stop fidgeting? You're gonna drive me insane with that.” Roy hissed in his ear.

Tim opened his eyes, ready to shoot Roy a glare. “I’m not—”

His fingers were trembling, creating a spasmodic tattoo against the fabric of his jeans. He clenched his hand tight into a fist hard enough to feel his fingernails in the soft skin of his palms and sucked in a breath. It was just another symptom of the tapering.

It’s fine. You’ll be fine.

A hand covered his clenched fist from wrist to knuckles and applied gentle pressure. Tim looked up at Roy and read the unsaid apology that was written all over his freckled face.

He pulled his hand free and crossed his arms, stuffing his treacherous fingers in the crook of his elbow where no one could see them tremble. The minutes ticked on and Tim was only half listening now, the current speaker’s voice a dull white noise compared to his own thoughts. The trembling came and went in waves but Tim’s fingers lingered near his arms, circling the rough pattern along the skin of his inner arms. The bruising had faded but the raised skin from the needle marks still remained. Roy and Jason had told him he should be prepared for that and it really shouldn’t have mattered so much. It’s just a few more scars. Still, he couldn’t pull his eyes away this morning when he caught sight of himself in the mirror — the pearlescent marks peaking out right under the hem of his t-shirt sleeves.

They know. They all know just from looking at you. Sometimes that feeling was so strong it made him just want to pick up a hot poker and press it to his skin… to burn a brand big enough for those little scars to disappear into.

“I hope you’re not thinking those track marks are an excuse for you to slack off while you’re here. Because I’ll let you in on a little secret, kid; those are nothing special around here.”

Tim jerked his head up to find Antonne and half of the circle staring him in the face. “No- I wasn’t—”

“Mmhmm,” Antonne nodded, his fingers working diligently to roll up his shirt sleeves. When he’d cuffed them above his elbows, he held out his bare arms under the fluorescents. He traced one finger along his inner elbow, where tiny scars stood out in a dark mauve against the darker brown of his skin. “Look, I got them too. As does Antonio, Katey, and even your sponsor, Roy.”

“I’m just not used to them,” Tim said in his own defense. “They’re just so… public.”

Roy leaned forward in his seat, his hair spilling over in a red tangle that hid his expression from Tim’s view. “Sorry, Antonne. He’s new, this is his first meeting.”

Antonne waved away Roy’s explanation. “Ah, I see. So you’re still at the stage where you think those scars will define what others think of you.”

Tim shrugged. “Well, yeah… I mean, scars are permanent.”

That got a full-body laugh out of Antonne.

Tim stared at him confused. “Is something funny?”

“If you don’t like them so much, wear long sleeves, cover them up with concealer, hell you can even turn them into some hipster geometrical nonsense tattoo like Antonio did for all I care.”

“People are always going to stare, it’s in their nature,” Roy said before extending his left arm across Tim’s leg.

On the outside of his bicep was his Wyvern tattoo, a large winged beast with a reptilian tail that zig-zagged all the way down his bicep before ending at his elbow in an arrow-shaped point. But as he rotated his arm, Tim saw that the inside of his elbow was marked not with ink but with old track marks. He’s never even noticed them, his eyes always drawn to the colorful black and green ink, forever trying to figure out it’s meaning. “But, you can choose what they see when they look at you. Got it?

Tim’s hands dropped back into his lap. He felt a strange mixture of relief and humiliation all at once. “Yeah.”  

“And here’s another pro-tip, on the house.” Antonne leaned forward in his chair. “The best way to change what people think of you… is to participate in group discussion.”

 His face heated up as laughter erupted around the circle. Thankfully, it all seemed good-natured based on the smiles that some of the other members directed at him and the way Roy gave his hair a quick ruffle.

“What’s your name, kid?” Antonne asked.

Tim sat up straighter in his chair. “Tim.”

“Alright, Tim. Next meeting, you’re speaking first.”

#kintsugi #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #roy harper #batman #batman fandom #batman fanfic #tw drug problems #tw drug addiction #tw self harm #hurt comfort #emotional whump #bat-losers-inc #LittleDarlingXOX #myfic #fanfic #red robin #red hood #Arsenal

[floral-on-main]

Back To My Roots

Lydia's blonde roots begin to show and of course Beetlejuice, the Ghost With The Most, jumps to conclusions. It's not his fault he actually kind of cares for this little asshole now. (Not ship!)

Also on ao3

Words:1621

Lydia being naturally blonde was a basic and unsurprising fact of life. Her dying her hair was also unsurprising. What better way for a girl in emotional turmoil to show just how shitty she was feeling than pitch black hair? Not to mention it fit her goth aesthetic much more than platinum blonde hair. This train of though was spurned on by her reflection starring back at her from the vanity mirror.

The golden roots seemed to mock Lydia with how they stood out against the black. With everything that had been happening she had no chance to touch up her roots. There wasn't a single box of dye in the house, not after Dad and Delia decided to go gray together. Yuck. With a little pleading, she might be able to get Delia to grab her a box of black dye.

With a heavy sigh Lydia flopped onto her bed and draped her left arm over her eyes. Even if no one was there she was going to stay true to her dramatic self.

Beetlejuice floated down the halls of the Deetz-Maitland household, semi-moist canvas clutched tightly to his chest. Delia had been trying to get him to 'paint his feelings'. Yuck. He mostly just used it as time to be a nuisance of hang out with the Maitlands, those nerds knew a lot about painting. It was hobby 69-something for Adam and 420-or-whatever for Barbra. For once he had actually sat down and painted a sandworm, which looked a lot more like a stripped sock than a sandworm.

Without knocking he phased through to door to Lydia's bedroom. He held back a snort as he saw Lydia being her normal dramatic self. They were best friends for a reason. A reason that didn't have to do with demon summoning and abandonment issues.

“How's it going, gremlin? Did Debra sit you down for a 'girls' talk' again?” He proudly held his painting out in front of him, ready for when Lydia turned to look. She was going to be blown away and super impressed.

With a groan Lydia sat up and let her arm fall lip at her side. “Nah, just teenage stuff and angst. You know how it is.” Her eyes locked onto the smudged painting of what looked like a pinstripe eel cracking open an egg with its mouth. Looks like Beej was getting in abstract art like Delia wanted. “What's that?”

Just as he was about to launch into his totally impromptu speech he noticed something pale in Lydia's sea of dark hair. He floated closer to get a better look. Beetlejuice was getting better about personal space, but it still wasn't one of his strong suits.

It was when he was hovering directly over her that he noticed a golden split in the hair right in the middle of her head. He may not understand breathers completely, but this couldn't have been normal. But it was nothing to worry about. It was probably normal and she was fine.

Who was he kidding? Something must of happened during her trip to the Netherworld and now her head was gonna spilt in half! Breather's hair didn't just change colors like that. Did she catch some supernatural malady?  If she died of broken head or half mind or whatever he would be there for her. Now, how was he going to break the news to her? Just the though of loosing his best buddy for eternity had blue bleed into his hair from the roots to the tips.

“Earth to Beetlejuice. You still in there, dummy?” Lydia waved her hand in front of his face. It wasn't uncommon for him to disappear into his own mental world, but this was concerning her. Somewhere in his train of thought the painting slipped from his fingers and fell to the shaggy carpet below. She had learned loosely what each color of Beej's hair meant and knew blue was bad news— or more accurately, sad news. As a last resort she tapped his shoulder. Physical contact usually brought him back to the world of the living.

“I'm so sorry, Lyds! I promise I'll be the best Guide ever when you bite it. And when we get to the Netherworld I'll rip apart whoever or whatever did this to you!” As he rambled his hair turned fully blue and tears threatened to fall.

“What the fu-” Her sentence was cut off by the near crushing hug the demon was giving her. Several tears made tracks through the light layer of dirt on his face. She thumped his side roughly with a closed fist. Once he loosed up a bit she took in a large, theatrical breath.

“What the hell are you talking about? I'm just dying at the normal rate.”

Beetlejuice pulled away briefly to blow his nose on his tie. He leaned back in to tighten the hug, but Lydia screamed bloody murder and managed to push him off. “If you even think about touching me with that petri dish of a tie I'll stab you again.”

“You can stab me as much as you want if it'll make you feel better.” He seemed completely unphased by her protests and just floated at the edge of her bed. Something clearly had Beej pretty worked up, and Lydia was going to get to the bottom of it. At some point the painting had been kicked under the bed, where it then lay forgotten and uncared for— never to be heard of or referenced again.

“Just take a deep breath and tell me what's wrong. Why do you think I'm gonna die now?”

He did as he was told and did his best to appear composed. This composure did nothing for the deep blue staining his hair.  “ I don't know how you haven't noticed, but there's a giant fucking split in your head. Isn't that painful? You were cursing up a storm after you stubbed your toe, but your fine with this? Wait, you need to cough. We need to see if your lungs have started to corrode yet.” Beetlejuice's voice raised a couple octaves as worry once again gripped his unbeating heart.

“Split in my head?” Lydia said the words slowly, as if they were some foreign demonic language. Then the answer hit her like a tombstone to the head. “Beej, look at me and listen carefully.”

With watery eyes he watched her as if this was the last time he would see her alive.

Lydia cleared her throat. “Listen, I'm dying, but at the rate most breathers do. Probably.” That dark thought was quickly pushed from her mind. “My hair isn't naturally black, it's blonde. I dye my hair this color and now the color is fading. It's totally normal and doesn't hurt. Just ask Dad if you don't believe me.”

A painfully silent moment passed between the two. In that moment, the blue faded to be replaced by the normal healthy green hue. The first to break the silence was the flustered demon.

“Pssh, I knew that. Did you really think I would get that worked up over you? It was just a prank and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker!” Beetlejuice was a master at lying, but even that sounded hollow to his ears. He nonchalantly waved his hand as if to dispel any doubts.

Lydia rolled her eyes and smirked. In her most sarcastic voice she said, “You got me, BJ. For a minute I totally believed your heart had grown to sizes and you cared for me.”

“Shut up, you gremlin. Are you doing to 'dye your hair' again?” The air quotes were unnecessary, but totally Beej.

“Of course. If I show up blonde Claire would tear into me without remorse. Probably claim I was trying to steal her styles. She needs to wake up and realize that not everything is about her.” Beetlejuice nodded sympathetically as if he knew the intricacies of teenage girl drama.

“Yeah, you really gotta dye it. I can't have you stealing my style. Color changing hair is practically my trademark. And let me tell you, Netherworld lawyers are ruthless.”

“Get me some dye and then we'll talk about me 'stealing your style', Beej.”

Beetlejuice was already mentally planning how to steal enough dye to keep Lydia sated, but not enough to get caught by either Charles or the Maitlands. He already had to sleep on the couch once this week and he wasn't looking for a repeat. If he was sneaky enough he might be able to even get some for himself. Would it even stick? Eh, he would just find out later.

“Now that we got that crisis out of the way, want to go collect spiders out back? Pretty sure I saw a brown recluse the other day.”

“There is nothing more I would rather do except the Maitlands.”

Lydia grimaced before responding. “I know.”

Lydia grabbed an old mason jar from her dresser and her polaroid from where it was hanging on the vanity. She was all ready to go. She looked over to Beej, who spat in his hands and used it to ineffectively slick back his hair. He caught her looking and gave a thumbs up. “Ready to go when you are.”

The two buddies then raced down the stairs— to Delia's surprise— to get to the backyard. They heard the sound of something heavy falling to the ground, but managed to miss Delia yelling at them to slow down. Turns out there wasn't a brown recluse in the garden, but Beetlejuice managed to conjure up a terrifying replacement. Once Charles got home they were both going to be on web clean up duty though.

#beetlejuice #bjtm #fic #lydia deetz #sibling bonding (kinda) #btj

[gatticus]

32. dust motes

i love the idea of houses sitting perfectly preserved with like dust in the air--then i realised, i have an idea for that! and its sad as fuck! :)

thankyou for sending this, i rly appreciate it as always ♥ set mid sr2

This was never the plan.

Aisha was supposed to marry Johnny and live with him happily ever after. She was going to be the best woman--she was even going to dye her hair to be more appropriate. Everyone was supposed to wear white and get old and fat and say it was the happiest day of their lives.

Instead, they were packing away her things and deciding what to get rid of. Johnny and Becca worked silently, packing away cutlery into boxes, and vinyls into bubblewrap, their fingers leaving dust trails in the countertops. 

Everything was still. Entirely still, a quiet husk in relation to what happened there. The wooden floorboards were scrubbed clean of blood, but the rug was still stained a deep colour, a botched job for whoever she had hired to clean the place.

Not that it mattered. They were surrounded by Aisha--and not just that she had died on the chair across from them, it was her house. Her toothbrush was still in the pot upstairs, her shoes haphazard by the door, a mug with coffee in sat in the sink. A reminder of a life interrupted.

She glanced around at the empty house, eyes lingering on the chair in the corner, before heading for upstairs, bags in hand. She heard heavy footsteps on the stairs behind her, Johnny having followed, as he overtook her and walked straight into the room.

They hadn’t been in the house for months. Half a year now, and aside from the dust, everything was almost preserved. 

She hesitated by the bedroom door, as he stood there, silently, taking it in.

“Do you want me to leave?” She asked, a quiet voice afraid to permeate the silence.

“No.”

She watched him, as he stared at his bedroom. Dust floated lazily through a beam of light from the shut curtains, the bed made on one side, but not the other. She had been in here once before, when he let her have the bed with Eesh and he took the sofa, but this was entirely different.

She crossed over to the draw, pulling one out and handing it to him, whilst she worked on the other. She sat on the dusty bed, and so did he, holding up things for his attention as he rooted through his life.

He silently started binning things. Tax letters, receipts. He hesitated on her passport, peeling it open. 

Aisha stared back at him, as she watched him tilt it under the light. A stray thumb smoothed over her picture, staring up at him, before he closed it, placing it in the keep pile.

There was an unspoken rule between them that all pictures were saved, as she thumbed through them. Holiday snaps, pictures from before she knew them, pictures of all sorts, pictures of her. 

Becca held the picture closer to her eyes, staring at the younger version of herself. 

Aisha had taken to photography when she faked her death, having to learn new skills to keep her entertained. It was a shitty disposable first, then a decent, working camera, but these were old grainy ones taken on a shitty disposable.

She was sat watching TV in the picture, long brown hair trailing down her back, and the back of her hand pressed against her mouth, knees drawn up to her chest, apparently having no idea that she was being photographed.

Becca engrossed, 2006 was scribbled in dainty handwriting on the back. 

She flipped the photo to the back, and almost cried at the one staring back at her. A shitty selfie of her and Aisha, plus Johnny sulking in the background. She felt her eyes water as she smoothed a thumb over toothy smiles and almost forgot Johnny was sat next to her.

-

It took hours, and every time she felt herself over the edge, she almost stopped completely.

They had a couple of small bags that he wanted to keep, the rest sat in a landfill at the front of the house. Shared memories and a shared life, in black bags to go to the trash.

He was sat in the bare living room, with stark painted walls and the ripped up floorboards, looking, for probably the only time she’d seen him, entirely too small for it.

She was watching him from across the room, leaning on the wall where the TV used to be, now donated to some charity she had forgotten the name of, alongside signed CD’s and memorabilia. 

They would never step foot in this house again, she knew that. She also knew sitting in it, hoping for clarity was not going to help either.

She pushed off the wall, watching his eyes move to her from behind his glasses. Her feet took her in front of him, standing before his knees, hand outstretched.

He looked up at her, and she couldn’t tell what he was feeling. She usually could, usually knew how to read him like a book. He took the hand she extended to him as she pulled him up to his feet.

It was time to go. 

She walked ahead, dropping his hand, crossing over to the door. He paused as she held the door open, glancing down at the keys in his hand. 

He silently took the key off the ring, and followed her through the open door, casting a glance through his house as he shut the door behind him for the last time. The key sat in his palm, then slotted into the door until she heard an audible click.

He posted the key through the door, and cleared his throat. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he turned to look at her, asking her for what to do.

This wasn’t a position she was in very often. He saved her, that’s what he did. Pulled her back from the abyss every time. The shoe was rarely on the other foot. 

She silently walked up to him, arms slung over his neck, and she had to strain forward on her toes to do so. She felt him stiffen, but slowly lean down, his touch light on her back. They would have laughed at how corny this was if it was any other situation, but any other situation wouldn’t have his arms tightening around her. 

They went slack, then dropped off her entirely as she settled back onto the balls of her feet. 

“Wanna be on your own?”

“Nah,” His voice was scratchy as he shook his head. “Probably gonna hit baggers later. I might even let you tag along.”

That was an attempt at humour, and she was going to go along with it if he needed it.

“Wow,” She willed a laugh onto her mouth. “Thanks, you’re too kind.”

He snorted, but it was too watery to be genuine, as he took off down the street, her following not far behind.

#twistedsinews #boss becca #otp; not without you #ish #fic #rachael dont look