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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 4 years ago

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Spookinktober 2021 Day 26

Welcome to Softly Savage Mint Yoongi’s week of spooky and sexy stories to count down the last week of the best month of the year! Please enjoy these seven stories, about a zombie, a vampire, a witch and her familiar, a werewolf, a serial killer, a grim reaper, and a monster hunter- respectively. Each story is standalone, so you may read them however you like, and remember to stay scary, and sexy. ;) Spookinktober 2021 Day 26 Pairing: Changbin x f.reader Spooks: Graveyards, monster hunting, zombies (referred to as shamblers), and ghouls. Descriptions of supernatural laws. Near-death experiences. A singular graphic description of stabbing a zombie in the head. Kinks: Public sex. Some mild exhibitionism. Rough/punishment sex. Oral (m. rec), creampie. Words: 4k

He warned you. He really did, no matter how curious you were. It was enough that when he was home, he would tell you of his horrific and terrifying adventures in great detail. Catering to your adoration of the spooky and creepy, and his fondness of you had led you both here all those years ago. Changbin had been your childhood friend. You’d been terrified of monsters and the stories about them as a young girl, and he had always been there beside you, swearing to fend them off and protect you. As if he knew all along, years later, he would come to have the abilities required to be a licensed, practicing Monster Hunter as his occupation. Although it shouldn’t surprise you, given his determination and grit for the things he has his eyes set on. Eyes set on you, ever since the night he came home after his first kill and you declared that you were no longer afraid of the monsters that lurked in the night. You remember staying up all night with him, explaining your ridiculous logic that if he told you all about the things that go bump in the night, you might understand them instead of being afraid. Ridiculously, how it had actually worked. He’d grown handsome and burly in his transition from boy to man. Perhaps you’d harbored a crush on him since you were seniors in high school, but never had time to dwell on it with your own respective studies. You didn’t see him often after graduation; he was the only one in your school, and one of three from your state that went to the Monster Hunter Academy after high school. You remember missing him desperately. Changbin is actually soft-hearted with those he cares for, and he still swears to this day that it was your late night phone calls full of tears about missing his stupid face that got him through the worst of his MHA days. When he came home finally, it had only been natural that he pulled you into the tightest hug and kissed you until neither of you could breathe. Years later, after those awkward confessions of feelings and first dates and unorthodox gifts of the macabre and supernatural, here you were. Settled into playing house while your boyfriend bravely traversed the darkness to exterminate every monster that crossed his path. Sometimes he would be gone for a few days, but he would always come home with his lips curled into an affectionate grin and a story to tell you. Sometimes, if he came home from a job midday, you would leave work to find him standing across the street from the school where you taught. Changbin would be the perfect picture of the classic biker boyfriend, leaning against the seat of his motorcycle, leather jacket hanging open over a fitted black tee, and one hand gently gripping a bouquet of flowers just because they made him think of you. It surprised you, this softer side of him, and made you fall deeper in love with his romantic heart. There were other times, when he was home but still investigating something, where he would be less talkative. Instead, worrying at his bottom lip with furrowed brows as he thought about the case he was on. He would make his tonics and sharpen his bolts and knives or polish his shotgun after he finished making more special bullets. He’d carve new runes into the wood of your home or lay down new traps when he was worried, set on taking whatever precautions were necessary to make sure you were safe when he wasn’t there. Once or twice, you’d asked to come along, on cases you thought seemed harmless and easy for him to manage. Changbin would always refuse, desperate to make you stay away from places he thought or knew were haunts for vampires or werewolves or ghouls. For the last four years, the look in his eyes, pleading you was enough to placate that curiosity. Tonight, he was checking out a local haunt, a graveyard only a thirty minute walk from your home on the edge of town. Mostly to appease the rumors spread around about a group of shamblers that had unusually stuck around rather than passing through. He’d been gone for twenty minutes when you spied his favorite knife on the kitchen table. The need to return

it to him had you lacing up your boots in minutes. Then, a logical thought crossed you. If you ran, you could probably catch him- you doubted he was sprinting to the scene. If he were miraculously already there, well, then what harm could there be in following his trail of corpses until you found him? Surely if you followed the path he laid behind him, you would be safe. It took you only twenty minutes of jogging to see the decrepit wrought iron fencing that lined the graveyard. A massive willow tree stands just inside the entrance, wispy limbs casting ghostly shadows across the pavement at your feet. You live here, and know there is only one entrance to the graveyard, although you’ve never explored it yourself. There’s a new feeling in your gut, like an uncomfortable nagging. It’s heeding his warning, but you’re already here. The confirmation of your lover also being here comes when you sight the first shambler corpse- lifeless and effectively double-tapped between the eyes where it lays prone on the grass. Your heart climbs higher into your throat the further onto the grounds you go, pounding a little harder inside the safety of your rib cage with every step. The second corpse lays next to the third, not ten feet past the first. The logical part of you finds some solace in this going exactly as you’d planned so far. You move along as quietly and quickly as you can manage- being careful to step over graves and around broken headstones- recalling all of the things Changbin had taught you about the supernatural. Broken headstones bring bad luck and curses to those who touch them. You think you’re somewhere in the center of the graveyard after you count the twelfth corpse, laying slumped beside the delicate gothic fencing around the singular mausoleum. It looks undisturbed, and you don’t hear any signs of Changbin from where you’re standing- leaning over the gate to listen closely. Rather, your attention is called to the left, the faint lilting dialect to your boyfriend’s voice spitting a gruff complaint into the night. Through more willow trees, without pause you turn to find it. You hear another sound, and find another corpse. A slight movement to your right has you stifling a shriek of terror as a shambler, missing the lower half of its body, drags itself slowly toward you- intent on your flesh. Fast thinking has you pulling Changbin’s knife from it’s leather scabbard and stabbing the thing in the head with all the strength you can muster into both hands. The act in itself pulses adrenaline through you, and you stagger backwards until your rump hits the cold damp grass beneath you. You want to throw up. It’s one thing for Changbin to tell you of all the gorish things he does, but another to feel the breaking of a skull and the fevered rotten brain beneath it squelch with the metal of a knife. To hear the sickening crush and to smell the rotten flesh of a shambler so close to you. You want to find Changbin. He was right, he fucking warned you. You stand on shaky legs, sure to have a look around you before dusting yourself off and walking toward the place you heard his voice. Two more corpses and then, a ghoul corpse? The distinctive difference between shamblers and ghouls is that ghouls stick to one place, namely graveyards. They go in and out of their graves as they’re disturbed or left alone. Shamblers move on, endlessly wandering in droves. The notion that this graveyard is so close to home and has even one ghoul sends ice into your veins, and you trip over something to the sound of soft earth rupturing registering in your mind. Looking back, a sickly yellowed hand has caught your boot. It’s attached to an arm, and an unburied shoulder, neck, and head. The vacant blankness of a ghoul's eyes stare directly at you, full of empty hunger. This time, the scream rips itself from your throat in a painful and dry cry. The sound only seems to further agitate the ghoul, working a little faster to unbury itself from the timeless slumber. Why now? Why are ghouls waking now? Three graves back from the one

you’re caught at, the earth wobbles and moves. You’ve got to think fast. Kicking out, you shake your boot free of the grip from the first ghoul, and attempt to stand. You catch yourself, cursing at your own weak knees. “Fucking get up!” you grunt quietly, scowling at your own legs and heaving for breath. You still have Changbin’s knife, and gripping the leather-bound hilt brings a sense of comfort. You can do this. You did it once already with a shambler. Well, half a shambler. You can do it with ghouls if you can reach them before they fully unbury themselves. You surprise yourself, mustering up your bravery with a battle cry. You squeeze the familiar weight of Changbin’s knife in your hands and cram it into the skull of the ghoul immediately in front of you- careful to dodge the arm it swings towards your thighs. It crumples forward with a frothing groan after wrenching the knife from its skull as you make for the second. You’re pulled to the ground with a curse as a third, directly behind the first, shoots one hand from the ground just in time to tangle its fingers in the laces of your boot. It trips you forward, your tied-up hair flung over the back of your head. Within reach of the half-unburied ghoul you were going for. It takes the silky tresses between its bony fingers and pulls, hard. Harder than you thought a ghoul was capable of, and you scream again. Maybe you can’t do this. What the fuck were you thinking? Following Changbin into a graveyard? He’s a fucking Monster Hunter. You’re a goddamned school teacher! You consider the knife in your hand and commit to getting a haircut right then and there- intent on severing what’s in the ghoul’s deathly grip. A small price to pay if you can get away with your life. Just as you grip the knife in one hand and your wrist in the other, it happens. There’s a sound of hair being cut, and your cheek falling back to the dirt again, followed by a thundering gunshot directly above you and the pained howl of a dying ghoul. But you didn’t…? You whip your head up to see Changbin standing over you protectively, his crossbow in one hand and his shotgun in the other. He doesn’t say anything yet. Instead, he focuses on untangling your boot laces from the unmoving fingers of the undead at your feet. Looking toward your hair, you see the limp bones of the other, your detached ponytail still clutched in its grasp. “I’m sorry,” is the first thing you say. You know it’s not good enough, but Changbin still doesn’t respond. With practiced ease, he places his weapons back where they belong before reaching forward and ripping the crossbow bolt from the protrusion of the ghoul’s head with more force than necessary. Then, he gets on his knees and helps you sit up, gently moving both of his hands around your body and inspecting you for damage. He checks your legs for any cuts or grazes, desperate to find you free of a lethal scratch. He checks your face, grasping you as gently as his shaking hands can as he wipes the dirt and grass from your cheek and hair. “I just wanted to return your knife. You left without it.” you start, realizing hot tears spill down your cheeks when your vision begins to blur with them. You squeeze your eyes shut, wiping at them with the back of your shaking hand before they open again to find your boyfriend’s eyes staring back at you with a look you’ve never seen before. Anger. Terror. Relief. He wants to scream at you about how much danger you put yourself in, and about how scared he was when he knew exactly who’s scream that was just thirty seconds ago. Relief at seeing you unharmed. “Changbin, I-” you try again, anxious at his lack of reply. But you’re cut off, lips sealed against his own as he claims you in a way only he knows how. His arms wrap around you possessively as he lifts you from the ground and peels his knife from your tight grip. Standing with you flush against him, he keeps his lips on yours until you stop crying, and even then until he has to pull away for breath. His free hand cradles your head to his neck as he surveys the graveyard

for any further signs of movement. His pulse thumps loudly in your ear. The only other sounds are that of your mixed breaths, and he leads you away from the corpses of the ghouls. To a patch of grass without any headstones or graves, nestled ten feet from the mausoleum. “Sit,” he demands lowly, sharply as he idly flips his knife around in his hand. He wipes it with the bloodied cloth from his back pocket while you lower yourself to the ground with a questioning stare. “I’m not done yet,” he quips. A look of terror crosses your face when you think he means to leave you here while he finishes his job, but he smirks. He leans forward, lowering himself to you and unbuckling your belt in one quick motion. He whips it from you and doesn’t bother handing it back as he slides the clasp of the scabbard from it. His knife is replaced safely and he undoes his own belt. You think he’s done so to secure the weapon on himself, but his hand, clad in a fingerless glove, finds your chin. He brings you forward, kissing you again. “I mean I’m not done with you, yet,” he says, dead serious. You gawp at him, “Changbin we’re in the middle of a graveyard. What if another shambler or ghoul pops up?!” you whisper-scream at him, unbelieving that he’s making sexual jokes right now. He leans back on his knees and undoes the clasp of his leather harness, removing it to safely set his weapons on the ground, followed by his favorite black leather jacket. He looks into the darkness around you, and his sharp eyes and jaw shouldn’t look this handsome in this situation. His warm musculature shouldn’t look this enticing here, nor should the way his black hair is swept up on one side. His plush lips and gruff tone shouldn’t be making you squeeze your thighs together in this place, and yet the slow oozing of arousal pools in your core at the prospect of committing to his dirty thoughts. But he is here and protecting you and keeping you safe, even when, by all accounts, you could have died. He was there to save you. And that sets your cheeks ablaze more than anything. Changbin smirks, and you’re done for, “They won’t. There were only eighteen shamblers. The ghouls were unexpected but they’ll stop now as long as you quit stepping all over their graves like an asshole.” He kisses you again, rubbing his hands down your sides, “I can’t wait.” His quiet whine and sudden need to take you seems out of place, “Hey, Changbin.” He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, “Mm?” You push off of him weakly, slowly succumbing to the warmth of his body so close to yours. “Why are you so turned on right now? Do you have some kind of graveyard fetish you’ve failed to mention before?” He grins against the skin of your neck, nipping the flesh there, “You want my honest answer?” You deadpan, “It is graveyard fetish, I knew it.” He lays down, pulling you beside him, “Shut up. No, it’s…” he looks away briefly, trying to hide his excitement, “Two things. First, I need to feel you around me right now to know you’re okay and unharmed. I just do.” He kneads the dough of your ass through your jeans, squeezing what he can. The action has you pulling your knee up to his hip, intent on slotting against him. “And two,” he bites, sliding his hand up to take the fullness of your breast in his palm through your sweater, “I saw you get a kill and it was really hot.” He bites his lip and turns into his softer self for a moment to catch the end of your shortened strands of hair, “This looks good on you, too. Bravery looks good on you.” His whisper makes your heart soar and a deep crimson creep to your cheeks at his praise, “I want to forget about it, honestly.” Your boyfriend smirks again, and he raises a brow at the feel of your thigh flexing against his hip, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make you forget everything except my name in a minute.” He moves just then, rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him by the back of your thigh. A surprised gasp dissipates into the night when you feel how hard he already is, even between your clothes. He hisses when you give a teasing

roll of your center against him. Leaning down, you kiss him again, spreading your fingers wide across the expanse of his chest, then up to his face and into his hair. Changbin groans in reply to your gentle tugging on his roots, his hands never idle, set on running over every part of you and slipping beneath your sweater and pulling the cup of your bra down to feel your soft skin against his palm. “S-stop moving,” he chokes out, releasing your breast and your lips to still your hips over his clothed erection. He sees the immediate panic cross your features before he soothes it back with a dark chuckle, “Nothing is there. I’m just gonna come in my pants if you keep that up.” It’s your turn to smirk, happily getting off of him just to impatiently roll your palm up and over his crotch on your way to the button on his pants. His hands are twitching where they rest in midair, awaiting the return of your warmth to his lap, but his eyes are already well on their way to devouring you. A quiet sigh of relief escapes him when you release the thickness of his cock from the confines of his clothes, springing free and leaking onto his abdomen. His sigh turns into a pleasured moan the moment you take him between your lips. He doesn’t expect it, and his back bows while his head thuds to the ground softly, “F-fuck.” “Do you really want me to come that fast?” he rasps, already panting into the crisp night. The chill doesn’t bother either of you, too aroused to be caught by the late autumn air. You pop off of him with a wet sound that feels loud in the silence of the graveyard around you, but pay it no mind. “I just can’t help myself. You’re just... you’re handsome and heroic. You’re just you,” you babble, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Regardless, your words of praise stir something needy in him, and he wants to hear more. “What else?” he asks, quirking a brow at your stilled fist around the base of his cock. A glare is shot at him, and you stuff him back into your cheek impatiently. Changbin tenses and doesn’t care enough to hide the whimper of pleasure that passes through his lips. “You’re brave and strong, and smart,” you mumble, but he can hear it in the silence of the night. “And you keep me safe and warm.” He moans, his hips bucking gently into the warm wetness of your mouth. You let him for a moment, before popping off and standing to remove your own clothing. “And most of all, you love me.” The man beneath you doesn’t miss a second, yanking you to the ground and his skin feels scorching where it touches you. Even the feel of his lips against your own feel like Dragonfire, fingers like flames dragging a path through your dripping folds, and he positively groans. “Fuck, I can’t get enough of you,” he says, voice thick and broken. He moves you, not to ride him, but to plant yourself on all fours. Moving behind you, Changbin leans over you and whips his black tee over his head, and you stifle a delighted whimper at the sight of him like this when you strain your neck to look back. You love his manliness. Thick and sturdy bands of muscle cover him, and just enough healthy dough covers it- to leave him in a state of muscled softness you’re always ogling. He shoves his trousers down mid-thigh, looking like sin incarnate, and you’re desperate to have him fill you. “I want every pile of bones here to be rolling in their graves to the sound of your moans,” he snarls, giving your ass a firm squeeze- shaking the flesh of your cheek. The vulgarity of his words earns a weak moan in response. Changbin is usually so respectful of the dead, but he is too keyed up to care right now. One long mewl into the darkness like a bitch in heat is the first loud sound to grace the night as he stretches you slowly, fully, until he is seated firmly and completely with his hips against your ass. You only need a moment to adjust before you’re pushing back into him, and his pace is immediately hard and deep. You love it this way, and the thrill of being outside in an entirely public space is surely a factor in your shared arousal.

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex outside. Not the first time your blood has pumped a little harder at the idea of getting caught. Above you, Changbin is panting, his grip on your hips is bruising. “This is your punishment,” he says through his teeth, snapping his hips forward at a brutal pace while a hand comes down to press your shoulder into his jacket on the ground. You whine loudly, bringing your own fingers to your clit, swirling them around the bud quickly to catch a ride on the clouds he’s clearly trying to send you to. It takes little effort to have you buckling under him completely, fueled by the lewd slapping of skin on skin and your breathy moans desecrating the sacredness of these grounds. You shatter with a cry of Changbin’s name, blissful tears brimming the corners of your eyes. Changbin grunts, shoving himself past the crushing grip of your walls four more times before he stills in you with a choked moan. The feeling of his thickness stiffening and warmth spreads deeply into you. Utter content fills your veins with cotton candy fluff as you relax your tired limbs down against Changbin’s jacket beneath you, uncaring about the cold earth that meets your sweat-slicked skin. Changbin huffs, falling to his back beside you, warm arms immediately finding your waist to hold you closer. “Thank you,” you whisper into his neck, kissing the damp skin over his pulse. The meaning of your thanks isn’t lost on him, and he smiles. “Is now a good time to tell you about that graveyard fetish of mine?” he asks, and you laugh, slapping a palm to his chest. He laughs with you, petting your hair and adjusting to the sudden shortness of it, just brushing your shoulders. He waits a moment, searching your eyes for something, “I love you.” You return his sentiment, hiding your face in his neck. “I’ve decided you can keep my knife,” he says then, quietly, without meeting your stare. “It may come in handy if you ever need to protect yourself, and it would be nice to feel like I’m still protecting you if you use something that’s mine.” And that is how the story of the Monster Hunter couple began.

#changbin smut #changbin x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #skz smut

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softomi · 5 years ago

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Overdue

prompt: I know I’m running late – I’m sorry. Things haven’t worked out the way I planned. But believe me when I tell you I am on my way.

- A Postcard by Lang Leav

pairing: atsumu x reader (ft. osamu)

general taglist: @graykageyama

Being the older brother, even if by mere minutes, Atsumu always felt that he had to look out for his sibling. After all, his mother instilled into him that no matter what, he should always be there for Osamu and vice versa. On many occasions Atsumu took that to mean that he could take his stuff, as long as he returns it (which he never does), because after all, they’re brothers.

On other occasions, it meant that Atsumu had to learn to be the first to set his pride aside. He reasons its because he’s the older brother, but Osamu knows that Atsumu is just too clingy to stay mad at his brother for a long time.

But there were many times, many days, many fleeting moments where taking care of his younger twin made him think “I wish I didn’t have a brother.”. Yet, the moment something happens to Osamu, he’s quick to act as the third parent.

“Why are you so stupid!” Atsumu screams at his brother’s back, “You shouldn’t have climbed that stupid tree.”

Osamu turns on his heels, gritting his teeth, “Shut up! You did the same thing last week!”

“Yeah! Well!” Atsumu is balling his fist, their mother entering the room due to the commotion, “What if something happened to you? Huh? Mom would blame me for not watching you!” The young Atsumu begins to blubber, “What if something happened?”

Osamu learned at the young age of ten, just how much being the older brother put a toll on Atsumu. So on their eleventh birthday, Osamu decided to give Atsumu a birthday present.

“I’ll be the older brother this year!” The young boy declares, “So it’s my turn!” He points at his confused brother, “To take care of you as the older brother.” For something so seemingly simple, Atsumu was star struck with the idea.

And every year following, they took turns being the big brother.

They even drew up a contract, the big brother responsibilities contract. As the older brother, you must take care of the younger, you will take responsibility for the younger brother’s actions no matter how stupid, and above all else, the older has to sacrifice things for the younger brother. Signed by both Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu.

When they were thirteen years old, Osamu took care of Atsumu when he caught the flu. When they were sixteen years old, Atsumu used the last of his money to buy pizza for his hungry brother. When the clock struck midnight, signaling their seventeenth birthday, Atsumu asked for the money back. During their twentieth year, Atsumu took a month off school and training to help Osamu set up his business.

“You don’t have to.” Osamu tried to reason with his brother.

Atsumu lifted a box from the back of the rented van, eyes staring up at the glow of the restaurant sign, “It’s what big brothers are for.”

Osamu stops Atsumu by the shoulder, “We’re not kids anymore, who cares about the big brother crap.”

“I do!” Atsumu scowls.

Osamu realized at the later age of twenty, that Atsumu clings to the title of older brother. As he watches his brother carry the box into his new restaurant, Osamu wondered if there would ever be a point where Atsumu would stop being there for him. But he also wondered, if there would ever be a moment where he could finally grant Atsumu release from the title.

At the age of twenty-three, you waltzed into Atsumu’s life.

Atsumu likes to say that it was a meet-cute. You like to say that it was the day he tried to take your head off. You interned for the Black Jackals as a sport psychologist. On your very first day, as you walked the sidelines towards the coach; you heard a mere shout. You ducked out of reflex, just barely missing the ball as it smacked against the ground behind you. Atsumu jogged with an apologetic expression and a compliment that your reflexes were killer.

Throughout your internship, you refused to go out with Atsumu. Even though the first time you bluntly rejected him, Atsumu says that you never truly said that he didn’t have a chance.

“You said.” Atsumu liked to push your buttons sometimes, “I remember.” He’s got a silly grin on him, “The first time I asked you out, you said ‘Sorry, I don’t date athletes I work for.’” Atsumu looks at the time on his phone, he takes your badge off you, “Your internship is officially over. You no longer work for the Black Jackals. One date, it’s all I ask.”

It truly wasn’t the romantic date. He was shamelessly taking you out to eat at his brother’s restaurant. You were no stranger to his twin but when you two sat in the booth, Osamu coming over to personally take your orders; Atsumu wasted little time in announcing, “Order anything you want, the most expensive item even. My big brother is paying.”

“I thought you were the older brother Atsumu?” You vaguely recall Atsumu mentioning Osamu as the younger twin.

Osamu rests a hand onto his brother’s shoulder, his grip causing Atsumu to yelp, “Yeah, we like to do this thing where every year we switch off being the older sibling. I just can’t wait! For our twenty-fourth birthday. I’ve been eyeing a new set a knives that’ll match the new dish machine I’m planning on getting next year.”

“Hey hey, we promised a limit!” Atsumu shouts.

That was the first date of many and loving Atsumu came easily. He kissed your fingers with eagerness, held you like you were the most important person in the world, and gave you all of his undivided attention. Atsumu followed you like a map leading to hidden treasure that was your lips.

You were perhaps everything he could have ever wanted, everything he ever wished for. For the first few months of the relationship, you wondered why previous girlfriends of his would ever let him go. He reasons that they all said he loved many things, but they were just simply not one of them.

Atsumu knew that when he loved something, he was always there. He attends every volleyball practice, he attends the family Sunday dinners, and he attends your college graduation.

But just like Atsumu had mentioned, he loved many things.

“Hey. Where are you?” You were shivering, hands wrapping around your arms.

“Shit.” Atsumu speaks, “I’m so sorry babe, I was helping Samu pack his things. He’s moving apartments and you know how he is, he does things last minute so I’m making sure he’s starting early.”

“Okay.” You breathe out, “But did it have to be today? This was really important to me.”

“It’s just a gathering. Samu really needed my help.” Atsumu clears his throat, “But if you want, I can head over there right now.”

“It’s fine.” You speak, “Just, next time, be here.”

“Of course!”

Osamu looks up at his brother, “Were you supposed to be somewhere else?”

Atsumu grabs some of the empty boxes, “Yeah, y/n was getting together with some of her friends. Something about introducing me to them I think.” Atsumu’s foot hits some of the book he’s stacked on the floor, “Dammit Samu, how many cookbooks do you need? You’re such a hoarder.”

“You should have gone.” Osamu watches him stack the books neatly into a box.

“Then no one would be here to help you.” Atsumu clicks his tongue, “Mom and dad are out of town, the guys are all busy, even your girlfriend isn’t over here helping; good pick there Samu.”

A book smacks Atsumu on the head, “You’re so stupid!” Osamu throws another book at him, “You ruin my life.”

Atsumu grins, sticking a tongue out to his brother, “You ruin my life too.”

If volleyball was his first priority, Osamu would be his first, first, priority and you concluded, you must fall behind both. That night was the first of many, and loving Atsumu became harder.

“Just go!” You threw your hands to your side.

Atsumu was hesitant, a jacket in his hand, “Look, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” He takes a step to you. You turn your head away when he leans in for a kiss, instead, he presses a slow peck onto your cheek, “Samu just really needs me right now.”

“Yep.” You state bitterly.

“I’m sorry. Happy birthday.”

It’s the last thing he says before he runs out the door. Instead of eating the cake with you that night, he spends it taking a drunk Osamu home, patting his brother’s back as he vomits into the toilet bowl. Even though they were twenty-seven, Atsumu took responsibility to make sure his brother was okay.

“I think we should break up.”

Atsumu thought you were joking, “Hahaha, very funny babe. You have my full and undivided attention.”

“I’m serious.” Your expression didn’t falter.

The cheery sound of the restaurant didn’t match the way Atsumu’s world was crumbling. He was still in disbelief, “What?” He tried to put up a smile, “Stop joking.”

The brief tune of happy birthday is played in the background, the workers clapping along as they sing.

“Atsumu, I just feel like I didn’t know what I was getting into when I entered this relationship.” You were trying to keep him calm, you’ve known him for five years, you’ve loved him for five years; just as hard as he loved, it was hard to let go.

You gathered your things. Atsumu slammed a hand onto the table, “Stop!”

The restaurant quietens, a spotlight on you two as you sit back down, “Atsumu.”

His phone rings. You raise a brow, his brother’s contact showing up. Atsumu picks up the phone, “What?” Atsumu frowns, “Now?” He hangs up the phone, “I have to go.”

You rub the back of your neck, “Of course.”

You two walk out of the restaurant together but you leave alone.

“Samu?” Atsumu walks into his brother’s restaurant, “Everything good?”

“We’re getting married!” The two in front of him wave their hands in his face. It was almost taunting, “I proposed this morning.” Osamu can’t help but stare into his lover’s eyes, “I wanted you to know first before we tell mom on Sunday.” When Atsumu doesn’t answer, Osamu checks the way his brother’s fists are balled, lips in a scowl. Osamu knew the telltale signs, like they were ten years old again, Atsumu was about to break, “Tsumu.”

“Couldn’t this have waited!” Atsumu, quick to anger but quicker to tears, “Couldn’t you just have told me on the phone.”

“I thought you’d be excited to be the first one to know.”

Atsumu uses his hands to push away stray tears, “I have to go.”

At twenty-eight, Atsumu feels as though the weight of the world was on his back. The silence of the apartment was like a gunshot wound and you packing your things shot another bullet into him.

“Let’s talk.” He’s refusing to let you leave.

You set the suitcase onto the ground, “Atsumu.”

“Don’t call me that.” He wants to sound strong, because he has to be strong, “You never call me that.” But he can’t sound strong when it feels like he’s losing everything he’s ever wanted.

“Atsumu.”

The more you said his name, the more it hurt, “I can fix it, whatever is wrong, I can make it better. I can be there more, I’ll stop being late, I’ll clean the whole place for the rest of our lives.”

“Let me ask you something.” He’s hopeful at your words, “If we got married, if we had kids; would Osamu still be your priority?” Your words felt like a blow, “Because I’m okay right now, as your girlfriend, I am okay. I understand that he’s your brother and you absolutely love him to death. You run to him when he needs you and he runs to you. But when I look to our future, why do I still see you running to your brother.”

“We don’t need to worry about that.” He takes your hand into his, “We just have to worry about right now.”

“But even right now, it’s always later.” Palm rested onto his cheek, “I’m sorry Atsumu.”

He holds you by the wrist, “Give me one chance. One more time to prove to you. It’s all I ask.”

Maybe it was the way he was so sincere, just like the day you fell in love with him, “Okay.” His shoulders are lifted when you whisper, “Next month on the 20th, I leave for Tokyo. 4pm. Send me off.”

“That’s it?”

You nod, “That’s it.”

He marked it on his calendar, set reminders leading up to the day and for the days in between, he was there. He was at every lunch, always home early, wrapping you in his arms to remind you of the bliss. But the closer the day got, the more anxious you felt. The more you wondered if he would remember that the 20th was a Sunday.

“I’ll meet you out front.” He kissed your lips, “I promise I’ll be here to send you off.”

You kept your arms wrapped around his neck, “Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

Atsumu was on edge the entire day. He checked his phone constantly; it didn’t help that his phone went off every hour to remind him. Nothing, he was thinking nothing would ruin the day.

“What’s up Samu?”

“Hey, so did you want to take the same car to mom and dad’s?”

“What?”

“It’s Sunday.” Osamu spoke, checking the calendar just in case, “Yeah, it’s Sunday. So you wanna take the same car or what.”

Atsumu looked at the time, four hours until you were to leave, “I don’t think I can make it this Sunday Samu.”

“Why not?”

“There’s something important I need to do today.”

“Okay, but you know you’ll have to make it up to mom.” Osamu sighs, “Her precious boy missing will be like the end of the world to her.”

Atsumu laughs, “Yeah yeah yeah. I’ll see you guys next Sunday.”

At two hours left, Atsumu was prepared to arrive earlier. A bouquet of flowers in his passenger seat as he drove down the highway, ready to greet you, ready to keep you in his life. Then his phone rang.

“Samu, seriously, I’m not coming.”

“Atsumu.” This wasn’t the voice of his brother, it was his fiancée, “We won’t be able to make it to the dinner either, are you sure you can’t go?”

“It’s fine babe, it’s not that serious!” Osamu’s voice heard lowly in the background.

“Not that serious? You’re in a hospital bed.”

“I just bumped my head.” Osamu yells.

“You have a concussion!” She shrieks back at him. Her tone lowered when she turns back to the phone, “Atsumu, you still there? Samu said you had something important to do today and it’s totally understandable if you can’t go to the dinner; but maybe you could stop by the hospital; they want to keep him over night, I could go to the dinner and explain to your parents.”

An hour and thirty minutes until you leave.

Osamu’s fiancée ran out the door the moment he stepped in. Atsumu scowled at his brother, “What stupid thing did you do this time.”

Osamu is happily eating a jelly cup, “Climbed a tree.”

“Of course, what if something happened Samu?” Atsumu lightly pushed Osamu’s head, “You’re so stupid.”

“So,” Osamu tosses the empty cup into the trash, “What’s so important today that you are skipping dinner?”

Atsumu looks at the time, “Y/n is leaving for Tokyo, she’s got some work to do there for a few days.”

Osamu notices the way his brother looks pressed for time, “So romantic, you’re gonna send her off.”

“You’re not gonna die are you?” Atsumu’s leg is bouncing.

“No.”

“This is why I said you gotta be careful Samu.” Atsumu’s phone goes off, he stops the alarm.

“Look, if you need to leave then go.”

Atsumu crosses his arms, “I can’t always be there for you!” His voice was starting to get louder, “I can’t always be responsible for taking care of you!”

“Okay!” Osamu’s growled, “You didn’t have to come here!”

“If I didn’t then who else would be here!” Atsumu began to weep, his lips in a scowl, “I’m older. I’m the older brother, through and through, if I wasn’t there for you, who knows what would have happened.”

“You act like you’re ten years older than me!” Osamu barks, “You’re only 4 minutes older! Stop treating me like I’m a burden! You’re the older brother, so what!” Osamu falls back onto the bed.

Atsumu’s phone goes off again. An hour left.

Osamu looks at the anxiousness in his brother, “Just go.” Osamu waves a finger, “Whatever it is that’s going on between you two, it’s more important than me. Just go.”

Atsumu doesn’t waver, “But.”

“You wanna sacrifice for me, get out of here.” Osamu catches the way his brother’s lips twitch to a smile.

“I’ll bring you back food, whatever you want, just text me.”

Atsumu is running out the door. Forty-five minutes left when he enters his car. He curses when he hits a red light. Fingers finding your contact, your voicemail plays in his ear.

“I’m on my way!” He’s shouting, heart beating out of his chest, “Please, believe me, I’m on my way. I’ll be a little late.” He’s heavy breathing, “but I’m coming.”

Fifteen minutes left but he’s still twenty-five minutes away. You listened to his voicemail, waiting patiently on the sofa. You have to start getting ready to go. You wish the elevators would move slowly, maybe get jammed for a second. Even as the taxi pulls up, you linger outside of the car door.

“I’m sorry, could we just wait a few more minutes.” You say to the driver.

Five minutes passed.

“Do you still want to wait?” The driver asks.

A sigh leaves your, “No.” You were already behind schedule, “Let’s go.”

You stare at your phone screen, hoping for a message from him. The sudden jolt of the car makes your head collide with the passenger seat. Your hand rubbing the throbbing part of your head as you hear the driver yell about a lunatic.

“I’m here!” Atsumu ignores the driver, banging on your window, “See, I’m here.” He’s pulling the locked handle of your door, frustrated that it wouldn’t open.

When you unlock it, he swings it wide open. Out of breath, he’s pulling you by the back of your neck; the kiss making your head spin. Before you can even register it, the sunlight bounces off his fingers; a gold band sitting between his index finger and thumb.

“And I will always be here.”

“Oh my god.” Your jaw is dropping, “What are you doing.” He’s getting on his knee, your breath caught in your throat, “Don’t.”

“Will you marry me?”

Your palms are pressed together, your fingers pressed to your lips. There’s a long pause and you take his hands into yours, “No.” The way his smile falters makes your heart clench, “Not like this.”

“What do you mean? This is what you wanted right?” He holds the ring out to you.

You run a hand through your hair, “I only wanted you here and you did that. You’re here.” You take the ring, settling it against his palm, “That’s all I ever wanted, that’s all I asked.” You pull him by the cheeks, squishing his face with a smile on yours, “You proved to me that you can be here; I mean you’re late but we can work on that.” You peck his lips quickly, “We can talk about marriage another time, but I wasn’t asking you to propose to me. It’s a really cute but very extreme gesture.”

His eyes are brimming with tears, “I thought I’d lose you forever.” Atsumu was truly soft hearted.

Your phone goes off, the alarm breaking the air between you two, “Shoot.” Your hands fall from his cheeks, “I’m late. I don’t think I’ll make it to the train.”

“I’ll drive you.” Atsumu perks up, “Right here, right now.”

“You’re kidding.” You laugh but the thin smile on his face says otherwise, “You’re literally so busy. You have volleyball practice tomorrow, it’s Sunday you’re parents are expecting you for dinner, and what if something happens to Osamu while you’re gone.”

“Practice doesn’t start until nine in the morning, I can make it back if I don’t sleep; my parents aren’t expecting me today, and Samu is in the hospital with a concussion plus he has his future wife. He doesn’t need me anymore.” Atsumu rests a smirk on his lips, “Give me something harder.”

“Wait, Osamu is in the hospital?”

Atsumu blinks, “Yeah, that’s why I was late. Oh yeah, I borrowed this from Samu too.” The ring twirls on his finger.

“You were going to propose to me with your brother’s ring.”

“Hey!” Your gaze shoots behind your shoulder, the cab driver pressing his horn, “Am I taking you or not?”

Atsumu is apologizing to the driver, grabbing your bags from the back of the car, he still pays a hefty tip to the driver for the inconvenience. As the driver leaves, Atsumu lifts your bags with one hand, the other extending out to you.

“Shall we go on a road trip.”

You take his hand, lacing your fingers with his, “But first, we should stop by the hospital; you need to return the ring.”

“You’re right.” He nods, “It’s too ugly for you. You need something big, something grand. I’m thinking diamonds.”

You cackle while settling yourself into the passenger seat. Two hours into the drive, Atsumu peeks at your sleeping figure. His thumb rubbing against the back of your hand. He presses a kiss your fingers. He knew all too well that diamonds would never suit your taste. You were about simplicity, less was more, actions louder than words. How he was going to propose, what ever ring he was going to choose, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you; that you were with him and that with one phone call, he’d be running to you.

#haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #haikyuu #atsumu scenarios #haikyuu scenarios

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roguish-gallery · 5 years ago

Note

Can you do a headcannon for the rouges on halloween?

Saved this one for the right time! Also!!! TW for some NS/FW mentions!

Rogues + Halloween HCs!!

Bane:

He might hop around from party to party, just for kicks! He doesn’t stick around any of them for too long, though.

You know those unsourced facebook articles that your aunt and your mom share each year about the guy who apparently lives in every neighborhood in the country who sticks razor blades into the chocolate bars he hands out to kids? That’s Bane, but he doesn’t even give out any candy. Just knives. He tells every child that knocks on his door how they can properly defend themselves should they ever get imprisoned for crimes they didn’t commit, or how to properly gut that one bitch who keeps hogging the good kickball at recess.

He dresses up like a Roman gladiator! It’s cool and gritty, and he doesn’t have to worry about finding a shirt that fits his body. Plus, he looks really good in gladiator sandals.

Catwoman:

She’s either attending some boring Halloween party with socialites she’s planning to rob, or watching some shitty scary movie with the rest of the sirens.

That being said, she makes sure that every child that knocks on her door gets the full-sized candy bars.

She dresses up like a witch! Classy and simple, but lots of opportunities to add her own creative touches!

Harley Quinn:

She’s out there living her best life, being a grown-ass woman... and still trying to Trick-or-Treat. Anyone who gives her a toothbrush or a bag of pretzels is gonna get a brick thrown through their windows later that night.

She managed to convince Basil to lend her some of the horror films in his collection, and despite the fact that none of this shit is scary, she loses her goddamn mind during every mildly frightening scene.

She’s wearing one of that inflatable T-Rex costumes!!! Mostly because they’re really funny and because she KNOWS that people are expecting her to dress up as something “sexy” and this is her way of giving them a middle finger. (also if she’s in a big t-rex costume then it’s harder for the people handing out candy to realize that she’s a grown-ass woman).

Joker:

He’s the annoying bitch in the morph suit that shows up to every party. He thinks that people won’t be able to recognize him but. Everyone knows it’s him.

Killer Croc:

He has a genuine love for Halloween because it’s one of the few times of the year where he can walk around in public without anyone freaking out.

Fdskjfhskdj he shows up to costume contests and tells judges that he’s “Godzilla” and he leaves with some cool ribbons and a nice chunk of prize money for his “life-like costume”

Like I said, he’s either Godzilla or Kaiman from Dorohedoro. Whatever sounds more fun at the time!

Mad Hatter:

The only person here who made their costume entirely from scratch. It will be a cold day in hell when he gives a cent of his hard-earned money to a Spirit Halloween.

Surprisingly enough, he does not dress as an Alice character (he already does that every other day, and it wouldn’t be fun to do it for Halloween too). Now he’s dressed like a Victorian-style ghost!!

“Boo!! Give me your candy, and complement how dashing, smart, and spooky I am, or I’ll... uh- I’ll haunt you!! Boo!!!”

Penguin:

Surprising no one, he throws an excellent Halloween party at the Iceberg Lounge and he somehow prevents any of the other Rogues from setting any fires. A successful night!

He’s honestly not super festive when it comes to Halloween? At least in comparison to the other Rogues. He decorates the Iceberg accordingly for the party, but it’s more for the sake of entertaining his guests.

Tbh, he’ll just wear one of his regular suits, apply extra eyeliner, and slap on some fangs and tell everyone he’s a vampire. He’s glad that he finally has an excuse to wear one of his capes in public. Might fuck around and go as the Phatom of the Opera or some shit.

Poison Ivy:

Spends the entire month fuckin around with the pumpkins, as one with plant powers is ought to do. If the pumpkin you’re trying to carve into a jack o’ lantern suddenly grows arms and stabs you back with your knife, Pamela probably had something to do with it.

Harley ate all of the candy she bought a week ago, and she forgot to grab more so Pam awkwardly hands out leftover food from her fridge to any trick-or-treaters who come over. Pam hopes that the toddler in the Paw Patrol costume enjoys the hummus he got because Pam was really looking forward to eating it.

She dresses as Demeter! I love Pammy so much and I’m sorry to say this but she is 100% the type of person who gets huffy whenever people (or children) don’t immediately recognize who she’s dressed as.

Riddler:

Jon rents all of the Exorcist films and bets Eddie 100 dollars that he wouldn’t be able to watch through the entire series. Ed promptly accepts that bet… and quits 30 minutes into the first movie.

… He’s dresses as Captain Kirk for Halloween. Ed is a shameless Trekkie and I will die on this hill.

He individually texts every Rogue and officer of the GCPD this exact copypasta, and then he… turns his phone off for the rest of the week and refuses to respond to any calls :) or death threats :) or warrants for his arrest :)

Scarecrow:

Ahhhh…. Do you hear that? The shrieks of terror? That crisp autumn air? Those Pillsbury sugar cookies with the pumpkins on them? Yes, Jonathan Crane is in his natural element.

Sdasdfsdfkj He sneaks into the local haunted house and corn maze attractions so he can upstage the actual scare actors.

He just wears his scarecrow outfit; if it’s not broken, don’t fix it. (that, and Jervis made him swear to not buy a cheap costume at Spirit Halloween.)

Two-Face:

He’s just chillin!! Having a fun spooky time!! He can buy apple cider back at the store again, and life is good!

Harv will make trick-or-treaters flip a coin, and based on what it lands on they either get a full chocolate bar, or a box of raisins and a toothbrush.

He’s dressed up like a biker! Leather jacket, cool shades, and tight jeans- he and Bruce used to dress up like bikers for past Halloweens!

#edward nygma #jonathan crane #oswald cobblepot #harley quinn #harvey dent #the joker #pamela isley #jervis tetch #bane #selina kyle #waylon jones #headcanons #dc headcanon

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Galactica, Chapter 62 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: The assistant gossip network continued to do its thing, while Courtney lived her best life, Sutan offered Violet some wardrobe assistance, and Bianca planned a coming out.

This Chapter: The Galactica Holiday Party has arrived, and not everyone is prepared...

***

“Remember to find your light!”

Gigi turned her head, trying as hard as she could not to squeeze her eyes shut, the studio lights blinding.

“I said find it, not stare into the sun!”

Gigi blushed and moved her head again, doing her best to try and follow the instructions Sutan kept giving her.

They were in a photo studio in the Bronx, Gigi to get her first pictures for her portfolio taken, while Symone had practiced how to shoot in swimwear, her friend now waiting with her phone for Gigi to finish up.

Gigi had watched Symone move around, completely enthralled by how elegant the other model already was, Sutan barely correcting her.

“Straighten your back!” Gigi did as she was told, a pair of black jeans hugging her body, the long sleeved black shirt she was wearing clinging to her arms.

“Excuse me...” The photographer, who had introduced herself as Widow, looked out from behind her camera, “can I do my job in peace?” Widow smiled even though her tone was clearly sassy, her teeth blindingly white, her black box braids collected in a high bun. She was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans, big red earrings hanging from her ears.

“You know what I hired you for,” Sutan smiled back, and Widow rolled her eyes, making Gigi giggle.

“Yes sir, right away sir,” Widow teased.

“Don’t give the models any ideas with your attitude.” Sutan grinned, his sleeves rolled up around his elbows, refocusing on Gigi who had tried to hold the position he had asked for.

“No, not like, you have to be more.” Sutan moved his shoulders, and Gigi tried to copy it. She knew they were doing this shoot so she could get an idea of what she looked like, so she could train what Sutan called her inner photographer, but it was really difficult.

“No, still not right.” Sutan stepped on the set, getting next to Gigi, the scent of his cologne instantly catching her nose. “Your strength is in your lines Gigi, so you have to stand tall. Use those legs of yours,” He smiled, tapping his own left leg and moving it forward, mirroring what Gigi hoped she was doing. “Try this.”

Gigi moved her leg to copy Sutan, her entire center of balance shifting.

“There we go!” Sutan grinned. “Good job. Now hold it, and find your light.”

***

Violet tried to turn to the side, watching her profile in the big mirror on the back wall of the dressing room.

Her and Sutan had each been swept up by a personal shopper the moment they stepped inside Barney’s, Violet whisked away to the woman's clothes department where everything was outrageously expensive and completely new.

Violet was wearing a beautiful red dress, the hemline just off the floor, her cast barely visible if she stood completely still, which suited her perfectly well.

Violet had every plan to get to the Christmas party, sit down, and then hopefully not move again for the rest of the night, Jovan’s offer of bedazzling her crutches still making her shiver.

“So, what do we think?” Violet’s shopper smiled, the woman standing behind her, her pile of rejected dresses four times the size of the approved ones for the upcoming events, but she couldn’t help being extremely critical, not when everything was so stupidly expensive.

“Well…” Violet looked in the mirror. The dress suited her, even though it didn’t sit snugly at her waist, but that wasn’t something a loose loop stitch couldn’t fix so she could undo it again later and hopefully keep the dress longer. It hadn’t been Violet’s intention to lose weight, and if she was being honest, she had actually expected to gain with a broken foot, but it seemed like that hadn’t been the case, her appetite even worse than usual, her pain killers often making it feel like she had knives stabbing her stomach.

“I’ll take it.”

Violet knew that the dress would be approved by Fame, and loved by Sutan, the low neckline and the opportunity for matching underwear always a treat.

***

“Kat? Are you gonna be okay?” Trixie asked, voice soft.

They were sitting in a little cafe across from her doctor’s office. They’d just gotten the official news - she was pregnant, no doubt about it. She’d put on a transparently false, cheerful face while they were there but barely said two words since they’d left, a croissant and mango smoothie sitting in front of her, untouched.

According to the doctor’s best estimate, she was 14 weeks along, which already limited their options, a fairly invasive procedure now the only way to go if they didn’t want the baby.

She looked at him, blue eyes clear, and said, “I don’t know.”

Trixie nodded, taking her hand in his and holding it lightly. He didn’t want to push her too much, could tell that she was in a fragile state of mind.

“Well...I’m here if there’s anything…Anything I can do.”

“Got a flask on you?” she asked drily, then closed her eyes, immediately chagrined. “I’m sorry, that’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny, babe.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, the two of them sitting side by side, their fingers intertwined.

***

Roxy looked up as Courtney rounded the corner from Miss Fame’s office, flashing her a bright smile. She had just gotten yet another delivery--Roxy was fast becoming BFFs with Greg, the Marie Claire office runner.

“Hey Rox! Whatcha got for me?”

“Hi, Court,” Roxy said, eyeing her suspiciously before handing over the bag, wondering why she was so perky today.

Courtney looked inside the bag and saw what Roxy had already - a large black velvet jewelry box.

“Open it,” Roxy said, and Courtney pulled it out, peeking inside before snapping it closed again. “Come on, you’re not gonna show me?”

A smile pulled at Courtney’s lips, and she leaned forward onto the reception desk, voice low, saying, “You wanna know something?”

“Yes, of course!” Roxy perked up. Was Courtney finally about to admit to her affair with Bianca Del Rio? It was gonna be a hell of a lot easier once she didn’t have to pretend to be in the dark anymore.

“You know how I said that I’ve been...uh...seeing someone who works at Marie Claire?”

“Yeah…you gonna tell me who?”

“Well, no,” she said, and off Roxy’s annoyed scoff, added, “But...we’re coming to the party tonight...together.”

“Oh really?” Roxy’s eyebrows shot up. This actually was pretty decent information, given the potential shit storm it could cause. The drama of Miss Fame’s assistant dating one of her best friends, and them showing up together to a company event? Absolutely delicious.

“Yeah, so...I guess you’ll find out soon enough,” Courtney said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I guess I will,” Roxy agreed, smiling placidly, already typing out a DM to Bob.

***

Fame breathed a sigh of relief as the car pulled up to the hotel she had chosen for the Galactica Christmas Party. The facade was decorated with dripping ice crystals, lights and fake snow making it the winter wonderland she had envisioned. The red carpet had been rolled out, guests already posing for photos and talking to reporters about their clothes, Fame recognizing the signature cameras from E! Network and one of Vogue’s journalists.

She had gotten the confirmation from Shangela that the string quartet had shown up, the musicians hired for the lounge area while the caterers had set up shop in the enchanted forest filled with actual pine trees, the bar carrying a line of gins specifically brewed for the event.

“So,” Patrick lifted an eyebrow, a curious expression on his face. The majority of Fame’s skirt was in her husband's lap since she refused to let the silk anywhere near the bottom of the car. “how are we feeling?”

“Me?” Fame smiled, leaning over to press a kiss against his cheek “Quite content.”

***

“Are you sure I can’t talk you into walking the carpet?”

Sutan looked over at Violet, the two of them on the bottom of the steps leading up to the hotel, Raja and Raven already halfway inside. Raja was in a tight-fitting emerald green suit with a deep cleavage, her hair twisted into a gorgeous updo, while Raven was dressed in a floor length gown in matching green, the two of them looking absolutely stunning together.

“Yes.” The message was clear, and Sutan could feel the tiniest curl of irritation in his stomach. Violet was beyond beautiful, her usually pink nails carefully painted the same red shade as her dress, a tiny purse slung over her shoulders, her black hair curled and spilling over her shoulders and back, her posture perfect even though she was leaning on her crutch, only one of them allowed to come along.

He wanted those pictures of them together, even if it was selfish.

“Lovely eyes-”

“I said no.” Violet’s tone left no room for argument, and Sutan pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath through his nose not to let his irritation win out.

“Sutan,” Violet reached out, gently touching his arm. “This isn’t a you issue, it’s a me issue. I’d love to go up there and be on your arm like a dainty little princess or trophy-”

“What?” Sutan raised an eyebrow. He had never thought of Violet as a princess, or even dainty, the muscles he knew she had and the iron will he had seen her possess over and over again so much more attractive than any trophy girlfriend could be. “That’s not what-”

“I know,” Violet squeezed, underlining her words, “But I’d honestly rather jump into traffic than talk to a single one of those reporters, and risk showing up in any of their publications.”

Sutan snorted, Violet’s dark sense of humor as always getting to him. He knew it also had to do with her relationship to her family, Violet’s choked hospital confession still rumbling around in his head, what little he had managed to piece together telling its clear story of a gossip magazine-obsessed mother, his girlfriend posing for his own mothers old canon camera at Thanksgiving without any issues.

“Okay, but promise me,” Sutan took a step, bringing them closer, his hand finding it’s now familiar place on Violet’s waist, “that I can get one soon.”

“A photo?” Violet raised an eyebrow, their hips almost touching, her free hand on his chest.

“Mmh, just for the two of us.”

“I’ll consider it,” Violet smiled, her fingers gently rearranging his tie, making sure it was sitting completely straight. “If you promise me that we can get a cab home.”

“A cab?” They had arrived with Raja and Raven, a driver coming back to pick all four of them up at the end of the night, “Why?”

“Because you, Mr. Amrull, look fucking fantastic tonight,” Violet looked up at him, a smirk on her lips, “and I wanna make out in the backseat.”

“You ready?” Bianca asked, looking over at Courtney as their car pulled up to the curb.

Courtney glanced outside, where a crowd of photographers and reporters were gathered, stomach seizing with the reality of what she was about to do, wondering if it was a mistake. Even walking the carpet with Bianca instead of taking the normal entrance with the rest of the support staff suddenly seemed audacious.

“No,” she admitted, looking back at Bianca apologetically. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Would it help if I told you how absolutely gorgeous you look?” Bianca asked, reaching out to take her hand.

Her outfit for the night was probably the most conservative of all the dresses Dan had pulled for her - a black dress--low cut, but not in a slutty way with a little bow at the front and full circle skirt, paired with a pair of Bianca’s beautiful multicolored Louboutins and simple, classy jewelry--including a glamorous strand of pink pearls that Bianca had sent over earlier in the day.

In spite of her nerves, Courtney couldn’t help but smile a little at the compliment, proud of the care she’d taken with her hair and makeup, hoping to make Bianca proud. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and responded with a cheeky, “Look who’s talking…”

Bianca grinned, and Courtney was once again struck by how fantastic she looked, in a red silk organza cocktail dress, the floaty feminine fabric accentuating her curves perfectly, a deep v-neck giving the perfect peek at her cleavage.

“What if we just stayed in the car for awhile?” Courtney suggested, fluttering her lashes.

“I promise to make it worth your while later, angel.” Bianca squeezed her hand, pulling her in close. “But right now, I’m pretty excited to show you off. So whaddaya say?”

Courtney took a deep breath, the churning in her stomach now a combination of nerves and excitement.

“Okay.”

Bianca signalled to the driver, who quickly got out and walked around to open their door.

“Here we go…” Bianca gave her hand one final squeeze and got out, giving the flashing cameras a polite wave before reaching back in to help her out.

Courtney’s mind was a mess. She suddenly had so many concurrent anxieties, like tripping on the carpet, or being dragged to filth by come gossip rag, or, given how lightheaded she now felt, fainting, here in front of all these people. She tried to steady herself, and Bianca’s arm slid securely around her waist.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry. You look amazing,” Bianca murmured in her ear.

Bianca led her down the carpet--a true professional, posing and smiling, calmly directing Courtney so that she knew where to stand and where to look, chatting jovially with reporters.

“Who’s your date, Bianca?” one of them asked boldly.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Bianca joked back. They’d discussed this ahead of time - better to keep Courtney’s name out of things for the moment, given her job title. Courtney understood, and agreed, and was even a bit relieved. For now, on gossip sites and fashion blogs, she’d just be ‘BDR’s latest blonde,’ and she was very much okay with that. After all, the people that mattered to both of them would know, and that’s what she cared about.

“Well, is it serious?” another piped up.

“You tell me,” Bianca said, and then Courtney really thought she might faint, Bianca pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek as about a billion flashbulbs went off in their faces, murmuring, “You’re doing perfectly, angel.”

She turned to Bianca, gazing at her with breathless admiration, feeling like the luckiest girl in the entire world. And then she took Bianca’s face in her hands and impulsively kissed her, right on the mouth, soft but sure. So what if it was only a fling? Courtney didn’t care anymore--she would remember this high for the rest of her life.

Bianca smiled against her mouth and whispered, “Well, that’ll make headlines...”

“Oops,” Courtney whispered back, both of them giggling.

They broke apart, matching grins on their faces as they looked into each other’s eyes, until Bianca turned back to the sea of paparazzi, now in a frenzy, shouting out questions too fast for Courtney to even process the words.

“That’s enough for you demons!” Bianca called, gently pulling Courtney up the steps, giving one last smiling wave at the top, Courtney’s hand still clasped in hers.

“Are you done?”

“Nope!”

Raja hid her grin, her shoulder touching Raven’s as they posed for the camera, her fiancée radiating excitement as she chatted and flirted with the photographers.

Raven had always adored the camera, and if there was a journalist behind it, she was practically in love, getting caught by the paparazzi a treat for her each and every time it happened.

Raja didn’t feel the same thrill, didn’t care as much about showing up in gossip magazines and websites since she had gotten more than enough of that in her youth, but she couldn’t be truly upset when it generated so many great pictures, Raven often looking sexy as sin when she got caught leaving the gym.

“Raja! Over here!”

Raja turned her head, the photographer catching her attention, and that was when she saw them, Bianca coming up a little ways behind her.

Seeing Bianca on a red carpet wasn’t strange, but what was frankly bizarre was the familiar blonde at her side.

Raja had expected Fame’s assistant to be somewhere in the crowd, since it was a company party and a big treat for the staff, but what the fuck was she doing on the red carpet? The support staff was supposed to enter the party through the normal pedestrian entrance.

And then, Bianca put her arm around Courtney’s waist, kissing her cheek as she giggled girlishly.

Oh, fuck.

This was not good. Frankly, Raja wasn’t shocked that Bianca had been messing with Courtney, her behavior at the meeting last week making it painfully obvious that she liked her. But this, this was next level.

Just when she thought it couldn’t get any more embarrassing, Raja witnessed something that made her blood run cold. Courtney grasped Bianca’s face in her hands and kissed her on the lips, causing absolute chaos from the group of paparazzi around them.

“Holy shit.”

“What?” Raven looked up at her, a concerned and confused expression on her beautiful face.

“Wait here.” Raja released Raven, leaving her behind on the carpet, prepared to ambush Bianca the second she got to the doors.

Bianca had done a lot of stupid shit over the years - they all had - and dating bimbos wasn’t a new thing for her, but making out with Fame’s assistant in front of the paparazzi?

That was a new level of braindead, even for her, and Raja had to stop it right now.

The moment Bianca stepped off the carpet, she felt someone grab her arm and roughly yank her into the lobby.

“Bianca!” Raja hissed, pulling at her arm. “Come here!”

“Ow!” Bianca laughed at Raja. “Let go of me, you fucking mountain gorilla!”

Just because the woman towered over her was no reason to be intimidated, and it was gonna take a hell of a lot more to bring her down at the moment than Raja looking at her like she was insane.

Beside her, Courtney let out a small gasp, and Raja tried to recover, putting an arm around Bianca’s shoulder and giving Courtney the most sugary-sweet, fakest voice she could manage to say, “Hey there Court, can you give us a minute? I have to chat with Bianca about something important. Great shoes, by the way.”

“Oh...yeah, alright. Um…” Courtney backed away, trying to give them some space. “I’ll just wait over here, then-”

“Perfect!” Raja dragged Bianca to the other end of the lobby, away from any reporters.

“This oughta be good,” Bianca grumbled, though she was still too hyped from the carpet to manage to be truly annoyed.

“What,” Raja pushed Bianca into a corner, inches from her face, her voice filled with venom though her eyes betrayed her geniune concern, “the actual fuck do you think you’re doing, Bianca?!”

“Wanna be more specific?” Bianca asked, tilting her head, an impish smile on her face.

"It's bad enough that you're fucking Fame's assistant, but to parade her around on the red carpet? Without even bothering to give us a heads-up? Are you insane?" Raja’s teeth were clenched, clearly trying to keep her voice down.

"Please. Our relationship has nothing to do with-"

"Relationship? Are you actually calling this a relationship?"

"Yes!" Now, Bianca was starting to get annoyed. Who the fuck did Raja think she was talking to?

"Oy, this is so much worse than I thought,” Raja groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Please don't tell me this is why you bailed on the tasting menu."

"So what if I did?"

"Oh god."

"Fuck you!"

"And what did you expect to happen, Bianca? What's your great master plan with this childish stunt?"

“Well...to be honest, I didn’t know she was gonna kiss me on the carpet,” Bianca admitted, a giggle slipping from her lips. “It was kinda cute, did you see?”

“I...am going to slap you.”

“Come on, Raj. I did give this whole thing a little thought.”

“Really? It doesn’t fucking seem like it!”

“Well, I have. Look, I know she’s gonna be pissed, but I also know she’s not gonna cause a scene in the middle of the party. And then after tonight, she’s got almost a full week to cool off before she has to see me again,” Bianca said, punctuating her statement with a charming smile. Bianca was no idiot. Of course she knew that Fame would be irritated, maybe even angry, but she figured that this was a situation where it would be easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. And besides, if she had to endure her friend’s wrath for awhile in exchange for being free to put her relationship with Courtney out into the open, then so be it.

“That’s what you think will happen?” Raja huffed. “Bianca, please, Fame hasn’t seen you guys yet. If we get Courtney out the back door, we can make an alliance with Patrick to get Fame drunk and unplug the wifi tomorrow so she doesn’t go online. It’ll be like it never happened, and we'll never speak of it again.”

“Raj, listen. I know this might be a real clusterfuck, but I’m willing to accept the consequences.”

“Oh jesus help me.” Raja groaned. “I hope she’s worth it, Bianca.” She pulled away, shaking her head. “I really hope she’s worth it.”

As she walked away, Bianca took a deep breath, looking back across the lobby at Courtney, who was doing a terrible job of trying to look casual, the anxiety on her face clear as day. Bianca sent her a big smile, reaching out a hand, and Courtney rushed toward her.

“Was she mad?” she asked, brows creased with worry.

Bianca cupped her face lightly, stroking her cheek, and promised, “Not at you.”

“Okay.” Courtney bit her lip, and Bianca leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“Shall we?” she asked, gesturing to the ballroom.

“Yeah...in a minute…” Courtney said, immediately adding, “I’m sorry.”

“Take your time, angel. There’s no rush,” Bianca promised. “In fact, if you’d rather get out of here and go somewhere else-”

“No, no, no…” Courtney laughed, taking her hand. “I’m fine. Let’s go in.”

9 notes · View notes

untaemedqueen · 5 years ago

Text

The Bird Cage

Mafia!Jimin x Reader

Chpater 28.

Warnings: Character Death (I’m Really Sorry)

Blood, Guns, Knives, Smoking (Cigarettes)

Tag-List: @imaforeigner, @q1st1na, @gensneverland, @autumnnflowers, @toddsgirl27, @yaniposts22, @babyboytae1, @dearlydreadful, @vivpurple7, @kthfeed, @probably-trying-too-hard, @si-deus-me-hanyu-senshu, @bts-chub, @ayyyocee, @taeslittletiger, @yeonkiminfr, @xcharlottemikaelsonx , @topthis808, @brilee64, @mini-coop25, @afangirllikeme-blog, @kpoppingthempills, @anextragreating, @ego-allie-bap, @diamonddia-mond, @pjmcth

Time is slow in this room, your eyes not knowing where to look as you lay on the chaise lounge. Your hands finding the second water bottle out of four as you sip at the flavorless liquid.

Your phone tells you it's been ten hours. But, it feels like years. You wanted to stay silent, every voice or yell you were craning your head to listen to. Your eyes wander over to the crib and you put your hand on your stomach as your daughter kicks within you.

You were nervous at first, the first four hours of being in here. You paced back and forth excessively, crying hysterically as your fear practically ate you alive. In your head, you could hear Jimin telling you that it's not good for the baby. Not good for his little angel so you resolved yourself.

You were exhausted, almost up a day and some hours but you couldn't sleep until that door opened and Jimin was standing there safe. You had heard gun shots, yelling and still the door was closed. It wasn't over and you don't know when it would be.

Jimin throws himself behind the couch as he wipes at his sweaty face. A bullet flying over his head as he closes his eyes. They were coming in waves, big waves. No more than fifteen people at a time.

Fifteen every hour, but something has to give. Jimin pulls the cartridge out of his gun before shoving bullets into it, his fingers steady as a rock as he bites his lip. The couch shudders under some weight as Jimin thrusts the cartridge back into the gun only to hold it up and shoot at the shuddering noise. A groan leaving lips as the body falls off of the couch.

"Fuck!" Taehyung curses making Jimin pick up his head. Taehyung's hand pressed to his forearm as blood leaks between his fingers. Knives were flying, people were groaning as still the lions were coming out on top.

"Hyung!" Jeongguk calls to Taehyung from behind the priceless glass vase Jimin had bought two years ago.

The living room was in shambles. Bullet holes in ever wall, knife marks all over the place. The precious Persian rug you bought a month ago was smeared with blood. Which, Jimin even in his head space, the way it was, knew you would be terribly angry with. Taehyung grabs at his shirt, purchasing it in his teeth before tearing it off and wrapping it around his forearm.

"How many lions are dead?" Yoongi calls to Hoseok as Hoseok jumps up onto a mans body, snapping his neck and falling onto his feet.

"I got eight so far!" Someone calls from the kitchen making Jimin sigh.

He stands up with a wince, his eyes falling to his calf as blood seeps out of his cut. Yeah, some guy had got him. Jabbed him with his knife right in his calf. Jimin grips the couch purchasing his upper lip between his teeth as he furrows his eyebrows.

"He thinks we're going to give up?" Namjoon asks walking in from the kitchen, his suit jacket in tatters as he wipes at his blood covered neck.

"I doubt it." Jimin says before looking up at the kitten in a cage painting. He takes a deep inhale before standing on his tip toes with a groan and taking the painting off of the wall.

"You." He tells one of his crew.

"Minki, Boss." Jimin rolls his eyes.

"Minki. Go put this downstairs." He says handing him the painting. He nods tilting his head before leaving. That was one of Jimin's most prized possessions, no harm could befall it.

"We have a fourty two minutes" Jimin says before looking at the broken face of his watch. He taps his fingernail to the unmoving piece before taking it off and throwing it on the floor. The sitting room goes silent before a beeping begins.

"What's that?!" Jin asks loudly before looking around, everyone stops. Their necks sticking out as a grenade rolls into the doorway.

"Oh fuck!" Taehyung yells before starting to sprint towards the kitchen.

"MOVE!" Jimin yells at Jeongguk who is the closest.

One crew member, his name evading Jimin's mind jumps on the grenade as Jeongguk runs towards the kitchen. Jimin groans loudly dashing into the kitchen as all of the men file in. The explosion goes off, the priceless vase teetering then shattering as the entryway explodes. His name was Kiryun.

You sit up at the sound of the explosion your hands cover your face as you whine. The whole house shakes on it's foundation before settling.

"Oh my fucking God." You murmur before hearing screaming downstairs.

Your knees bouncing wildly as you put your hand to your forehead. Even if you did open the door you wouldn't be able to get out, the heavy wooden wall was in front of it. And, Jimin would never forgive you for leaving this room with your unborn baby. But, sitting here safe knowing all of the destruction downstairs was eating you alive.

Jimin swigs the whisky as he stares at the mass of bodies in his sitting room. Jeongguk ties the fabric of his shirt to Jimin's leg making him wince.

"You're cutting off my blood circulation." Jimin mumbles before looking at the bits of Kiryun on the floor.

"I have to. The cut is deep." Jimin puts his hand to his forehead.

"I'm starving." Hoseok whispers putting his forehead to his knees.

"Oh, that's your concern right now? You're fucking hungry? Why don't I just go whip you up a four course meal?" Taehyung asks bitterly as he looks down at his soaked bandages.

"Say that one more time." Hoseok tells him before standing up.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you." Jimin mumbles before sipping the whisky and passing it off for Taehyung to finish. Jimin looks over at the dead cat before hardening his nerves to steel. Kim Shin would come out, and he would end up like that fucking cat.

You were in the bath tub, letting the water fall over your feet as you look down at your naked stomach. Your finger pressing against your swelling belly button before putting your head back against the white lip of the tub. You had nothing else better to do then watch your fingers get pruney. A large bang comes from the room next door and you jump putting your hand over your heart.

"The fuck?" You whisper before sitting up, the water sloshing over the sides.

A loud crash comes from the third floor making Jimin sit up.

"THEY'RE ON THE ROOF!" He hears from the second floor.

"Oh fuck. Baby girl." Jimin mumbles before standing up. His leg shuttering in pain as he grips the couch. He grunts as Jeongguk takes off upstairs first. His legs skipping steps.

"Stay down here." He tells Yoongi and Namjoon as Taehyung and Jimin race towards the stair case.

Jimin peaks up the final few stairs as shadows walk around his bedroom.

"She's not here." A voice whispers as Taehyung rolls onto the floor before pressing himself behind the medical room.

His feet behind the tall vase of flowers on the floor. Jimin nods to the room and Taehyung begins to sneak. Jeongguk's head peaks out from where the baby's room is grateful for the cover. Jimin can count four distorted shadows as he crawls up the stairs on all fours silent as the night.

"She's got to be up here. I heard water running." Jimin closes his eyes in defeat as he stands up. Jeongguk is first, his body bracing for impact as he steps out and kicks the lion carved door open with all of his strength.

"Gentlemen." He says before shooting. Jimin groans loudly sprinting over and holding his gun out. Taehyung enters the bedroom before him, shooting another man as Jimin reaches the room. He looks around as Jeongguk is planted on the ground. Knees into someones back as he chokes the man with your night gown.

"Where's Kim Shin, huh?" He asks through gritted teeth as the man claws at the silken fabric.

"Here." His voice comes out in a whistle as his eyes begin to buldge. Jimin looks around before grabbing the pain killers on the bed and downing a few with his dry throat. He tosses the bottle to Taehyung who happily accepts. Jeongguk twists his arms pulling tightly as the man's neck becomes purple.

"He's here." Jimin mumbles before stepping out of the bedroom and looking at the wooden panel over the room.

"Babe?" He calls through the wood.

"Jimin!" You cry loudly rushing over to the wooden door throwing your towel on the floor.

"Stay silent, Kitten. Can you do that for me?" You whimper putting your forehead to the door.

"I will." Jimin sighs before grunting as he leans his weight against the wall.

"Good girl. It'll be over soon. I promise." His fingers grabbing at the marble table underneath the light fixture.

"Are you okay?!" You ask, your chest wracking with sobs as you put your hand to the door.

"I'm okay." He sounded breathless and pained.

"You're lying!" You wail punching the door. Jimin closes his eyes as Jeongguk and Taehyung exit the bedroom.

"As long as you're okay. I'm okay." Jimin says before pushing off of the wood and heading back downstairs.

"I LOVE YOU!" And, even if your voice was muffled it was as clear as day to him.

"I love you, too." He whispers before descending the stairs running his hands through his hair.

"Park!" The voice fills the house as Jimin lands on the second floor. His body freezing at the familiar voice.

"Come out and play with me!" Kim Shin yells loudly. Jimin puts his finger to his lips as he sits on the bottom step of the third flood staircase.

"I have a woman here! She's dying to see you. Dying being the operative word. Of course." Jimin closes his eyes, his hands in a prayer under his chin as Jeongguk and Taehyung sit down above him.

"What's your name?" Kim Shin asks the woman. There was no answer, to which a loud thud rings out. Then, there was a scream. Jimin puts his forehead to his knees.

"What's your name?"

"Two."

'Fuck!' Jimin mouths putting his hands in his hair.

"Jimin, Two doesn't want to play with me. I'm waiting to play." Jimin looks up at Taehyung before sighing.

"You go. We'll stay here, waiting for the signal." Taehyung mutters into Jimin's ear. He nods before grabbing his gun and standing up. His feet solemnly walk, as if to his execution to the second floor banister before peering over it.

"Kim Shin." Jimin says nodding his head. Shin looks up before smiling. Jimin's eyes taking in Namjoon and Yoongi as they are on their knees with guns pressed to their heads.

"You blew up my house." Jimin tells Shin to which he shrugs.

"You blew up my club." Jimin nods before pointing his gun at Shin.

"Uh uh uh." He says before shooting Two's other foot. She screams loudly making Jimin freeze.

"Where's your wife?" Kim Shin calls to Jimin as he rips Two's dress from her body. Her hands covering her clothed breasts.

"She isn't here." Jimin tells him keeping his gun trained as he walks towards the stairs.

"Let's keep some distance. Shall we?" Jimin stands still, his tongue to his cheek.

"I heard your wife had a little lion in her belly." Jimin inhales through his nose, his blood beginning to heat up.

"She does."

"Good, I'll kill the little fucker too." Jimin's vision goes red as he steps down the stairs.

"I said keep your distance." Kim Shin says before shooting Two in the shoulder, her frail body falling to the floor as she cries loudly.

"That's on you, Park." Jimin looks down at your maid.

His jaw tightening as his mind begins to fog with anger. His fingers bawling into fists.

"Did you like all your presents?" Jimin asks the older man, his head cocking to the side as he aims his gun for Shin's forehead.

"I did, yes, thank you. It was a real eye opener of a gift." Jimin hums before clearing his throat.

"Welcome to the Lion's Den!" He says opening his arms to Kim Shin, his eyes narrowing as Shin cock his gun.

"Thank you." He shoots Two in the head and Jimin closes his eyes before sighing.

Two more shots are heard before Shin's people fall to the ground. Jimin looks over at Taehyung and Jeongguk as smoke rolls out of their guns.

"You killed my wife's maid. She'll be very unhappy." Jimin tells Kim Shin as Namjoon jumps up knocking him to the ground.

Shin's gun slides across the floor as Namjoon presses his knee into his face. Jimin rapidly descends the stairs before jumping over the two steps of the entry way. His knees falling on to Kim Shin's stomach before punching him in the face.

"Move!" He tells Namjoon before punching him repeatedly. Every word coming out of Jimin's mouth ending with a punch.

"You."

"Fucking."

"Bastard."

"You."

"Fuck!" Kim Shin's nose gets battered into his face as he groans.

"You."

"Fucking."

"BASTARD!" Jimin grabs Kim Shin's head before picking it up and smashing it on to the ground. Jimin lets out a shaky sigh before sitting back, his body falling off Kim Shin's as he wipes bloody hands on Shin's shirt. His knuckles were cut open, his own blood seeping out of his hands as his skin begins to swell.

"Take him upstairs to the play room." He whispers before laying down on the ground.

His eyes closing as he breathes raggedly. His hand on his chest as he stares up at the bullet hole covered ceiling. He got him. He got the cheetah. His lips forming a smile on their own before beginning to giggle. He laughs loudly, like a mad man putting his hands over his face.

"We got him." Jeongguk jumps over the staircase railing before jumping on Jimin and hugging his body. Jimin laughs into Jeongguk's shoulder loudly before putting his head back, his chest still wracking with spontaneous giggles as he sighs.

"We got him."

Jimin slides the wooden door panel open before opening the door. The room was dark and you were sitting on the chaise lounge hugging a lion stuffed animal.

"Baby." Jimin whispers smiling, you whine loudly jumping up and running over to him. He chuckles as you throw yourself at him. His lips kissing fervently at your cheek before hugging you close to him.

"I love you. I love you so much." He whispers in your ear as you grip on to his shirt.

"I love you, too!" You sob into his chest, Jimin pulls back before kissing you deeply, his tongue licking over your bottom lip before biting down gently.

"Fuck, I love you." He says before hugging you back to his body.

"Where are you hurt?" You ask pulling away from him.

"I'm fine." He whispers wiping at your tear stained cheeks with his thumb.

"Tell me!" You say shoving his chest. He sighs before picking up his pant leg and showing you the bandage around his cut.

"I'll sew it up, come!" You say quickly pulling on his hand. He grips your hand as you pull him before putting his lips into a straight line.

"Kitten. You have to see something first." Jimin mumbles combing your hair behind your ear. You furrow your eyebrows at him, his touch was too gentle, too kind.

"What?" You ask nervously as he pulls your hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to your skin.

"Come." He whispers before pulling you to the staircase. You descend the stairs together, your eyes on his face as he looks over at you.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I couldn't do anything."

"You're scaring me." You mutter as you reach the second floor.

Your eyes peering over the banister before gasping at all the bodies.

Then, your eyes find one.

"NO!" Your scream loudly, your voice choking up as you shove Jimin off of you and rushing down the stairs.

"NO!" You cry loudly jumping over the entryway stairs before falling to your knees. You cry loudly grabbing at Two's still body. Your head falling back as you whimper.

"I'm so sorry, Kitten." Jimin whispers putting his hand to his forehead.

You pick up the top half of her body as you fall sideways. Your legs coated in her blood as you cry loudly. You put her on your lap before grabbing her torn dress and putting it over her body. Your hands coated red as you run your fingers through her hair. Your shaking hand reaching out and closing her eyes as you wail loudly. Your chest beginning to hyperventilate as you gasp for air.

"Why?!" You cry loudly picking up her body and kissing her forehead.

"SHE NEVER DID ANYTHING WRONG!" You scream, high pitched and pained as you coddle her dead body to your belly. Jimin puts his hands over his mouth as he steps down the stairs.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU SAVE HER?!" You scream at the men in the room. Namjoon bows his head putting his hands in his hair.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU FUCKING DO SOMETHING?!" You cry loudly, blood vessels breaking under your eyes as you rock her dead body.

"I'm so sorry, baby." Jimin whispers as everyone watches you. You lay her body back down on the floor before putting your hand on your stomach and crying out. Jimin presses his legs to your back, holding you up as you cry. His hands on your shoulders as he leans over you.

"She didn't do anything wrong!" You whisper as Jimin squeezes your shoulders.

"I know. I know, Kitten." You whimper as he lifts you to your feet with a grunt. You turn putting your face into his chest, his hand rubbing soothingly at your back as he kisses your forehead.

"I'm sorry." He looks over at Jeongguk before nodding to Two's body subtly.

"Let's go upstairs." Jimin whispers as you lean against him.

"I don't want to leave her, I-" Your voice was shot from screaming. Your head aching from your sobs. You were exhausted.

"Come on." Jimin whispers before rubbing your back quicker as he pulls away.

You sit in the bathtub, staring at the wall as Jimin cleans your legs.

"What was her name? Her real name. I never even knew her real name." You whisper putting your head to the wall.

"Her name was Hawon." You close your eyes.

"That's pretty." You mumble as he nods.

"It is." He hasn't said a thing, unless you ask. He was worried about you, in your state. He wouldn't push or pull for anything, just waiting for you to speak to him.

"Can we name the baby Hawon?" You ask looking over at him, he leans in kissing your cheek.

"Of course, we can." You nod before putting your head back against the wall.

"She was probably one of the sweetest people, I've ever met in my entire life." You mutter closing your eyes as Jimin drains the tub. His lips pressing to your belly as he grabs a towel.

"I know. Me too." He says helping you stand up. He dries off your body before kissing you softly. He picks your body up, your arms clinging to his neck as he lays you down.

"I should have treated her like my friend... Like Hyejin... She shouldn't have done stuff for me." You whisper as Jimin walks past the chess table.

"Don't do that. Don't blame yourself." He says seriously before laying you down on the bed.

"I know." You mumble before turning your body and putting your face into the pillow.

You couldn't blame yourself but you were hurt. You cared for her, Two was such a big part of this new life for you. She was sweet and kind, undeserving of what happened and it only made you hate Kim Shin more.

"You got him?" Jimin sits on the end of the bed, squeezing stretch mark lotion into his hand before rubbing your belly.

"The Lion's got the Cheetah." You smirk before laying on your back and looking at your husband.

"Good."

#mafia!au #mafia!jimin #mafia!bts #the bird cage #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts story #bts series #bts smut #bts imagine #jeongguk #taehyung #yoongi #hoseok #namjoo #seokjin

401 notes · View notes

deepseavibez · 4 years ago

Text

Wave of Want_1 || KSJ

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Part 1

... maybe the past liked to visit too much and shadows were not as harmless as we thought. - A/N

Word Count - 2k

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It was a humid night. No breeze, no noise, no people, but then Town Road Plaza was not supposed to be busy at ten in the night - only you were. The hustle and bustle of the crowd around here usually died down by eight. Then the shops closed, cleaned and prepared for the next day. You’d waved off almost every acquaintance that worked in the kiosk across from your shop, and your neighboring clothing and accessory shops.

You would have joined them, but your supplier delivered your new selection of hats and caps late and they were set to be displayed and sold to customers for the new week. You had just recently got promoted too. Beside it being another achievement on your ladder of success, it has also added to your set of responsibilities.

There would be a huge backlog should it not be ready.

Plus, you weren’t one of those people where work was something to run away from. You loved your job and your life, no matter how much it actually did suck sometimes.

But it was all about dealing. And for the people around you? No way were you going to sport a sad face or a negative attitude when your loved ones needed you. You played your roles; good daughter to your dad, a motherly big sister to your baby sis and a best friend to the ones that you chose to make family.

You lived on a line of careful balance, where emotion was important, but logic helped you stay alive. You could cry, as long as you smiled after. You could scream and shout, as long as the voice of reason made an appearance at the end, and you could love and love and love so hard, but walk away when it just was not worth it.

Placing the last cap on the mannequin head, you sighed – a combination of relief and acceptance because it was too late to visit dad and Bee, but on the bright side, work was done for the night.

Turning away from the rich toned racks of matching jackets, coats and blazers you headed in the direction of your office. You didn't usually spend a lot of time in here; always hands on, a people person to the core, love for your job and your store always had you on your feet. It was a bit of a killer when heels were a norm, but beauty was painful.

Your desk had your laptop, a few bills and orders and a photo frame of your family. Smiling with a heavy heart, as the fleeting memory of your mom brushed past, you looked down at the light blinking on your phone.

Picking it up off the desk you typed in the passcode and noticed the notifications all coming from Twitter. The pop up detail showed it was from your girls.

It was not always about just being a fan on Twitter. There were a number of people you had met online and trusted with parts of you so deep you did not know they existed. That's what made it close to every person's heart.

They spoke about problems, family, life, languages and travel, talent and interests and hobbies. And everyone could be themselves. Anything could be said, whether it was about sex, about softness or even just about food, it was all meshed together by an emotion you wouldn't think to find on a social media group chat with everyone halfway across the world from each other, and that was love.

Total unconditional, uncompromising respect, love and support. And it was real. It felt real.

Right now the chaos was about a concept photo drop from a kpop group. Tapping on the Twitter icon, your notifications were wild with funny reactions and online screaming at how good the pictures and ideas looked.

Searching for their usernames you giggled at the responses. Your friends replies were exactly like their personalities.

Josie was the smallest of the group. She was the one that held the most power in tugging on the protective reigns of every one of them.

School being her worst enemy she still worked hard, still took up hobbies and interests and she had so many of them. She was so kind, really and there was a need in you to always stick around Josie.

Watching her grow up, adapt, be better than her original self and take care of her. Because every one of your friends here, were younger then you, but Josie was closest to your baby sisters age. And your heart could never say no to a feeling so old and embedded in your heart, to shrug it off would be tearing yourself open.

Stevie was the crazy one, but crazy in the most admirable way possible. Nothing stopped her; nothing and no one. She was eccentric really, her selfies at angles and moments no one would think to put out there, her messages and replies so on another perspective it was a need to have her around.

And she had a spine of steel - a literal spine of steel. Everyone had days honestly, but Vee was so strong, you wouldn't even notice something had happened. And that was scary, the people with the steely exteriors, needed the most love. And damn did they love showing it in their own way.

Believe it or not there were campaigners for Stevie being president. You knew there would be war if that actually ever happened, but hell; you'd just pull up a chair and a glass of wine and watch the show unfold.

You really would protect them, because what else did you need in the world except for the few good-hearted friends that could be a comfort in your world.

Eyes catching the clock in the corner of your screen it now said 10.30pm.

Getting lost in Twitter was a whole struggle.

Putting your phone back down and shutting down your laptop, you packed up to get ready to go. Making to grab your charger you found it not in its socket. Eyebrows scrunched up in confusion you looked around.

Where -

A fleeting memory, your eyes blew wide in realization, as you did a backtrack to help you remember. It was in the kitchen last. Macy had used it, because she forgot hers at home.

You scrunched your face up in disdain. She was always using your stuff. Whining about how your make-up was flawless and she couldn't apply it like you. She wanted your face creams and commented on your choice in clothing - it was the bomb apparently. You knew this already and Macy was on thin ice, you only had so much tolerance.

‘Stupid, bitch.’ You muttered and suddenly thought of Josie, because she would have definitely called her that.

Shaking your head with a smile, you figured you’d grab the charger when switching the lights off and locking up the back.

A loud scraping signified a chair being moved. The noise startled you. You held your breath, the laptop bag flap held in midair as you questioned if you actually imagined it or not.

There it was again.

Eyes blown wide, confusion plaguing your senses you tried to think over the dangerous thud of your heart. The only chairs were in the kitchen, but you were the only one left at the store.

'Hello?' You shouted. 'Is anyone there?'

You internally cringed at the question.

Like anyone would actually answer, the fuck

Partially recovered, you woke up slowly, the need to investigate overpowering fear.

Sending a silent prayer up for sanity, you looked around you. Eyes catching the light flashing on phone in your hand, you turned it over and saw the missed calls and messages coming through on the screen, one after the other. Opening the chat, you read the messages and got even more confused.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬You couldn't answer him right now, what if someone was actually here. You hoped that wasn’t the case, but if it was, he did say he was on his way.

Locking the phone, you clutched it tightly, trying to ignore the tandem of your heart. This was your store, your baby. You couldn't just run out. You were caught. You didn't want to make him worry, and you were scared, but this was your responsibility.

Trying to feel convinced from your thoughts you noticed the slight click in your black stiletto pumps. Kicking time off slowly, you adjusted to the cold of the tile seeping to your bare feet.

Atleast your toes looked pretty, freshly manicured in a pale pink.

Shaking your head to focus on the task at hand, you chided your stubbornness and ran a hand through your hair. You needed to think about how you would defend yourself and - you did a double take as you turned your head; attention caught on the the broom in the corner. You grabbed it and held it in front of you, as if preparing for war, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself to stop being a chickenshit and move.

Cautiously leaving your office and walking as close to the edge of the wall as possible, you tiptoed your way to the kitchen.

Walking to the last room in the hallway wasn't supposed to be this creepy; you had done it so often and at later times than this. But today your hair stood on end. You had to walk there, because you had to lock up. And the knives were in the goddamn kitchen.

Blood thundering in your ears, you leaned into the wall, hands clutching the handle of the cheap broomstick to your chest, you neared the open door of the kitchen.

Closing your eyes in a silent prayer, you huffed a breath and turned.

'Hyaaaahhhh!' Swinging wildly with the broom, you hit the air, the only sounds being the battle cry coming from your throat and the background hum of the running refrigerator.

You stopped and took in the empty room before lifting yourself from your almost crouch, and acted as composed as possible.

Eyes darting from left to right twice before being satisfied enough, your mood elevated. Pssht, no one's here. The broom shook in your hand however, a telltale sign of the blood rush in the minutes of heightened emotion.

The kitchen was compact. Cream coloured walls, a refrigerator and grey table with four wooden chairs; granite, grey counter on the wall in front of you next to the fridge and white cupboards below the counter.

Shaking your head at the empty room, you aren't going to die today, you told yourself, your lips curving down in the lame attempt to humor the situation.

You turned. 'Oh God! Fuck!'

Catching your reflection in the mirror on the far side wall, at the worst time possible you clutched at your heart. Shaking your head, you rolled your eyes at the overreaction.

'Breathe y/n, for fucks sake.' Grabbing your charger from the table, with a little more force than necessary you turned on your heels, and switched the light off before padding, barefoot to the doorway. Closing the kitchen door behind you, you grabbed the key on the door and twisted it.

No more randomly moving chairs for the rest of the night.

Breathing now evened out and the dead silence of night your only companion, you were ready to go home to your warm bed and open loving arms.

You sighed, a small smile gracing your lips at the reminder of the love of your life.

An ear blistering shriek left your mouth as you felt a heavy weight on your shoulder, a second later. The hand that caused it, twisted off as you spun around so fast it would have given anyone watching you whiplash.

Shaken and terrified you had the end of the broom pointed at your would be assailant.

'What the fuck are you doing here?!'

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

#Wave of Want #bts #bts seokjin #kim seokjin x you #seokjin au #kim seokjin x y/n #seokjin x you #seokjin fanfic #seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #kim seokjin x reader #bts fanfic #bts aus #bts au fanfic #deepseavibez

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overheardatthecontinental · 5 years ago

Link

John Wick had a problem.

Helen would tell him he had many problems.

But for now, he was concentrating on one. What had started as weekly tradition of breaking into his therapist’s home had quickly increased to every day he was in New York. Then he was making excuses to run into the city so that he could watch her sleep. And now… it had been more than a week since John spent a night in his own bed.

In the early hours of the morning, John would either make his way to the Continental or home, where he would shower and sleep, confident in the knowledge that Helen was at her office. He would work, or find something to occupy his waking hours, until the clock struck eleven. And then he would, inevitably, find his way back to her.

His obsession with his therapist was getting out of hand.

But he couldn’t resist. He craved the very sight of her. It was like his body hummed with frustration and anxiety whenever she was out of his sight, only to be eased by the image of her in bed, the smell of her lotion, the soft sighs that escaped her as she shifted in her sleep.

It was a problem.

But he couldn’t bear to stop.

And unlike his other problems, he couldn’t just talk to Helen. The idea was laughable.

He can picture it now, as he sits in the parking lot outside her office:

“What would you like to talk about today, John?”

“Well, I can no longer go twenty-four hours without being in your presence, except, we only meet once a week, so the other six days, I break into your house and watch you sleep.”

Yeah. That’s not happening.

He stares at the clock on the dashboard, watching the minutes slowly dance by until he can see her. At 3:50, he watches her previous client leave the building and the remaining five minutes creep by. By 3:54, he’s had enough. He turns off his idling car and heads into the building, no longer caring about how it looks to arrive so early to a session.

Her door is open, as usual, and she is standing over her desk, leaning over so she can type on her laptop. Her seldom-seen glasses are perched on her nose as she does, and John has to stop the barrage of thoughts that come from seeing her in such a position.

Her sweater dress could so easily be pushed up her thighs and…

No. Entertaining these thoughts is doing nothing to help him and every day, he feels himself slip more and more into his obsession.

“Come in, John.” She says, only then glancing up from the screen. “How was your day?”

“Alright.” He says, and Helen closes the laptop and takes off her glasses. A pity, he thinks. She really is so pretty in those glasses.

She grabs a Keurig pod from the basket over her desk before checking, “Planning for a late night?”

Always, now, he thinks. John nods and Helen slips it into the coffee maker and quickly turns it on.

“Oh! Before we start, can I ask a favor? I need to use your body.” He nearly chokes at her phrasing but immediately relaxes as she points to the air conditioner in her window. “I tried to take it out earlier and I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

John glances at her outfit. “In heels?”

She sends him a half-hearted glare. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about it before I came in today. But I heard on the radio that we’re supposed to get a frost this weekend. Usually I’d ask Mike, the building super, but he’s not answering his phone.”

“No problem.” John says, slipping out of his suit jacket and laying it on the chair. “Where does it go?”

“The floor is fine; I just want it out.”

He gives her a look and repeats himself, something he would never do for anyone else in the world, “Where does it go?”

Helen rolls her eyes good-naturedly, “There’s a storage closet down the hall.”

It’s already unplugged so John tucks away the wire and lifts the window off the machine. “Hold the door.” John tells her as he tugs the unit free of the window. It occurs to him how easily an air conditioner, if properly timed, could be used to make a murder look like an accident. A push at the right moment and a crushing death for whoever awaited below…

He follows Helen into the hall and down to where the closet. She quickly unlocks the door and points to the metal shelves where it goes.

He sets it down gently on the shelf, “Good to go.” He says, straightening his vest.

“You’re the best.” Helen tells him.

“Next time,” John says, “Just call me. I’m usually in New York. No near-death experiences with air conditioners. It might be… difficult” impossible “to find a new therapist.”

Helen smacks him on the arm as they walk back to the office, “You’re ridiculous.”

He inclines his head as they slip back in. Helen finds a cover for the coffee, which has finished brewing, and hands it off to John.

“What have you been up to this week?”

Killing, stalking, and watching you sleep.

“Nothing new.” He answers, taking a sip of the coffee as he finds his seat.

“Did you have many cases this week?”

I took extra so that I would be in New York, just so I had an excuse to check on you.

“A few. Nothing too extreme.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask for your definition of extreme.”

His lips twitch.

“Have you given much thought to what we discussed last week?”

“Which part?”

“Your identity. The age-old question that we all must ask of ourselves: who am I?”

Of course, he has. He is now fluent in Erikson’s model, killing the daylight hours with reading things she referenced. Taking delight in the fact that, after his mention of Godwin, he had found the anarchist’s texts on her bedside table.

A silent exchange.

Neither of them will address it but he knows that it has happened. That she cares, in whatever way she does. And he loves her for it.

“A bit.”

“And what did you think about?”

John sinks back into his chair, “My house.”

Helen inclines her head, “Oh?”

“It’s, uh… it’s a nice house, a nice property but it’s just a house.”

“It’s not a home?” She asks, trying to clarify his meaning.

And John nods. “If you were to walk through it,” ah, what a thought, “you probably wouldn’t be able to tell it was mine. I still have the furnishings and the art that came with it. And I don’t have a lot of… stuff. Aside from my clothes, and my books, there’s nothing really there that’s mine.”

“Possessions don’t always reflect personality.”

He thinks about her home. The throw cushion on her couch that says choose happy and the fleece blanket she wraps up in while watching television that’s covered in daisies. The potted plants that advertise the presence of a nurturer, the pictures taken with her friends. There is framed artwork on her walls that seem to highlight her softness.

He thinks of Aurelio’s place, littered with spare car parts. John had once gone to sit on Aurelio’s couch only to land on a steering wheel. There were pictures of his family. A neon sign that Aurelio claimed to have stolen from a pub in Queens. Old magazines on his kitchen table, beer bottles piled next to an overflowing recycling.

Even Winston, who John regarded as a fairly private person, displayed a collection of old chess sets. He proudly put a collection of knives under a glass that he claimed belonged to the third Elder. While there were no pictures of friends or family, he had a taste of the extremes. Large leather couches and glass tables. A collection of top-shelf liquors sat next to an antique globe.

“That’s true,” He says, “But I see other people’s homes and spaces, and they almost seem to belong to them. And mine is as empty as a hotel room.” John pauses in thought, “I’m well aware that my personality is… bland but—”

Helen cuts him off, “Bland?” She repeats, amusement etched onto her pretty face.

John shrugs, “I was recently compared to a block of wood.”

“By who?” Now, there is disbelief in her voice.

“Santino. One of my,” he cannot think of a better word, “colleagues.”

She rolls her eyes, “Well, I expect that you tend to close off around your,” she uses quotations, “’colleagues’.”

John opens a hand in well, what are you gonna do kind of way. “It’s hard to trust trained killers. The less they know about me, the better off I am.”

“We’re going to circle around to that.” Helen tells him, “But I do want to try to understand your thoughts surrounding your home.”

He isn’t quite sure what to say, “I don’t know. I suppose I have a tendency towards utilitarianism.”

Helen is nodding, thoughtfully. “Yet, you’re far past the time in your life when you weren’t able to afford the things you want. Which makes me think that it’s a choice you’ve made, to leave your own space barren.”

“I’ve considered as much.”

“And?”

John shrugs, “I’ve come to several conclusions but no real answers.”

“Tell me.”

“The first, is the most obvious. I grew up without having anything that was mine. I shared blankets, when we had them. Food. Clothing. I learned to live without superfluous things.”

She considers that, “A possibility, and certainly a contributor, but many people who grew up in poverty who, for lack of a better term, rise above their circumstances do the opposite. They buy everything they were never able to have as children.”

“If there’s something that I want, I’d get it. There’s just nothing that I want.” Except for what I can’t have, he thinks.

“When was the last time you bought yourself a little luxury? Nothing related to clothes or food or hygiene. Nothing for work. Just something for you?”

He bought himself several books on and by Erikson, the psychologist she had referenced the week before, but he doesn’t want to tell her that. And, now that he thinks of it, his last several purchases were books she had either mentioned, or he had seen on her bedside table and picked up for himself. Just in case it ever came up in conversation.

“Just books.” He tells her. “A few months ago, I bought a new coffee machine. Does that count?”

She smirks, “I would consider coffee a necessity.”

He grins back, “I’m sure you would.”

“So, nihilism aside…” John snorts at that assessment, but Helen continues, “You said you had other theories?”

John nods, “I also have to consider my Romani heritage. Even the orphanage moved around a lot. Nothing was permanent, until I got to New York. And then, I ran away. And then I was in the military, where we weren’t exactly able to bring things with us. Maybe I just can’t put stock into the idea of permanence.”

Helen seems to sigh, quietly. Empathy burns in her eyes and John can feel it, in turn, burning into him. He’s not quite sure how to deal with it.

Helen offers him a smile and it’s weighted in emotion as she teases, “Keep making connections like that and I’ll start to think you don’t need me anymore.”

“I’ll always need you.” It slips from him before he has a moment to think better of it.

A moment passes, his words lingering in the air and John hopes against hope that she can’t see just how enamored with her he is.

He desperately tries to think of something to say to fill the silence, to take back his words without taking away the meaning behind them.

“Good.” Helen says softly and, just like that, it’s over. “Now, going off of that idea of permanence, I wonder how much of it is habit, like you were saying, and how much of it might be a reflection of the loss you’ve gone through?”

“My experiences have conditioned me for loss?” He interprets.

And Helen shrugs, “Haven’t they?”

John thinks back. The Romani had kept him alive as a child, but they had shipped him off without so much as a goodbye. And while New York had been an improvement, there was still nothing that was his save a stolen Bible. He had left it behind when he ran away to Mexico.

In Mexico, he had shelter. He was a child, but he still had his own tiny place carved out in the world. His own blanket, his own clothes. A worn copy of 1984 that he had stolen from a passenger on the train. It had all been burnt when his village had been razed, leaving him only with the clothes on his back.

The years that followed weren’t much better. He was forced back into the Underworld and while it was far from perfect, he preferred the freedom of it rather than being forced into social services. Being forced to make up some kind of lie to protect his Romani brethren. No, the Underworld was not perfect, but it was all he knew.

He was paid terribly because they could pay him terribly. He was given shit jobs but he took them so he could eat. And once he started growing, he needed new clothes. Over the course of two years, he grew a foot.

When he finally escaped that world again, he took only what he could carry with him. A small duffle full of clothes, a spare pair of shoes, and two knives that didn’t fit on his person.

When he joined the army, he didn’t take anything with him aside from a single book.

And it wasn’t until years later, when he decided enough was enough, and rejoined the fold that he had the ability to settle down.

“I can understand why that may be a part of it.” John admits, “But I think, mostly, it comes down to the fact that I just don’t care about most things.”

“Once again, nihilism makes an entrance.”

John shrugs, “I have more money than I ever dreamed of. And permanence doesn’t matter when I could afford to buy things a thousand times over. The only priceless possessions I have, I keep in my car. Just in case.”

She seems to brighten at that, leaning forward with interest, “And what does John Wick consider to be priceless?”

Not much, he thinks.

Her business card, which she had given him that first day in the café, with her cell phone number etched on the back. He keeps it tucked away in an envelope and locked in his glovebox.

A revolver gifted to him by Marcus. The only present he had ever been given without an expectation of reciprocation.

The copy of Walden he had taken from the little library at the military base where he trained. His only constant companion through three tours of duty.

He decides not to mention the first. “A gun given to me by an old friend. And a copy of Walden.”

“Thoreau.”

John nods.

Helen sits back, “I don’t associate you much with a love for nature. Is it the isolation aspect that attracts you, the civil disobedience piece, or that idea of self-reliance?”

“I would say all of it, although the self-reliance was what first pulled me in. It…” He hesitates, unsure of why he feels the need to share such a little thing with her, “It was the only possession I brought with me everywhere when I was in the army. And when I returned home.”

“It really stayed with you.”

John nods, “I suppose, it helped me learn to think a bit more critically. To challenge the automatic assumptions that came with growing up in the Underworld.”

“I imagine there was a sort of irony about reading such a text while in the military.”

He can’t stop the smile that crosses his lips. He doesn’t have to explain his bizarre humor or reasoning to Helen. She just gets it. “I’ll admit, that was part of the charm. Imposing those shades of grey into my life that were absent in the Underworld and, again, missing from the marines.”

She smiles back, “You pursue that duality in life. Toeing the line of arbitrary rules and ethics, while simultaneously embracing the meaninglessness.”

“Nihilism and Walden have been my constant companions.”

“Let’s add absurdism there for good measure.” She jokes and John finds himself laughing. Something he only does in her presence.

He loves her. He loves her. He loves her.

He knows it, he feels it so deeply within him, but he can’t act on it. He won’t.

He knows she deserves so much better than him.

“Alright, back on topic.” Helen says with a small smile, “You said something last week that I’ve been considering in relation to this discussion.”

Grateful for the segue, John asks, “Oh?”

She nods, “You were talking about the idea of a normal life. A life away from the Underworld that you wanted, or at least considered, but identified as being out of reach.”

John nods back.

“I wonder, and please feel free to tell me if I’m off the mark, if those desires intersect with your decision to keep your house bare?”

He blinks, taking in her meaning.

His house is empty, in more ways than one. Just him and he doesn’t need anything. And the things he wants, well, he can’t have them. So why bother to fill his house with things that don’t matter? Why fill his house with trinkets when they’ll only serve to remind him of himself? Of the life he lives alone.

And John swears, “Fuck.”

Helen waits, in silence, as she always does while John works through his thoughts.

She’s right, to a degree, but it’s deeper than that.

He wonders if she realizes how much more it is. If she was truly asking him a question or manipulating him into figuring out for herself what she already suspected.

She was good at that. At breaking him down in ways that thousands of assassins never could figure out. He’d survived hundreds of attempts on his life but one question from Helen and he was ready to fall to his knees.

Fuck.

Minutes pass before Helen asks, “John?”

He swallows heavily, “I hate it when you’re right sometimes.”

“Epiphany?”

“Epiphany.” He echoes, “I think…” He hesitates.

She was right. Both today and last week, she had pinpointed the cause.

“I think you give me too much credit.” He had said softly.

“I don’t. But then, we’ve discussed your issues with self-esteem before.”

John rolled his eyes, “I don’t have poor self-esteem.”

“Oh, I agree. You have no self-esteem.”

Self-esteem just didn’t seem like an important thing. His reflective thoughts about himself didn’t affect his ability to work or to kill or to function.

And so, he had written them off as unimportant. Whereas Helen had been telling him, for weeks it seemed, that his sense of self mattered.

He tries not to look at her. He doesn’t need to look to know that she is staring at him kindly, non-judgmentally. Ready to listen and offer comfort.

“It’s okay, John.” She says softly, “You know you can say anything here.”

Anything, he thinks, except the words he swallows back every night.

He lets out a breath, “You’re right. About the self-esteem thing.”

She nods once, waiting for him to continue.

“I… don’t understand it, fully. I don’t get why it matters how I see myself but, I guess it does. At the end of the day, I don’t deserve a normal life. And I don’t deserve the things that come with it. Even if the things are just small tokens of normalcy.”

A moment passes that feels like an eternity to John.

“I want you to know, I’m unbelievably proud of you right now.”

He doesn’t want to look at her after that confession, but her words force him to raise his head in stunned disbelief. She can’t be serious…

But she’s staring at him in earnest, smiling softly, looking at him with kindness and gentleness and yes, with pride. She’s looking at him with pride in her eyes and he can’t quite figure out why.

And, as if she can sense his confusion, she adds, “You’ve been coming here for seven months and, for most of that time, you’ve been fairly resistant to actually being vulnerable.”

“I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone.” John argues.

“I know. And I appreciate your trust in me. But there’s a difference between trusting me with legalities and learning to trust yourself enough to admit to these feelings. You’ve been sitting on these emotions for the better part of your life, John. Keeping them hidden or ignoring them. We joke about your nihilism when I think we both know that it’s easier to pretend nothing matters when we start to feel things too heavily.”

He sits with that.

God, is that what he’s been doing?

Ignoring his own self-hatred by ignoring anything that has to do with himself?

Filling his free time with work to keep him busy or reading, filling his mind with rationality and bullshit intellectualism rather than dealing with the emotions that linger below the surface?

But what else was he supposed to do?

Emotions were ignored most of his childhood, when fighting for survival was the precedent. And he just never learned.

Fuck.

Helen assesses him carefully, “What are you thinking, John?”

He’s not even entirely sure what he’s thinking but he settles on, “Life seemed simpler when my only focus was survival.”

She nods, thoughtfully, “I’m sure it did. Thought some people might argue that emotions offer a lot of evolutionary benefits.”

“Like what?”

“Well, anxiety warns us when we might be in danger. Anger helps us to protect ourselves. Sadness can help us to process complex events. Happiness and joy help us bond and create social alliances.”

She lets him mull that over before adding, “Your emotions are as much of a tool as your eyes and ears looking and listening for potential enemies.”

He considers that, too.

He gets her point. He really does, but his eyes and ears have never fucked with him the way his emotions did.

“I think it comes down to control.” He says thoughtfully.

“Oh?”

“I can close my eyes. I can choose not to listen. But my emotions…”

“You can’t shut them off. And ignoring only works for so long.”

“Yeah.”

Helen nods, “Our emotions are, arguably, one of the most complicated things to understand. And you’re right, they are one of the hardest things to control and while there are ways to change our thinking and challenge our automatic thoughts, we often can’t help what we feel.”

John knew that well.

He couldn’t help the hopelessness and the loneliness he experienced as a child.

He couldn’t help the intense anger at watching his first real home be burned to the ground.

He couldn’t help the contempt he felt for himself whenever he looked to deep inside himself.

And he certainly couldn’t help the intense obsession and other unnamable emotions that arose in him whenever he thought about Helen.

It wasn’t like he had tried to change any of it, though.

“Sometimes,” he admits softly, “I think that I force myself to feel the bad emotions. To force myself to suffer.”

Again, she nods, “Earlier you used the term deserve.”

“I don’t deserve anything.”

Fuck, did he really just say that? Out loud? To her?

He probably sounded like a whiny teenager. But Helen doesn’t look at him with annoyance or contempt.

She just inclines her head, “You know, I have a lot of clients who come in here and use the same language. I deserve this. I don’t deserve that.”

“I doubt most of your other client have killed people.”

In fact, he knows they haven’t. He had a background check run for every single person on her caseload to make sure she was safe in the hour she spent with them each week.

Helen, however, ignores him. “For most, it’s based on the Just World Theory. A sort of westernized karma that subscribes to the idea that the world is a fair place. And I know that you know, more than most, that this world is not a fair place.”

“No.” He agrees. “It’s not.”

Helen shakes her head, “We often bestow judgement. Upon ourselves, the people around us. Total strangers, even. And I’m as guilty as it as anyone,” he doubts that but she continues, “But you know what?”

“What?”

She shrugs a shoulder, “Doesn’t do a damn thing, offering judgement. It doesn’t change our past, our future. It doesn’t help us.” Her tone softens, “I know it’s not my place to offer an opinion…”

John shakes his head, “You know I value your thoughts.”

“I don’t know if God exists or if there’s a higher power. But I do know that we don’t get to decide who deserves what. We get dealt our hand and we do the best we can with it. And the more we fight that, the more we tell ourselves that we deserve better or worse, the more miserable we make ourselves.”

He hears her.

And he gets her point, he really does.

It’s not his position to make judgements. He doesn’t have a say in the twists and turns of luck that have amassed him a great wealth.

But it must be wrong because his most glaring example is looking into his eyes. He’s certain that he and Helen are not the same.

Helen is good, and kind, and gentle.

And John is harsh, and dark, and bad.

He’s not sure he can accept a world that views them on an equal playing field.

“You don’t have to believe me.” She tells him, her voice soft and understanding. He wonders, not for the first time, if she can read his mind. “But just consider it, okay?”

…..

He considers it. He spends the rest of the day considering it.

At the Continental, eating dinner, John found himself trying to challenge his automatic assumptions about the people around him.

Assassins, killers.

But did he really know anything else about them? Beyond rumors and hushed whispers? The same kind that followed him, that had turned John Wick into the Boogeyman.

He ponders her words: the more we tell ourselves that we deserve better or worse, the more miserable we make ourselves.

He was an expert at misery.

At best, he was a master of apathy. Hiding his misery under layers of not-caring. Like she said, it was easier to pretend that nothing mattered. It was easier to accept the self-hatred, or at the very least self-contempt, when he could just shrug it off.

Idly, he wonders what would happen if he just continues to ignore it.

Even as he thinks it, however, he knows it’s ridiculous. Helen could sit there and berate him for an hour each week and he’d still sit there happily.

With that thought in mind, he paid for his dinner and left the Continental. Tomorrow, he’ll come back in the early morning. Nap for a bit, then take a contract or two.

He wonders if it’s his obsession with Helen that will keep him in New York or his aversion to returning to his empty home after having that conversation. Neither seems to be a particularly healthy choice but he accepts it nonetheless.

He drives to her house and tries not to think of it as home.

He knows that something is wrong the moment he sees the house.

Helen is energy conscious. She rarely leaves a room without turning out the light. And right now, it is past her bedtime and the kitchen light is on.

He stops the car for a moment, just outside of her house, wondering if he’ll see a shadow move. Maybe he’s being paranoid. Maybe she just got up for water.

But nothing moves.

John throws the car in park. Normally, he’d hide the car a few blocks down and walk back to her house, but he doesn’t care. Quickly, he unlatches the glovebox to pull out his gun. He doesn’t even check it as he hurries out of his car.

The door is shut but the lock has been picked open. And not by him. No, whoever had done this didn’t have the skill to leave no marks in the metal. It was a rough, haggard job. And it was left unlocked.

Fuck.

He opens the door, gun-raised.

His head seems to be screaming a chorus of no, no, no, no, no, no as he clears the kitchen. He should clear the entire first floor, but his fear is outweighing his senses.

Emotional mind Helen would call it.

Her bed is empty but slept in. It wasn’t made and it looked as though she had thrashed about.

Someone had taken her from her bed.

He was shaking.

John was unsure if it was rage or fear that was pounding through him right now, but someone was going to pay.

A phone rings and it takes John a moment to recognize it as his own.

The screen has her name. Her work cell.

John accepts the call and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello, John.” The voice is male. He doesn’t recognize it but there is a slight accent that he can’t quite place.

“Where is she?” He asks trying not to sound as desperate as he feels.

“Safe. For now.”

“Put her on the phone.”

“I’m afraid Miss Kingston has been sedated for the time being.”

“If you’ve hurt her…”

“I believe that now is not the time for you to be making threats.” His unknown opponent interrupts.

John tries to control himself. He can’t act until he knows more. The disgust pours from his voice as he forces himself to ask, “What do you want?”

“Very good.”

John closes his eyes and tries to focus on what it will feel like when he guts this man alive.

“Lorenzo D’Antonio will be in New York from tomorrow night through Monday.”

John can already tell where this is going. Lorenzo D’Antonio was the Camorra’s current leader. He held a seat at the High Table which made him virtually untouchable. No contract could be taken out against him or the Continental, and the High Table, would respond with force. To be caught even conspiring was to be dead.

“And you want him killed.” John finished.

“Not just Lorenzo. His heirs, as well.”

John let out a noise of disbelief. With Lorenzo dead, followed by his children, the Camorra would collapse.

Christ.

John had never given a flying fuck about Continental politics. He followed their rules to gain their services but this…

“And you’ll let her go?”

“Right into your waiting arms.” The man taunted.

John felt his nails digging into his palm as he struggled to maintain what little control he had left. “I want proof that she’s all right.”

“Fine.”

The line drops.

#this is a niche piece #but it is so fucking fun to write #john wick #helen wick #pre-john wick chapter one #pre- john wick #helen x john wick #john x helen wick #baba yaga #the boogeyman #john wick fanfics #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #otp: daisy. of course #otp: daisy #otp: your best friend

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waypathfinder · 6 years ago

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Crimson Lane - Chapter 5 - Head On

Moodboard by @ashtyntaytertot Beta’d by @kathknight and @ashtyntaytertot

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Chapter Text

The light above the brothel door was off, the dim crimson bulb lost against the charcoal walls. Rey rushed to the entrance, head bent as she tapped her dying phone. She had forgotten to plug it in last night and it was almost spent.

The sun had dipped below the city dwellings, dragging the day's warmth away; the light replaced by biting gusts of wind screeching through the streets. She pulled a grey woollen jacket around her shoulder, trying to keep the cold away as the wind buffeted her hair and sent spirals of leaves whirling down the laneway

A man dressed in a thick grey scarf and brown leather jacket leant against the wall. His hands were cupped to his mouth, blowing warm air into his fingers as though he had been waiting in the cold all afternoon. He had wavy dark hair streaked with silver, a shadow of stubble pricked at his jaw. He looked up at Rey as she came closer, brows raising curiously.

She avoided his gaze and hastened to the door.

“Hey!” he called out after her with an assertive voice.

She buried her head further into her chest, quickening her steps.

“Wait!” His voice trailed close behind her.“Do you work here?”

“The brothel isn’t taking customers until after six.”

“I’m not a customer, I wanted to ask—”

“I can’t help you, sorry.”

She charged to the door, hoping to get away from him but he intercepted her path, bullishly blocking her from going any further.

Unable to get past him without creating a scene, Rey sighed and folded her arms.

“What do you want?” she huffed.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Another sigh, but this time she added a roll of her eyes for good measure. “Yes.”

He smiled, exposing a line of perfect white teeth. He was a good-looking guy. One of those cocky, self-assured types. In other circumstances, she would have considered him handsome, but here outside the brothel, she didn’t care what he looked like, as long as he left her alone.

“I’m a reporter for the Hosnian Herald. I wanted to ask you some questions.”

“No way.” Rey pushed past him, but he remained planted where he was, still blocking her from opening the door. He was determined, she’d give him that.

“Look, I just started here. I can’t give you some sex-worker sob story, or whatever else you’re after.”

“Ha! You’re good.” He pointed to her with a charming smile, his presence exuding a nervous energy and excitement. “I’m not after your story, I want to talk to you about your boss, Alastair Snoke.”

Coldness. It flooded her body, showering her from top to bottom. Her jaw stiffened as her memory flashed of that boney finger, calling her forward, the way he touched her, like he owned her body …

“... and the fact there’s a disturbing number of people who have disappeared after having dealings with him…” Poe rushed his words, as though he knew his time was running out.

Rey lowered her head again and pushed past him, edging him away from the door just enough to force it open.

“... and countless witnesses have accused him of being a violent loan shark who…”

She yanked the door back, forcing the reporter away from her and slammed it shut behind her, locking the deadbolt as she did.

Could this day get any worse? She slumped her back against the door, dragging her hands down her face.

“Is that Poe Dameron still out there hounding everyone?”

Rey searched for the source of the voice, as her eyes adjusted to the dimly-lit foyer. A black head of hair popped up from behind Phasma’s desk. Rey startled, confronted with a short Asian woman wearing pigtails and a bubbly smile.

“Oh God, I thought you were Phasma!” Rey panted as she clasped her hand to her heart.

“I know, we’re so alike. People confuse us all the time,” the girl chided with a laugh. “I’m Rose, Rose Tico—or Rosebud was the terrible name they gave me here, but that was just some sick joke of Snoke’s. You must be Rey.”

Rose held her hand out and Rey gave it a sturdy shake.

“Or Desert Flower was the terrible name they gave me,” Rey said with a sly smile.

“That’s not too bad. It could have been worse,” Rose replied.

Rey took off her jacket and hung it by the coat rack over the door, peeking behind the heavy-set crimson curtains as she did. “So, that Dameron guy out there. Does he come around here often?”

“He’s always digging around for some dirt on Snoke,” Rose shook her head and added in a whisper. “Not that he’ll ever find it. Snoke never does his own dirty work, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Who does, then?”

“He calls them his Knights. Some of them are ex-military, others are masters of martial arts. Trained killers either way. We’re not supposed to talk about them. They come here, every now and then. He likes to keep them satiated . ”

Rey's thoughts immediately flashed to Kylo. He had barely flinched when she had attacked him today, so he knew how to take a punch. And the way he commanded her, confident, like he was used to authority...

“But I thought you would have known about them,” Rose continued. “I mean, you’re sleeping with the master of the Knights of Ren himself.”

“What?” Rey asked, her voice going hollow

“You’re Kylo’s girl, aren’t you?” Rose interrupted her thoughts.

“Uh, I—”

Rose smiled knowingly. “How’s that been for you?”

“Umm…” Rey struggled to find the words to say out loud— infuriating, confusing …

“Bad, hey? The others say he’s an emotionless robot. Never gives any of the girls any pleasure. I don’t think he even enjoys it himself, to be honest. I have no idea why he comes here, apart from the fact Snoke expects him too. But honestly, the guy doesn’t even like touching people. If you ask me, he’s a bit fucked in the…” She tapped her temple pointedly with one finger.

Rey nodded. So it wasn’t just her then. But something Rose had said piqued in her mind. He had certainly taken time to take care of her—her cheeks prickled with heat at the thought. Was that unusual then? Had he stuck to the rules with everyone else? She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, flattered, concerned… curious?

“Be careful around him, okay? Snoke didn’t make him Master of the Knights of Ren because of his chivalry.”

“What do you mean?” Rey asked, her voice betrayed with a hoarse whimper.

“He’s dangerous, Rey. He works very closely with Snoke, and that can’t be good for anyone. Just be careful.”

Rey nodded, not feeling comfortable with the conversation anymore. She was about to go upstairs to her room when her phone vibrated, warning she was down to 10 per cent battery life.

“Hey Rose, is there somewhere I can charge my phone? I’m down to one bar.”

“Yeah, come with me.” Rose beckoned her to follow, leading her to a door tucked away in the darkest corner of the room. When they reached the door, Rose hesitated, taking a deep breath and then knocked. “Mr Snoke?”

Rey’s blood froze solid in her veins, as her stomach hardening into rock.

Not Snoke, Please not Snoke.

She waited for his gravelly voice to answer, for those frosty caustic eyes to pin her in their sights, but there was no answer beyond the door.

“There’s a charging station in his office. He isn’t here most of the time,” Rose said.

“And what if he is?”

“Then I suggest you walk the other way,” she said darkly.

Snoke’s office was colder than the rest of the building and far darker. Rose flicked a switch by the door, a red silk lantern fringed with crimson tassels lit up the room in a gentle glow. The room was ostentatious and cluttered, with ornaments from different parts of the world scattered on every surface. A heavy mahogany desk was in the far end of the room, just behind a zebra skin matt. Rey screwed up her nose at it, and even more so at the lion’s bust centred directly on the wall behind. The beast stared at her with hollow eyes and teeth bared, its own blood still stained the fur along the neckline.

“Gross,” Rey muttered, as she took in the glorified self-portraits of Snoke bundled over various animal corpses, hunting rifle in one hand and knife in the other. All of them rare or exotic animals, hollow and broken, bleeding out upon the African grassland. So he loved to slaughter innocent things, she mused. Not surprising.

“I know, right? That’s not even the worst part of this room.” Rose strolled over to a pair of large heavyset cabinet doors against the far right wall of the room. Giving Rey one conspiratory glance, she released the catch holding the doors together with a click.

Rey came closer, curiosity overcoming her more than any true desire to know what lay at the heart of Snoke’s sick fetishes.

Inside was a wall lined with what looked like torture devices to her: handcuffs, whips, chains, knives, dog leashes, ball and chain, face muzzles and belts of leather dotted with steel studs.

“What is this?” Rey whispered, her voice failing her.

“You haven’t had to be with him yet, have you?”

Rey shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat like it was a piece of coal.

“Keep it that way if you can.” Rose closed the doors quickly. “It’s not … pleasant.”

Rey remained fixed before his personal collection. What the hell she had gotten herself into by agreeing to this job? She should have faked or death or fled the country instead, or ...

“Hey.” Rose placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t stress. Phasma is way into that stuff so he usually gets his fix from her. Just keep off his radar.”

Rose bent down beneath the desk, pulling out a handful of different phone charger wires.

“Here, you can plug in here.”

Rey knelt, pulling the charger cord towards her with trembling hands. The vision of the muzzles and knives was still creeping her out. She needed to get out of this. Maybe it was worth facing those men who had threatened her if she didn’t pay her first instalment. They would just beat her, and she could take a beating. What Snoke had planned for her though … she wasn’t sure she’d ever get over that. She tried to think of something else, focussing instead on Rose’s bright smiling eyes. She was like a breath of fresh air in here.

“You seem normal, are you normal?” Rose asked.

Rey laughed, despite herself. “That depends on your definition of ‘normal’, but I guess so?”

“Oh, thank God. Me too. So what got you into the oldest profession in the world?”

“I owe money,” Rey admitted. “Or, I should say my parents owed money. I inherited the debt from them, and now the people they owed it to want it back. I’ve got a month to pay the first instalment.”

“That blows,” Rose said, her head dipped in a show of concern.

Rey turned away, she hated pity. She had travelled through life without it so far and the mere feeling of it pulled her chest tight.

“It is, what it is.” Rey shrugged. “How about you?”

“I have a daughter.” Rose’s fingers toyed with a crescent moon charm around her neck as she spoke. “Well, she’s not technically my daughter. She was my sister Paige’s kid. She was killed in that bomb blast last year down by Resistance headquarters. Did you hear about it?”

Of course Rey had heard about it. July 22, the same day she had handed in her resignation at university. She had been walking home, vision blurred with pooling tears, when the blast had gone off. She had heard it from four blocks away, a shuddering thunder that made her duck for cover. The terrorist attack had killed 120 people and injured countless others. No one had ever claimed responsibility, but police officials suspected a rival political faction.

That day Rey had stared, dumbfounded, by the window of an electronics store, watching the scene play out on a dozen television screens, fire and smoke, body bundles hidden beneath bloody sheets, people crying, wailing their stories to reporters with cut foreheads and red rivulets dried onto their skin. Rey shivered at the memory.

“I’m so sorry,” Rey whispered. The words were inadequate, but she meant every one.

Rose’s eyes misted with sorrow. There was love there, deep, immeasurable love. The kind she could never even hope to experience.

“I’m just trying to do the best by her. I want to be there for her during the day, you know? To make her feel like she’s not alone.” Rose clutched her hands together, as though she were pleading her case.

“I know, Rose,” Rey answered, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing a wonderful thing for her. She’s lucky to have you. I wish I had a mother that loved me as much.”

Rose stiffened at her touch, lips pressed tightly together while her nostrils quivered. Rose held that pose until at last she broke, a few stray tears running away from her measured composure.

“Gosh darn it, you’ve gone and made me cry, Rey!”

They laughed, the tension and emotion of the day shaking loose.

“Anyway, it’s not all bad. Most of my clients are quite sweet. They just want someone to share with, you know? Loneliness is a bitch.”

Rey nodded, eyes wide with a new appreciation of the woman before her. They had just met, but somehow Rey suspected she would come to love Rose like a sister.

It was then that the door handle rattled and the imposing stature of Phasma glared at them.

“Get out,” she hissed. “What do you think you are doing in here?”

“Nothing, Phasma. I was showing Rey where she could plug in her phone.“

Phasma inhaled a sharp breath through her nose and took a step back, allowing the two girls to exit. They did so in silence, heads downcast in order to avoid their madam’s steely gaze. Phasma returned to her desk and began to sort tonight’s client files.

“Rose, you’ve got a new one tonight, Dathomirian Zabrak.”

“Okay, well that name sounds more than a little creepy.”

Phasma ignored her. “And Rey, Kylo called. He’s going to be late, but when he comes in he’s asked that you warm up with a head job.”

“Ugh! I hate head jobs!” Rose exclaimed. “And since when does Kylo Ren want anything other than a quick fuck?”

Phasma glared at Rose, lips tightening, and Rose backed up with an apologetic smile.

“He’s also asked you to read through the rules again.”

She slipped the well-worn list to Rey, who took the sheet of paper in her hand. He would make her pay tonight. Whatever warped theory he had about her working with Snoke had made him pissed as hell. And then there was the small matter of her kneeing him in the groin today…

“Well?” Phasma asked, her tone clipped.

“No kissing, no hugging, no questions. Got it. “

“And no eye contact,” Phasma added testily. “This is your last chance tonight, you understand? Give him the best damn night of his life or you can find a new brothel.”

“Fine,” Rey said through gritted teeth, and for a moment the women just stared at each other, cobalt against amber, cold steel against fiery determination.

She began to back away, never taking her eyes of the sharpened owl-eye gaze of madam.

“Wait a minute.” Phasma threw her a pink paper bag and Rey caught it instinctually. “He dropped this in for you this afternoon. Make sure you’re wearing it when he comes in.”

“Great,” she muttered under her breath before she turned and marched up the stairs, each foot crashing with a dramatic thump on the step.

When she got to the black door that was her usual room, she yanked the handle down and kicked the door open, throwing her backpack in for good measure.

This fucking, stupid, revolting job. She leant back against the door and bashed the back of her arm hard against it. The movement had stung, but she didn’t care. Pain was good. It gave expression to everything she was feeling. Sure, she had a temper and that spit-fire attitude had gotten her out of a lot of scrapes — and into them. But this feeling was something else, a seething, black rage, reserved in the vault in her mind for the most antagonising moments of her life.

Kylo fucking Ren. Her emotions pulled tight like a bowstring waiting to release. She whacked her elbow against the door again, adding a bang of her head in frustration. The pain cracked through her skull in an easing catharsis.

And that’s when it caught her eye, peering down at her the same way it had two nights ago. That stupid ceiling mirror. But this was something she could focus on, and more than that, it was something she could control. She looked back to it again, lips curling in a growing smile.

He came to her just before nine. She had been waiting idly, doodling swirls in the rug by the fireplace when she heard the key turn.

The door cracked open, slowly at first, until the outline of Kylo Ren filled the door frame.

He was puffing, hair dishevelled like some stupid goth rock star. Rey had jumped to her feet, arms folded, a specially manufactured scowl she had designed just for this moment. Their eyes met and hers narrowed threateningly. She had meant to look formidable, but then the fact she was standing there in her knickers lessened the effect somewhat.

He smirked at her. Looking as though he’d just won a bet that she was not privy to.

“Hello, Rey.” That voice, that low, intoxicating grow.

She didn’t reply, glaring at him instead as she tightened the line between her brows.

“You look—” He paused for effect, making a point of grazing his eyes along her wiry sun-kissed body. “ Lovely.”

She snorted, ready to hit him with a sharp barb when he started unbuttoning his shirt in a rush.

Rey’s body clenched. He hadn’t even shut the door. Her heart reverberated in her chest, an empty drum pounding away, loud enough that she felt it drumming in her ears. Once he had finished, he pulled his shirt off his shoulders and threw it towards the bed. She followed it with her eyes and felt a small glimmer of triumph when he missed his mark.

And there they were again, standing in the same places. This time he was bare-chested and brazen. His torso heaved with every slow breath and she found herself focussing on the way the lines of his trapezius framed his long neck, the sculpted bumps of his abs and the narrowed-waist, and the small trail of hair that disappeared beneath his belt.

He was ripped. Most girls would have been into that. But not her. She swallowed before pulling her eyes up to his face again. She wasn’t affected by any of it, not his body, not his lips that were far too soft, the gentle line of his jaw, the beauty marks dotted like stardust across his face, or the dark energy that always seemed to radiate from him.

His eyes were ravenous and darker than ever, feasting on her every feature. The underwear he had bought for her to wear was … okay. She had held her breath as she peeked in the bag and was surprised to find a dark ivory bra and panties made of natural cotton with a little bit of lace, and no padding. They were comfortable, simple but elegant. Flattering the natural shape of her body, rather than pushing her into something she wasn’t. She wondered if she was allowed to take them home with her, not that she wanted them, she reminded herself.

Anyway, he clearly liked them, because as he is eyes burned over her body, there was a flicker of movement in his pants, the material tenting below his belt.

Rey looked away indignantly, but her body responded differently; she felt her abdomen tighten and her nipples peak into tight buds, and then there was that feeling in her core, deep within, pulsing and hungry. Traitor! She hissed in her mind.

He strode towards her, that uneven gate noticeable out of the corner of her eye. He was awkward, she thought. Like he’d never gotten used to the size of his body. Those slow heavy steps stopped before her, waiting.

“Look at me.”

She stiffened, raising her chin to glare at him. Ignoring the way the corners of his mouth twitched at her petulant teenage-scowl.

“What about the rules ?” she asked, impertantly.

“I doubt you were ever one to follow rules.”

She rolled her eyes. Who was this guy and how dare he assume he knew anything about—

“Now, when you’re finished acting like an audacious teenager, you can take off your bra.”

She gaped, grappling for an insult to cut him down with.

“Take it off,” he said with a menacing rumble. An order, and a warning.

Rey inhaled, crossing her arms tightly around her chest. Probably not the best idea since it forced a cleavage on her chest that wouldn’t otherwise have been there.

“Go on,” that low voice melted into her.

She pulled her arms back, unclasping the bra from behind and letting it fall off her shoulders.

“Give it to me.” He reached forward.

Rey threw the bra as hard as she could. He snuffled a laugh as he caught it, bringing the delicate material to his face. Breathing in her scent.

He came closer. “Now take off my pants.”

She hesitated, and he dropped his head lower, dark hair falling around his face, his eyes pinned to her, daring her to obey or refuse—either way, he’d win.

Rey came at him, and reached out to unbuckle his belt. She tried to ignore the way his body obviously hungered for her. Once the belt was unclasped, she yanked his trousers to the floor. There was a fleeting flinch on his face but he hid it quickly.

He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“You know what to do, Rey”

Fucking hell.

She felt the blood rushing around her brain, mind roaring with a wave of anger as she stiffly lowered onto her knees. He looked at her from above, waiting patiently with that satisfied smirk looking over her.

“I’m not swallowing.”

The the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “We’ll see.”

Rey pushed down the lump in her throat, face to face with his cock, peeking out at her like a moray eel. She took him in her hands, not too gently.

“Easy tiger.”

She glared at him again, and this time his lips parted in a wide smile that flashed uneven teeth. It was a transforming expression, making him look younger, kinder even. An illusion.

“What’s so funny?” she huffed, pulling back from him.

“You,” he said. “You’re shit at this.”

“I haven’t even started yet.”

“You do get what a sex worker does, don’t you?”

“Of course I get it,” she snapped. This was not going well, Phasma would kick her arse onto the street if she could see them now. She took him again in her hands. “Now hold still, so I can…”

He strained out a laugh and Rey slammed her hands hard against the floor. “What’s the problem?”

“You hate being told what to do. The whole point of this job is to take orders from clients, listen to their sexual desires and then, surprise, give it to them—all the while acting like it’s just what you want, or did you miss the memo?”

“It’s a bit hard to pretend you want it when you’re dealing with a—” she caught herself from releasing the insult.

“What was that, sweetheart?”

Rey groaned. “Would you just let me get this over with already?”

She kneeled closer to him, gently putting both hands on his sides and directing his body closer to her. Softly, her fingers gripped the base of his shaft and she leaned in, the whisper of her breath brushing against him. His cock twitched at her closeness, engorged and hungry. She dipped her head forward, sliding her tongue around him and he groaned at the feel of it.

So, he thought she was shit at this? We’d see about that, she thought.

Rey parted her lips, sliding him into her mouth, taking as much of him as she could. His fingers worked their way into her thick brown waves. She rolled her tongue along him with every thrust. His hands kneaded into her hair, guiding her head as she pushed forward and back against him.

He sighed with a heavy breath.

“Fuck, Rey,” he whispered, voice hoarse and pushed to the edge.

Encouraged by his reaction, she fell into a steady rhythm as he massaged his fingers into her hair, releasing her buns, pulling her harder against him. His breath coming in steady, wanting heaves.

“Slow down, it feels too…”

She ignored him, taking him further into her mouth.

“Rey…” His voice was barely above a whisper, strained with control.

Shit indeed, she thought triumphantly. She built the intensity as he clutched at her harder.

“Rey!” he said more urgently, pulling her back a little, but not enough to stop the act.

“Whaa,” she asked, her voice muffled with him in her mouth.

“What happened to the mirror?”

She shrugged her shoulders, continuing to work on him.

“The mirror above the bed. Where is it?”

She pulled back as his dark eyes consumed her with a wild hunger, just held back from the brink of going mad with it.

“Are you seriously asking me that right now?’

“Forget it.” He cupped her face within his hands, staring at her with a wild yearning in his eyes. “Keep going.”

She parted her lips again and circled around his head, his hands wantingly clutching at her curls, moving her head along the waves of her motion.

“I took it down,” she told him between thrusts. “And I ditched the hidden camera too.”

“You what?” he pulled her head back again.

“I said I pulled down the camera behind the mirror. I didn’t agree to being filmed.”

“There are no cameras in these rooms.”

“What do you call that, then?” Rey pointed to the small coffee table by the fireplace. She had spent a good 45 minutes pulling the overhead mirror down not caring about the consequences in her seething rage. You're probably getting fired tonight anyway, she thought bitterly.

And that’s when she had found the tiny convex glass pointed down at the bed—at her and him. The discovery had made her ropeable. The thought that Kylo could watch them after … But now, it seemed, he was not the one watching and the realisation of that was a thousand times worse.

Kylo pulled away from her, storming over to the table. Rey was amazed he had the discipline to stop, hanging over the cliff of his own personal pleasure. She didn’t think she would have had the strength, had their roles been reversed.

“How did you know it was there?” he asked, scooping up the small device within his hands, the wires cascading through his fingers.

“I didn’t,” she pulled herself to stand.

He turned the parts over in his hands (and yes, she had disassembled it too), his whole body seeming to shake as he met her eyes.

“This shouldn't be here…”

“Well, somebody’s watching—and I’ll give you one guess who it is.”

“Yeah.” His voice was muffled.

He turned back to face her, their eyes meeting across the distance of darkness.

“You didn’t tell Snoke anything, did you?”

Rey shook her head and Kylo’s jaw tightened as he faced the moon-stained window, face crossed in shadows. His lips parted, exposing the way his teeth gripped together.

She could almost feel his heat and rage, tactile and visceral. He returned, her own dark sun, smouldering with liquid fire, with a gravity that tied her to his orbit.

Without a word, Rey began to kneel again.

“Stop.” He stepped back from her. “It isn’t necessary. It was—a misunderstanding.”

Rey got to her feet again, eyes brushing over his face once more. Haunted and lost. How could he look so terrifying and vulnerable in the space of a few moments? She got lost in the expressions of his face. Wondering how he’d gotten himself into this twisted mess too. Was there a chance he was a victim, just like her?

A burst of heavy metal music erupted between them and they jumped. Kylo grabbed his pants from the floor, searching through the pockets before he extracted his phone.

“What?” he demanded brusquely, as he walked towards the window with the phone pressed against his ear.

Rey sat back on the bed, trying not to look at his naked form silhouetted against the window. He certainly had no shame about his body, not that he had any reason to. She fidgeted, straining to hear every word.

“No, I told you, I’m not working tonight.”

Kylo began to pull his clothes on while holding the phone against his ear.

“Well, get Hux to do it.”

Another pause. He looked at her, his scowl softening as their eyes met.

The voice on the other end grew loud enough for her to hear muffled yells and Kylo hissed.

“Fine, I’ll be there in a minute.”

He hung up the phone and slipped it back in his pocket. “I have to go.”

“Right, okay,” Rey fumbled the words. He had a habit of leaving her alone here, and for some reason that made her feel—she didn’t know what it made her feel but it was unsettling. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. Relax. Do what you want. I’ll be back later. Then we can—” His cheeks burned as his words trailed off.

“Sure, whatever you want,” she answered in a rush, equally feeling the heat in her cheeks.

His lips experimenting with an uncertain smile, then closed the door behind him, leaving Rey alone.

The room fell silent in his absence, somehow lighter but at the same time colder. She prodded the fire with a poker, embers dancing furiously before her. Rey lost herself in that fire and darkness, her thoughts moving erratically like the smouldering spots of floating flames.

She thought about the baleful look of shame on Kylo Ren’s face, the gentleness of his words and then there was the way he looked at her with simmering desire. No one had ever looked at her like that. In fact, no one had even found her desirable before. It was a strange thing to be wanted, even if it was just in a sexual way.

But was that all it was? There were times when she thought there was something heavier in his gaze, a starvation and depravity of companionship, of touch… of love, of all the things she lay awake at night dreaming of.

She hadn’t pulled him to the brink of ecstasy just because he told her so, or to prove him wrong. There was something far deeper buried beneath her motive that she dare not address, an abyss in her heart that had been longing for so much more than what she had. Despite her words and actions, a sleeping desire had surged in her as she pleasured him.

She wanted to do it. She wanted to see him crest, and peak, and break because of her.

Those thoughts were wrong, stray and wild, she thought. An animalistic desire she had never known before. She pushed it away.

She didn’t want him. Not in that way. Not in any way.

And yet … her eyes lingered on the door, waiting and wondering if he would come charging back in here. She drifted her fingers down to her pants and felt the moisture pooling there.

Indeed her body was a traitor. A wild, unquenchable traitor who did not understand that Kylo was the enemy.

#crimson lane #reylo #reylo au #reylo fanfic #reylo fanfic rec #reylo fanfiction #smut #reylo smut

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talesofhavekostca-blog · 6 years ago

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The Spark

George Danton

January 2nd, 2015

7:36 PM

Havekost, CA

His footsteps echoed along the tunnels. So were mine. I caught up to him and tackled him and he turned to punch me but he just couldn’t and I twist his arm and kept twisting. A crack, a scream, reverbed throughout the tunnel. I screamed at him, “Tell me where the safehouse is! Tell me where Boss Tiberius is!” and he wept and blood, snot, and tears were running and mixing off his face and he starts saying something but hesitates and I punch him again and his nose goes flat and he says,” He’s five miles out, towards Dresden Falls! Oh god please don’t kill me, I got kids, they’re just babies!”

I pull out a knife.

I don’t want to kill him, I’d hate to know about children living without a father, but my hand is forced. A couple of this guy’s goons blew up a couple of Papa’s businesses and I cut through them to get to this crying, bloodied bastard. I’ll regret it later.

I aim for his throat but I miss and I’ve caught the inside of his cheek instead, the knife goes through butter smooth and he screams louder. I’ve done this a million time but panic anyway and I keep stabbing him in the throat and when the screams finally stop, and the wet gurgles of his death rattle subside, I get up and light a cigarette to regain whatever nerves I had just shot.

“Suit up.” I tell Andre as I walk into our apartment, grabbing body I’d armor left on the table. “You got that bastard?” he says, getting up from the couch. He stretches and lights a cigarette. Andre has been my best friend and partner in crime since we were children. I probably wouldn’t be alive without him.

“Yeah, I had to chase him down to the old tunnel system in Old Town. I saw him and a few goons and I shot the goons but ran out of bullets and had to get personal.” I show him the bloodstains on my shirt and face. He’s tying up his shoes and throws me a towel to wash my face with.

“This Boss Tiberius shit is on my nerves. We should have killed him when we took out his kid at that heroin grab.” Andre says while I change my clothes and rinse off the blood. I say, “Yeah, but that was an accident. I felt kind of bad about that. But we got Baxter to plant evidence on a couple of junkies and we were in the clear. This time, his daughter and a bunch of other mob kids died and now the whole city think we did it. Now it's war all around and there’s nothing we can do about it but kill the bastard before he kills us. Maybe then things will simmer down and we can go back to normal.”

Andre scoffs while putting on his gun holster, the cigarette hanging limply from his mouth, “Dude, listen, there’s no normal for us. We kill people and that's it. That’s our normal.” His cigarette almost falls out of his mouth and he catches it and inhales before continuing, “Why can't we get Baxter to help solve this? He is a private detective for the mob. This is his bread and butter.”

I’m cleaned up and got the vest on. I grab my jacket and say, “Because he wants nothing to do with us. He’d rather send Whites to slit our throats and bury our bodies than get involved again.” Andre is waiting for me by the door. I put on a white, unemotional looking mask and he looks at me and says,” Well fuck that then, I hear he eats people.”

In the car on the way there, we go over our supplies.

“Guns?”

“Check”

“Ammo and knives?”

“Check.”

“Flashbangs and tear gas grenades?”

“Yeah.”

“Badass playlist for the ride over?”

I pause and say, “Uh...my phone is dead, does it matter?”

“How are we supposed to get psyched up?”

So we keep driving while listening to NPR and the radio host is talking about to an old man who collects novelty lunch boxes of dead superheroes and Andre’s surprisingly down with all of this and when we get there, he doesn’t let me turn off the radio until the segment’s over. When he gets out of the car he says, “I really want an Atlas lunchbox now.” I shake my head and we walk a half-mile to the safehouse.

Boss Tiberius is an older man who came into power in the late eighties. He runs a lot of Havekost; hookers, drugs, people from third world countries, guns, and mail fraud. He’s been one of the biggest and meanest motherfuckers in this town. But he’s old now and he’s outstayed his welcome.

There are guys everywhere. They have pistols and submachine guns. A lot of them have nice suits on and are chatting amongst themselves. I realize a straightforward assault wouldn’t work, too many angles to work out and the vest can take maybe two 45. Caliber shots before becoming useless, and that's if I’m lucky not to get my brains blown out.

So we go around the ‘safe house’. It’s a mansion, three stories. White, with cream accents. Statues of angels and mythological monsters encircle a fountain. Hedges that make up a maze are well maintained. Guys here too, but there are more blind spots for them to not see us immediately. Andre works his magic and slowly, yet methodically slits the throats of every guy in our way. We hide the bodies in the center of the maze, which can’t be seen unless you were on the third story balcony, even then it's too dark to see the pile of six or seven men from afar.

Andre is a more personal killer than I am. He likes lurking through the shadows and slaying people up close with knives or a broken neck. I don’t know why, and I’m not sure he does either, but Andre’s been dubbed ‘’Acid Fox”. When we were younger, when he first met Baxter, he was given that name by him. I wasn’t there but now a lot of people know him as such. I looked into it, and I found that there was a half Japanese terrorist with the same name and that the description I read looked a lot like Douglas Baxter, our not so friendly mob detective. I, myself, used to be called “The Wolf of Havekost”, due to the wolf mask I wore as a kid when this all started. Now, it's “The Butcher of Havekost” and I’m not too sure which I liked more. But I gave someone else the wolf mask, and she’s carving her own legacy.

Inside now and most of the house is dark. We hear noises on the first floor but we move to the second to see if we can look down at everything and it turns out we could. There was a mini balcony/hallway and we could look down to the main room and there was Boss Tiberius.

He looked older than before, weaker, disheveled. He held a cane and was shaking. I realized after a minute he was sobbing and I noticed there were two open-faced coffins. One being Amelia Tiberius, the poor girl we got blamed for killing. She was burned horribly and I only knew because I recognized the framed picture that stood on an easel. Next to it was the other coffin, which held an older woman and she wasn’t burned but instead had a slashed throat that had been sewn up. I didn’t need a picture to recognize that it was Boss Tiberius’ wife Nora.

This is a surprise. I didn’t know she’d died, and I look at Andre and he says,” Beats me, man.”

Boss Tiberius wept and he started to curse us for killing his daughter, and he cursed his daughter for going to that party, and he cursed his wife for not having the courage to go through life without their children. Andre, under his breath, says “Ohhhh, okay. Can’t be blamed for that one then.” I punch his arm and continued to watch the old man pathetically trying to keep his shit together, but his sobs overtake him again and once more he wailed and wailed and I start to walk away.

Andre says “Wait.” and grabs my arm. I turn back and I see Boss Tiberius pouring something on the floor and within seconds I realize it’s kerosene and he lights a cigarette and says something along the lines of, “I love you.” He takes a hit and drops it. The fire starts and roars through the furniture and Boss Tiberius, a titan of this city, a hero to his old neighborhood in his youth and villain now, got on top of his wife’s coffin and the fire spread to him and took him and he didn’t scream.

He didn’t scream and that horrified me more.

Andre and I got out when we heard men coming in to check on the fire. When they came back outside, Andre and I shot them dead in the doorway. It was quick and anticlimactic. No one returned fire. Some of them didn’t even realize we were there.

I felt empty and all I could say to Andre was,” Happy New Year, man.” and he nodded and we end up stopping off at Cuthbert The Carnivorous Cunt-Louse’s place for weed and downers to help me sleep.

That night, I cry under the sounds of the radio blasting some music. I never wanted to be this.

I am only eighteen years old.

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lotus-tower · 7 years ago

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khr college au

- tsuna’s major is undeclared and he has intense and sudden spikes of anxiety every single time whenever someone brings it up or something reminds him of the fact, because he’s in a prolonged state of millennial existential crisis but he keeps, like, forgetting about it

- he doesn’t actually know who his roommate is for his entire first term because he’s never there, though his stuff is strewn everywhere. he finally shows up and is introduced in the first ep of season two but is expelled 3 minutes into the episode (it’s naito longchamp)

- yamamoto and squalo are roommates. no one has any idea how it works out so smoothly or how yam is like, alive. yam doesn’t understand why none of his other friends want to get along with squalo

- they’re fairly certain squalo is a serial killer

- “yamamoto does he ever leave knives lying around?” “oh haha yeah, lots of ‘em!” “is he gone on another ‘weekend trip’ right now?” “yeah he just disappeared thursday night without warning” “yamamoto, you know that big stain on his jacket? the black one he wears to every class? i’m pretty sure that’s blood” “yeah he told me once that he doesn’t believe in band-aids”

- meanwhile, squalo keeps trying to induct yamamoto into the varia. no one’s actually sure what the varia do. they’re... some kind of student club. maybe? they have a lot of photoshoots. they’re trying to release a calendar, squalo tells yamamoto, but they’re missing a guy in the back to even out the composition, and that’s why they’re recruiting. it has to fit the fibonacci sequence, you understand. they’re classically-trained goths. goths with standards. this calendar has to look good

- gokudera rooms with Shitt P. he keeps a blog where he posts daily entries about his observations, because he is convinced she is an alien. he’s amassed a lot of followers

- tsuna is pretty sure that at least a third of the student body is involved in Crime, somehow? but he never knows how to bring it up and everyone else just acts like everything is normal. so he just doesn’t. talk about it. it’s probably just his imagination. maybe.

- mukuro is the unholy cross between the theatre gay no one actually likes and that annoying dude who sits with his legs on the desk in the back of the class and smirks during your women’s studies class. he actually tried to sit closer to the front once but no one would move to make room for him so he had to go back. it was an emotional turning point in his life

- gokudera’s always on his phone during lectures but he’s actually doing a joint honours programs and attends seminars in his free time. tsuna still isn’t sure what seminar is

- when you ask yamamoto what his major is he says “haha i came here on a baseball scholarship”

- “but what are you majoring in?” “baseball”

- gokudera and hana accidentally make eye contact during a pre-law class and pretend it didn’t happen. they later both complain that university sucks because they don’t share any classes with anyone they know

- about once every two weeks tsuna opens his bathroom door in the morning and there’s someone he doesn’t know in there. he just closes the door politely and goes to use another bathroom, now

- xanxus will NOT admit that he doesn’t know how to do math. he overtips every time he eats out because he can’t calculate percentages. if you try to call him generous he laughs at you for not having money

- mukuro and tsuna eat the same brand of instant ramen. tsuna knows because they accidentally reached for the same package once at the corner store. their fingers brushed and all. it was a really sad day

- tsuna almost never has classes in common with yamamoto or ryouhei because they keep taking 8 AM classes. their schedules are FULL with 8 AM classes. tsuna’s preferred time to get up is 1 PM

- tsuna gets really jealous once he finds out that yamamoto and kyouko actually share a bunch of classes because they’re in the same 8 AMs together. he signs up for those 8 AMs and promptly dies

- chrome isn’t enrolled in any classes but sometimes they turn their head and she’s there. she avoids the large auditoriums filled with hundreds of people but likes listening in on smaller lectures. tsuna once asked her what she thought about the afternoon guest lecture about nihilism and the inherent meaninglessness of the human condition and she said “it was quaint”. tsuna doesn’t even know what quaint means but he’s scared

- ryouhei’s a year ahead of them and no one really knows what he’s doing but they hear him yell “SAMOSAS!!! COME GET YOUR SAMOSAS!!! 1 FOR 1$ AND 3 FOR 2$! IT’S AN EXTREMELY GOOD DEAL!” across campus sometimes and they know all is well

- they find a literal dead body in an alleyway during their second year. tsuna would rather not talk about it but all in all it worked out surprisingly peacefully. no one got arrested

- except mukuro

- there’s a rumour on campus that this guy called byakuran has All the previous years’ exam answer sheets. All Of Them. no one knows how, but it’s said that if you manage to track him down and get to an agreement with him you’ll be able to pass all your classes breezily.... though it’ll cost you. it takes a lot of desperation to try, but tsuna is more desperate than most

- hibari’s still in middle school

#long post #khr

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darkwriterpanic-blog · 7 years ago

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Chapter 1

alcohol in my system that I can barely remember who the hell I am. I sulk and throw the bottle on the floor, adding to my mess of empty bottles and cigarette packs. I don’t really care if the noise bothers whoever’s under me, they can deal with it. For some reason the sound of the bottle connecting with my unswept hardwood floor is satisfying. I toil to light up one of my last smokes and decide that I need to make a run to the 24 hour store, which is my favorite store in the world. Out of everywhere that I’ve resided this store is the best. It’s close to me, sells everything I need, never closes and it’s the only store in Canada that sells my favorite kind of smokes. If I don’t make the trip I have a feeling that it’s going to be a really long night. I’m too drunk to put on my old, bloodstained shoes that I’ve had since my first murder, I can barely stay on my feet. After struggling for a few minutes I manage to slip them on. I stumble out the door of my apartment and lock it behind me. I focus hard on the red and orange pattern of the carpet in the hallways, I’m trying not to trip. I feel accomplished once I make it outside injury free. I love this apartment building for many reasons, one of them being that my rent is incredibly cheap- twenty dollars a month. My best friend Jacob happens to be the owner of the building. And I love the name- The Last Stop. It’s also pretty low maintenance and the other tenants don’t ask questions about shady happenings and other illegal circumstances. Sadly, the police do, and there’s a lot of legal attention drawn to this place, due to all the crimes committed. It’s risky as hell, it gets on my nerves. The other thing is that there are a lot of stairs which tend to be hard to get down when I’m drunk and hard to get up because I chain smoke. Somehow I’ve managed to never spill a drop of vodka while stumbling down the staircase.I would find somewhere better but this is the only place I can afford. The thing is, I don’t really have a job per se, it’s kinda hard to lay low when people identify you, and since my name is always on the news “Justin Hillsmith World Famous Serial Killer,” it isn’t hard for them. Besides it get’s in the way of my hobby (murder). I’m not broke or anything though because I sell drugs on the side so that I always have money for my vodka and smokes. I know what you’re thinking- “what about food?” Well, Jacob’s always getting on my case about that too. I don’t really eat because to be honest it just isn’t a priority for me. As I’m making my way through the dark alley that I always take on the way to the store I hear footsteps approaching. Initially I think that there’s somebody following me again, it’s usually someone trying to come steal my drugs- unsuccessfully of course, or a nosy citizen trying to expose who I am because apparently everybody wants to be a hero, and as I look around I realize that it’s a teenage girl walking the opposite way. She’s pretty short, and kind of chubby - but not fat. She’s wearing all black. Her hair is down to her hips and it looks black but with a tint of purple. The purple could just be from the lights though. She’s walking in a stride that isn’t quite a run. I stop dead in my tracks, hoping she won’t notice me. I decide to watch her for a few seconds out of pure curiosity, but to my dismay she starts sprinting to the alley exit. I roll my eyes (which is really a habit that needs to be put in check) and continue on my way to the store.I arrive at the 24/7 Convenience Store and go inside. It’s pretty much empty.I go to the counter to purchase 2 bottles of Smirnoff, 3 cartons of Marlboro cigarettes and a bag of All Dressed chips. I decide to check my phone because the old lady is working and she’s having trouble with the new touch screen cash register.There are a bunch of notifications from fan girls tagging me in their ridiculous fan fictions and my usual booty calls messaging me asking if I’m up. Those aren’t the notifications that get my attention though. The one I click on is a video link from Jacob. It’s a video of that same girl from the alley. Some cruel kids sent it out and it’s being posted everywhere, it’s titled “Ghost girl Loses It”. Ghost Girl’s running from something or someone- probably me if I’m being honest. Sadly, nobody takes it seriously when she comes running looking for help. There isn’t very much in me that feels bad for her and I can’t stop myself from considering that maybe she’d be a good victim. Nobody would believe her if she told someone about me. Besides, she’s already pretty isolated it won’t be too much work ruining her. She’s pretty hot too. I save the link to the post just before finalizing my purchase and exiting the store to make my way back.When I get home from the store I light up a smoke and start digging into Ghost Girl, I have nothing better to do anyways. It’s pretty easy to find her profile since people are tagging her in the videos. She’s also commenting telling people to grow the fuck up and to suck her dick. I like this one. It looks like Ghost Girl has a name: Sidney Holloway. Her profile tells me that she moved to Tombstone about 2 years ago, when she was 14. I don’t know why the fuck anybody would actually move to this shitty town, I only moved here because the police wouldn’t look for me in the middle of nowhere and right now there’s a lot of heat on me in the states. She has a girlfriend named Samara, which discourages me at first because how could I make a gay girl fall in love with me. After a bit more digging I find some good news- she has had boyfriends in the past, which means she can be pursued. After downing another half a bottle of Vodka and doing some basic research on Ghosty the sun starts to come up. I should probably go to sleep for a couple of hours. I can start my pursuit later. I haven’t slept in a week and Jacob get’s mad when the bags under my eyes are too dark- even though they usually are. I’m too used to being awake and about during the night time and by morning I usually have things to do, clients to meet with, people to stalk and errands to run. While I’m looking around I realize that I really need to redecorate. And maybe hire an exterminator. There are cockroaches all over the walls which are dirty and filled with holes from my drunken rages. The old green couch I got from an alley (someone was getting rid of it) has cracks and rips. It smells like stale smoke and vodka, combined with the lingering scent of my casual female conquests. The coffee table is wobbly too, it has marks from me stabbing my knives into it. Plus the stove doesn’t even work, it kinda does but it doesn’t really get hot enough to cook anything. I know that I need to sleep but I’m starting to think that isn’t going to happen- AGAIN. I’m too busy thinking but also not being able to think because I’m too drunk. That’s when I hear a knock on my door. I go over to the peephole and I can already guess the nature of this visit. Either a desperate customer or a whore. As I suspected, when I look I see the girl I took home from the bar a couple nights ago. I forget her name. I think it’s Victoria or Vanessa or something like that. She’s 19, and tall. Too tall for a girl in my opinion. And way too skinny. She’s wearing a pink and white dress that is extremely revealing. Unfortunatly for her I am not up for a repeat of my drunk Wednesday night. I open the door, aggressively. “Listen, Vanessa-” she stops me.“It’s Valery, not Vanessa. I’m not hear for the reason you think. I’m here because I need help.” I open my mouth to tell her I’m not a charity worker but she puts her finger over my mouth and brushes past me into the apartment, closing the door behind her. She sits down on the couch. “I killed someone. And I don’t know what to do.” I’m suddenly filled with horror. Not because she killed someone but that she’s trying to drag me into it.“Look Valery. I can’t help you. I have enough to deal with, being involved with your shit is gonna get me arrested. So I’m going to politely ask you to get the hell out of my apartment and don’t come back.” I purposely ignore the hurt look on her face. I don’t feel bad, it’s everyone for them self in this game. On the verge of tears she hurriedly storms out of my apartment slamming my door behind her. Suddenly, I hear a blood curdling scream come from one of the other suites on my floor. That isn’t a good sign because it means that the police will more than likely be showing up within the next hour, knocking on doors trying to collect information. That wouldn’t be a problem except for the fact that as soon as they identify me I’ll be thrown in prison for the rest of my existence which believe it or not, doesn’t sound too appealing to me. I need to get out of here. Well I guess that my theory about not getting any sleep is correct. I pour some vodka in a plastic water bottle, and then I grab a pack of smokes, my lighter and my leather jacket. I rush to put on my shoes, experiencing the same struggle from earlier and run out the door. While walking down the alleys, making sure to avoid the main streets so that any cruisers circling won’t see me. I’m used to the drill, this happens at least once a week. Trying to shake off my annoyance and paranoia- and the feeling in my gut that Valery is no longer an issue, I make my way to Jacob’s house. He lives in his own house, instead of the apartment building because he says it “isn’t his style”, plus if he’s in a suite he’s losing money because it means a renter can’t be in it. His house is navy blue on the outside, the paint is cracked and peeling. It’s a two story house with a triangular shaped roof. There are three wooden steps leading up to the white front door. The steps groan when you put pressure on them and everytime I use them I fear that they will collapse.I knock on his door and he answers within a few seconds. He’s not wearing a shirt, just his blue jeans. His black hair is a mess. I try not to look at his abs as I walk in. “I have an issue,” I say ignoring the young girl with orange hair and a zebra striped dress climbing out his window with her sparkly silver high heels in hand. “There was another disturbance at the building, I am started to get thoroughly annoyed with the presence of trouble caused by people other than myself.” I know that there isn’t much Jacob can do about it, other than evicting people, which he isn’t going to do. That doesn’t stop me from complaining. I also make sure not to mention Valery. I don’t want anything to do with it. Jacob walks over to the window and closes it making sure it’s locked. We both know how insane girls can be.“Of course there is Justin,” he says, clearly annoyed. “I thought you’d be used to it by now. It’s not my fault that you always pick the worst area to live in everywhere you go.” This gets me mad because he knows damn well that if I lived in the good areas I’d be identified. People in the hood might identify me, but they damn well wouldn’t say anything. None of us want police involved any more than they already are. When he sees the pissed look on my face he changes his tone to sound more sympathetic. His already thin lips press together into a line and he lets out a breath through his nose. “I know you have to Justin. I wish there was a way to make your life normal. For you to be pardoned. But it isn’t possible, so you’re going to have to live with the little annoyances.”“If I were absolved I would stop. I would get help and I would start over,” my voice is shaking. Jacob is the only person who reminds me that I have feelings, no matter how hard I try to numb them. “It’s too late for me Jacob.” The look on his face tells me that he already knows that but hasn’t accepted it. he doesn’t want it to be true. The unspoken truth though, is that we both gave up on a normal life years ago. “I just don’t want you getting taken away from me Justin. We’ve been best friends since we were 2 and this is all either of us have left, your booze aside.” A single tear runs down his cheek and it breaks my heart. “I’m scared our time is running out. You don’t sleep, you rarely eat. You’re trying to drink yourself to death and the whole world is looking to throw you in jail other than your hookers and customers. I’m terrified for you.” “I need to tell you something about tonight.” There’s apprehension in my voice and my shoulders slump forward. “There was a girl at my apartment before the commotion. I had hooked up with her a couple nights ago. She came trying to get me to help her because she murdered someone. I made her leave and I heard the scream just after that happened. I think it might have been her.” His shoulders and fists tense up. My eyes meet Jacob’s and his are full of worry. “We’ll get it figured out, Justin. It will be okay. But you need to get better.”Jacob’s words hurt because they’re the truth. I’m not used to staring the truth in the eyes, I do everything in my power to avoid it. For the first time in months I break down. I’m on my knees sobbing while he holds me. He says it’ll be alright but we both know that’s a lie. “We could’ve been so much more than this Jacob,” my voice is shaking and although I’m slurring my words he understands. I blame myself for his lack of success. No matter how often he tries to convince me I’m not to blame it doesn’t work. We sit there crying for what feels like forever and after a while Jacob and I fall asleep on the floor with tear stained faces, just as the sun hits the sky.

#OC #creative writing #writeblr #fiction #thriller

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the-mf-bread-babies · 5 years ago

Text

29/5/20

– REBUILD III –

= RUNAWAY RENEGADES =

· COLLECTION I ·

“backstories”

– VOLUME ONE–

“Dennis, Aaron, Damon, Sawblade”

· PART TWO ·

———————————————————

“Hm? Yeah. Look at Twitter, dude, it's trending,” Damon replied casually as the two quickly pulled out their phones. “What? It's not– oh, it changed,” Aaron stated, “It was normal, then it refreshed, and now I have over twenty notifications and DMs. Sorry, Denny,” Dennis narrowed his eyes at his husband. “I literally gave you that raccoon video last night. I know you didn't look at it,” he pointed out, petty. “How was I supposed to kn–” he argued, before Damon cut it off.

“So are you guys having the apocalypse Twitter now or what?” he asked, interrupted their quarrel. “Oh, I never update mine so I can still have the square icons and stuff,” “I'm just getting normal stuff right now; cat videos, ads, recipe videos, the occasional out of context fandom drama and discourse. The usual,” Dennis confessed. “Like, ever? Never updated it? You don't have lights out mode?” Damon asked, trying to understand this man's level of dedication for square icons. “Yup. Minecraft's square, which is nice,” he replied, smiling honestly. “Okay…” Damon processed.

“Oh, like, she really stabbed him. Like, with a knife. Like, to death,” Aaron said, bringing them back to the current conversation about apocalypse Twitter. “Hm? Oh, yeah, that. The dude, like, died, and stuff; F,” Damon said respectfully. “Chrissy Teigen bought rights to a nuke…” Aaron added. “And Hatsune Miku is leading a protest. Good for her,” He scrolled through his timeline. Dennis made a sad face. “Why's my feed so boring…” “I'm getting hockey spoilers. HOCKEY,”

“Maybe if you had circle icons…” Damon suggested quietly. “SQUARE ICONS ARE GOOD, DUDE, AND I–” Dennis's passionate and tenacious yelling was suddenly interrupted by an inhuman growl. “Oh, stupid cannibal rats. This isn't New York, goddamn it,” Aaron grumbled as he grabbed a broom and walked angrily towards the noise. “This is why stray cats are important, you dumbass mayor,” “Just friggin’, spay and neuter ‘em if you hate them so much, clip their ears and shit…”

“So, about Borderlands. Which one’re you playing?” Dennis said as they both waited for Aaron to investigate. “TWO!! I'M PLAYING BORDERLANDS 2, ON MY THIRD ULTIMATE VAULT HUNTER MODE PLAYTHROUGH, AND ALSO THE PRE-SEQUEL, AND I'M PLANNING TO BUY BORDERLANDS 3 WHEN THERE'S A GOOD SALE LATER!!!! I LOVE BORDERLANDS!!!” Damon explained excitedly.

“I wanted to buy the legendary collection on my Switch, but I… panicked and bought Animal Crossing instead. I have Raymond on my island, by the way,” Dennis said sadly. “I built a cage around his house the other day,” Damon stared sadly at this man, understanding his complicated dilemma. “That's very nice,” he said, “how does your island look like?” Damon leaned against the wall, holding Sawblade, who was now sleeping. “Bad,” the man replied, looking down in shame.

Aaron, on the other hand, was whacking the living hell out of the ground, determined to find the creature. “Wait, I probably shouldn't scare it off or something,” He realized, calmly holding the broom. “C'mere, lil guy,” he repeated as he whistled. Another odd growl echoed in the alleyway, sounding much closer than the previous one. “Hm,” Aaron thought as he stopped walking for a bit, unsure whether to call the two over or to keep going alone. “DENNIS! DAMON!” he yelled, extremely scared of whatever monster was luring him over. “Yeah, I have Graham, he's just ok–” Dennis conversed. “Aaron?! Did you find it?” He shouted.

* CHAPTER TWO *

The Mystery

“COME OVER HERE!!” Aaron yelled back. “What about Sawblade?” Damon worriedly asked. “SAW– Uh, just– just put her in the back, there's some food, water, litter boxes, toys, treats, ghosts, cable,” Dennis listed down as he carefully took her from the boy and carried her to the back room. “Well, basically, it's for cats,” He said as he closed the door. “Alright, let's go,”

As Aaron was waiting patiently for the two to follow, he took out his phone and browsed through a shopping app. Unsurprisingly, this had also changed. The feed was filled with knives, jackets, concrete powder, more knives, advertisements for people looking for commissions, and… snacks. “Oh, apocalypse stuff, huh?” he mumbled as he eyed the “Food” tab, tapping it, eager to know what apocalypse snacks are like. Hopefully not like, chips made out of gasoline or something.

Wow.

WOW .

“Tubby custard, Cookie Monster cookies, Why Does Anime Food Look So Tasty, Hottie's Microwaved Chicken, Salad Fingers’ Salad Fingers, ACTUAL rice fried by chickens, Lembas bread, and–”

“Zeruel meat, $20”

Aaron hastily pressed the “Add to Cart” button, uncaring if it's a scam or not. He continued browsing all the snacks sold in this new world, forgetting what he was doing before until Dennis and Damon came running into the alley. “YOU OKAY?!” Dennis yelled, the surprise of it giving his husband a flinch. “Yeah, honey, do you want to drink the blue milk from Star Wars?” Aaron said calmly. “Is Aunt Beru there?” Dennis asked, casually placing his head on his husband's shoulder to look at the phone screen, his arms wrapped around his neck, but like, in a loving and non-strangling way, you know how, placing a kiss onto his cheek.

“Hey guys, I have bread at my house. It expires tomorrow, so I'd recommend eating it if you want :)” Damon suggested. However, his voice was too quiet for them to hear it and they continued doing gross couple stuff like holding hands and premarital eye contact. Ew. “Now about that cannibal rat…” Dennis retracted his arms from around Aaron's neck, his hand still lightly wrapped around the other’s shoulder. He placed himself in front of the shorter man, close enough for Aaron to smell his stinky-ass breath that reeked of ranch dressing. Dennis smiled softly, waiting for an answer. “cannibal what now” Damon asked to himself.

“That can wait,” Aaron replied, his arms slowly wrapping around Dennis. “I dunno, guys, what if you're kissing and stuff, and then we all die or something,” Damon interrupted the couple's flirting. “When the hell did you– Uh, yeah, okay, let's, um, take care of that first,” Aaron said, only now noticing the boy's presence. “Hell yeah! Let's kill some rats!” Dennis yelled exuberantly. “Capture, Denny, don't kill anything,” Aaron corrected. “That's literally the first thing I taught you about the pet shop thing, honey,” Dennis looked down in shame and disappointment.

The trio went further into the alleyway, staying close to each other in case anything happened. “Wouldn't it be funny as hell if, like, it turned out to be a fridge or something?” Damon asked. “And the fridge was full of killer snails,” Dennis added sarcastically. “Killer snails are scary, you guys don't understand,” Aaron said angrily, “Just imagine sitting at the beach and some bitch-ass cone snail runs straight at you and you die right there on the spot. That's scary as hell,” he explained. “Run. A snail. That would take five months,” Dennis questioned his co-worker, “Babe, for a vet, you have really weird and specific and unrealistic fears,”

“It's because–” Aaron argued back, his sentence cut off with another growl, this time coming from the wall on his left. “A fridge, guys, a fridge,” Damon assured. “Nah, it's a zombie bear,” Dennis said, smirking. Aaron looked around for a door, or a window, so he could investigate. “Aliens, guys, aliens,” he mumbled, finding a foggy window. “Aha!” Aaron yelled as he turned on the flashlight on his phone. “So, Damon says it's a fridge, Denny says it's killer snails and zombie bears, and I said it's an alien, right?” Aaron said smugly, knowing his vague theory is way more likely than their guesses.

He directed the light through the window, its light revealing the inside of the building. It was dusty and empty, probably built as a store room. Or a weird cult place. “Well, that's that,” Dennis said, disappointed in the truth. “Cobwebs, huh? We're all wrong, then,” Damon said sadly. “ALIEN cobwebs!! I'm right, suckers!” Aaron yelled enthusiastically.

“You sure about that? Could be normal ones. Only way to find out is to go in… ;)” Dennis said, taunting the others. “Really? We wanna know that? They're clearly aliens. Not fridges…” Damon asked, looking down. “Suuuure, man. But y’know, it could be zombie bear fridges in those cobwebs… We could be right, and Aaron's wrong…” Dennis suggested. “So, honey, if you wanna make sure you're right…” Aaron scrunched up his face in offence. “I am. Do zombie bear fridges not sound alien to you.”

“Yeah, but… Florida probably has that, yeah?” Dennis said, angering Aaron more. “You think I'm gonna rush in there to prove that I'm right? You think I'm that dumb. Den, babe, I won't go in there,” Aaron asserted. While the two was arguing, Damon, bored, just walked around them in circles. As he was dragging his feet blindly, he accidentally stepped on something hidden under dried leaves, sinking it down. “SECRET DOOR!” he yelled out excitedly.

Damon kicked apart the leaves from each other, uncovering the part of the ground. “Who the hell puts a button here?” he questioned. “Oh, what the–” the ground shook, a piece of it falling down, revealing a staircase. It was carved from stone and it looked straight out of a history book. “Uh… should we go back, or?” Dennis said, weirded out by it. “Homestuck says we shouldn't trust stairs, so,” he added. “Karkalicious, definition: Makes Terezi loco,” Damon sung. “She wants to taste something something photo, dyin’ just to know the flavour, I ain't doin’ HER NO FAVOURS, no reason just season fresh and comes and goes like seizures, I'm Karkalicious,” he mumbled. “What the fuck?” Aaron whispered.

The three stood in front of the staircase, unsure what to do. Aaron was gripping a broom, while Dennis and Damon considered making a quick pit stop at the pet shop.

* CHAPTER THREE *

The Pit Stop at the Pet Shop

Dennis had made the decision to go back to get some tools to help them, and Aaron and Damon waited in the alley.

“So, you wanna look at the stuff they're selling here?” Aaron asked, passing the time. “Sure, why not?” Damon agreed as he peeked at his new friend's phone. “Alright, what're we gonna browse? There's video games, food, clothes, weapons…” “VIDEO GAMES!!” he shouted happily. “Okay…” Aaron said as he clicked a tab.

“Doom Crossing: Eternal Horizon Solid III Dawn”

“Borderlands: The Pre-Threequel – Sir Hammerlock's Big Game Apology Video ft. Tiny Tina: The DLC”

“Overwatch 2: Please Buy This Game – $3 Super Duper Legendary Deluxe Origins Edition”

“Gun Shooting War Tanks Rockets Missiles VR Simulator 46”

“Low-Poly Art Game with Hidden Metaphors”

“Gritty Old White Men Who Are Detailed And Angry 3: This Time There's More Pores”

“Not-Subtle-At-All Metaphor for Society and Politics, As Told By A Cishet White Man, Ultra 4K HD”

“Racing But Very High Quality and Immersive and Also Like $80”

“Ah. This is basically the same.” Damon stated sadly. “Wait, what about this?” Aaron pointed to a familiar video game. “Angry Birds Seasons,” it read. They both began to cry out of nostalgia. “Maybe this world isn't so bad after all…” Damon said gratefully as Aaron downloaded the game.

Meanwhile, Dennis struggled to carry an assembled cat cage, a carrier, a bottle of water, a ball, dog toys, flea shampoo, gloves, cat and dog treats, cat and dog food, and a partridge in a pear tree at the same time. Somehow, he did, and he wobbled over to his husband and the kid, his vision completely blinded by everything he carried. “Man… Aaron's gonna be so… impressed when he sees this. I'm so friggin’… strong…” He whispered to himself as he panted.

“Holy shit, it's Angry Birds, dude,” Damon said happily. “Rock, paper, scissors, whoever wins plays,” Aaron suggested. “Nah, you go first. I'm not really sure if this is the Angry Birds Seasons normally in our world or if it's some weird clone of it.” Damon said, scratching his head. “Wonder what's Sawblade doing,”

As the sound of dry food rattling and a cat cage being dragged across the street grew louder, Aaron excitedly went to help his husband, who immediately fell on his back in tiredness at the sight of him. “Carry,” Dennis panted, closing his eyes and probably about to take a nap. “Why'd you bring toys and treats?” Aaron asked honestly. “Just in case the little guy's angry,” Dennis explained badly. “It could be a zombie or whatever, you know… I'm pretty sure that growl didn't come from an ‘angry little guy,’ dude,” Damon argued.

“Well, okay. Who's going down first?” Aaron asked, making a face that was a combination of scared and taunting. “Uh, I'm like, a minor, and could die, so it's kind of illegal if I go first. Like, I'm all endangered and stuff. Yeah,” Damon stated. “I have scoliosis,” Dennis blurted out, giving Aaron puppy dog eyes. “I could trip and fall and die,” he added, nodding slowly while still maintaining eye contact. “I ate a doughnut for breakfast today, so I'm pretty full; if I go first, I'll just slow you guys down,” Aaron said. “Wolves do that. The slowest and oldest ones go in front so they don't get left behind,” Dennis replied with a smile. “Uh, my leg hurts a lot, I can't go downstairs,” Aaron added. “How about you roll down? It's a much more fun solution :)” Damon replied back, really not wanting to be the first one.

“Fine, we'll do rock paper scissors, then,” Dennis suggested impatiently. “There's three of us, it'll probably take a long time,” Aaron said, tilting his head and looking away from his husband's demanding glare. “Oh, lat tali lat,” Damon said casually, confusing the two. “Huh?” “Shooooot. Um, well basically, where I'm from, there's this game where it's like rock paper scissors, but it's for more than two people,” Damon explained in a very complicated manner, clearly wanting the situation to drag on longer.

After explaining how the game works, the trio finally came to a conclusion on the sequence they enter in– first, Dennis, then Damon, and Aaron behind them. “Oh. So who's carrying the luggage?” Dennis asked to Damon and Aaron. “Do we really need to bring that big ass cage?” Aaron asked. “Like, how the hell are we supposed to bring it down there? Just kick it downstairs and run?” Dennis thought for a bit. “Um, yeah.” “Oh, good idea, you can check for traps and stuff,” Damon agreed.

“A: What about the food? What if this alien–”

“D: No one said it was an alien except for you.”

“A: Fine, this zombie bear–”

“d: – Killer snails in fridges,”

“A: THIS THING, THIS ALIEN THING,”

“D: Ok”

“A: You think it eats kibbles? Little seafood delight kibbles?”

“D: Uh…”

“A: Maybe some of those chicken flavored ones?”

“D: I guess…”

“A: Huh?”

“d: Yeah, why'd you bring dry food?”

“D: Because if I brought wet food, I'd have to bring a plate and stuff.”

“A: Or, you know, just serve it in the can it was in,”

“D: What if it hates the texture or whatever?”

“Aliens probably like crunchy food better.”

“I like crunchy food better than… like, mashed-up meat drenched in some weird liquid. Aliens are like that too.”

“d: Good point, dude,”

“A: Hm. Yeah, can't disagree with that, man.”

“D: See? This is because I was kin with Megamind back in middle school,”

“A: That– okay.”

“D: Yeah. Take that, bitch.”

“Hell yeah.”

“d: So Megamind likes catnip too? We're bringing catnip downstairs?”

“D: That's to make him all chill and stuff.”

“A: Chew toys? Bouncy balls?”

“D: That's if there's guard dogs.”

“d: Oh, and the crab treats are for Jessica, only child, Illinois, Chicago?”

“D: Yeah…”

“A: You really brought everything from the shop, huh?”

“D: Yup! Except cat beds, leashes, collars, custom collars, microchip trackers, heat lamps, cat litter, litter boxes…”

“A: Okay, well just enough for this, then,”

“D: Yeah!”

“d: What if they're lizards, and they're too cold?”

“D: … Shiiiit.”

“A: Aliens aren't– Oh damn, you're right,”

“d: Well, let's just hope I'm not,”

“I don't want them to shit everywhere or whatever, man.”

“D: What.”

“d: This one time in kindergarten, my teacher brought in her iguana and it was shitting all over my desk. My poor, poor, desk.”

“A: Um? How?”

“d: I dunno. Just did. Like, splat, bitch, fuck you,”

“Wait, oops, sorry,”

“D: That's very sad.”

“d: Yeah. Thanks,”

“…”

“d: So are we going in or what?”

“D: No”

“A: dennis.”

“D: do i still have to be first”

“d: DUH”

“D: FIIIIINE OKKKAAAAAY”

“D: this is like that one anime with the big guys”

“the one thats pretty racist”

The three finally went downstairs in the order they agreed upon, and their discovery will be told…

In the next part.

—

still reading this? loser

—

??????? go do smth else

—

...

—

helloooo get outtttt

—

hey? you're reading this?

hisoillu is fucking canon

and Fuck parigings. if future me is reading this i really hope ur not pouring your heart out for the rat and the pig men. Really , Dude , Really .

nah jk if they g/y , they ok

unless its weird.

n e ways next part coming soon ,

uhhhh written by rocco wulfram cyaaaa

0 notes

peopleandrhythm · 8 years ago

Text

S2E9: Break Me on This Lonely Road

A large pickup truck, black as night, rumbles through the Louisiana bayou, its enormous tires crunching easily over the brambles. Affixed to the hitch is a rather large camper, big enough to house several people. Together they weave through the trees, sending fauna scattering, before rolling to a stop in the middle of a clearing. The engine cuts, but all is not quiet as a caravan of other vehicles, trucks and cars and Jeeps, appears from behind, cutting the same path as the truck.

When the circle of vehicles finally quiets, Sebastian Sharpe steps out of the black truck, his boots snapping twigs as he lands on the ground. Soon, others follow suit, climbing out of their cars and trucks. There are dozens of them, people of various shapes, sizes, colors, and genders, all dressed in a manner that suggests that perhaps they might have to survive an apocalypse at some point in the near future. And then, of course, there are the weapons.

Everyone in the clearing has at least two weapons on their person; there are knives tucked in boots, peashooters strapped to ankles, crossbows slung across backs, pistols wedged into belts. There are enough weapons in this clearing to supply a well-organized militia—which is exactly what this is.

Sebastian opens his arms and gestures widely to the people looking at him. “This’ll do,” he calls. “We’ll set up camp here.” He smiles up at the trees, hazy in the soft sunlight of dawn, and smirks. “Yeah. Yeah, this seems like a fine spot to begin the end of the vampire species.”

The sun has barely crested over the horizon when Marcel approaches his apartment building. He’s not looking up as he walks to the front doors, tapping at his phone in his hand. He’s writing a response (Damn, at least let me take you to dinner first.) to Rebekah’s last text (Bite me.), but before he can hit send, there’s a low thwap. He looks down, and the barest, bloody tip of an arrow is protruding from his chest. He rolls his eyes, and the curse is half-formed on his lips when the phone tumbles to the ground, his body, desiccated, following soon after.

Jordan walks over to him, eyes narrowed. He gestures for his few comrades to step forward. “Come on. Get ‘im in the truck. We’ll want to get him back to camp before he wakes up and kills us.”

The compound is quiet, and Freya pads through the courtyard as silently as possible. She’s nearly at the entryway when a voice from above calls down, “Where are you headed?”

Her head snaps up, and Klaus is on the first floor balcony, staring down at her. “I didn’t realize you were suddenly in charge of my whereabouts, Niklaus.”

In one deft move, Klaus launches himself over the balcony rail and lands in front of his elder sister. “You’re leaving to go see her.”

Freya can feel the anger rippling off of Klaus. “That’s hardly your business.”

“Our brother nearly died because of your attachment to this girl!”

“Nik!” They both turn to see Rebekah storming down the stairs. “Leave our sister alone.”

“How can you defend her, Rebekah?” Klaus argues, gesturing wildly. “She betrayed this family—”

“An offense you yourself have committed countless times over the centuries.” She comes to a stop by Freya’s side. “Where exactly did you find this moral superiority you so desperately cling to now? Freya made a choice, a liberty you have so rarely granted me during our years together. Disagree with her all you want, she is still our fiercest defender and our sister.” Rebekah loops her arm through Freya’s. “She deserves happiness, wherever she might find it.”

Klaus looks properly scolded, and Rebekah takes his silence as an opportunity to guide Freya toward the front gates. Rebekah kisses her cheek. “I am glad you have found someone to make you happy, sister.”

Freya smiles. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Rebekah.”

Rebekah rolls her eyes. “I have been the great betrayer of Klaus Mikaelson more times than I care to remember. I’d be happy to share the title with someone else for once.”

“I can still hear you,” Klaus calls.

“Oh, sod off,” Rebekah snaps. Then she gives Freya a little nudge. “Go. Be with the girl you love.”

“I don’t know if I—”

“Yes, you do.”

Freya nods, and then disappears onto the busy New Orleans street.

Marcel wakes slowly, and then very suddenly. His jaw is aching horribly, and he reaches up to claw at the mask on his face. Whatever it is, it’s tugging painfully at his fangs, and feels like it’s squeezing the life out of him.

Despite the pain, he pushes himself up onto one elbow, and tries to take stock of his situation. He’s in a small space—a camper, he gathers, similar to those that the Crescents live out of in the bayou. The space is littered with papers, old leather-bound tomes, and piles and piles of weapons. Marcel recognizes an arsenal dedicated to hunting vampires; he hasn’t seen this many stakes in years.

He shifts, and there’s a clanking sound; his feet are chained to the wheel well of the camper, with only a few inches of slack. He yanks on the chain, but even his considerable strength, weakened though he is, can’t break it.

His focus returns to the mask. He can feel his fangs, not willingly bared, being wrenched from his gums, as though they’re barely hanging on by a thread. He hasn’t known this exquisite a pain in quite some time, and he has no idea what’s going on. His hands grab at the mask, but they trip over two long, clear hoses. Amber liquid drips through, and Marcel’s startled to see his own venom. Angry, he makes to rip off the mask, but it doesn’t budge an inch; it’s been spelled onto his face.

Livid, Marcel lets out a low growl. Someone is stealing his venom, and when he finds out who, he’s going to tear their head from their body.

When Freya walks into Amaya’s apartment, there are stacks of paper everywhere. Amaya herself is lost on the couch, flipping through a large binder spread on her lap. Freya drops her jacket onto a chair and settles next to Amaya. “This is all for his funeral?”

Amaya nods. “They do things so differently in New Orleans. I mean, there are plenty of Catholic churches, so I’m not worried about that, but the funeral procession is so…much.” She sighs. “Back home it’s so much quieter.”

Freya runs a hand up and down her back. “You don’t have to have the whole New Orleans…experience. You knew your brother best. No one would know better than you how to honor his life.”

Setting the binder of caskets aside, Amaya reaches onto the coffee table and retrieves a stack of photographs. “I had all these printed today. I didn’t know…I didn’t know which ones I wanted to use. Should it be just him, or the two of us? I have a few of our entire family, but when our house burned down we lost most of those.”

Freya peeks over her shoulder at the photos as Amaya flips through them. They’re mostly of Joel and Amaya within the past few years. She sees the light in Amaya’s eyes, the happiness as her brother tosses her into a pool. She can also see the way Joel looks at her, a fierce kind of love that only eldest siblings could hope to understand. A hot wave of guilt washes over her, and she points at a photo to distract herself. “When was this one taken? He doesn’t have that scar here.”

Amaya freezes, then turns very slowly to stare questioningly at Freya. “How did you know about his scar?”

Freya’s eyes go wide. “You told me about it.”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t tell you really anything about Joel. I was going to wait and see how…how serious we were before I brought you two together. Did you know him?” Her voice is accusatory. “Did you know my brother?”

Scrambling for answers she doesn’t have, Freya says, “I think I ran into him once. When leaving here. It’s not important, not when you have so many things on your plate—”

“Why are you lying to me?” Amaya stands up, sending papers scattering.

“Amaya, listen…” Freya stands too. “Your brother…he wasn’t exactly who you thought he was.”

“Who I thought he was? What the hell is that supposed to mean? He was my brother.”

“And your brother tried to kill mine!” Amaya’s face blooms in shock at Freya’s outburst. Freya says quickly, “Your brother was…he was a vampire hunter, and he tried to kill my brother. I know you loved him and I am so, so sorry for the fact that you’ve lost him, but he was a killer, and he had to be stopped.”

Amaya’s blinking rapidly, eyes searching as she tries to process everything she’s hearing. Eventually, in the softest voice, she asks, “Did you kill him?”

“I—no. It wasn’t me.”

“But who know who it was.”

A long pause. “Yes.”

Amaya nods. “Okay. Okay.” She reaches down and grabs Freya’s jacket off of the couch. She shoves it into Freya’s chest. “Get out.”

“Amaya—”

“No. Get out. Get the hell out. I don’t know about—about vampires and vampire hunters—you sound insane. I want you out of my apartment and out of my life.”

Freya’s face betrays her heartbreak. “Amaya, please…”

“He was my brother.” Amaya’s voice cracks, and her eyes are brimming with tears. “My brother. The only person I had left. He was my brother.”

And in a thousand years, Freya has never felt so small.

Marcel’s still tugging on the mask strapped to his face when the door to the camper creaks open. He stops and glares. Sebastian walks up to him and smiles down. “How’re we doing?”

Though it hurts to talk, Marcel winces and says, muffled, “I can’t wait to kill you.”

With a laugh, Sebastian replies, “Not likely. We know we can’t kill you—yet, because we’ve definitely got people working on that—but we don’t want you dead. In fact, you’re so valuable to the cause, you’ll probably be the last vampire in the world to die.”

Marcel’s eyes narrow. “And why is that?”

“Because your venom is more valuable to us than gold.”

“And what exactly are you going to do with my venom?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?” He crouches down so he’s staring Marcel right in the face. “We’re going to wipe out the Original vampires, and their sire lines with them.”

When Freya walks back through the compound, she’s quiet. She keeps her eyes affixed to the ground, hoping to just disappear into her bedroom for a while. She’s crossing the courtyard when she hears a quiet voice from above. “Aunt Freya?”

Freya looks up, and Hope on the balcony above, watching her tentatively. “Hope?”

Hope starts, “Can I…” Then she sees her aunt’s face. “Are you okay?”

Freya’s eyes dart away. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Hope jerks her head toward her bedroom. “Come on. Let’s talk.”

Sebastian tugs on one of the tubes winding out of Marcel’s mask. It’s nearly completely empty. “Looks like we’ve dried you out.” He calls over his shoulder, “Lorena!”

The camper door swings open, and a young woman with large eyes and dark hair enters. Sebastian smiles at her. “Please remove our friend’s mask. We need to give him time to let his venom stores replenish.”

“Sure thing.” Lorena glides over to Marcel and kneels in front of him. She places her hands on either side of his mask and bows her head. There’s a low heat that simmers across Marcel’s skin, and then the mask slides easily off of his face.

He narrows his eyes. “A witch helping vampire hunters? A little cliché, don’t you think?”

Lorena smiles. “I would think that if anyone understood the enmity between witches and vampires, it would be the once-great king of New Orleans.” She pats his shoulder condescendingly, but when she does, she seizes up, stare going blank.

“Lorena?” Sebastian crouches down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

The girl is silent, and Marcel watches her warily until her eyes pop open, and her hand drops away from his shoulder. “There’s a girl.”

Sebastian looks confused. “A girl? What girl?”

“A wolf. Lovely curls.” She looks at Sebastian. “She is the key to curing a vampire of his venom.”

Marcel goes very still as Lorena mentions River. He’s known, of course, that as long as she’s alive, there will always be an antidote to his venom, but lately he hasn’t been overly interested in using it to kill anyone. Sebastian eyes him. “Who is she?” Marcel says nothing. “Whatever. There are only so many wolves in this swamp town. We’ll find her.” He pushes himself to his feet, leaving a silently seething Marcel on the ground.

Hope sits cross-legged on her bed, her aunt in a chair opposite her. She plays with fingers in her lap. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About what you did. About what I’ve done. About the things we do for the people we love.” She looks up at Freya. “You do love her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Freya breathes. “Yes, I do.”

Hope nods. “I figured. You don’t keep that kind of secret for a fling.” She lets out a little laugh. “I’m not too good at this, this…running a city thing. I made a pretty big mess of things.”

“You’re trying your best,” Freya argues, “and I think there’s little more anyone could ask of you.”

A half-hearted shrug. “Maybe. But that’s not the point. The point is…it’s been…a year and change since I first met River, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her from this world. It’s a big thing, to love someone like that. It makes you…redefine what your family is, what it means to you.”

“Here parents died,” Freya says, “when she was twelve. They were killed by vampires. Joel…her brother…he knew. It’s why he became a hunter in the first place. When I found out what he had been doing in town, I knew he was going to have to die. I knew the only option we were going to have was to kill him, and I just…” She sighs. “I just wanted to spare her that grief for as long as I could.”

Hope stews on that for a moment. “You know…if River hadn’t volunteered her venom, if she had said no when I asked her to help my mom and I cure Uncle Elijah and Uncle Kol…I don’t think I could have let my mom force her.” She shakes her head a little. “I would have let all of you stay in the Chambre de Chasse if it meant keeping her safe. So I guess we’re not that different after all.” She smiles. “I guess we’re both pretty terrible Mikaelsons.”

Freya gives a little smile in return, and then tries to surreptitiously flick a tear away. Hope makes a concerned face. “What’s wrong?”

Freya shakes her head. “Amaya knows. About her brother, and why he died. I didn’t mean to tell her, it just…came out.”

“Oh.” Hope chews on her lip. “I bet it didn’t go so well.”

“No. No…she hates me now.”

“I’m so sorry, Aunt Freya.” Hope crawls off of the bed and hugs her aunt. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Freya squeezes her niece in return. “I’m sorry, too, Hope. For all of it.”

River and Hope are sitting together in the courtyard, taking turns tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths. A kernel bounces off of River’s nose, and Hope lets out a barking laugh, tossing her head back and nearly falling out of her chair. River makes a face, and chucks a whole handful of popcorn at her girlfriend.

“Hope?”

The two look away from their popcorn war to see Josh standing the shadow near the entry. Hope grins and waves him over. “Hey Josh! What’s up?”

Josh walks closer, face uncertain. “Have you seen Marcel lately?”

Hope looks to River, who merely shrugs. “No…sorry. I haven’t talked to him in a while. Why?”

“He wasn’t answering his phone all day, so I just headed over to his place to see what he was up to, and…” Josh reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone, the screen cracked like a lightning strike. “I…think he’s in trouble.”

“Thank you for meeting with me.” Amaya sits at a corner table in Mama Rae’s, a steaming mug of tea in her hands. She studies the liquid inside intently. “I realize…I realize now that the police lied to me about the circumstances of my brother’s death. It wasn’t a hit-and-run. He was murdered. He was killed because he was…” Her eyes dart around circumspectly, before she lowers her voice. “He was a vampire hunter, wasn’t he?”

Sebastian smiles sadly and nods. “Your brother was a good friend and an excellent fighter. We’re all gonna miss him.”

“All? How many of you are there?”

Sebastian leans back in his seat, spinning his coffee cup on the table. “Your brother was a member of one of the largest and most covert networks of vampire hunters in the world. We’ve been travelling the continent for decades, rooting out vampire infestations from the Yukon all the way down to Panama. There are hundreds of us, scattered all over the place, with the single goal of making the world safer for humans to live in.”

Amaya’s eyes go wide as she takes Sebastian’s words in. “Yesterday I was just a grad student trying to live in a world without my brother. Now I live in a world with vampires. It’s all…it’s a lot. It’s a lot more than I bargained for.”

“Listen, Amaya, you’re smart. You’re young. You’ve got a long life full of potential in front of you. The way I see it, you have two options. You can keep living your life, going to grad school, being the person you always thought you would be, just without Joel in your life.” She winces. “Or you can join us.”

Amaya’s eyebrows fly upward. “Join you?”

“A group of us have rolled into town to fight the scourge of vampires in New Orleans. We could use your help.” Sebastian leans in, talking low and earnestly. “You could avenge your brother’s death, make the undead of this city pay for what they’ve taken from you. Help us eliminate the vampires from New Orleans, and then you can move on without fear of losing someone else you love.”

Amaya thinks briefly of Freya, but then shakes her head to clear it. “I’ve lost everyone I love. There’s no one left. What do you need me to do?”

#the originals #originals #tvd #tvd fic #originals fic #people and rhythm #pr 2x09

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workingforthewidow · 8 years ago

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I only date Italians (Tony DiNozzo X Reader)

Criminal Minds/NCIS

Warnings: Um, I don’t think theres any major ones... I mean its a CM/NCIS story so mentions of death like once but nothing happens to main characters.

This isn’t my best work but you know sometimes things don't go as planned. I like this story so that’s all that matters right?

“She has an amazing ass. Like when she does squats damn.” Tony said smirking to himself thinking about the girl he had been eyeing at the gym for over a month. He figured out her schedule and happened to walk into the gym about 10 minutes after her almost everyday.

“If you have been watching her for a month why haven’t you talked to her?” MeGee asked. Normally Tony would flirt with a girl 2 seconds after meeting.

“I’ve tried. She’s always on her phone and as soon as she is finished she leaves.” Tony sighed and propped his feet up on his desk. Not even a minute later he feels a slap to the back of his head and turns to see Gibbs. “Hey Boss.”

Gibbs doesn't say anything and continues walking to the directors office.

“What’s his problem today?” Tony asked.

“We have to work with the FBI.” Abby popped up seemingly out of nowhere. “My bestie (Y/N) told me. She works with the BAU they think there’s a serial killer running around killing officers. Time for a team up!”

“Don’t sound so cheerful Abby. Back to the lab evidence is being brought in.” Gibbs yelled as he walked down the stairs after a very heated talk with the director.

-Meanwhile with the BAU-

“Dad it’s not like we have to work with them all the time. Just play nice and after this case is over you get your week off.” You tried to calm your dad David Rossi who was not very happy about working with the NCIS team.

“She’s right Rossi. And the faster we get to their HQ the faster we work the case, the faster your vacation starts.” JJ said walking up to you but she trips over a dropped pencil and spills her coffee on you. “(Y/N) Im so sorry.”

“Its okay JJ. Lucky for me today is gym day. Ill just wear my work out shirt today I guess.” You shrug, you weren't going to the crime scene today just meeting the NCIS team so you could easily button up your jacket to cover the workout tank top. You give your dad one final look before heading to your desk to get your gym bag and change shirts.

Once you were changed the team left and headed off to NCIS HQ to meet with Gibbs and his team to discuss the new case.

-Back to NCIS HQ-

“So Tony tell me more about this girl.” MeGee says sitting down in the conference room waiting for the BAU team. Gibbs was grumpily sitting in the corner arms crossed and Ziva was cleaning her knives.

“Okay so besides the amazing ass, her legs are amazing, and she has a nice rack up top if you know what I mean. And the best part is I know for a fact that I’m her type. Italian.”

“And how do you know her type is Italian, DiNozzo?” Gibbs asked annoyed.

Before Tony could reply the door opened and the BAU team walked in. Everyone files into the room, Emily, your dad, JJ, Spencer, Luke, and finally you. You end up sitting next to Tony and he smirks at you. You just smile back while thinking that you had seen this guy before but couldn't place where. Once introductions are done you still can't place the man sitting next to you who was named Anthony DiNozzo.

Later that night you and Rossi were back at home going over the case while making dinner.

“And you're sure we’ve never worked with him before? I swear I've seen that guy before Dad.”

“I don’t know what to tell you Cucciola. Maybe you shop at the same grocery store.”

“Maybe. This is going to bother me until I figure it out though. I hate not knowing things that I know for a fact that I know.”

“Just like your old man. Eat up we have a busy day tomorrow.”

The next day everyone was teamed up in pairs and Tony quickly volunteered to be your partner and you agreed. You wanted to ask him if you had met before. After a few hours going through the crime scene you decide to break for lunch. Tony stayed to take more pictures so you got some to-go food and brought it back. Right as you walked up the stairs you spilled one of the drinks down your shirt.

“Seriously two days in a row?” You question aloud but mostly to yourself.

“You can have my hoodie. Its in the car.” Tony says barely looking up from his food.

“No its fine. I have my workout clothes in my bag. I’ll just wear my workout top.” You walked out to the car and quickly changed into your workout shirt. It was then that you realized where you knew Tony from.

“You’re the guy who stares at my ass while I work out. Thats where I know you from. All night I couldn't figure out where I knew you from but now I do.” You mentally kick yourself for not realizing it. For the last month whenever you worked out at the gym you would notice a guy staring at you from behind. You had only caught glances of him but it was defiantly Tony know that you thought about it.

“You have a nice ass. And I like the shirt. You know DiNozzo is an Italian name.”

You had own the shirt for so long you completely forgot what the shirt even said. You glanced down then remembered. It had been a joke gift from your dad that you ended up loving because you thought it was funny. The front of the shirt said “They say girls marry guys that are like their dads...” and the back said “So I only date Italians.”

“Let’s get back to work and once this case is over you can ask me out. I have a rule that I don’t date guys I’m working with.” Your straightforwardness shocked Tony and you would have sworn he worked faster.

In the end it took a week to solve the case and put the murderer behind bars. You and Tony were the only two left in the building after everyone went out for a celebratory lunch.

“So you, me, dinner at 8. I know this really great place.” Tony said finally asking you out.

“I’ll agree if the really great place you know is my place because Dad has to approve of you. He's only seen you working he needs to see you somewhat relaxed. Don’t worry I’ll take his gun away. I’ll text you my address.” You smile and leave Tony looking shocked.

“Damn that’s a great ass.” He said once he found his words and you were standing by the elevator.

“I heard that!” you yell and step onto the elevator with a smile.

#tony dinozzo #Tony dinozzo imagine #tony dinozzo x reader #tony dinozzo one shot #ncis imagine #ncis one shot #ncis x reader #criminal minds #ncis #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds one shot

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