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mortwig · 2 years

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Night Monkey

18+ EXPLICIT [minors DNI] - Peter Parker/Spider-man fanfic

Words: 7,1k

Pairing: fem!superhero reader x Peter Parker (based on TASM!Peter but flexible)

Summary: Peter Parker takes a trip to Europe, where he encounters (and ruins the day of) an unnamed superhero (reader). Reader then demands help in return but they have to go into hiding together for a few days.

Tags: 18+ explicit, enemies to lovers, smut (if this is what you're here for, it's at the very end), slow burn, nudity, lots of sexual tension, minor violence, corruption (the political kind), misunderstandings, anonymity, cocky Peter, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, mild praise kink, mildly dubious consent, light choking, tied hands, some swearing, some mentions of past trauma, all characters are 18+.

Song inspo: Shame by InnerCut & mori

[I'm more updated on AO3 than I am here. Check my profile out here. I posted the link to this some time ago, so sorry if you've already come across it!]

Night monkey.

He publicly called you night monkey. Night. Monkey. On live television. With the whole world watching.

What kind of absolute rubbish superhero name is that. Who gave him permission to say it. Why was he talking about you in the first place.

Your first public appearance after being stung by that god forsaken black jellyfish.

It happened about six months ago. It had been just another normal day at the lab. Being a clumsy person in science had always been a struggle, but that particular day you were feeling unwell on top of it. You don’t remember what happened, you were running late, the lab coat got stuck on a chair, you tripped and banged your head against one of the tanks really hard. You opened your eyes, still lying on the floor, just in time to see the crack in the glass spreading. Next thing you know, the jellyfish that had been genetically engineered to remove plastic from the ocean was wrapped around your neck and the pain was unbearable. Your airways had swollen, you thought you were going to die from asphyxia, but then your vision became clear again. By the time your colleagues had run in from the neighbouring labs, you were actually feeling fine and you insisted to everyone that you did not need to go to hospital because the jellyfish was not dangerous. You didn’t know that for sure, actually, but you despised the doctors in the local emergency room and you really did feel fine. In fact, you felt better than you had all day, maybe even all week.

You still took the day off after the incident, mostly to settle everyone else’s nerves. You were surprised to see that by the time you got home, the swelling on your head had disappeared completely and the pain was gone. The red mark on your neck was still there, but it was painless. It actually looked more like a birthmark than a scar.

You were in the shower when things started to get properly weird. Your skin was glowing blue. That was weird enough in itself. But then when you tried to reach for the towel some kind of filament actually flew out of your wrist. From inside your skin.

You knew, rationally, that you should be freaking out. This was all extremely concerning, health wise. But you hadn’t felt this balanced in years. You also felt energised, almost like you could go for a run. That was very unlike you. But you did. And with every step you took it was more and more obvious that your body was undergoing some serious changes. But also, with every step, you felt you were gaining control over said changes. Not even a few hours had passed and you could control the glowing, the filaments (which you’d found out the hard way they stung), the newfound ability to detect and identify chemicals in the environment without need for any equipment, the ability to stay underwater for long periods of time and even the instant regeneration of your cells when injured or in pain.

You’d since become Rome’s silent guardian. You’d done your best, and mostly succeeded, at staying in the shadows, literally and figuratively. Your existence went by mostly unnoticed, other than a few rumours going about. You didn’t want the fame or the recognition or the drama that others enhanced individuals were attracting. You just wanted to do some much-needed good.

That is until, for whatever reason, Spider-man showed up today in Rome.

You were following a corrupt senator, trying to gather enough evidence of his murky businesses with the local drug-dealing elite. You were just off the Piazza Navona when you saw him on top of Neptune’s fountain. Spider-man. The absolute clown of the superhero guild.

That was enough distraction to lose sight of the senator. You cursed under your breath. You hated this job. But you also knew this was the only way of making Rome, even Italy, a better place.

Irritated, you went back to the Piazza and hid behind a street food cart to watch the scene unfold.

Spider-man seemed to be causing a panic, fighting a fish-like creature that emerged from the fountain. You had no intentions of intervening. It was way too exposed and surely the one and only Spider-man could handle it. But then that absolute moron snapped an arm off one of the stone angels and that was crossing the line.

Dressed in your black suit and mask, you’d dashed to the fountain, had a brief struggle with the creature, stung it with your filaments, and handed it to a stunned and speechless Spider-man. You’d then ran to hide in the nearest dark corner. Too late, however. A local TV station had been filming something for the news report nearby and had instantly shared the images with the city and then the world. It was the first time Spider-man had been spotted outside of New York. It was a big deal. You appearing in all the footage was collateral damage, but damage your regenerating cells could not repair.

You’d just entered a café, changed into street clothes, when you saw Spider-man being interviewed on TV.

“Really who we should thank is... Is... That person. I don’t know their name.” He was stammering.

He was being pressured into giving more information about his “assistant” as the reporter called it.

“Assistance is what he’s going to need when I catch him. Moron.” You whispered to yourself.

And that’s when he said it. “The Night Monkey.” In all fairness, it did sound like he was just desperately trying to get away from the journalists. But that was no excuse for coming up with such a horrendous name.

Your mouth is still agape, eyes glued to the screen, when the barista hands you your change and your coffee. She coughs quietly for you to move along. You finally react and practically run out of the café.

It’s just your luck that you run straight into someone walking past in the street, your coffee spilling all over both of you.

You don’t even look up as you exclaim “Look out, idiot”.

You’re trying to assess the damage of the massive brown stain on your t-shirt. You sigh and crouch to pick up the dropped cup. Next to it, on the ground, you see a backpack, likely belonging to other person.

“Sorry about that” he mutters in a strong north american accent. You stop right there. The backpack fabric is soaked through, like there’s something very wet inside. The proximity to the Piazza. The accent. The rough size and shape of the person...

He reaches down to grab his backpack and the sleeve of his oversized hoodie rides up just enough for you to get the confirmation you need: web-shooters.

You pretend to trip on the pavement edge, falling in his direction and pushing him back against the café’s wall. From this angle, no one inside can see you, and anyone walking past would think you are just a couple doing couple things. But in truth, your arm isn’t around his neck in a close hug, but pressed against it. You keep him close, your face pressed against his cheek. With your other hand, you encircle his wrist and you let a small filament brush against his skin, making him jolt.

You are sure if you could see his face, it would be the definition of confusion, tinted with a shade of panic. He could probably set himself free, but it would be a struggle and it would gather a lot of attention to two clearly gifted individuals so close to the crime scene.

You talk in a hushed but harsh tone, straight into his ear.

“Listen here, you clown. Your little charade back there cost me months of work. I saved your ass at the expense of my anonymity. And you thank me by ridiculing me in front of the entire country, if not the entire world by now. So trust me when I say the best thing you can do right now is leave Rome, leave Italy and keep that pretty mouth of yours shut about anything that might concern me.” He shivers lightly.

You can practically feel the range of emotions. Concern, to confusion, to realisation, to relief, and back to panic. You’re fairly certain he opens his mouth a little, but you don’t let him make a sound. “Have I made myself clear?” As you say those words, you press your arm against his neck a little bit harder, reminding him of his position at this very moment.

He gulps and nods. Not that there’s much else he can do.

“Good. Because if you don’t, that little sting you just felt on your wrist is going to find its way to much more sensitive areas of your exoskeleton.” You turn your arm so your wrist is facing up, and you let a filament rise until it’s right in his line of sight, and uncomfortably close to him.

You don’t wait around any longer. You turn on your heels and make your way swiftly back to where you started, hoping to still find some trace of the politician’s movements.

------

Some hours later, the sun is starting to set and you still haven’t moved from your hiding spot. Wearing your black outfit and mask, perched on the window of an empty building. You know someone is still in the drug lord’s penthouse. You know it is unlikely to be the politician, but you have no other leads at the moment and you’d rather not go home without at least one little victory today.

You check your phone again to see how the issue of your public appearance is doing. It isn’t great. Not only are a lot of people talking about it and sharing the images, they are actually calling you Night Monkey. You want to die.

Movement down in the street brings your attention back to the present. You audibly gasp. Finally, some good news. There are your corrupt politician and the drug lord, clearly intoxicated, coming out of the building. They are being unusually careless, maybe hoping the whole Spider-man and Night Monkey debacle has taken everyone’s attention off the streets for the day. In any case, this is your chance. You take some pictures on your phone.

This is all the hard proof you need for now. You’ll hand these two criminals off to the police, together with the pictures. Within the next 24 hours, while they are in custody, you’ll put together a report with all the intel you’ve been gathering. All of it will be programmed to go public. It isn’t a perfect system, but it does the job, making sure the police aren’t influenced by the far-reaching criminals.

Satisfied with the pictures, you make your way to the street. The two men are saying goodbye, laughing and joking loudly. You let some filaments stretch out of your wrist and make their way to their throats, wrapping around them. It doesn’t take long for them to realise they are in trouble, but the filaments quickly make their throats swell and the only sounds they can make are some struggling grunts. Swiftly, you take out some zip ties to restrain them. However, you suddenly notice they are signalling for help. To whom? It is deserted in this street. But they aren’t looking at someone in the street. Perched on a street lamp, your worst nightmare. Spider-man is looming over you. Not for long, though. Within a few seconds he is standing between you and the two men. One man, actually. In the confusion, the drug lord has slipped away and you just about catch a glimpse of him turning a corner. Damn it. This isn’t ideal, but at least you still have your main target.

“Get out of my way.” You say, sternly.

“You’re hurting people.” Is his only reply.

“Actually, that won’t even scar, I’ve been very gentle. And I assure you the pain he has been causing over the last fifteen years is much worse.”

“Spider-man…” the strained voice of the politician comes from behind him. “Help me. I am Senator Ricci. This woman attacked me.”

“Senator, sir, don’t worry. I’ll get you out of here.” Spider-man replies, eyes still glued to you, following your movements.

“Don’t you dare. This man is one of the most corrupt politicians in Italy. He must be stopped. I’ve been following him for months; this is my chance. Do not get in the way or you will regret it.” Your voice has a tinge of desperation. You cannot lose this battle as well.

“It’s always the threats with you…” He doesn’t get to finish, a siren wails at the end of the street. The drug lord must have tipped the police off in an effort to distract the attention off of his probably already moving headquarters.

“I cannot put into words how much I hate you.” You reply as you walk past him. You place a zip-tie on the politician’s wrists, but you have no time for anything else, you have to get out of there. Spider-man seems to think the same thing because he shoots a web up to the nearest street lamp, you start to run but your feet are no longer touching the floor. This can’t be happening. Ten seconds later you’re on a rooftop.

You can hear the politician’s voice some way away, he seems to have fully recovered: “The Night Monkey. The Night Monkey attacked me. She is a criminal. Issue a search warrant right away!”

You feel dizzy all of a sudden, and not about the sudden height. How did today go so wrong. You don’t even have the energy to fight Spider-man, as much as you want to. You drop to your knees, and bury your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry if you were telling the truth. I’m used to a different type of delinquency. More obviously criminal.”

You lift your head slowly. When you speak, your voice comes out weak but your tone is harsh.

“Oh, you’d say that. You’re so hypocritical. Chasing petty thieves. The real criminals are those who stop these people from getting the support they need. Like that man down there, who has been stealing from the health ministry to give it to the city’s drug lords.”

“I…” but you don’t let him finish.

“What are you even doing in Italy? Your American narrow-mindedness has no place here.”

“I was here on holiday. I never realised there’d be someone here already protecting the city. When I saw the creature in the fountain... I was just trying to help, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“I have no interest in the implications of being a public figure. I don’t expect you to understand, you clearly enjoy the fame. With your flashy costume and your PR strategy.”

“You think you are so much better than me.” He sounds angry now.

“Maybe I am.” You snap back.

“Right. Well. I think I’m going to leave the city now. You’ve made it blatantly clear I am unwelcome.”

He raises his arm, webshooter ready. But your filaments wrap around his wrist before he can shoot. He jumps back, rubbing his finger on the stung skin.

“As much as this pains me, you cannot go. That man down there is going to try to frame me for something I haven’t done. And, unfortunately, you’re the only one who can testify in my favour.”

“What makes you think I would ever help you after the way you’ve been treating me?”

“Because it’s what you do.” The answer is so simple, so straight forward, he’s taken aback. You can tell even through the suit.

You take that as an opportunity to explain the plan.

“I always knew this was a possibility. It takes the police three whole days to comb through the city after a search and capture is issued. After that, the surveillance relaxes. We’ll use the time to expose all the intel on the Senator’s misdeeds. Then we'll come forward to the police. You’ll be on your way and I’ll go back to the shadows.”

He's still seemingly speechless.

“You owe me this, after how you’ve messed up everything today. Also I have little doubts the Senator’s story will include you. You’ll need to be incriminated too in case you bring up the company he was keeping this evening.”

“Fine.” His answer comes out curt.

You’re surprised by his tone. It reminds you of the footage you’ve been seeing recently on international news. The media has desensitised many people and they barely react to violence on screens anymore. But you, who sees and experiences it live every day... Let’s say you can now tell when someone is overdoing it. And Spider-man seemed to be really overdoing it recently. “Friendly neighbourhood Spider-man” is a term you have come to believe must belong in the past. The fights are always going on for too long, the punches are always too hard, the movements too intense. Together with the fact that, most of the times, his “criminals” are just victims of a corrupt system...

Spider-man snaps you back to reality. “Where are we going to stay then?”

“I know a place.”

------

Much to Spider-man’s obvious despair, you walk there. It’s not far anyway. He, however, is clearly not used to such conventional ways of moving about.

You like to call it your “safe-house”. In reality, it’s your uncle’s flat for when he decides to come to the city. Which is not often at all, used as he has gotten to the peacefulness of Tuscany. It’s actually really tiny, more of a studio than an apartment. But it’s cosy and there is always homemade food in the freezer.

“You can sleep on the couch.” You say bluntly.

With that, you disappear into the bedroom, crashing on the bed, exhausted from the day’s events. You don’t even bother taking off the suit.

It’s 3 am when you wake up again, suddenly feeling suffocated and in desperate need for some water. You take off your suit, and put on an old flowery shirt of your uncle’s and some shorts you find in a drawer.

You fully expect Spider-man to be fast asleep. The blanket and a pillow on the couch show signs of having been used, but it’s currently empty. You look around, quietly, suddenly feeling very exposed, although you’re standing in the dark.

You spot him on the balcony. He’s sitting on the ground, looking out over the city lights, his head leaning on the glass door. His suit is pulled down to his waist, his mask discarded on the floor next to the couch. You can’t see his face from where you stand. Good. You can’t see him, he can’t see you. Everyone stays hidden.

His dark hair is messy, sticking out in all directions. The moonlight reflects off his lean back, highlighting every line of every muscle. The sight is somewhat hypnotising...

It takes you a moment to snap out of it. You shake your head as you walk to the kitchen sink and fill a glass. But when you turn to head back to the bedroom, Spider-man is no longer outside where he was sitting.

You look around in a panic but he’s nowhere to be seen. A voice comes from above you. “This is going to be a difficult few days if we’re going to be hiding our faces the whole time.”

He’s attached to the ceiling, but his face is turned to the city lights again.

“I’m sure you’ve done harder things. Like catching that car thief last month. Or the Christmas interview with the Bugle.”

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he snaps back.

“Shouldn’t you?” you start walking again as you whisper sarcastically “whatever could be keeping the amazing Spider-man up at night...”

You’re reaching for the doorknob when you hear the unmistakeable sound of his web shooter. Your right hand is now stuck to the door, your left still holding the glass. You’re about to let go of it when another web sticks your hand to the glass. You’re no longer able to use your filaments. Unused to the powerlessness, you freeze. Spider-man is behind you in an instant. You don’t turn to look at him, still hoping to preserve your anonymity. His hands lean on the door, at either side of your head, caging you in.

“You’re the most annoying, most insensitive little shit I have ever met in my entire life.”

He moves closer and you instinctively step forward, ending up flush against the door.

“This is the first time you’ve been quiet since you’ve crossed my path.” His right hand moves from the door and takes some of your hair, moving it gently out of your face. “I think I like you like this.” His face is closer now, you can feel his warm breath on your cheek. His hand moves from your hair, slowly, to your face. His fingers rest finally on your lips.

You open your mouth to speak, to make a smart remark, anything really in order to regain some of your dignity. Your breath catches though, as his index and middle fingers slip into your mouth for a split second, just enough time to touch your tongue and retract quickly.

He doesn’t move away. You hear (or maybe you just feel) him putting his fingers into his mouth, his tongue circling them. He finally takes them out with a small pop. He leans close again, this time with his whole body. Pressing you further into the door. “Time to sleep, little Night Monkey. Big day of research tomorrow...” The tone in his words is cryptic, maybe a hint suggestive.

Your hands fall slightly, almost dropping the water, as the webs are removed. You turn, finally free of the haze that had overcome you. You are ready to kick his ass, metaphorically and/or literally. But he’s not in the room. You spot him finally, perched on the balcony railing, looking out at the city once more. There’s that hypnotising feeling again, rising from your belly and up to your chest. You quickly get into the bedroom and slam the door behind you.

Why didn’t you react in time. Why did you freeze. What was that all about? And most importantly, why is your underwear soaking right now...?

------

The next morning, you emerge with your mask on, and the casual clothes you’d found overnight. In one hand, you carry the empty glass, in the other, you’re balancing a laundry basket with the rest of your suit against your hip.

Spider-man is lying on the couch, elbow holding his head up. His mask is on but the suit is still down to his waist. You don’t look his way, embarrassed about last night, silly as it is since you can’t see each other’s faces. Somehow, you feel his gaze burning you. So you head to the kitchen sink to avoid him, and to ensure your voice doesn’t crack when you finally speak.

“I’m going to wash my suit if you want to put yours in as well. You’ll find some clothes in the bedroom.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you hear him walk around. You focus on making some breakfast with whatever you can find in the cupboards.

When he reappears, he’s wearing a colourful striped shirt and some grey sweatpants.

“Interesting fashion choice.” You stifle a giggle.

“Not a lot to choose from. Your boyfriend must be fun, there isn’t a single plain shirt in sight.”

“My uncle is indeed a very fun person. Hence why he doesn’t spend much of his time in Rome.”

“Hm.” Is his only response.

The rest of the day is spent mostly doing the necessary research for the case. The situation is quite tense, but the strictly professional activity leaves little way for things to get too heated, in several senses of the word. A lot of the time, you’re having to explain to him how to go about it. For someone who spends his life defending the law, he seems to know very little about how it works.

When the sun starts to set, you decide to call it a day. You have most of the material you need, but you’re way too tired to structure it now.

You come out of your shower, wrapped only in a towel. When you go to open the door, through the mirror, you see Spider-man lying on the bed. You put on your mask quickly before he notices you.

“You know, this bed is way more comfortable than the sofa out there. I don’t really see why I have to sleep out there. That’s not very Italian hospitality of you. Especially when I’m the one helping you out.”

“I thought we had already established this was your fault. And that we’d come to a mutually beneficial agreement.” You snap back.

“Still doesn’t explain why you get the nice bed.” His left hand is softly running through the sheets as his speaks. You can’t take your eyes off of it.

“It’s my safehouse. My rules.” You say, but you know your voice doesn’t come out with much conviction.

“Least we could do is share...” He’s almost purring now.

He’s toying with you, you realise. And you need to get back to reality.

“I’d like to not have to wear my mask also throughout the night. Wearing it all day has been exhausting as it is.” You’re back to your normal self. Tone neutral and confident. Maybe a bit too confident, as you get an idea to get some revenge on the games he’s been playing. “Take it off.”

“Excuse me?” he asks incredulously.

“Take the mask off, and you can have the bed.”

Somewhat dramatically, it starts to rain outside, the drops hitting the window with force.

You 100% expect him to make a speech on anonymity or drop the topic altogether and disappear. But to your surprise, the hand that had been travelling through the sheets stops in its tracks, tensing. In fact, his whole arm is tense now. With one swift motion he pulls his hand to the back of his neck and pulls.

Brown hair, messy as it had been at night. Brown eyes, piercing through your soul and burning with a passion that could only be hatred or desire... Or both.

You inhale sharply. He stands and walks towards you, taking his time, distracting himself with the things on the desk in the corner, or with the hat rack hung from the wall.

“You’re such a tease. All day with your silly tasks and your constant bossing. Pretending like you’re anything but weak for me. Like our little encounter last night hasn’t left you curious, desperate even.”

You’re speechless. You know you should just attack him there and then, stop this madness. But what he’s saying is true and you know that if you tried to deny it, the lie would be obvious and bleak.

“Ah, quiet again. Lovely.” He’s close now, his gaze finally landing on your body, travelling up and down it and up again. “Since we’ve met, you’ve been telling me what to do... I’m not used to that. I think it’s time to make it fair and change the dynamic a bit. What do you think?”

He’s now standing right in front of you. His thumb is playing with the edge of your mask. The rest of his fingers wrap around your neck gently but firmly.

“I think you’re delusional.” Your voice comes out surprisingly confident.

He leans close, his mouth brushing your ear as he speaks.

“And I think you’re going to be begging for me before our little lockdown ends.”

“We are leaving tomorrow.”

“I stand by my words.”

And with that, he’s gone. Or so you think. You’re inhaling some much needed air when you hear him speak from the door: “The bed is mine.”

------

The next few hours are spent not much differently than the morning. However, the tension in the air is palpable.

Spider-man is no longer wearing his mask, and he makes no effort to hide the fact that he checks you out at every chance he gets. On the other hand, you have doubled your efforts to make yourself as annoying as possible: telling him how to cook, complaining about the way he sits at the table, asking him to get the light at the other end of the room,...

You’re hoping he’s feeling less and less inclined to try anything else with you. You’ve given up on the having the bed anyway.

You settle into the sofa early, making it obvious you’re not going to socialise anymore this evening. After some lingering in the kitchen, Spider-man makes his way to the bedroom door. The light coming in from the street is outlining his figure, much like last night. He turns his head until you can see his profile perfectly.

“It’s Peter, by the way.”

You say nothing for a few seconds, stunned by this new display of trust. But you finally snap back in a last attempt to be unbearable.

“I don’t need to know your name.”

“Oh, but you will.”

He disappears into the bedroom with a light chuckle.

------

You’ve been staring at the ceiling for an hour. Before that, you’d been turning side to side for another hour. You can’t sleep. You can’t stop thinking about Spider-man, or rather, Peter. He was right, you really want him to fuck you. But you can’t. You have principles. And tomorrow evening you’ll be back in your flat with everything you need to get some release.

Maybe you could listen to some music, that tends to help you when you can’t sleep. You turn to get your headphones. But then you remember. You’re not in the bedroom. There’s no bedside with headphones in the drawer. There is also very little room to turn actually, and you lose your grip as you fall off the sofa.

“Ouch.”

You lie on the floor for a few seconds. Hoping Peter is asleep soundly enough not to have heard that.

You’re desperate now. You need to sleep and music is the only way you can think of achieving that. So you make a risky choice. You’re going to go get them.

You open the door very quietly. Peter is spread out across the bed, practically naked. His toned chest rising up and down with calm regular breaths.

After a few seconds assessing the situation, you decide it’s safe to proceed and, with all the stealth you can manage, you get to the bedside and quietly retrieve your headphones. You stop for a moment before retreating, to stare at Peter’s peaceful face, the beautiful curve of his neck, the hair ruffled as usual.

Fuck. He’s so hot. Your thoughts are spiralling out of control, going over the peculiar events of the last 24 hours. To your despair, you realise that you really want to beg for him right now. You have to get out of here. Now. You turn towards the door again, your hand still lingering on the bedside for balance, given your sudden light-headedness. But you don’t get far. An intense force pulls you from your wrist.

Before you know it, you’re lying on top of him. His eyes are wide open, intently examining your face for the first time, unashamed. You want to run but he’s holding you down with his arms around your waist.

“I told you you’d come begging.”

“Let go of me. I’m not here for you and I am certainly not begging.”

“You have a nice face.” His tone is almost surprised.

The compliment, if you could even call it that, is so ridiculous you laugh out loud in disbelief. “Thanks.” You charge the single word with as much disgust and sarcasm as you can.

“I’m going to enjoy seeing it contort in pleasure when I fuck you up.”

“Will you get that ridiculous idea out of your head already, you stupid clown?”

You have barely finished the sentence when he moves one hand to the back of your head and pushes you down towards him. Inevitably, your lips collide into his. To your despair, you reciprocate instead of using the distraction to hurt him, disappear or at least pretend to not want this. But the problem is you actually want it so bad that every sensible reason and silly excuse melts into nothing during that long first kiss.

You give up fighting. At least for the time being. In fact, you have suddenly become eager. Your hands move up, one up into his hair, the other leaning on his toned chest for support. Your lips moving more urgently by the minute.

His tongue teases your upper lip, and you bite his lower lip in encouragement. The kiss deepens, and your breaths gets heavy, panting into each other.

Peter starts moving his hips, imperceptibly at first, but slowly building up a rhythm. His growing arousal is obvious and the friction against your clit is oh-so welcome. You can’t keep it in any longer and you moan. It’s quiet enough to be missed, but there is no hiding from that stupid Spidey-sense. He stops moving. His tongue retracts from yours and his hips stay very still. After a moment, you both open your eyes to stare at each other. First you read surprise in his gaze, but shortly after it turns into amusement, as he grins against your still touching lips. Amusement leads way to mischief as he swiftly turns both of you around. He’s on top of you now. With a quick flick of his wrist, your hands are stuck to the headboard. You frown, and you go to open your mouth in protest, but he flicks his wrist once more and your mouth is sealed with more of that disgusting web.

He then moves back slightly until he’s barely on the bed. Looking at you up and down with a stupid smirk on his face.

“Now, now. Finally you’ve come to terms with the inevitable.”

He leans forward again, straddling you and essentially pinning you down in place. He starts undoing the buttons of your shirt, slowly, deliberately.

You try to move but it’s useless. Meanwhile, he continues talking.

“So now that we both know how much you want this...” he pauses from his work on the shirt to trail his hand over your crotch. Your eyelids flutter, your body betraying you and making your desire obvious. “It is time for me to play boss for a bit.”

He moves back and pulls down your shorts and underwear in one single motion. The last two buttons on your shirt leave little to the imagination. You’re essentially naked and on display for him.

He leans forward and, with no warning, licks a single line from your entrance to your clit. It makes you moan again, louder this time, despite being muffled by the webbing.

“Mmh. So wet for me already. You can be such a good girl. Why do you go to such lengths to be an annoying piece of shit?”

His hands are roaming your body now. He ventures into your mostly open shirt, cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples. You jolt in surprise and pleasure. His cock, still covered by his underwear, is grinding against your core.

You’d probably define yourself as desperate right now. Which is exactly what he has been intending. You’re moaning again when he pulls the webbing off your mouth roughly. Your unfocused gaze comes back to fixate on his face. He doesn’t break eye contact, but gets up off the bed. You’re panting now.

“Beg for me.” He says it casually.

You don’t know where the last of your self-respect has been hiding, but it comes out now.

“I don’t beg.” You’re surprised by the conviction in your voice.

“You will beg for me. Or I’ll swing myself out of that window and you’ll never see me again.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Used as he seems to have grown to your tactics, he changes subject momentarily.

“What’s your name, Night Monkey?” the scorn in those last two words is obvious.

“Y/N.” You have little to hide by now. And you can’t think of a smart reply to the obvious insult anyway.

“Well, well, Y/N...” he slings himself to the ceiling, above the bed. “I think it’s a real shame that you’re not willing to collaborate.” He lowers himself head first until he’s hanging upside down just above you. His lips get dangerously close to yours, but they don’t touch. He lingers, moving slightly, readjusting, breathing slowly. “We could be having such a great time...” You can’t see his hand with his face blocking most of your field of vision, so it comes as a surprise when two of his fingers caress your clit. It’s almost imperceptible, the lightest touch you’ve ever experienced. Delicate. Teasing. “... If you’d just...” his fingers flick over your opening. “...beg.”

You stare at him. You’re losing your head. He smirks, as he brings his hand to his mouth and licks his two fingers. His tongue circles around for far longer than is necessary.

You can’t take it anymore.

“Please.” It comes out as a whisper.

Peter’s eyes darken. But he doesn’t give in so easily.

“I didn’t catch that, love, can you say it again?”

“Please, Peter...”

“Hmm, I told you you’d need to know my name. I like how it sounds from your lips.”

He jumps off the ceiling and kneels on the bed, far enough that you couldn’t touch him even if you could use your arms.

“Please, what?”

“Please, fuck me, Peter.”

“That sounds a lot better.” He leans closer. “But I think I deserve a little more after the hell you’ve put me through over the last two days.” His hand is running up your leg. His lips are travelling from your chest up to the base of your neck. You think you’ll pass out from the anticipation.

“I beg you, Peter. Fuck me. Fuck me up. I can’t take it anymore. I need your dick inside of me.” You realise you’re making little sense but you don’t care.

“Now we’re talking.” He replies, casually. He takes off his underwear and you barely catch a glimpse of his cock before he’s lining it up against your entrance.

“Is this what you want, pretty girl?” he’s whispering against your ear. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Yes.” Your voice cracks but you still add a whimpering “Please.”

“Good girl.” He whispers and pushes himself into you at once. He brings his lips to yours, distracting you from the slight pain of him stretching you.

You moan loudly into his mouth and that seems to spark something inside of him because he picks up the pace almost immediately.

His left arm is leaning next to your face and he lifts his hand enough to caress your face and hair. His other hand travels expertly down to your clit, rubbing softly every few thrusts. He could have made you cum already, and you realise he is keeping you on edge on purpose.

“You’re taking it so good for me, Y/N.” The comment sends a wave of pleasure down to your core and you tighten around him, close as ever to your release.

You can’t form a coherent sentence to let him know, but you don’t have to. He picks up on the clue and reacts by slowing down. You whimper in frustration.

“Don’t be upset, pretty girl, there is method in my madness.” He winks and quickly detaches your hands from the headboard but keeping them bound together.

Then, he grabs your shoulders and roughly turns you onto your stomach. He pulls your hips up to meet his. His hand wraps into your hair, lifting you rather painfully until your back is flush against his chest.

“I’m going to make you come so hard you’ll forget your own name.” He murmurs from behind.

He places your stuck hands against your clit, encouraging you to touch yourself. However, he still keeps his hand over yours, making sure the pace you keep is appropriate. With that, he pushes your head back onto the mattress with force.

Finally, he enters you again. The new angle lets him reach deeper inside of you. You all but scream into the mattress as he starts pounding into you with force. His speed starts to pick up quickly. You feel as well as hear his skin slapping onto yours every time he bottoms down inside of you.

“Peter...” You are not sure if you’ve actually said the words out loud, but he still reacts.

“Come on, then, love. Be a good girl and come for me.” He doesn’t falter while you finally reach the precipice. In a lucid split second, you realise the whole situation is insane and embarrassing. But the next thing you feel is your entire body spasming in pleasure and contracting against Peter’s dick. You hadn’t realised how close he was, lost as you were in your own climax. You’ve not even started recovering when he takes your hips roughly, holding you in place. Two, three, four more strokes and he’s right there with you. He’s still moaning gibberish when he lies down on top of you, spent and sated.

“What’s your name again?” He asks, between pants.

“You forgot my name?” You manage, still dazed.

“No, I just want to know if you remember it.” He chuckles into your hair. You can’t help but smile into the pillow.

“Ask me again in a few hours.” You say, yawning.

He gets up, moving away. You look at him through half shut eyes. He’s moving awkwardly, clearly unsure where to go from there. He seems to decide to head to the bedroom door. You reach out and grab his wrist.

You pull him in, not differently to how he had done to you earlier. But the intentions are different. Reading your body language, he wraps your body with his own, cuddling you.

“Tomorrow we’ll forget all of this happened.” You say, dozing off already.

You don’t know if the words he says in reply are real or part of your dream.

“I could never.”

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darkspellmaster · 3 years

Text

Chip n' Dale Rescue Rangers movie: Clues? and other things I noticed in the trailer Part 2

So part two of this, and moving forward.

Fan con has a LOT here that is hard to spot but also interesting to spot.

Monkey at the big shot of Fan Con might be a nod to Heebee and Jeebee (tricksters from Chip and Dale's R&R) or the monkeys that work for King louie in Talespin.

What I also caught: Pirates of the Great Lakes banner, April O'Neil cosplayer up front of stage, Wonder-woman look like cosplay, I think maybe King Bob from Recess also in the front by the stage. A Harley Quin from SS with purple hair. No idea who the T-Rex is. Nod to We're Back?

Also dude in white wig and blue jumpsuit way off on the left side of the screen might be a character too. Not sure who they are though.

Moana cosplay, I am not sure who the lion character is dressed as Palpatine, There's a tall buff animated character in the back with a beard, Not sure who he is. Is the lady in the very front of that shot that is clearly an anime character a nod to Crayon Shin Chan? I feel like she is.

Cat creature: Little John's chest from robin hood, Mowgli's pants, Fat Cat's daughter's head? because it has the markings but it has Felicia's (Great Mouse detective's) hair bow, Ralph's arm, Coat I feel like it could be from anyone, the other arm is driving me crazy because I know it's from a show and a character, just can't place it because the shoulder pad and arm are distinctive. I think the cannon is supposed to be a nod to Megatron's cannon, One leg is definitely a robot the other I'm not sure.

Just for the weird fun of it. License plate on the car in the fan con 57 Chevy. Could be a nod to a series or a joke to my mother the car, or something. I just find it interesting that they had that in there.

I'm pretty sure most noticed Gadget here, and she's wearing a black uniform making me think maybe she's working as some spy team thing now. Zipper was wearing a polo shirt, so maybe he's just chilling now.

Has anyone figured out yet what the name of this group is? I'm guessing they're going to be playing a part in the plot as sort of antagonists and there's some ties to another character, namely Prince Jahli. I feel like the guy on the scooter is going to be a pain in the ass to the team, and maybe Gadget is working for them? Or they're just a short group to show what she's been up to.

Okay so the interesting thing here is that Chip has his ear changed into something more akin to pluto or Goofy. And we see this again earlier in the trailer when they're running past the Chevy. So it's clear part of the Fan Con is going to play a larger role in probably the midsection of the movie, or the end of the first act.

Twilight Sparkle, Rainbow Dash, Apple Jack and Flutter Shy, can be spotted. Not sure where Rarity is, or who the orange pony is.

Not sure who this mouse is and who it's supposed to be, but it looks more loony tunes than Disney. Or maybe Hanna and Barbara.

Apparent we have Paula Abdul and MC Skat Kat, which is interesting. Though I doubt the character will show up again after this.

Continued in part 3 of this.

#chip n dale rescue rangers #chip and dale #chip n dale rescue rangers movie #chip #dale #gadget hackwrench #monterey jack #zipper #disney afternoon #chip n dale movie trailer #cnd movie trailer #movie trailer #disney plus

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whumpinator · 3 years

Text

The Doctor

Heed ze warnings

Warnings: needles and injections, suffocation, mild Emeto, general lab whump, non-con drug use, non-con touching (not nsfw)

If there's anything else you need me to tag or warn for, let me know!

__________

He shivers as he waits for whatever comes next. The chains that bind him are treated with something, some chemical that prevents him with using his powers. Such products are commonplace on the black market, a regular problem for the superhero team.

Where is Garwin’s team?

He can’t really tell what’s going on. He thinks he might be on the floor of a van. Or a truck. Some kind of vehicle. There’s a shaking metal wall to his back and a plastic carpet on his bare feet. The black hood on his head blocks out anything else his keen senses might detect. In all honesty, the hood is what irritates him the most. It smells awful, like mildew and blood, which is likely his own. His nose might be broken. He can’t move his hands to check.

It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.

But that might just be the stifling hood. Or the panic.

Are they okay? Did I do something wrong, what can I do now?

It’s not nearly long enough before the van stops and Garwin is wrestled to his feet by rough hands, they won’t let up, even when he tries to shake them off. He’s dragged over smooth concrete ground and then what he guesses is linoleum. And even through the hood, the awful smell of pungent chemicals makes his eyes water and the hairs on his nose burn off. He kind of wants to throw up a little. He’s thrown over something, something hard, cold. His legs are lifted up and fastened down and his arms are unchained only long enough to do the same. The position feels familiar, like being at a dentist. A dentist from hell maybe. There’s no padding on the chair and the restraints are so tight they’re cutting into thin layers of skin. It doesn’t take long before his neck is fastened too. His chest. And then they seem to be done.

There’s a horrible moment of waiting. A beat, that feels like your foot missing the third step. Weightless horror, watching to see how far he’ll fall.

And then finally, finally the hood is taken off.

The smell hits him first, so horrible that Garwin is coughing before his eyes adjust the white light filtering from the ceiling and he notices the man standing above him.

“You again.”

“Welcome to my laboratory. I trust your trip was comfortable?”

“Look, I’ll be honest, I’ve had warmer welcomes.”

The man gives him the barest hint of a smile, those violet eyes just as unsettling as they were before. Everything about him looks sterilised. From the pristine state of his black lab coat and the white turtleneck underneath barely wrinkled. The hardness of his gelled blonde hair. He’s standing next to a table, which is higher than the metal chair Garwin is tied to, so he can’t see what’s on it. He doesn’t like that.

“Ever the dancing monkey, you are. I noticed that while I was watching your news broadcasts. You’re very interesting Garwin.”

“I perform to please. Tell you what, let me go, right now, and I’ll show you just how interesting I can be.”

“Oh there’s no need for that.” He turns to the table. Garwin struggles against the restraints helplessly as he picks up an empty syringe.

“Alright. Let me clear on this” Garwin spits. “Where the fuck is my team? What did you do to them?”

“Frankly, Garwin” the man begins, and he growls. He doesn’t like the way this guy keeps using his first name. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit. If you’ve hurt them, I swear-“

“I’m not a very powerful person Garwin. At least in terms of physical abilities, the way you are gifted. And I’m not a schemer either”

Gar watches him suspiciously as the syringe is filled from a small unlabelled bottle, with a red screw-on lid.

“I like to call myself an opportunist. I noticed that you were abandoned, outnumbered. So, I took a risk. And see how it has paid me off?”

He approached the boy lying helpless on his operation table and smiled at the way he pulled away, as far as the restraints would allow. It did not stop him from pressing a hand gently to his cheek, pushing his face down to allow an area of neck, completely vulnerable.

“If your team is around, doubtless, they’ll come to you. And I’ll have them then, to play with. Until that day, I’m set for what I need.”

Garwin whimpered as the needle broke skin and the plunger was slowly pushed down.

The sting only lasted a second. And then the man withdrew himself and placed the syringe back down onto the table.

“Who” Gar breathed. “The fuck. are you?”

“I’m a Doctor” he replied. “That’s all you need to know.”

Garwin’s mouth suddenly became dry, but not out of fear. It was something artificial, something he couldn’t control. His chest began to ache in a rather frightening way as it began beating wildly out of his control and with every pump, it felt like it sent waves of blistering hot pain to the rest of his torso. Garwin wriggled his toes, trying to mitigate the hurt. The open wounds on his chest, the bruises that the boots of his kidnappers had left felt like they were opened anew. Like a thousand flies were feasting on them, he could smell them rotting from where he lay, choking desperately.

“Wh-wha” he gasped “Wha’d you do to me?”

“A simple but effective device. I designed it” Garwin felt his eyelids being pulled at, was helpless as the doctor shone a little torch into them.

“You’re crying” he noted simply.

As it happened, Gar was too exhausted and in too much pain to do much else. He should be planning. Thinking of a way to get out of there, punch this villain in the face. All he could do was lay there and cry, hoarse, loud sobs.

The doctor picked up a scalpel, methodically cutting away Gar’s shirt to reveal the heaving chest underneath. His fingers skimmed the bare skin and lightly rested above his right shoulder.

“The pain starts . . . here, doesn’t it?” And he pressed down.

He did not get anything much more coherent than a loud wail. He did not expect much else. Sighing, he picked up a second syringe, undressing it from its sterile plastic wrapping. The second bottle, also unlabelled, had an icy blue lid. He sanitised the area of neck this time before injecting, and waited until the body before him went still before talking again.

“You don’t need to concern yourself too much. These are just preliminary tests, nothing major. Now, I know you have typical blood vessels. That’s good to know. This second serum will test your nervous system.”

Gar didn’t have the mind to process what he was saying. Slowly coming down from his blistering fever, the air of the room around dropped to a lower temperature, soothing. As he relaxed, the metal of the chair he was tied began to turn icy, and though he tried to tense up against the effects, he could not. He could not so much as wriggle his toes or even blink his eyes. And he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move his chest up and down to breathe, couldn’t open his mouth wide enough to breathe, he needed air. Oxygen. Please.

“You can breathe you know” he heard the doctor vaguely, as though through a radio. “Even though it feels like you can’t. That’s the beauty of this solution actually. It keeps everything in the body up and running but because it’s no longer in your conscious control, it feels like you’re dying.”

Gar whined, aware of how pathetic he must look.

The doctor smiled kindly at him. “It will be okay. The dosage will wear off in about two hours. I’ll let you settle in until then.”

He called someone in- an intern, it looked like, with a labcoat similar to his. She was wearing a gas mask however. Gar wondered if it had something to do with the smell of the chemicals that was laden about the air.

“Hose him down. Find a nicer uniform that suits his place better. And burn his old clothes.”

The intern nodded.

“Holding cell A110. Any mistakes and you’ll be transferred to testing, do you understand?”

Gar closed his eyes, struggling to contain his panic. They couldn’t burn his uniform but he was heartlessly aware of how little he could do to stop it. But there was one thing he could.

Somehow, his tail was unaffected by whatever the hell the villain had poisoned him with. If he could hide that from protection, maybe, just, maybe, he would be able to curl it up at the base and leave the rest of it limp, to avoid detection.

And that way, he’ll keep Orbita’s Day Watch within his possession.

_____

TAGLIST: @lonesome--hunter @misspelledwitch

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bohemianrequiem · 3 years

Text

The Tablet of Vesuvius Caper

Despite the holiday season being over, and the crowds of eager tourists that entailed having gone home, security was no less tight that night at the Piazza del Campidoglio. Especially at the Piazza’s flagship building, the Capitoline Museums.

“Which, despite it’s name-“Player’s voice remarked quietly into her ear. “-Is actually only a single museum containing multiple different groups of archeological finds, relics, and artwork. Pretty neat, huh?”

Carmen couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of her lips as she swiftly crossed the distance between two adjacent buildings. Safely in the shadows, she replied, “Extremely.” Her voice silent on the warm wind that blew in from the Mediterranean. “But did you know that the Capitoline Museums are also widely regarded as being one of the first museums in the world after it was opened up to the public by the Pope in 1734?”

“Not bad, Carm. You’ve definitely done your research. Now it’s time to hope the research I did was all correct too. I’ve got the passcode generator fired up, so just get to the Museums’ emergency backdoor and I can make a key to get us in.”

Having gone over the layout of the Piazza and the various buildings that called it home again and again in preparation for this caper, Carmen knew that the door Player spoke of was just a short distance ahead of her. Although it was officially an emergency exit only to be used in case of a fire or similar disaster, it’s purpose tonight would be as their perfect entryway into the Museums unseen.

Or at least, it was meant to be. As Carmen approached the door, she noticed that the passcode protected lock already shone a bright green. Meaning someone had unlocked the door and intentionally left it so, most likely to help speed up their get away.

“Player, we’ve got trouble.” She swung the door open and stepped inside.

“You’re telling me. Cameras are already down, and I’m not the one who turned them off. You’ll be going in blind, Red.” His voice wavered as he spoke. His worry for Carmen’s well-being evident from his warning.

“I’ll manage. You just focus on getting those cameras back online.” As she moved through the Museums back hallway, Carmen wracked her brain for who might have been able to infiltrate the building before her.

El topo and Neal were both out: Topo would have just dug his way in, and Neal would have likely opted for using the ventilation system rather than the backdoor. What about Mime Bomb? Or maybe Tigress? They had both used Dr. Bellum’s technology to gain an edge against her in the past.

“Whoever hacked into the Museum’s security definitely knew their stuff. I can barely find any trace of their online infiltration.” Player remarked. Carmen listened intently for a moment before opening another door that led further into the interior. Now she was passing by walls of centuries old artwork, heading towards the section possessing what both her and VILE were after.

“Are you saying you won’t be able to reactivate it to give us an advantage?” She peered around a corner before proceeding to the archeological relic gallery.

“Never said that Red.” Player’s smirk was practically audible, as a few keystrokes later he snapped his fingers. “Bingo! I’ve reactivated the cameras in the wing you’re headed. And…. oh no.”

Carmen stiffened as she heard the crackle of professional issued radios reverberate off the walls around her. As stealthily as possible, she slipped open the door leading to the archeology wing and closed it shut behind her. “I could hear security in the artwork gallery. Who do you see? Tigress? Le Chevre? The Mime?”

“None of them. It’s somebody I’ve never seen before.” A few moments of silence. “He has it! Carmen, he has the Tablet of Vesuvius!” That’s all Carmen needed to hear. With a sudden burst of speed that threw all caution of being caught to the wind, she rushed into the main viewing room just in time to watch as a man in a bright blue coat gently tuck the treasured tablet away in a rough-spun drawstring bag.

Having heard the sudden commotion, the man looked over his shoulder and shot her a curious half-smile. “Oh, you’re new.” He had neat sideburns stretching down to his bottom jaw, an impeccable black button up, and a contrasting red tie. He wasn’t much taller than Carmen herself but carried about him an air of relaxed confidence. Like he’d done this same thing a hundred times.

“I could say the same for you. Aren’t you a little old to be a new graduate of VILE’s? Or are they having to start calling in the benchwarmers just to keep up with me?” She took a few strides forward, urging the man to keep talking and keep his mind off trying to find a way past her.

“Lady, I’ve honestly got no idea what you’re on about.” He tucked the tablet bag close to his chest, as if he were carrying a small child, and took a few steps backwards from the recently pilfered display case. “What I meant was that you must be a new friend of Pops’. It really warms my heart to see him playing so well with others. A fellow detective trying to track me down, am I right?”

Now it was Carmen’s turn to stare incredulously at the man across from her. “Pops? Who on Earth are you talking about?” He was well within range of her grappling gun. If she could just get a clear shot at the bag, then the tablet would be safely in her hands.

The stranger looked her up and down. “Y’know now that you mention it, you do have significantly better fashion sense than most detectives and private eyes I’ve encountered.” His grip on the sack tightened. “Which can only mean that you’re a rival thief here to steal the same treasure as me.”

Carmen smirked and shrugged her shoulders. “Guilty as charged. Now put the relic back where you got it from before I have to take it from you.”

The male thief quirked an eyebrow. “A thief who steals precious treasures just to return them. What a waste! I, on the other hand, have a much better idea of what to use the tablet for.” Carmen only had a moment’s time to react as he raised his hand in the air. Reflecting off the moonlight streaming in through the windows, her eyes caught a small spherical object between his fingers just as he slammed it down to the floor.

In an instant, the area where the thief had been was rapidly being enveloped by a layer of thick white smoke. “Player!” Carmen called into her earpiece, rushing into the smoke to find any trace of her quarry.

“I’ve got eyes on him. He went out a door at the back of the room leading off the main showroom.” Despite the heavy smoke hampering her vision, her expertly trained eyes cut through it and homed in on the door the thief had absconded through. Without a moment to lose, Carmen rushed towards the door and nearly stampeded over the man on the other side.

Before she could make any kind of comment about having caught up with him so easily, Carmen saw why the man had stopped in his tracks so early on in their chase. Standing halfway through the narrow hallway was a figure dressed up in lime green and black punk rock attire.

“Paperstar.”

“Carmen Sandiego.” Her piercing gaze shifted to the blue coated man beside her. “And associate. I’ll say this once. Hand over the relic and I’ll let you both leave this place. Try to run away and…” She produced a sheet of brightly colored construction paper from a holster on her thigh and deftly folded it into a dangerously accurate looking replica of a shuriken.

The male thief scoffed, pushing his way past Carmen and closer towards the VILE operative. “Or what? You’ll pelt us with your papier-mâché?”

Paperstar frowned. “I’ll do much more than that to you, monkey face.” She reared her hand back and threw the paper shuriken with all her weight behind it.

“Monkey face?! Why do people keep saying-“

“Move!” Carmen tackled him to the ground just as the folded weapon sliced through the space they had previously been occupying. It lodged itself deep into the mahogany door behind them, earning a nervous squeak from the blue sporting thief.

“Crap! Nice save, Red.” He wiggled his way out from underneath Carmen and reached deep within the folds of his blue jacket to produce a small pistol. Just barely had the sound of crinkling paper reached his ears did he notice that Paperstar had now resupplied herself with half a dozen paper shurikens.

“Stop it! Both of you!” While the male thief was still down on one knee, Carmen had already thrown herself back up onto her feet and was yelling in a hushed tone. “If you two go to shooting and throwing things at each other, the guards will be on us in seconds. Then nobody gets the tablet.”

The other two thieves seemed to consider this for a moment. “That tablet belongs to VILE, Carmen. Make this easy on yourself for once and have your henchman give it up.”

“Henchman? I’m nobody’s hired goon, little Miss ‘Papercut’.”

Before further aggravations and taunts could be hurled, Carmen spoke; “The tablet *belongs* in a museum. Not to you, not to VILE, and especially not to this guy.” She glowered down at the thief, eyes shifting to the tablet hidden away inside the drawstring bag in his other hand. “What does VILE even want with such a random piece of Roman history?”

Paperstar shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Perhaps unused to going so long without folding something with her idle hands. “Professor Gunnar simply tells me what to steal and where. I make a point of not asking too many questions, unlike a certain little Black Sheep.”

Now it was the blue coated thief’s turn to interject on Carmen’s behalf. “Maybe I could be of some help in shedding light as to why any of us are interested in this little beauty.” He stood up, pocketed his weapon, and dusted off his jacket’s shoulder pad.

“The Vesuvius Tablet, one of the most famous relics recovered from the site of the ancient Roman city of Pompeii. Famous, in fact, for the depiction of Mount Vesuvius on it’s front and the seemingly indecipherable text on the back. It’s neither Roman nor Greek, not even early Persian or Aramaic.”

“So, it’s in a language nobody’s ever discovered.” Carmen had read up on the history of the tablet. From it’s recovery in 1750, to it’s public release to the Capitoline Museums’ archeological gallery just last year. Despite those countless hours of research, she still couldn’t understand why VILE sought to pillage the item.

“I never said that, Ms. Sandiego.” He smirked, a knowing thing that did little to make her thing the tablet was any better off with the male thief than VILE. “According to some confidential reports from the first excavation team sent by the king of Naples, the Tablet of Vesuvius initially read something like a map. However, the further the tablet was taken away from it’s resting place in Pompeii, the more illegible the words on it became.”

Paperstar chimed in, a giggle playing on her lips. “You don’t seem to know when to shut your mouth, do you, old man? I can help with that.” She shifted a foot backwards, preparing herself for the coming encounter.

“So I’ve been told. I’ll try to keep this short and sweet then.” He lightly jabbed at Carmen with his elbow. “How about you go high and I go low, Red?” He whispered.

“What? But just a minute ago you were the one throwing smoke bombs and running away from me.”

“Yeah, well, seeing as you’re not the one trying to merc me at the moment, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to suggest a team-up. After all, I get the sense you and this girl really don’t care for each other.” The stranger did have a point. After all, the absolute worst Carmen would do is leave him tied up for the proper authorities to find. Paperstar on the other hand….

“You’ve got me there. Let’s move!” Shurikens as deadly as steel sliced through the air as the pair of thieves pressed an advance towards their neon green assailant. With a high jump, Carmen pushed herself off the side of the wall and aimed a kick towards Paperstar’s head.

She dodged but stayed distracted long enough for the blue coated thief to get in close and swipe her legs out from underneath her. “No!” The paper wielder fell flat on her back, with Carmen’s boot soon digging into her gut.

“Too slow, Papercut. Better luck next time?” She quipped. Before Paperstar could spit out the vitriol that was surely brewing between her lips, the communicator on her arm flashed bright green.

“Paperstar,” The voice of Professor Gunnar emanated from it. “Local authorities are en-route to the Museums. It appears a detachment of Interpol is already present on the grounds. This is an Alpha zero-one situation. Vacate the region and return to the isle immediately.”

“Interpol.” The male thief murmured. “Just what I needed.”

“Devineaux.”

“Zenigata.”

The two looked up at each other. “Wait, you have someone from Interpol chasing you?” Carmen probed.

“For the better part of my entire career, yeah. You?”

“Something like that. He’s more of a minor annoyance, but-“

Paperstar’s eye roll was nearly audible. “Wow, great, you two are such besties. Now let me up so I can-“

“Ah, ah, ah. What’s the magic word?” The thief dug into his pocket and retrieved a bundle of cylinders consisting of interlacing bamboo strips. He swiftly set out about attaching them to Paperstar’s fingers, much to her protest. “There, I’d like to see you try and fold paper with your fingers all stuck together.”

“What - CHINESE FINGER TRAPS?!” She raged, only succeeding in making them tighter the more she pulled. “LITERALLY WHY DO YOU HAVE THESE?”

“Oldest trick in the book, kid. Well, the book I just made up in my head, but you get the idea.” He pointed down the hallway. “There’s a stairwell that leads to the roof down this way, Red. Let’s motor and leave our little paper tiger for the cops.”

“Let’s.” Carmen agreed with a smile. They made their down the hallway just as Paperstar finally moved herself into a sitting position against the wall.

“I will find you, Black Sheep! VILE will find you! And when we do, there won’t be anything left for-“

“Jeez, maybe I should have brought one for her mouth too.” The thief opened the door. “Ladies first.”

“You think?” As she slipped by, Carmen carefully slipped the weighty bag from the blue thief’s hand. As he turned around to jeer one last time, he didn’t even seem to notice.

“Toodles, Papercut. See you around!” With the two of them safely within the stairwell, he slammed the door shut. Only then, when Carmen was halfway up the stairs, did he notice he was missing something. “Hey! No fair, I thought we had something going there for a minute!”

“Sorry, but I don’t exactly play well with other thieves.” With the door to the roof now in reach, she slowed and called back behind her. “Speaking of, they don’t usually go this long without at least telling me their name. What’s you?”

The blue jacket wearing thief appeared at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at her, something like anticipation gleaming in his eyes. “My name, Ms. Sandiego? My name is Lupin the Third, grandson of the original gentleman thief, Arsene Lupin. And when I set my eyes on a treasure, I never fail in stealing it.”

“Sorry to disappoint, Lupin, but I think you’ll just have to let this one go.” Carmen placed a hand on the doorknob.

“Real quick, Red. Why do you think these people, the ones you call VILE, are after that tablet? And what’s stopping them from stealing it again later after you’ve left?” He took a few steps up the stairs. “Like I said before, that tablet isn’t just a pretty picture of Mount Vesuvius, it’s intended use is as a map leading to something. Only way to ensure VILE won’t want to steal it again is to steal whatever it leads to, right?”

Carmen wavered. If the tablet really was a map and it lead to some kind of…treasure, then VILE would stop at nothing to get their claws on it. “Okay, Lupin. So what exactly are you suggesting I do with it?”

“Well, seeing as I’m the only one privy as to how the map needs to be decoded, I’d say you can hold onto it for me. Don’t think of it so much as stealing, more like borrowing.” He chuckled. “How about another team-up? You hold onto the tablet, I can show you how to decode the map, and we take whatever VILE would have any interest in stealing. Sound like a plan?”

Player’s voice buzzed in her ear. “Carmen, Interpol forces and local police are surrounding the Museums. Zack and Ivy have the car running, but it might not matter if you hang around too long. How do you wanna play this?”

She debated for only a moment. The man was letting her keep the tablet, so in any case she’d still be coming out on top. He may have been a thief, but he at least seemed earnest about wanting to work together to outset VILE from getting their hands on the relic.

“Okay, fine. My people will talk to your’s and we’ll get a meeting place set up. There, we can decode the map and find whatever it leads to.”

“Music to my ears, Red.” He joined her nearly at the door. “Now, how‘s about we make our escape?” Making sure that the tablet was secure in her hands, Carmen opened the door into the warm Mediterranean night.

Bright spotlights illuminated the entirety of the Museums’ rooftop. From squarely in the center, a man in a dull burgundy trench-coat faced the opening door.

“LUPIN!” He yelled. “I knew you’d be here. You’ve got a lot of nerve coming back to Italy after last year.”

“Pops! So good to see you again after my, shall we say, extended hiatus?”

Carmen quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Long story, I met Leonardo Da Vinci. I’ll tell you next time. You get out of here, I’ll keep the Old Man and Interpol busy.” He winked. “I’ll see when I see you.” And with that, Lupin strutted out to meet Inspector Zenigata as Carmen excused herself to the shadows.

True to his word, the Italian police force seemed much more preoccupied with keeping their sights on Lupin than Carmen herself and she was able to beat a hasty getaway to Zach and Ivy’s waiting vehicle.

“Carm,” Player started once they were safely on the road. “Do you really think that Lupin guy’s legit? How do know anything he’s saying about a treasure map on the Tablet of Vesuvius is true?”

“I’m not sure. He seems earnest enough, but…” Carmen stared at the ancient relic in her hands, turning it over. “Maybe he’s on to something. See if you can turn up anything about those excavation reports he mentioned, the ones from the 18th century.” She checked her watch. “In the morning. You’ve got school tomorrow, right? I can’t have my white hat getting detention any time soon.”

Player grumbled. “Pfft, hackers don’t have bedtimes. While I’m at it, I’ll see what I can find out about this Lupin III guy. He sure seemed to know his stuff.” He shifted on the other end of the call. “Goodnight, Carmen. You did good tonight.”

“You too, Player. Sleep well.” Carmen ended the communication and leaned forward between the two front seats. “Guys, take us back to the hotel. I think it’s time we all got some shut-eye.”

“You got it, Carm. Ivy, get my ‘Post-caper tunes to rock out to’ playlist started. I’m going to merge.”

~~~~

“So, Lupin, you really think she’s the real deal?” Jigen hung a hand outside of the Fiat 500’s passenger window, gently shaking off the ash from the still burning end. He returned it to his lips and took a long drag. “She better be, seeing as you gave up the relic just to earn her trust.”

Beside him, Lupin thoughtfully scrolled through a number of news articles on his cellphone. “‘La femme rouge’, the red woman. She breaks, she enters, and apparently, she steals before others can. She’s done some impressive work.” He laid down his phone, reaching into the backseat to procure a book recently pilfered from a private collection. “I believe this could be the start of a beautiful friendship, or at least a mutually beneficial one.”

“And how about Pops? Was he happy to see you again?”

“As a clam. I gave him the old runaround, then borrowed a uniform from an extremely unfortunate Interpol agent at the scene and slipped away. Poor soul, was not a good day to wear the underwear with the hearts on them.” The two shared a chuckle. Jigen snuffed out his flame, just in time to help Lupin light one of his own.

“Now, what’s this about a treasure you were telling Red all about? You know I’m always down to get our hands on something shiny, but I’d at least like to know what kind of scheme you're cookin' up” Jigen pulled his lighter away from Lupin’s cigarette, giving him a few moments to take a couple starting puffs.

“Old pal, have I got a story for you.” He propped the book up on the steering wheel and turned a number of pages in. “And this one’s called ‘The legend of the Tomb of Hercules.’”

#Carmen Sandiego #Lupin III #my writing #Jigen Daisuke #Inspector Zenigata #Zack and Ivy #Infinity War is the most ambitious crossover-#Posts Carmen Sandiego meets Lupin III

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faithbetryin · 4 years

Text

Five Hargreeves X Reader | 2

(from my Wattpad: @FaithBeLovly)

Part 2

Pairing: Five Hargreeves X Reader

Word Count: 2,781

You find yourself sitting in front of the tv, watching the news broadcast of what happened at the cafe yesterday. You try to see if any information was said about the boy who saved you- shoved you, mostly. And he spilled scorching hot coffee all over you, but... all in all, he took a bullet while you were just peachy. You bite your nails a bit in nervousness. Hope was still in your mind that he didn't bleed out or get shot again and die or something. You don't get any information from the news channel and turn it off, tossing the remote on the couch as you walk out the door dawning a yellow rain coat and a pair of doc martens.

You walk along the damp sidewalk, stepping in every puddle you pass by. You grind your teeth with stress as you see the cafe not too far down the street. As you come closer, you notice detectives and caution tape surrounding the scene. You figure that whoever was in that van got away. You walk up to the tape and then start to backtrack away from it as you think about your chances of being questioned by gritty detectives if you stuck around in the open. You go towards the back door where you escaped from and try to open it. It was locked. You step back and remember the boy's school jacket. You remember it having some sort of umbrella on the patch on his shirt. It didn't give you any ideas about who the boy was or how to check on him. You walk away from the scene, pulling your hood over your head as it starts to rain again.

You start to wonder if this was just a small miracle, being saved by someone you'd never get to say thank you to. These kinds of things happened all the time right? It was just a world with everyone living their own lives, doing things without reward or consequence. You found the whole situation brave. No boy her age would have that kind of reaction if they were getting shot at. Maybe you were just lucky. Wouldn't it be some shit if you ended up getting shot the next day anyway? The world's cruel like that. An umbrella picture against stained glass windowed doors catches your attention. You walk backwards until you're in front of a big brick building. It seemed eerie and quiet. You see a bronze plaque on the outside of the building. You walk up the short steps to the door and read it, the distressed words engraved on it reading: The Umbrella Academy. You scrunch your nose, not hearing of such a thing. You wonder what kind of thing they teach here. Maybe making umbrellas, I don't fucking know. You look up at the doors in front of you and decide to knock on it with the brass knock-handles built onto it. You wait there for a few long moments, wondering if this place was abandoned or something. It seemed quiet, and dark. To your surprise the door opens slightly. A small eyeball peeks through the crack, a warm elderly man's voice welcoming you. "Can I help you?" The voice says.

You sit there, feeling dumb for not being prepared with something to say. You ask stupidly, "Uh, yes. I-Is this a school? The Umbrella Academy?"

The voice sighs a little before replying, "I'm afraid it isn't anymore.."

"Oh.. Well do you know anyone who'd wear a uniform from this place or something? Maybe an old student?" The eyes peering out at you get a little bigger. You explain yourself further, "It's just that- I saw someone near here wearing this umbrella symbol on their jacket a-and they got shot trying to save me and I wanted to make sure he was okay." The eyes from within the shadows look down and then back up at you as the voice says through a sigh,

"Five..." The door opens more to reveal a shorter figure- well, a... a fucking monkey. You blink in confusion, but smile a bit to be respectful. He wore a nice formal suit and small little glasses upon his chimpanzee face. He held the door with one chimp hand, the other holding himself up with a wooden cane. He was quite cute actually. Weird, but cute. "I'm so sorry that happened. I'm sure you must be a friend of Five's." You shake your head a little with confusion.

"I'm sorry? Five, you said? Five what?" You were very lost. As per usual. The polite ape in front of you lifts his cane to direct you inside. You reluctantly enter, not even sure what this place is. She wonders if she'll leave looking like a monkey too.

"The young boy in culottes? Tall socks? Well dressed?" He says, starting to wonder if Five might've saved a stranger, which was unusual for him. You nod to him as you walk in, looking around. It was much bigger inside than it appeared from the outside. It had old floors, walls, and set of two staircases leading upstairs somewhere in front of you. The rugs decorating the creaky floor looked antique. You stand in the lobby area, unsure what to do.

"Yeah, that one."

"The name's Five." A voice echoes through the room as the same boy from yesterday was standing across the room with a coffee mug in hand. You were caught off guard. You felt like you were intruding. Your face gets hot with embarrassment. You pick at a loose thread on your jeans as you look at the boy's leg. He had a proper bandage around his leg, the wound appearing fine considering the way he's even standing now. The suited ape closes the door behind you and smiles at the two of you as he waddles away with his cane, leaving us to it. The boy-Five, takes a sip of whatever's in the yellow mug. "You were at the cafe, weren't you? Yeah, the one with a staring problem." You drop your head to look at your shoes as you are ripping at the seams with embarrassment. You take a deep breath of recovery and look back at him, your hands in your pockets to hide the way they were fidgeting. The boy smiles a bit and nods towards the room behind him, motioning that you should follow him. You reluctantly walk over to him and follow him into a large living room/bar area. The wall was decorated with expensive-looking paintings and head mounts of animals. Tall bookcases lined the room. You clear your throat and say nervously as you look around, "Private school much?" Five chuckles into his mug as he takes another sip.

"This isn't a school," he says, clearly enjoying talking to such a lesser knowledgeable individual by the way he smiled widely, his dimples appearing. You make a face. "It's my home." You take a silent breath as you look around with wide eyes. You then shake your head in even more embarrassment as you realize you're intruding his house.

"Sorry- I just thought that-"

"The Umbrella Academy," he says with a smile, lifting his mug as if the name was glorious. You realize it's sarcastic praise as he laughs at it afterwards. "Yeah no, this place was home to a brooding rich man who decided to raise 7 children he didn't have time or sympathy for. Although, we did study and go through lectures everyday growing up here." You try to process that whole story as you look at him.

"S-So you have seven siblings?" You start to wonder what they're like and try to imagine what they look like while examining Five.

"Adopted. And always scattered. Hardly in one place." Well there goes trying to imagine his siblings' appearances in comparison to him.

"Oh," You say, feeling overwhelmed with all this information. You shake your head and turn back to him, remembering what you came here to say to him. "I just came to say thanks..." Five lowers his mug down from his thin raspberry-tinted lips without taking a sip. You wait for his delayed response. He eyes you up and down with that serious furrowed eyebrow expression. He has his head tilted to the side a bit, his Adam's apple exposed along his long neck. His hair fell a bit from its swoosh as he tilted his head.

"Didn't need someone getting shot for my messes." he says, his voice serious yet... gentle and sincere. A silence drifts between the two of you as you hold your arm along your side, looking at his leg. He lowers his head a bit to match the way you kept yours low. He catches your eyes and says, "It's fine. I got it patched up." You nod, taking his reassurance as you start to look a little guilty. He sets his coffee mug down on the bar counter and starts walking past you, turning to look at you. "Come on, I have something you might want."

You look at him with uncertainty before nodding and following behind him. You gain some reassurance as he turned to wait for you to catch up to him at the bottom of the steps. He didn't want to leave you alone behind him. You walk up the staircase side by side, holding onto the railing to give your hand something to focus on.

"Why are you nervous?" He asks very calmly. His voice was consistently cool and collected just like his demeanor. Your eyes dart around the stairs underneath you as you try to think of what to say to that. How did he know I'm nervous? You clear your throat as quietly as you can as you reply shakily,

"A-Anxiety. Kind of my thing I guess..." Five looks at your avoiding face, his brows lowered in a concerned, but understanding way. He keeps walking up the steps.

"Sorry." He says softly. The way his voice left his lips felt like a gentle warm breeze along your ears made you feel warm inside. You shake your head and laugh to diffuse the tension.

"Nothing to be sorry about. It's just something that's wrong with me." As you both reach the top of the steps, he looks at you with his hands in his pockets.

"Not a flaw. A quality." He says, reassuring you once again. You stand there for a moment too long as he walks where he's leading you, leaving you there in your thoughts. You never had anyone say something so honest and constructive like that. You didn't have anyone, really. You realize he's started to walk off and follow behind him quickly. You walk down the hallway past many rooms with closed doors. There were interesting laminated posters with self defense moves printed on them taped along the walls, low to the ground as if they were intended for kids to see. You stand behind Five as he opens his room door. You stand at the doorway respectfully as he walks in and fetches something from his closet. Lots of books and papers decorated the room along with a ridiculous amount of mathematical writing across every inch of the walls. You didn't recognize a single equation.

He comes back to the doorway, holding out a scarf. My scarf. It was clean, the blood stripped from its fabric. You take it from his hands slowly, your hands barely touching as neither of you let go of the scarf. You look up to find Five's eyes of oceans focused on your face, almost as if they've been gazing at you this whole time. His brows weren't tense anymore while his eyes were gentle. You blush hard, lifting the scarf to your face to hide it. He lets go as you lift it and scratches the back of his head as he looks at the scarf instead of you.

"I thought you might want that back," he says, adjusting his tie. You giggle a little from behind the scarf and move it away as you say,

"It's not even mine." The both of you laugh a little as his eyes widen a bit, a smile on his face. You stole that scarf from a Walmart a few weeks ago. You look down again but then back up at him, feeling more comfortable looking directly at someone- at him. "Thank you anyway." He nods and leans against the door frame, his hands in his pockets again. Must be a habit.

"So your name is...?"

"Y/N," you say quickly, just realizing you never introduced yourself back to him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you on the edge of your seat to find out," you say, somewhat playfully flirting with him. His dimples jump out at you as he gives you a toothy grin. He scoffs with a slight chuckle.

"You do know you don't have to keep apologizing for everything." He says, his brows raised as he knows he got you there, proving it to him as you blush.

"Sorry-Agh fuck,"

"You did it again."

"I know, I know-" The both of you laugh, his actual laugh very pleasing to listen to. You shake your head and your smile starts to fade. He takes notice as he's now doing that thing where he lowers his head to your eye level and then lifts back up to encourage you to tell him what's wrong. "What was that...?" You ask, "At the cafe?" His smile quickly fades, his expression now that solemn, brooding look.

"Well, I've got a bit of trouble following me around lately." He scratches the back of his head. "Bunch of commission goons here to kill me." Your face immediately turns into concern and confusion.

"Kill you?! So they're gonna be back?"

"Yep," he sighs, lifting up on his toes and then falling back onto his heels. "And they're probably going to be coming after you now." You give him an even more concerned look.

"Me?? Wh- I don't even know what you're talking about! We gotta call the cops or something-"

"Cops are useless and very insignificant to this particular problem." He says. You shake your head and put your face into the scarf, your anxiety kicking up a notch. It feels like a slimy snake trickling up your throat, building pressure in your body. You try to keep it down and breathe heavily into the scarf. He shifts a little as he realizes what's going on with you, moving closer to you. He pulls your hands and scarf down from your face, looking at you. You feel exposed and vulnerable. He holds your arms and shakes them a bit to get you to pay attention.

"Listen to me," You continue to breathe more frequently, your hands shaking a bit. "No one's gonna kill you. You can stay here, I can protect you-"

"Protect me? I can't-"

"Listen, listen- I can. I can protect you. You just gotta calm down for me, alright?" He looks into your eyes, his grip on your arms becoming a little tighter to let you know he's got you. Your eyes dart back and forth across his face before closing, your head nodding quickly as you struggle to breathe regularly. He then puts his hands behind your ears, holding you gently as he tries to get you to focus.

"Breathe, take a deep breath. Come on, breathe." You nod to him to let him know you're trying as you close your eyes and take deep breaths, the break in between breaths letting your nerves calm down, your breathing becoming normal again. "There," he says, his thumb stroking the side of your face. You open your eyes, looking into his eyes. He was so close to you now, your faces inches away from each other. You feel your body relax, your head resting against his hands. You feel the tension between you both, the moment making your heart beat louder in your chest.

"Five has a girlfriend! And she's real! In the flesh!" a voice shrieks from behind them. Five immediately lets go of you and furrows his brows, his face showing complete agitated rage and annoyance. A lanky man in tight, suggestive hippy clothing watches you from the end of the hall.

"KLAUS, you are INCREDIBLY infuriating!" Five shouts as he warps through a bright blue light, disappearing from in front of you and appearing down the hallway after his brother, Klaus screaming and laughing as he makes a break for it. "I swear, I will kill you, you idiot!" You smile a little, feeling closer to the boy in culottes.

#five hargreeves imagines #five hargreeves #five #five hargreeves x reader #hargreeves #hargreeves x reader #tua x reader #five x reader #the boy #five x you #tua #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #number5 #umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy imagines #fanfic #fan fiction

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cherrychonk · 3 years

Text

The Transfer part 3 is up!

It's been two weeks. Two weeks of filing paperwork and cleaning people's desks. The chief would only allow you to patrol with Mako on random occasions, otherwise you were on desk duty. The only thing keeping you at bay was the new found friendships with your fellow officers and Jia. That woman would sneak in juicy gossip notes that kept you at the edge of your seat. So far two officers were having an affair with each other, the baker down the street was in a food battle with the new coffee place owner and the latest celebrity plastic surgery failure.

You had finished your latest work, it had taken you hours to fill with the correct information. A lot of things didn't make sense so you had to do a lot of investigating and digging to find the answers.

“Hey Mako, I'm done. Can you give this to the ch-” You stop when you realize that not only is Mako not there but you're completely alone in the bullpen. Looking up at the clock you almost gasp. Your shift had ended three hours ago and you didn't even notice people leaving.

“Monkey-feathers” You muttered. When you look up you aren't surprised to see the light in the Chief’s office still on.

Might as well hand it myself. You pick up your coat and paperwork, walking over her door. You knock on it gently. “Umm, Chief? I just finished some paperwork. Can I hand it to you or…?”

She doesn't respond so you knock again. No response. “Well Chief, I'll leave it on my desk. Good night!”

You start walking towards your desk when you do a full one eighty and knock one more time. “Chief, are you okay?”

You place your hand on the handle. You shouldn't do this… But what if she's hurt? Your mind floods with worry as you open the door.

And there she is, the big bad Lin Beifong asleep, head on her desk and drooling a bit. She looks so tired and relaxed that you don't want to wake her. Placing the pile of papers on her desk you stare for a moment before grabbing your coat and draping it over her, tucking her in, you tuck some stray hairs sticking to her face. She doesn't react, the only sounds are gentle snores. The raising and falling of her back keep you at ease.

“Night, chief.” You whisper as you walk out, closing the door behind you.

You get to the parking lot getting on your satomobile, it's an older model but takes you where you need to go. As you drive home you can't seem to get the chief out of your head. How adorable she looked sleeping like a baby in her office.

Finally you can have a hot shower and shed all the layers of clothing. You wash your hair and lay in the hot bathtub water humming as you relax. Many tattoos littered your body, yet there was more than enough space for a lot of more ink. Your most recent was this little headshot of a badger-mole bicep, a little boy had given you the art piece and you liked it so much you got it tattooed. You still remember how shocked and happy he looked.

You finish your shower and put on all your piercings back on, not wanting the holes to close up. You prepare tomorrow’s uniform and get under the covers after drying your hair. Tomorrow would be a long day.

___________

It was bad. For the first time in years you woke up later than you should. As you glanze at the clock on the wall your eyes go wide.

“FUCK I’M LATE!” You yell sprinting from the bed and starting to get dressed as fast as a lighting strike.

Running to the bathroom you don't even look at the mirror just quickly brushing your teeth and barely spitting the paste as you wipe your mouth with your arm, you put your hair in a ponytail and continue on. With your uniform and boots on you run down stairs to your satomobile and bring the engine to life.

You were on the speed limit, maybe a few miles more but you made it on time. You clock in seeing Jia’s shocked expression.

“Morning!” You yell as you run to the elevator.

“Y/N!” Jia yells back in a worried tone.

“See you at lunch time!” You managed to get out as the door closed.

You get weird stares walking to your cubicle. The other officers kept looking at you and laughing or whispering. You look at your clothes, they were fine. Your hair felt fine. Everything seemed fine. You see Mako trying to signal some to you, he has a panic expression on his face. But before you can ask him you hear a booming voice.

“Y/N MY OFFICE. NOW!” The Chief yells.

Fuck. You were on time, so it couldn't be that. You look back at Mako as you stand up. The utter look of pity makes you angry but terrified at the same time. So you start walking and with every step you take your anxiety rises. You knock, she orders you in.

“Good morning Chief I-” The first thing you notice is your folded coat on her desk. The second is her angry face, getting redder and redder as she looks at you. She slams the door shut with her bending.

“What did I tell you on your first day, officer.” She says in a cold angry yet quiet tone.

“N-not to go into your office without your permission…”

She inhales and grips the back of the chair so hard it seems to bend. “THEN WHY DID YOU ENTER MY OFFICE LAST NIGHT!” She yells

You look at her, she looks like she's about to rip you a new asshole in the next five seconds. You sigh, this is going to be your last day and you know it.

“I finished my reports and Mako wasn't there so I went to take them to you. I knocked a few times and when you didn't respond I got worried something might have happened to you so I let myself in to check on you.”

Lin’s anger didn't seem to go down at all.

“Your coat.” She spat, throwing the cloth at you. “Why leave evidence you idiot?!” She barked.

You tried hard not to smile remembering her sleepy face. “You looked cold.”

The Chief stared at you for what felt like minutes before sitting at her desk chair.

“I want to fire you Y/N, I'm not even going to shy away from saying it. Your behavior of testing my patience is getting on my last nerve-” She looked at you. “AND WHAT THE FUCK IS ON YOUR FACE?!”

Your hands flew to your face and in your horror you could feel all the piercings. Fuck!

“You never said piercings were a no.” You try to be a smart ass.

Lin punches the desk and it's about to yell at you when you interrupt her.

“Wait, let me explain!” You beg. “I always put them in before bed so they don't close off. I forgot to take them out this morning.” You start to gently take them out one by one as she stares you down. The last one being your tongue, as you are taking it out you look up to find her staring at it with a light blush. She coughs covering her mouth with her fist as she finds you staring back at her.

“Done.” You muttered as you placed them all on a handkerchief and into your pocket.

“Do you ever get tired of making a fool of yourself?!” She says annoyed.

“Chief I'm trying, things are just different here. So many things were acceptable back home that aren't here and vice versa. I swear to the spirits I'm not doing this on purpose.” You sigh. “I've been in the force for almost a decade and I've never sat behind a desk for more than three days. This isn't my environment. I have to be outside catching and tracking bad guys, not here cleaning officers desks and filing their paperwork. I have so much to give if you give me a chance, Chief. I promise not to let you down.”

Lin relaxed in the chair massaging her temples. “You can't even follow the most basic of orders Y/N. I will not send you to the streets where I know you will disobey everything I tell you.”

You got closer to her desk, your eyes locking with her. “Please, give me a chance. I can do this, let me prove myself to you. If I fail then I'll leave for good and hand you my badge. No more police work for me ever again.”

The Chief stared at you, she was looking for something in your eyes, maybe she found it. Silence covered the room for a few minutes before she sighed. “I'm going to give you ONE chance to prove me you aren't a complete idiot. Things will be done by the law. Got it?”

You beamed with joy. “Yes chief!” You can't even control your smile.

The Chief opened a drawer and pulled out a large file, she placed it on the desk in front of you. “This is a cold case, it's been open for around five years. It's incredibly graphic, if this is too much for you than I can give you-”

“I'll do it! I'll take it!” You almost yell.

“Very well then. Y/N, if you can solve it not only will I allow you to stay-” She folded her arms and exhaled. “But also...MAYBE- I'll allow some things in the dress code.” She huffed.

“You got it, chief!” You said grabbing the file. “I won't let you down!”

You give a small bow as you head out, a huge smile plastered in your face. The officers around you look at you like you're crazy but you don't care one bit. You finally got the chance to prove yourself and you wouldn't let your Chief down. You seat at your desk opening the file and scanning it over.

“That went well?” Mako asked in a whisper.

You chuckled. “I almost got my ass whooped but the spirits decided to give me a break. She gave me a chance to prove myself.” You return your focus to the page. “Now hush, I need to concentrate.”

Mako rolled his eyes and went back to his work.

“Good luck” The detective muttered.

****________________****

Case File Num B-5246: The Akuma Family Massacre

Reporting Officer: Shiro Zen

Crimes: First degree murder, Arson, Robery, Assault, organized crime, torture.

Scene description:

Officer Shiro Zen and Officer Chen Hun arrived at the scene at the Akuma mansion on Avatar Yangchen street 935, house number 17, United Republic of Nations.

The first thing the officers noticed is the sign of a dying fire. Under Chief Beifong's permission, the officers continued towards the house, weapons drawn. The first thing noticed was the broken handle on the front door indicating forced entry. After continuing inside the first body was discovered, now identified as Annie Akuma, the mother of the two children and wife to Kane Akuma. The victim had her hands tied behind her back and multiple stab wounds on her torso. Later the medical examiners would find traces of sexual assault premortem during autopsy. Cause of death, stab wounds.

Walking further in the next victim, later identified as Hiroto Akuma the younger son, was gagged with a rag. A rope was tight around his neck and he exhibited multiple burns to the face, torso and legs. Medical examiner found large traces of ‘fairy dust’ drug in his sistem. The young boy had one arm cut out clean with medical precision. Cause of death, overdose and blood loss.

The next body was tied to a burnt metal chair. The horror of it's torture plastered on their face. The body was later identified as Kane Akuma, the father and businessman of the family. Later on it was discovered that all his fingernails had been pulled out, his back had been broken in three places, multiple stab wounds littered his body and all of his toes had been cut out along with his crotch area. Cause of death is undetermined.

The last body was found in the living room tied to the sofa and gagged was the body of a young girl. Lea Akuma, she had multiple bruises as well as signs of severe sexual assault. Her back had deep scratches and her neck had deep bruises where circulation was cut from being choked by rope. Cause of death asfixia.

The perpetrators covered their tracks, the only DNA retrieved from the scene were the ones from the rape kits done on the two female victims. The DNA has not been matched to any person to date. Motives are still unknown, the Akumas had been known to be a respectful and kindhearted family. Some possessions seemed to be missing yet most remain intact...

___________

You stared at the file for a minute. The pictures inside were incredibly graphic, enough to make a grown man cry and puke. You had read a few pages now, the more you read the angrier you got. The only names in the entire file were those of the police personnel or the family. There was not a single name of any suspect, you didn't even know where to look.

You wrote down all the names you could find. All descriptions of schools and workplaces, places the family frequent and even the coffee shop the mother used to go to. With nothing more than a file filled with grousome descriptions of murder and other horrible things, you mentally prepared. This would be no easy trip to the park.

#the legend of korra #lin beifong #y/n #tlok

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theprodigypenguin · 4 years

Note

4 and or 7 with Jeddy

I don’t think this turned out very well, my writing is less than ideal when I’m as stressed out and anxious as I’ve been, but I really got excited when I read the fourth prompt. I actually want to write this into a full fic, but idk. Writing quick drabbles like this helps, and it was fun to explore single dad Teddy with his babies. And I really, really love his babies QwQ so writing about them always makes me really happy. I hope you enjoy this, even if it’s not super perfect.

4. teacher/single parent au

He was shy, sat in the back of the class, and seemed to do everything he could to avoid attention. At recess he sat on a bench and watched the other children play, kicking his feet and hugging a book to his chest that seemed years above his reading level.

After years of studying child psychology while working towards becoming a teacher, James had prepared himself to deal with the shy kids. The five year old wasn’t as shy when James talked to him alone. In fact he had an advanced vocabulary and incredible comprehension for what was happening around him. He excelled at schoolwork and could hold long conversations with James. Around other children, however, he became incredibly shy and withdrawn, and shyness around children his own age was a concern.

“Do you know anything about the Lupin family?” James was pouring sugar into a cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

The school nurse, Scorpius Malfoy, was standing beside him with his own cup of coffee. “Not much,” he answered. “The youngest is in your class, right?”

“Dorian,” James gave a slow nod. “He’s shy.”

“His older brother isn’t,” Scorpius chuckled. “Remus. He’s two years older, always getting dragged to my office after falling off a swing or jumping off the monkey bars. He’s very vocal, very cheerful. Their father is a single parent.”

“Single parent household, that explains a bit,” James leaned against the counter. “Did their mother die?”

“I forgot you only started working here last year,” Scorpius hummed. “No, they divorced a few years ago. Remy didn’t seem very affected by it. I got the sense the mother wasn’t very present in their lives, but you’d have to ask their father.”

“Maybe I should,” James murmured. “I’ll try and stop him when he comes to pick the boys up. What does he do for a living again?”

“He’s a cop, actually,” Scorpius revealed, “but I don’t know much about him.”

“Guess I’ll figure that out, too. I’ve never met him before, so this should be interesting.”

Scorpius took a quiet sip of his coffee, reaching out to pat James on the shoulder as he headed for the door. “He’s a nice guy, I think you’re gonna like him. Knowing you.”

“What’s that mean?” James inquired, but Scorpius just smiled as he left the room.

James kept an eye on Dorian throughout the day. He was as quiet as usual, and unlike the rest of his class, he didn’t appear troubled by the fact the pouring rain was keeping them from going outside for recess. He stayed sitting in his seat coloring something as the rest of the class played with blocks and tucked themselves into their individual groups.

After ensuring the children weren’t getting into anything, James walked over to Dorian and looked down at what he was coloring. It was quite good for a five year old, and had a lot of color. James crouched down, keeping one hand on the back of Dorian’s seat and smiling at him.

“What are you coloring?”

“My daddy,” Dorian answered, and James tilted his head curiously as the five year old colored in the man’s hair with a blue crayon.

“Does your daddy have blue hair?”

“Sometimes. Other times it’s brown.”

“Brown like yours?” James asked. He took a moment to look at Dorian’s hair. It was light, pale and ashy brown. The highlight in his hair was almost golden blonde.

Dorian gave a jerky nod. “But more brown like Remy’s.”

“Remy is your brother?” James smiled. Dorian nodded again.

“He’s old.”

James laughed, looking at Dorian’s drawing. There were a few sheets of paper with drawings. Some of his father, some of his brother, drawings of houses, cars, even dragons. James couldn’t help but notice there were no women in his drawings. There were no pictures of his mother.

“Can I ask you something, Dorian?” James asked, and Dorian gave a nod without looking up. “Do you remember your mum?”

Dorian nodded again. “She was pretty,” he said, and James furrowed his brow.

“Do you see your mum often?”

Dorian picked up an orange crayon and started coloring a flower. “Mum works.”

“Your daddy works too, doesn’t he?” James asked, and Dorian shrugged.

“The man in the black cloak said she can only see us sometimes.”

James frowned. So during the divorce a judge ruled that Dorian’s father had full custody and his mother only had visiting rights. Something must have happened to warrant that.

“Dorian, would it be alright if I talked to your daddy?”

Dorian nodded. “Daddy is nice. He picks Remy and me up after school every day.”

“That’s very attentive of him. He must be a great father.”

“Mhm.”

“Will I be able to meet him today?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you very much,” James said, getting to his feet. “I’ll let you finish your picture.”

“Thank you.”

James smiled down at the polite boy before walking back to his desk. It was still pouring outside when the final bell rang, so the children waited in the classroom for their parents. An older boy with dark brown hair barreled into the room, and somehow James knew this was Dorian’s brother, Remus.

He ran right over to where Dorian was sitting, dragging a chair over to sit with him and taking one of the crayons and a blank piece of paper. James smiled. It was always heartwarming to see siblings so close. It wasn’t surprising if the brothers came from a single parent household. Remus must have come in to wait with Dorian until their father came to pick him up.

If he was a cop, it wasn’t a surprise that he was the last parent to pick his kids up, forty minutes after the bell. James had never met him before, but Edward Lupin was not what he’d expected. Tall, over six feet, with brown hair similar to Dorian’s nix the blonde highlights. His eyes were a unique coloring, blue-green and violet. He wore stylish street clothing, black jeans with boots, and a white button down dress shirt with a black trench coat that fell down to his knees. There were piercings in his ears and a tattoo on his neck. He was stupidly attractive, and James forgot how to speak for a moment.

He continued to stare at him as a smile broke over his face, looking at the back of the classroom towards his sons.

Remus was the first to notice him, jumping up and running to the front. “Daddy!”

“Hey Rem,” he crouched down to meet the boy, scooping him into his arms before raising back up. “Have a good day?”

“Uh-huh! We got a new book, and we’re supposed to write about it after reading it! Also we got to stay inside, and I almost broke a window!”

James turned his head to stifle his laughter as Mr. Lupin hummed. “Well, that sure is something. Did you break it?”

“No, the ball was made of foam.”

“Ah. You weren’t trying to break the window on purpose by any chance, were you?”

Remus whispered his response. “We wanted to play in the puddles but Miss Abbott wouldn’t let us so the boys in my class elected me president and we tried to escape.”

“Well, that’s interesting.”

James cleared his throat as he stood up, smiling when the other man looked over at him. “Sorry, we haven’t met yet. I’m James Potter, I’m Dorian’s teacher.”

“Right.” The man set Remus back down and walked over to the desk, reaching out to shake James’ hand. “Edward Lupin, call me Teddy.”

“Teddy,” James smiled, nodding. “Um, would it be alright if we talked?”

Teddy looked startled for a moment. “Yeah, of course.” He sat down in the chair in front of James’ desk. “This is about Dorian?”

“Yes,” James said with a sigh, looking towards the back of the room where the brothers were sitting. “Dorian is an incredibly bright child. He’s smart, but he isn’t very social around the other kids.”

Teddy folded his arms with a nod. “He’s shy around people he doesn’t know.”

“Which is normal for children,” James quickly agreed. “I’m sorry if this is out of line, I’m just concerned for my students.”

“It’s fine, I understand,” Teddy rubbed his shoulder.

“Has Dorian always been shy?”

“Yeah,” Teddy answered. “I encourage him to talk to kids his own age, and his brother helps, but Dorian is an anxious kid.”

“One of my coworkers mentioned you divorced a few years ago?” Teddy nodded, staring down. “How old was Dorian?”

“Two.” Teddy lifted his head. “I don’t think he remembers it. I don’t know, maybe that’s why he’s so shy; because he didn’t get the maternal love he needed.”

“A child can grow perfectly fine without a mother if they get the right attention from family and friends,” James argued. “Remus seems to be your average energetic eight year old. Some people are introverts, some are extroverts. Dorian is just an introvert.”

“I know, but I can’t imagine her not being there helps.”

James couldn’t help feeling empathetic. “Why did you divorce? If I can ask?”

Teddy cleared his throat, looking at the window. “My ex wife didn’t seem to care much about our sons,” he explained, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Or our marriage. Don’t get the wrong idea, I think at one time she did want to marry me. She said yes when I asked after all. She never said she didn’t want kids, never said she was unhappy.”

“But?”

“After Dorian was born she started spending a lot of time out of the house,” Teddy said. “Came home late every night, claimed it was for work. I’m a detective, I know when someone’s being unfaithful. The fact she thought she could lie to me,” he laughed, shaking his head.

James pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry.”

“Tried to keep us together, but a man can only take so much. I was a single father long before we got divorced.”

“So she wasn’t around at all for Dorian, from the day he was born onward.”

“Pretty much.”

“I’m sorry,” James said softly. “If it means anything, you’ve done an incredible job without her. Your children seem very well rounded, and like I said before Dorian is incredibly bright.”

Teddy nodded. “I’ve tried to be as present and involved in their lives as possible. Being a father and a mother.”

“Does your ex wife have visiting rights?”

Teddy scoffed. “Yes, but she rarely uses them. The kids see her once every few months, maybe. She lives in town, but god knows she’s too busy to spend time with her children.”

James could see the strain Teddy was under, how frustrated and angry he was. “Well, she’s not the one who raised them, is she? They’re your children first. She can’t pick and choose when to be a mother. She forfeited those rights when she didn’t fight you for custody.”

Teddy looked surprised. “How did you know she didn’t fight for them?”

“She has visiting rights but never shows up. Doesn’t take a detective to figure it out.”

“That’s fair.”

“I wanted to talk to you because I was concerned about Dorian. I wondered if his homelife was affecting his lack of social interaction, but you seem like a good dad. He’s just introverted and shy, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“He’s not that introverted around people he knows well,” Teddy said. “He’s quiet, but that just means he’s thoughtful.”

“He’s a good kid.”

Teddy was smiling at James. “He talks about you,” he said. “His new teacher. He says you spend a lot of time with him.”

James blushed. “Well every child is different,” he argued. “Since he’s so quiet I just got the feeling he would do well with some extra attention. The other kids do well on their own, but Dorian never speaks up if he has questions, so I ask him one on one just so I know he understands the lesson.”

“Not a lot of teachers take the time to do that,” Teddy said, watching James thoughtfully, and James shrugged.

“I’m just trying to make a difference.”

Teddy smiled. “You’re certainly making a difference in my son’s life.” James was too flustered to reply until Teddy spoke again. “How long have you been teaching?”

“This is my second year,” James answered. “I spent a few extra years in Uni studying psychology, took this job right when I graduated.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five,” James answered, arching an eyebrow. “You?”

“Thirty-one.”

“You had Remus early then.”

“I married their mother when I was twenty. She was my childhood sweetheart, we dated through school. Relationships like that statistically don’t last long.”

“What did she do?”

“Beautician,” Teddy answered. James furrowed his brow, wrinkling his nose.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“No kidding.”

“And you’re a detective?”

“Yeah,” Teddy smiled wistfully. “I’m more of a nine to five desk worker now, though. The hours are better for the kids. I get to work after school starts and get off when the day here ends. It gives me more time to be a father.”

“You prioritized your children above your career,” James smiled, and Teddy gave a tight smile, nodding.

“They needed me.”

“You’re a good dad,” James said, and Teddy smiled at him.

“You’ve said that about four times,” he revealed, and James’ face started to burn.

“Did I?”

Teddy laughed, “It’s fine. I worry sometimes, so it’s nice to hear I’m doing okay. Especially since I’m on my own.”

“You’d never know it,” James said. He smiled when Remus came up to the desk, clinging to Teddy’s coat.

“Daddy I’m hungry.”

“It is snack time, isn’t it?” Teddy asked, smiling at James. “Unless there’s anything else you needed to talk to me about?”

“No, I’m done.” James waved his hands. “The children are hungry.”

“Thank you.” Teddy stood up, stroking a hand through Remy’s hair and looking towards the back of the classroom. “Dori, ready to go?”

Dorian opened his bag and stuffed all his paper and crayons into it before closing it and scurrying over to the front of the room, barreling into Remy. Remus took his bag, but Dorian kept a firm grip on a piece of paper. It was partly crumpled in his fist, and he kept it close as Teddy picked him up to prop against his hip.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dorian,” James said with a smile. Dorian held out the paper, and James curiously took it from him. “Is this for me?”

Dorian nodded, lying his head on Teddy’s shoulder, snuggling against him. Teddy rubbed a hand up and down Dorian’s back, looking down at Teddy.

“It’s raining, put your coat on.”

Remus pulled his coat out of his backpack with a dramatic flair before yanking it on. He then pulled out Dorian’s coat, handing it up to Teddy so he could coax the five year old into it. James smiled as Teddy pulled the hood onto Dorian’s head so all James could see was one of his dark blue eyes.

“It was nice to speak with you; nice to meet you.” Teddy reached out with his left hand, and James shook it.

He smiled more when Dorian held his hand out next, reaching up to shake his hand too. “Yeah, anytime. You’ve got a brilliant boy here.”

“Yes I do,” Teddy grinned. He started for the door but paused, looking back at James. “Hey, uh… maybe we can talk again later.”

James was startled, but nodded. “Yeah, absolutely.” He looked down at his desk and sifted through his papers. “If you want to schedule a parent-teacher conference, I can find my schedule-”

“Actually,” James looked back at Teddy, who had a smile on his face. “I was thinking something… less official. Do you drink coffee?”

James felt like he might pass out, blushing and flustered. “Coffee, yeah, I drink coffee. Do you drink coffee?”

“I prefer tea, but I’ll drink coffee if it’s made right,” Teddy answered. “I know a good place, a few blocks from my place. We could meet there.”

“Absolutely.” James waved at Teddy. “My cell number should be on the syllabus I sent home with Dorian on the first day of school. You can text me the name of the cafe and a time to meet.”

“Great. It’s a date then.” Teddy grinned, and James nodded jerkily as Teddy reached out to take Remy’s hand and they left the room.

It took James a drawn moment to fully comprehend the man had asked him out on a date, and his face burned hotter as he sat down. He felt a little taken aback, very embarrassed, and a little suspicious. He certainly hoped there was a chance Teddy was bisexual when he walked in, because he was insanely hot; and a cop, which was even hotter. Plus he was single, and the kids were just a bonus. James loved kids.

Teddy asked him out first, which meant he was interested in James like James was interested in him. How lucky could he get?

He uncrumpled the picture Dorian had given him, and his heart seized in his chest. It was a colored picture of four people. Scribbled above each of them was a name. Daddy, Remy, Me, Mr. Potter.

James figured that was a silent sign that Dorian already accepted James. That would make things a lot easier if James ended up dating Teddy. Which was a silly thought considering they’d just met. Still, James wouldn’t be against dating Teddy.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and set it on the desk in front of him, eagerly anticipating Teddy’s text. His head lifted when he heard a knock on the door. Scorpius was standing there, holding a file under his arm and smiling at James.

“So you met Teddy?”

“Yes,” James answered, staring at Scorpius, who offered him a knowing smile.

“Did you ask him out?”

James blushed furiously, bristling. “No, I did not!”

“Well, did he ask you out?”

“What makes you think either of us asked the other out?!”

“Well at the very least he asked you out. He’s had his eyes on you since Dorian started school here.”

“He what?” James felt more flustered than before.

Scorpius snorted. “He saw you on the first day of class when he came to pick the boys up. Wouldn’t stop asking me about you. For the past few months he’s been asking me about you.”

“Wait, do you know him?” James asked, and Scorpius gave him a crooked smile.

“Ted’s my cousin.”

James gaped at him. “You left that out intentionally?”

“Well, I thought it’d be more entertaining this way.” He backed out of the room. “Have a good night, James. I’ll be looking forward to my cousin calling me tonight all flustered asking me how to text you.”

James waited for him to shut the door before dropping his face onto the desk with a groan. He’d been single for way too long. The schoolboy excitement was absurd, but could he be blamed? Teddy was hot and his kids were precious. One meeting and James was lost already.

send me a ship and a number and i’ll write a short fic

#jeddy #james sirius potter #teddy lupin #edward remus lupin #nico writes jeddy #nico writes fanfic #nico writes mini fics #nico writes jeddy fic #nico writes #teacher/single parent au

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moskaisley · 4 years

Text

fear and loathing

gif: @pedroispunk

pairing: javier peña x reader

rating: NC-17!! explicit!!! this is literally porn!!! if ur under, 18+ go away.

warnings: mentions of drugs, alcohol, crime, SMUT MSUSTMSUMUT

word count: 2.9k

summary:

“Oh, maybe I was a little too wild in the 70s Back down to earth with a lounge singer shimmer Elevator down to my make believe residency From the honeymoon suite Two shows a day, four nights a week Easy money”

In the years before Agent Peña was shipped to Colombia, he spent his time lost in the lights of Las Vegas, entangling himself with the lounge singer of the Flamingo Hotel and Casino.

a/n: aka me romanticizing my own city knowing it’s actually a piece of shit town. i would highly recommend u listen to star treatment by arctic monkeys bc i had that record on repeat while writing this :) enjoy space cowboys!

masterlist

The neon lights of Las Vegas were so bright they could burn skin with sin.

People called New York the city that never sleeps, but the Big Apple couldn’t hold a candle to the mirage of chaos situated in the heart of the Mojave. This place was hotter than Hell and the citizens were like snakes, hiding from the beating sun at dawn and slithering out to hunt at dusk. The city was designed to overwhelm its “guests” with temptation. What happens here, stays here: an empty promise disguised as a secret. People talk, and the name had its own proud implication.

You didn’t have to say what you got up to in Vegas, everyone already knows.

The year was 1979. Javier Peña sat in a smoky lounge of the Flamingo, eyes lazily trained on a suited piano man playing away on stage.

He’d never come here willingly, but the DEA had him sent to Sin City investigating its suspicious abundance of every drug under the sun. Though Bugsy Siegel and many of the mobsters were long gone, the mafia still held Vegas by the balls. Their influence was atomic, going so far as to halt Metro in making any sort of move against them. Javi noticed it immediately on his first day in the office; the officers on the force only ever responded to petty crimes and traffic violations. Any call involving suited men and blow were brushed off and away. When Javi confronted one of the detectives, he only laughed in his face,

“Their lawyers are too good, Peña.”

It was only when Javi took a walk down to a shitty convenience store for a pack of cigarettes did he realize the state of the city. He saw a group of kids who couldn’t have been older than 22, high off their ass and stumbling along the sidewalk. He did his best to ignore them, but the group suddenly got louder as a girl was tripping over her heels into the street, an oncoming car only seconds away. He acted quickly grabbing her arm and pulling her flush against him, Rolls Royce tearing down the road, horn blaring at the two of them.

“You saved my life there, Mr. Mustache,” she cooed, “How could I ever repay you?”

When he looked back to her, he tried his best not to cringe. Her pupils were so dilated, he was surprised her eyes didn’t pop out of their sockets. Then, he saw the white powder off the corner of her nostril and his stomach turned. She cackled at him, and he pushed her back to her coked out friends.

Javi learned two things that night: Vegas has horrible drivers, and anyone who came close to this town rotted from the inside out.

He figured that, in order to make any progress here, it would have to come from Hell itself. If he stuck around long enough, maybe he’d find something amongst the fields of ringing slot machines and gaudy carpet.

“Lose all your money already, son?” A voice drew him out of his thoughts. He turned to see a sharply dressed older man.

Javi faked a smile for the sake of being polite, “No, not yet. Maybe in a bit.”

The man chuckled and sat in the leather chair to the left of him, “You should stay. They’ve got quite a show coming up.”

Fancyman bristles beside him reaching inside his breast pocket. The little bag that he pulls out is unmistakable. The high roller notices his stare, “It’ll be especially good with a little bit of this.”

Javi cocks an eyebrow at him and waves him off, “No thanks. I think I’ll just stick with these.”

He gestures to his pack of cigarettes on the small table.

“Suit yourself,” the man settles. He takes the powder on his pinky and snorts it into his nostril.

Javier holds back on rolling his eyes and instead leans into his seat. He pulls a cigarette to his lips, settling in for this magnificent show that Fancyman promised. He rifled through his leather jacket for a lighter, but nothing turned up in his pockets.

“Let me get that for you,” a new, sultry voice whispers into his ears.

Heat creeps up his neck as a hand splays itself across his chest, tracing the exposed skin under his black button up. A golden zippo in perfectly manicured fingers appears before him, flickering to life with a tiny flame. He leans in and takes a drag, acutely aware of the lips inches away from his ear.

“Speak of the devil,” he nearly forgot about his company for the evening, “if it isn’t our little songbird.”

“Always a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Hughes,” Javi is strangely disappointed to hear the voice had drawn away, “Who’s your friend here?”

He turns around to introduce himself, but his name dies in his throat when his eyes catch yours. You could easily be a movie star with your bright red lipstick and perfect waves of hair. His mouth goes dry when you round the corner of his chair and sit on the armrest, lighting your own thin cigarette and storing away your zippo in your fur coat.

“I don’t know, darling, but I think he’s in love.”

“Is that so?” Your perfect lips form a smile as you curl them around the filter, “What’s your name, lover?”

He coughs into his sleeve in an attempt to prevent his voice from rising three octaves.

“Javier,” he says, “It’s just Javi, though..”

Idiot.

“Javier,” he could get drunk on the way you say his name, “Well, just Javi, could you hold onto this for me?”

His breath hitches when you slide the coat off your shoulders, revealing your body in a silk black strapless dress and a gold necklace with diamonds spilling onto your collarbone. You all but throw the fur onto his lap and stamp out your cig in the ashtray in front of him.

“Enjoy the show, lover.”

Describing you as a “songbird” was a serious understatement. Javi found your voice fucking heavenly with the way it crooned out some old torch song from the 40s. He wasn’t the only one who felt this way; sober or not, the audience hung onto every note that left your lips and the room was at your command. Your smooth, honey-sweet voice melted through one melody to the next. Soon enough, you were thanking everyone for coming out and wishing the crowd a lovely stay at the Flamingo.

And then your eyes met Javi’s once again, and blood rushed to his ears.

Eyes glittering mischievously, you point directly to him, “This last song is dedicated to that man right there.”

The spotlight whips away from the stage, landing directly on Javi’s chair. He tried his best to remain stone cold, jaw clenched and dark eyes boring into yours from across the room. But his embarrassment was quite literally on display as he shifted uncomfortably under the white hot heat of the light behind him.

“Just Javi was kind enough to hold onto something very special to me,” you purred into the mic, “Please give him a round of applause.”

Thank God, for your coat. Had it not been there, the world would’ve seen the way Javi’s cock strained against his jeans.

He finally let out a huff of relief as the spotlight left his back and veered its way back to your place on the stage, your last song starting. Javi was quick to scramble for another cigarette. He looked at the coat in his lap, pausing in contemplation. His eyes darted between the fur coat and yours as you began to sing again.

“I found a place

Full of charms

A magic world

In my baby's arms....”

His hands slithered their way to the folds of the coat on his lap, dipping into the pocket and pulling out the golden lighter. He flicked the sparkwheel, a tiny fire illuminating his the curves of his face as he kept his steely gaze on you.

“Her soft embrace

Like Satin and Lace..”

Javi took a long drag, nicotine setting his chest aflame. Your black dress ripples along your legs as you cross the stage. You’re smooth in the way you pull yourself onto the grand piano, lying down and arching your breasts upward as you belt out the lyrics, shooting a dazzling smile to him.

“Wondrous place”

“Excuse me, miss? There’s someone here to see you.”

“Tell him he needs to get in line.”

You see Tom, the baby-faced stagehand, bristle in the reflection of your dressing room mirror. He’s heatedly whispering with the person next to him. You always felt bad for giving him the chore of turning your suitors away.

And while you expect Tom to close the door and leave you in peace, he presses on.

“He-uh-he says he has your coat, ma’am.”

Your lips curl into a devilish smile, and you turn to your sweet blushing assistant.

“Oh, send him in then. He’s okay.”

The kid obeys, pushing your door further open. The man you’ve had your eyes on all night walks through, your fur coat wrapped along his forearm.

“What a lovely surprise, Just Javi.”

You watch him in amusement as his Adam's apple bobs in his neck. You relish in the paralyzing effect you have on him.

“I just came to return this,” his voice is tight as he tries to return your fur to you. You don’t miss the way his eyes trail over your body; your black stage dress was replaced by a cream silk robe loosely tied at your waist.

“Sure you did,” you tease. His jaw clenches. A small laugh spills from your lips, “Tom, could you give us a bit of privacy?”

Silence follows after the door shuts closed. You cross the room to stand inches before him, raising a hand to caress his cheek. The other rests on the coat in his arms. His ragged breathing is music to your ears.

“You were great tonight.”

“I aim to entertain,” you rub your thumb over his cheekbone, “Thank you.”

He clears his throat, voice growing low, “That was a pretty mean stunt you pulled out there.”

“Not a fan of the limelight, Javier?”

“No, not particularly.”

A coy smile creeps on your face when he leans in closer, lips parting in an attempt to catch yours. You slyly dodge Javi's mouth, and it connects with the crook of your neck instead. In his frustration, he bites down hard. A satisfied mewl escapes you.

“You’re driving me insane,” he huffs against your clavicle.

“What can I say?” he pulls away to look at you with wild eyes, “I like to play with my food, Javier.”

Chest heaving, Javi throws the damn coat onto the plush velvet chaise behind you. His strong, calloused hands are at your waist, feeling the curves of your body and pulling you closer towards him. You giggled in delight at his touch and your hands flew to clutch the back of his neck, fingers entangling themselves in his hair. You squeal when he goes to grab your ass, hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his torso. He makes his way over to your vanity, and with a sweep of his right hand, he pushes off the contents of the table to the floor. Javi sits you up against the mirror, and takes your face in his hands.

“Let me kiss you, mi amor.”

Your body swells with warmth. You didn’t plan on kissing him, but the way his accent echoed in your ears made you dizzy. Your hands drop to the opening in his button up, and you pull him in, lips crashing together. He shudders against you, tongue swiping across your bottom lip. You let Javi in with fervor, huffing against his lips. Your fingers work their way down his torso, unbuttoning his shirt. They come back to his shoulders, desperately pushing his leather jacket off his shoulders. Javi’s hands leave your face and shrug off both his garments onto the floor. Your face flushes with heat at the sight of his bare chest. He pushes himself closer between your legs, and traces his right hand towards your inner thigh. His other hand pulls the bow at your waist and your robe spills open revealing your naked body.

Javi groans at the sight before him, and his hand palms at your breast.

“Fuck, you’re stunning.”

“Take a picture. Lasts longer.”

“I intend to do way more than that, cariño.”

Your heart flutters when he pulls your vanity chair in front of you and takes a seat. He spreads your legs out wide, hooking one of them over his shoulder. You hold your breath as he kisses along the inside of your thigh. Two fingers come up to your dripping pussy, massaging against the folds and spreading them open. His fucking tongue traces against your opening and you nearly cry at how good it feels. Javi drinks in every part of you as you squirm under his mouth like any parched man would in this desert. He moves his lips upward to suck gently on your clit, and inserts two fingers into you.

“Javi!” you croon, “Javi, baby, it feels so good.”

“Yeah? Sing it for me, sweetheart. I love hearing your voice.”

You gasp when his digits curl inside you. You wrap your hand in his hair, and pull him back up to face you. He’s still pumping into you when he stands from the chair, and your leg falls back onto the table. Trouble flickers across your face as you reach down and grip his wrist. You pull his fingers out of you and take them into your mouth, swirling your tongue and tasting your cunt on his tips.

“Shit, baby,” Javi grunts and uses his free hand to pull you flush against his hips. You moan at the feeling of his cock through his jeans. He presses his forehead against yours and removes his fingers from your hot mouth. Your deft hands fly to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. You claw at the waistband of his boxers, dipping your soft hands below to palm his thick cock.

Javi’s eyes shut at the contact, cursing under his breath when you wrap your fingers around the tip and squeeze.

“I knew I was gonna fuck you the minute I saw you,” You shift under him to whisper in his ear, “I’m so glad you don’t disappoint.”

“How?” Javi is barely holding it together, head spinning as you slowly stroke his shaft, “You couldn’t even see my face in the lounge.”

“No, I couldn’t. But I saw you in the lobby,” you push down his underwear and his cock springs out, “It was just my luck you came to see me.”

You pull him into another searing kiss, dick still in hand. His heart races as you rub him along your wet entrance. He leans forward and his arms pin themselves beside your head against the vanity mirror. He thrusts his length fully inside you, and the sound you make is ungodly. Your tight cunt is so warm and tight and he begins to move faster. The slapping of his torso against the back of your thighs reverberates around your dressing room, and your vanity table shakes with every push into you. Anything remaining on your table shifted and fell to the floor with the rest of Javi’s clothes.

He pulls his hands away from your mirror, and he presses them into your shoulders for stability. His lips move from yours and attack your neck, sucking at the supple skin below your jawline.

You let out a strangled mewl, but chide “Not on my neck, lover. I’ve got a show tomorrow.”

Javi nearly whines in frustration and pushes you backwards, forcing you to arch your chest into him. He kisses along your sternum instead, sucking down hard and marking you with a purple hickey between your breasts. The sight riles him up further, and he plows into you faster.

“Fuck, Javier, I’m gonna cum!”

“Look at me, mi amor. I wanna see you,” he tilts your chin upwards with his finger.

A wave of pleasure washes over you and your lips are chanting his name as you ride your orgasm. Javi has his own shortly after you, cum spilling into you and leaking around the sides of his dick. He pulls out of you and leans against the table, arms flexing next to your legs.You sit up and kiss the corner of his mouth. Pushing yourself off your vanity, you push past him and bend over your chaise lounge, shuffling through your forgotten coat. You turn back to Javier leaning against the armrest and you light one of your slim cigs. You take your first drag and pull it from your lips, offering it to him as you exhale. When he goes to take it from your fingers, however, you abruptly tug at his arm, throwing him onto your chaise.

His bewilderment made you chuckle, “What are you doing there, sweetheart?”

Your mischievous smile returns as you twist the cig in your fingers,

“Hold onto this for me, Javier.”

You stick the filter into the corner of his mouth as you straddle his legs, and you peel off your robe to reveal all of yourself to him.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay,” you coo as you lick your lips “but I don’t think I’m quite done singing for the night.”

You were no songbird. You were a siren. A succubus. Like everything else in Las Vegas, you would take and take and take and leave nothing but dry bones and dust in your wake.

a/n: disclaimer: las vegas is actually lame as fuck.

but i hope u liked the very basic history lesson i peppered in there anyway haha. fun fact: the lawyers for all those mobsters actually became mayor at some point.

the song mentioned in this fic is wondrous place by billy fury!

the title is totally ripped from fear and loathing in las vegas! because we love references.

idk if there’s gonna b another part for this?? mayb if y’all rly want it i have a few ideas but after this i want to focus back on to migraine. lmk if u like it!! bc it was actually fun just writing about a place i know. hope you all enjoyed!

taglist

@starkstranges @mysterihoeee

thanks for reading! see u space cowboys <3

- leo

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #narcos #narcos fic #fear and loathing

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xxx-cat-xxx · 4 years

Text

I walk this lonely road

Characters: Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers

TW: Self-harm references, Coronavirus (but nobody gets infected), Alcohol

A/N: This fic makes reference to self-harm and to the coronavirus. I know the latter is a really sensitive topic at the moment, so if that’s something that might upset you in any way, please be careful.

The virus affects almost everyone in the world at the moment at some level and this fic is meant to explore one particular experience among millions. I do not claim that this experience is representative in any way, and I definitely do not claim that it is worse than what others have to deal with. Nat is in a very privileged position, but she is still hurting, and that’s what I wanted to write about.

As always, thanks to @whumphoarder for beta reading.

They lock down the tower in the second week of the pandemic.

Steve, while helping to set up tents next to the already overcrowded Metro General, shared his lunch with another volunteer who tested positive two days later. Since tests are hard to come by and none of them were showing symptoms, the team decided against using their influence to get tested through the backdoor and instead are self-quarantining for at least two weeks.

Bruce and Tony are elbow-deep in research to find a vaccine and wouldn’t leave the tower if an armed battalion tried to force them out. Clint went back to stay with his family at the farm as soon as the first cases started being detected in New York. Steve is keeping busy by exercising, recording PSAs about everything from handwashing to social distancing, and sending uplifting video messages to infected fans.

Meanwhile, Nat is slowly coming apart at the seams.

Before the self-enforced quarantine, she was distributing essentials to homeless and low-income families, but now, trapped inside the tower, there isn’t really anything she can do remotely to help the population.

(Except maybe taking out the president with one of his own killer drones, but that’s not exactly in the realm of legality.)

It’s not that she hasn’t experienced being locked down somewhere for weeks at a time before, but that was on missions, with work to do and a goal to achieve. Right now, she has nowhere to go and nothing to do, and for Nat, that is the worst possible combination.

The first few days are comparatively easy to bear. She runs the better part of a marathon on the treadmill every morning. Brushes up on her Mandarin. Hacks the Pentagon for the sheer thrill of it.

Anything to keep her from spiralling too far down.

Five days in, she wakes up at midnight from a nightmare about the Red Room, feeling like there’s a boulder on her chest weighing her down. She scrambles up to open the window and takes huge, gasping breaths of the cool night air, trying to convince herself that it doesn’t make a difference whether she’s inside or outside the window frame.

Finally, she slides down onto the carpet and digs her fingernails into her bare shins, heart still beating way too fast and too loud in her ears. Catches herself wishing for a task, an attack, anything she can do, eyes the small imprints of her nails in her legs, a few of them oozing blood. The pain is tempting, much too tempting. She tries not to think of the blades under her mattress, in the cupboard, below the bathroom sink.

She knows it’s not exactly pain she longs for, but it’s a functional substitute for everything else.

Nat swallows. Then she makes the executive decision that she needs to go for a walk.

She wears a mask and gloves when she slips into the darkness. Even with the protective outfit, she keeps away from walls, streetlights, shop windows, anything she could potentially contaminate.

The night air is just the right kind of chilly to feel alive. The city, devoid of people, cars, and pollution, is a different kind of beautiful. The huddled groups of desperate families in front of the downtown hospital are not.

Nat finds a children’s playground with monkey bars wedged in between two residential buildings. She does pull-ups until her shoulders are on fire. Then she climbs up and lies on top of the climbing frame, her gaze getting lost where the skyscrapers meet the night sky.

She only climbs down when she can hear the sirens of an ambulance from a nearby street. Then she wipes the bars clean with the hand sanitizer and paper towel she brought along. When she makes her way back to the tower, it finally feels like she can breathe a little easier.

Tony and Steve are waiting for her when she sneaks back in through the delivery entrance.

Tony looks tired, three-nights-awake-in-the-lab kind of tired, but there’s a manic energy radiating from him that almost seems electric; Nat wouldn’t be surprised to see sparks flying off his fingertips. It’s the kind of energy that keeps him up and running until whatever problem he is working on is completely solved, until the world is saved once more.

Nat would love to say she feels guilty upon seeing him. But the ugly truth is, all she can feel is envy.

Steve looks… not exactly angry. His face is stony, but something else flickers in his eyes. Nat takes off her gloves, the coat, the mask, and that’s when she realises. He looks disappointed.

“What were you thinking, Natasha?” he says, his voice low and tight. “You know we’re all under quarantine! What, do you think you’re above this or something?”

“I was wearing a mask—” she begins in a weak attempt to avoid this conversation, but he doesn’t even let her finish.

“You know damn well they’re not a hundred per cent.. You’re just tempting fate for no good reason.”

“I don't—”

“What, you don’t get sick?” he interrupts and maybe it’s a good thing because what she was going to say was something else: I don’t care if I get sick. It’s the truth, but it’s nothing either of them want to hear.

“It’s not just about you, Nat,” Steve continues, ignorant of her thoughts, his voice rising and a vein starting to swell on his forehead. “What if you infect someone else? For god’s sake, Tony’s only got two thirds of his lung capacity left. Did you think of that before putting him in danger?”

“Calm down, Cap,” Tony interjects. “I’ve lived through worse—”

“No, I’m not calming down!” Steve snaps. “We are so privileged to be able to live here with all the food and money and medical services we could need―all we have to do is endure a few weeks of boredom, which really shouldn’t be too much to ask in exchange for everyone’s protection. And you decide to throw all of that out the window for a stroll?”

He stares at her for a moment as if waiting for her to defend herself, but there’s nothing she has to say. What should she tell them? I couldn’t bear the thoughts in my own head? I can’t deal with not knowing when I can be out again? It was either that or sitting on the bathroom floor, cutting lines in my own flesh just to fucking feel in control of something?

“I really expected more of you,” Steve says finally, an eerie calm in his voice. Then he turns on his heels and leaves.

“Well, that was dramatic.” Tony rubs a tired hand over his eyes before looking at Nat directly, his expression sober. “His mother died of TB, you know?”

Nat feels numb. “Yeah, I know,” she says quietly.

Tony’s expression softens. He seems to make a decision. “Come on.” He waves roughly in the direction of the elevator. “I guess we both need a drink.”

“Okay.” Nat takes a deep breath. “I’ll take the stairs.”

When she enters the living room fifteen minutes later—after showering thoroughly and changing her clothes—she finds drinks on the table and Tony on the sofa, working again. Nat sits down on the armrest of the chair across from him, keeping a safe distance. Jazz music is playing in the background, the fake fireplace is lit, and it all just feels wrong.

Nat takes her time to fill her glass and slowly drain it. When she looks up, Tony is observing her, his dark eyes unusually warm.

“I get it, Nat,” he sighs when their eyes meet. “Trust me, I do.” He nods at the tablet sitting in his lap. “Why do you think I keep busy with this all the time?”

She gives a tiny nod of appreciation and hopes he gets that too. Tony smiles at her with a bit of sadness and then turns back to his work.

Nat goes to the kitchen to refill her glass. When she comes back, Tony is asleep, twisted up on the couch as if he just fell over from exhaustion, tablet still in his hand. She goes back to wash her hands thoroughly, and then, holding her breath, takes the device out of his hand and covers him with a blanket.

She sits there, alone with the scotch bottle, Tony’s snores, and her thoughts, until pink clouds start to creep over the sky.

At 5:35 on the dot, Steve appears in the doorway, dressed in his workout clothes. He stops just outside of the room and leans against the doorframe, taking in the scene. The look on his face makes it clear that it’s her turn to speak.

Nat takes a moment to weigh her words. “It’s just… I can’t sit in here not knowing when I’m going to be out. Not again,” she finally admits into the fake fireplace that has now grown cold.

Steve doesn’t reply, but he relaxes just the tiniest bit against the doorframe and something in his expression shifts.

“Are you up for a sparring session before hitting the treadmill?” he asks.

“You want to work out with me?” Nat doesn’t look him in the eyes.

“That’s why I’m asking.”

This isn’t an apology—not from either of them. Nat isn’t guilty, just sad. And if Steve was sorry, he would’ve said so straight away. But this is not a concession―it’s a I don’t approve of your actions, but I’ll still be here for you. Just like Tony’s glass of scotch, what it means is: You don’t have to go through this alone.

“So?” Steve asks.

Nat pushes herself up from the armchair. The residual alcohol in her bloodstream and the all-too-familiar tiredness make her head swim for a moment, but she’s stable once she gets to her feet. “Fencing. Let’s go.”

____________________________

This is part of the Red in my Ledger series.

All my fics

#natasha romanov #hurt natasha #tony stark is a good bro #team feels #steve rogers & natasha romanov #People disagree but they are still there for each other #self-harm #corona #alcohol

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years

Text

sing for the lion and lamb

Summary: “This was what she had signed up for - a good man and minimal pleasure.”

WARNINGS: spoilers as we get through it, swearing, backstory, struggles, this is one of the happiest chapters Pairing: Dectetive Loki x Reader Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: i’m a mess over prisoners and i wrote this super mess series called 1996. this is the first chapter. this is finished so i’ll be posting the other parts later but its movie+extra scenes bc theres so much stuff to get through and also reader and loki need to get through shit

... | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

To say you love Loki would be a stretch. Two humans, born and raised in Pennsylvania who just happened to have known each other since the care system should have a natural tendency to gravitate towards each other. The two of you found each other again, so you are bound to have some sort of connection. But whilst you have a certain fondness for the man, a certain bond you are quite sure was deeper than blood, you wouldn’t name it love.

No, love is for those who didn’t know better.

Love is not for the shadows of your eyes or the darkness in his soul. Love is not for men and women like you.

“Detective.”

Your eyes raise from the police report of the missing girls before you, blinking away the black boxes and messy scribbles as the man tilts his head at you. “You need something?”

The corner of his mouth twitch into something almost like a smile but your eyes only soak in the pale half-moons under his eyes. He’s sleeping again. Good. He needs all he could get before the case on the missing kids gets some steam. Rolling out your neck, you slide the report into a manila folder and stand.

“Wanted to know if you wanted to head home for a minute or two.” There comes his wide smile, one that completely morphs his face. It tugs at his cheeks, wrinkles his eyes, makes him look younger than he is. Whenever he smiles as he does now, it makes you forget about the paleness in his cheeks, the taste of coffee on his tongue, the rough stubble along his jaw. It makes him look young and handsome and like the street kid you’d known.

He knows you like that smile. Like looking at him. In bed, flushed and moaning, or otherwise. He knows it will convince you and you roll your eyes because this is not going to be a rare occasion where it’ll fail.

“Are you trying to sweet-talk me?” You stretch your arms high above your head, ignoring the way his smile drops off his face as you turn off the burning lamp on your desk. Only the pale lights of the office remains, washing the both of you in ugly pale light.

“If you have room for dinner, maybe I will.”

You grab your long coat, popping the collar around your cheeks and he pushes off the wall of your cubicle, walking around and stuffing his hands in his pockets. You sling your bag onto your shoulder and pull hair from underneath your collar.

“No plans for Thanksgiving?” you ask, knowing the answer. It’s only polite to ask. Detective Loki always has a pleasant way of surprising you outside the bedroom.

“None without you, I s’pose.”

“And we’ve spent the day at work.” You don’t sound particularly surprised and the detective merely shrugs. “Come on, I know a place.”

He cocks his head to the door. It isn’t only the two of you in the station at this time of night but your caffeine-lacking brain rationalizes that they wouldn’t care and you lean up to kiss his jaw. He turns at the last moment and presses a hard kiss against your mouth, teeth snagging on your lips and you sigh into his mouth, tasting coffee and gum and the faint scent of his aftershave. Hands finding his jaw, your fingers scratch at his cheek, trail down his neck and take fistfuls of his jacket.

Your heart thrums in your throat, beats at your stomach like a drum and all you want to do is peel off the clothes burning your body, feeding the fire in your core as he noses your chin, granting himself access to your neck.

“Hey,” you whisper, hands carding through his hair. You aren’t quite sure if you want to push him away or pull him closer as he raises his head from where he’d been sucking a wet mark along the cord of your throat. “I’m hungry.”

“I know.” He ducks again to gently nip at the mark and you smack him lightly, pushing him away.

“You know I’m actually fucking hungry,” you mutter and he growls against your lips, kissing your mouth bruisingly and too, too quickly before he rips himself away. You hadn’t even realized he’d been sucking the life out of you while his hands had casually been in his pockets but he shrugs, the jacket shifting along his shoulders.

Cocky bastard.

“Come on. Sooner we get dinner, sooner I get you,” he whispers against your ear and you chuckle into his mouth as he snags another kiss.

“Do you know what your, uh, Chinese zodiac sign is?”

You wipe at your mouth with a napkin, frowning when your lipstick smears over white. The detective looks up from where he was reading the meaning of each on the paper place mat, offering a smile. This restaurant is one of your favourites, having been the restaurant you went to after your… well, you wouldn’t call it a first date. You went here for a meal once, alone, ‘cause you were hungry after a night with the man sitting across from you.

After-fucking meal. That’s the phrase. Apt, and conventional, and...

Point is, you like it here and you want him to like it.

He sips on his white mug, taking in the tea as you push around your fried rice. He’s working on some noodles as you drag a finger over the drawings of the Chinese zodiac on the paper.

“No. Do you?”

“Rat.” You watch as he turned to read, finger trailing until he finds the animal at the top of the list.

“Intelligent, charming, quick-witted. Hm.” He arches an eyebrow and you roll your eyes as the waitress came with the check. It’s only the two of you in this small establishment and you look around, nothing the absence of fortune cookies in the red metallic bowl near the register.

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Thanks.” He raises his hand to gesture in a vague shape and you squint as the waitress poured your mug full of tea. “Hey, you have any of those, um, fortune cookie things?”

“My boss told me cops don’t like fortune cookies.”

“Well, it’s Thanksgiving,” you murmur and the waitress laughs under her breath. “What’s your Zodiac sign?”

“Monkey.”

You toss a glance expectantly at the man sitting across from you and he drops the bill he was reading, looking down at the paper.

“Very intelligent. You have an ability to influence people.” You hum thoughtfully at his answer as he continues, “Maybe you could influence your boss to lower the check a little bit?”

You snort quietly, hiding your laugh as you pull out your wallet. Picking up the slip of paper, you read the the total and begin to lay out bills to pay as the waitress shakes her head.

“Mr. Li is a rooster, Detective,” you comment, extending the check back to the waitress.

“Thank you.”

“Keep the change.”

“How do you know that?” You don’t miss the edge of his tone as he takes another sip of his tea. Jealousy. You opt not to answer and his gaze drops to the paper.

“What does the rooster mean?” Leaning on your hand, you watch as he reads out the description.

“He’s selfish and eccentric.” His eyes raise to meet yours and his gaze carries a hint of mischief. “That’s—”

In unison, both your phones vibrate. David’s clatters against the table and you shove a hand into your bag, feeling for yours. Digging out the phone, you stand and gather your coat and bag as David grabs his own raincoat. The heels on your boots click hard against the tile in your haste to get from the restaurant to the car with as little rain contact as possible as David answers the phone, right at your heels.

Shielding yourself from the rain, you walk to the car and duck into the old thing, slamming the door shut. He slides in beside you, twisting the keys in the ignition and he hands you the radio on instinct. As the two of you pull out of the parking lot, you can’t help the warmth in your gut extinguishing.

It is so easy to pretend, sometimes. To act as if you’re people you wish you could be. A bitter taste floods your mouth as you think about moments like the ones in the restaurant, ones where you felt so perfectly normal that it’s crazy to even think about the broken parts between you and the man beside you.

But then you’re dragged back into the real world. The real world of long nights, and bullet rain, and the fact that you and David are merely co-workers who live together because that is the only way you can survive having him in your life. Any more than what he is now, the occasional hook-up, your partner in every case, it might as well break you.

It’s clockwork, working with him. Without rust or a knot in the system, you never feel like there is a task you cannot handle, a case you cannot crack. That ease, that bond, doesn’t come from something messy like what could’ve been. It comes from someone who knows your mind better than you.

The thought terrifies you at night because you sure as hell think about what could’ve been more than you’d like to admit.

Shaking yourself of the person you were in the restaurant into the person you are, you roll down the window and let rain-slick wind slice into your cheeks. There is a plastic container of gummies on the dash and you reach for it, nerves biting at your fingers. Your other hand reaches for the radio as you respond.

“This is 13-40 and 13-41. We’re five minutes out. We’ll meet the responding units there.”

Your whole body drenched in sleet-cold rain, you feel your jaw twitch as David interrogates the man into the corner of the room. You can’t help the pity welling up inside you as you gently tease your hair through a proffered towel, and you can’t help the fire burning in your stomach, warming you from the inside out.

His tactic, getting up close and personal with the potential suspect, always has a way of messing with you.

Shaking it off, you ignore the thoughts that dog at you persistently — the images of him grabbing at Alex Jones and wrenching him to his feet — as you turn away. You squeeze your hair between the towel as you walk through the halls of the station, your heels echoing in the mostly-empty building. Linoleum reflects the artificial light as you reach the locker room, pushing open the door and throwing the damp towel into the dirty wash basket.

Shedding your long rain coat, you sigh and begin to unbutton your blouse. It sticks to your skin like wet paper as the air conditioning puffs goosebumps onto your chest and arms. You unzip your boots, tugging them off before peeling away your pants and examining the status of your socks. Your badge clatters against the wooden bench as you sit down in nothing but your bra and underwear. Your nose twitching, you stare down at your toes and inhale sharply. Rain is clogging up your sinuses, but your socks are dry.

Not soaked through, so boots held up. Good.

The shower pelts against your skin, hot bullets that slam into your skull deliciously and chase whatever chill rain left on your skin as you hear the door open. Closing your eyes, you let the shower run over your face, focusing on the hissing stream over the clatter of boots you can hear.

It’s nearing 12 AM and you are sure everyone who doesn’t want to be here and don’t need to be here are gone. No one is here more than you and David. No one showers in here if they had a choice. So much for Thanksgiving. Should I be giving thanks that we might’ve caught the sick fucker already? Perhaps.

In your heart, somehow, you know it isn’t him.

Through the shuffling of fabric, you rake shampoo through your hair and begin to lather your body with soap, merely waiting until he shows up as steam begins to soak into your skin. A pair of pants drop to the tile, the clink of a belt against ceramic. Then, soft footsteps that brush against the shower tile and a shadow that blocks out the faint light. Taking a deep breath, you run your hand over your face and pull open the shower curtain.

“Come here,” you murmur over the steam rolling out of your little shower stall. David steps in through the shaft of light that pours through to your little world before thrashing the curtain back into place. The stall dims remarkably as he leans down to kiss your forehead. You step back so he can stand under your stream of burning hot water and he blinks against the current.

Your forehead rests against his collarbone. His arms rise to run hands through his hair and he cards fingers through the dark strands as your hands encircle his waist. It’s darkly intimate, and all too familiar but you can’t help the addicting heat that he provides. Water runs down his chest and over your arms as you count the tattoos on his chest. One, two, three...

“Any leads?” Your voice is barely audible over the hiss of the shower.

“Aunt’s house.” He has a tattoo of a robin mid flight along his ribcage, and you trace the arc of its wing, palm flat against his heaving ribs. It’s one you know every stroke of, one you watched being carved into his chest. Your eyes close as a finger curls underneath your chin, lifting you to him. “Open your eyes.”

You do to see strands of hair falling into his eyes, his skin red against the blistering heat of the shower. Cupping his face with one hand, you use your fingers to delicately pull away the dark slick hair. His eyes bleeding midnight, his breath ghosts against your lips as his finger trails down your neck. His hand is warm against your throat and he makes sure that your eyes do not stray. As if an astronomer can look away from the phenomenon in the universe, a clash of asteroids, a dying star. He reaches into your mind, pulls you apart like a well-worn book, and reads your thoughts like a diary entry before he pulls out and his eyes fill with shards of glass.

“This isn’t like that,” he promises, insists, convinces you, and you nod because it’s the only thing you can do. Your heart splits in your chest, thrumming in your mouth and crushing your stomach all at once as his gentle grip on your neck firms. Your hands trail his waist, fingers dancing along tattoos that used to have meaning as you count the seconds you can stay standing. “We’re gonna find these girls.”

“Yeah. I know that.”

He sighs, eyes searching your face and you kiss him fully, softly. His lips taste of wind and rainwater.

The shower turns off and the two of you step out, drying each other’s legs and arms, face and hair as is routine when you shower together, and then you get dressed. He clips your badge to your belt, you slide the ring onto his pinky finger. He zips up your boots, you clip the necklace around his neck.

Clockwork.

You toss your hair up into a tight knot and hang your raincoat over your arm. Your gut twisted, you turn to your… something. He gives you a short nod, raking his hair back with rough fingers. You shed your old self, leave it in the shower to slip into the drain.

“Let’s go.”

Whilst David went for the Birches, you stop outside the Dovers, walking up the steps. The two of you had gotten no sleep last night after the visit to the aunt’s and forensics for the RV came back negative. Caffeine rules your system as you climb the steps and ring the doorbell.

A kid no older than sixteen or seventeen answers, all pale and terrified-looking. He looks like he hasn’t slept a wink either and you press your lips together. Although you empathize with the family, you can’t afford to become attached. You nudge your coat to flash your badge and the kid steps aside. Your fingers unclench from its tight fist as you enter the home.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Ralph. Uh, my dad… I… I saw the RV first. Did my dad tell you guys that?”

You pause, turning around to spot the kid closing the door. He looks like he’s seen death, and his eyes are wide-eyed and shine under the light through the windows. Poor kid.

“Yeah, I read the statement.”

“Okay, Dad wanted me to, uh, make sure,” the boy says and you follow him to where a blonde sits on the couch, tissues littered around her. “Mom?” The woman looks up as you stick out a hand for her to shake.

“Detective Y/L/N. My partner and I are heading the case for your missing daughter.”

“Yes, of course. Sit. Do you need anything to drink?” She begins to unfurl on the couch but you simply hold out a hand. The woman’s face is sallow and thin, and she looks almost as if she is phasing from another time to your present. You sit down on the couch. Her voice scratches and you wonder when the last time she ate was, the last time she showered or drank or slept.

“I’m fine, thank you. I’m just here to…” Your voice fades as your phone vibrates in your pocket and you dig it out, turning on the screen to see an email notification from David. Opening it up, you frown at the few attachments strung along.

Better photos of the other kid. Heading over to you now. -D

“So, did we pass?” As you watch the bar across the screen signify the speed of your download, you also begin to forward the photos to the Captain.

“Hm?” You are only half-listening. Your phone vibrates again and you open up the downloaded photos, letting out a soft sigh as round, dark brown eyes stare back at you on your tiny screen. What a fucking shame.

“The poly thing. The lie detector we took this morning.” Turning off your phone, you let it fall into your tight fist as you look at the mother. She stares at you as if you hold all the answers and you swallow a tight knot. “Did we pass?”

“Yeah. You’re fine. I don’t think anyone really suspected the two of you anyway,” you say, glancing at your phone again. “Thank you for your cooperation, though. You understand — the formalities we have to take. Precautions.” You tuck a slip of hair behind your ears and her eyes flicker to the movement, gaze following your fingers. You know what she is trying to do and you interlace your fingers, hiding the permanent ink needled into your skin along your knuckles.

“Yes, of course. It’s just… it’s embarrassing. I don’t know. All this fuss — people are just going to think we’re crazy when they show up here, perfectly fine or… I don’t know.” The woman’s arms crossed tight against her chest, she doesn’t even look at you anymore. Your eyes dart to her knuckles to find them stark white, her fingers digging into the flesh of her bicep.

“Do you have any reason to believe they might’ve run away?” The words come out tough as rubber in your mouth. The woman’s eyes close and you sigh, already regretting your words. You know in your gut that that isn’t the case.

“No,” she breathes, “no. They’re happy. They… the must have run away.” A silly child’s game. The woman nods along to her own words as she tries to convince herself. Your heart crumbles to ash in your chest as you force on a smile. “I think they must have run away, right?”

“Of course, Mrs. Dover. But we’ll find them,” you assure, setting a hand gently on her knee. She seems to quiver under your palm as she swallows and looks at you with bleak, earthwet eyes.

“Your police captain told me about the two of you. Um, he said that you and your partner—” You suck in a quiet breath, already knowing what her next words are going to be. You don’t like it, the pressure, the want to keep a record pristine, but your reputation has always preceded you in cases like these. Cases where you just wanted to find the grave and be done with it when your very thought should be finding a warm body, not a cold one— “he told me that the two of you have solved every case you’ve ever been assigned. Is that right?”

Your nails dig into the flesh of your palms as you look away. You don’t want to give this woman hope, even if she needs it. It’s stupid, you realize, to stare at the reflection of yourself when you have already smashed every mirror.

Your nose twitches.

The doorbell rings. The kid, Ralph, goes to get it again as you look up at the woman. She’s beginning to break down, hiding her face in her hands as she mumbles out apologies.

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry,” she whispers through her tears as the door opens. You can see the shadow of him on the walls before he comes in and you shake your head minutely as soon as your gazes meet. Nothing here. “Do you… do you have children, detective?”

You bite your lip until you taste blood.

“We’re gonna find your daughter.” Mrs. Dover looks up jerkily, flinching at the man’s voice. Closing your eyes, you hang your head as your partner walks deeper into the room. Everything feels like it’s been scooped out of you, replaced with nothing but sick and acid.

You can’t listen to promises you aren’t quite sure you can keep anymore.

#fic: 1996 #prisoners #prisoners 2013 #detective loki #detective loki x reader #detective loki imagine #detective loki x you #detective loki x y/n #detective loki x yn #detective loki fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal x you #jake gyllenhaal x yn #jake gyllenhaal x y/n #my writing

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eilonwiiy · 4 years

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Bookends ; A Witchlands AU

Chapter 8

When Aeduan’s old partner shows up, he is confronted with a shocking piece of news. Meanwhile, Iseult learns that not talking is just as hard as talking.

Summary: Iseult det Midenzi never expected to go to a top university, so when her mother falls ill and she is forced to drop out to make ends meet, life has never seemed so unfair. But when she starts working at the local library and is unexpectedly assigned in the Children’s Room, a certain monosyllabic man and his thrice-damned demon child start showing up and Iseult begins to wonder if the threads of fate have a plan for her after all.

Previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Ships: Iseult/Aeduan, Safi/Merik, and more… stay tuned!

Tags: modern AU, college setting, family, friendship, humor, fluff, slow-burn, romance, eventual smut

Read on AO3: here

Tag list: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @lseultdetmidenzi @twilightlegacy13

* . * . * . * .

“You surprise me, partner.”

Aeduan’s jaw ticced. He didn’t need to look to know who was behind him.

“Never did hear where you ended up. Not that I asked.”

Slowly, Aeduan turned to face Lizl. She hadn’t changed since he left the force. Her dark hair was pulled in a single tight braid, not a hair out of place, leaving her amber brown face bare. Her badge gleamed against her policeman’s uniform, shiny, like she’d polished it the night before. Aeduan knew that she did. They’d been partners, after all.

As tall as Aeduan was, Lizl was taller. He rolled his gaze upward, expression flat. She was grinning smugly at him, like she’d caught him in a more nefarious act than buying coffee.

“What, no hug?” she asked innocently.

Aeduan didn’t react. “What do you want, Lizl?”

“A cup of coffee.” She folded her arms across her chest. Her posture was deceptive in its casualness. In the 14 years he’d known Lizl, he’d come to know that there wasn’t a relaxed bone in her body. “Turns out this place runs a good bargain.” She gestured to him. “Free refills and a floorshow.”

Lizl’s gaze fell to Owl in his arm and Aeduan watched her expression soften. She may have hated Aeduan’s guts, but there were lines she wouldn’t cross. She wouldn’t pull any shots in front of a child. She held herself to a strict moral code that wasn’t just reserved for convicts. It was one of the things Aeduan respected most about her.

That didn’t mean he had to like her, though.

Aeduan glanced over at the coffee counter. Iseult hadn’t come back yet and some of the tension he’d been holding since Lizl’s surprise appearance loosened. That kid was probably still talking her ear off and for that, he was grateful - even if that did mean she was suffering. He didn’t want her to see him with a cop. For some reason, he cared about what she would think. He didn’t know why, but he did.

“What do you want, Lizl?” he demanded again more firmly.

“Nothing. You’re about the last person I’d ever want to run into,” she answered, a little of her casual exterior slipping. There was a hint of sourness in her tone. Her jaw clenched and unclenched with her lips pressed firmly shut as they stared at each other.

“So,” she finally said. “Is it everything you hoped it’d be?”

“Is what everything I’d hoped it would be?” Aeduan asked, more bored than curious.

“Life without the badge.” Lizl paused. “Or your daddy’s leash.”

So much for that strict moral code.

Aeduan swiped his coffee cup off the counter and, without so much as a glance at Lizl, marched to the door and left the cafe. There were lines Aeduan wouldn’t cross in front of Owl too. If he’d stayed, he might forget that. Besides, he didn’t owe her anything. If anything, he’d done her a favor by walking away - from police force and right now.

It didn’t take long for the bells above the door to Jitters to jingle again.

“I just don’t get it,” Lizl voice knifed through the cold. It had started to flurry. “That job was your life. You were in your dad’s pocket. Set to make detective. Become head of the department when Bastien retired. Why throw it all away?”

“Why do you care?” Aeduan snarled, pivoting and getting right up in her face. He kept his voice low, not wanting to wake Owl.

Lizl frowned, not the least bit phased by him invading her personal space. “I don’t care. I’m just- confused. You could have had everything.”

“And with me out of the way you can have everything. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Make detective, have a shot at the promotion.” Lizl only stared stonily at him and Aeduan shook his head, expelling some of his frustration and replacing it with exasperation. “I don’t know why you're angry at me. We were never friends.”

Lizl nodded. “Just partners.”

“Exactly. So what is the problem? I thought you’d be happy that I left.”

A bitter laugh burst from Lizl’s mouth. “Happy?” She shook her head at the ground and dug her boot heel into the concrete, leaving little half moons in the thin layer of snow coating the sidewalk. She buried her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. She seemed to be weighing her options - over what Aeduan had no idea. He just watched, waiting. When Lizl looked up, she was grinning, but there was no amusement in it.

“You have no idea, do you?”

Aeduan’s insides went cold. “What are you talking about?”

Lizl looked off to the side. Something had shifted. The hostility was gone. She just shook her head like she couldn’t get over whatever it was she was about to say. Eventually, she looked him dead in the eye.

“I didn’t make detective.”

A line wedged itself between Aeduan’s eyebrows. He didn’t know what he had expected her to say, but he hadn’t expected that. With or without Aeduan in her way, Lizl was a shoe-in for the job, a star cadet all throughout their time at the academy, second only to Aeduan. No one worked harder than she did. Her not making detective was… inconceivable.

For the first time in months, Aeduan felt the heady rush of a facing puzzle itching to be solved. There had to be some ulterior motive on the line here. She wasn’t giving him the full picture.

“And I didn’t get the promotion.”

Aeduan’s spine straightened. He didn’t like the way Lizl was looking at him. She was still wearing that awful smile that wasn’t a smile. It set his nerves on edge.

“Would you like to know who your father picked for the job?”

Aeduan found himself tensing, bracing for the answer without asking to be told.

“Natan fon Leid.”

Natan fon Leid. It took a whole 5 seconds for the name to sink in. He’d grown into quite the impressive egotistical prick, having been a bully all of Aeduan’s childhood. He’d never really understood how or why the jerk was stationed in the Domestic Violence Unit. He wasn’t exactly a drain on the department, but as far as he could tell, there wasn’t an altruistic bone in Natan’s body. The thought of him running the DVU was unsettling to say the least.

And complete bullshit.

“My father,” Aeduan said, doing nothing to keep the venom out of his voice, “would never replace Bastien with Natan fon Leid. Bastien was a man of honor. Integrity. Natan is nothing more than a power hungry lapdog.”

“I agree,” Lizl responded without blinking an eye. “And now he’s your father’s lapdog.”

Aeduan’s chest puffed out. He hated the way his blood boiled at even the slightest mention of his father, even though they weren’t speaking - even though he had every right to despise him. He still couldn’t temper the urge to come to his defense. And that angered him even more - maybe more than anything Lizl had to say.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he ground out coldly. There wasn’t much else he could do with Owl curled into his chest.

“Ask him,” Lizl simply replied, ununciating each word crisp and cool. It sounded more like a challenge than a suggestion.

He’d do no such thing.

Aeduan had never been crazy enough to carry around some fancy notion that being partners had meant anything to Lizl. She’d never liked him. Hated him, even. But they’d worked alongside each other for years and never let their personal feelings get in the way of justice.

The snow was coming down in earnest now. Owl stirred in Aeduan’s arm breaking the tension for them. Lizl’s expression went blank and after a couple seconds of grudging deliberation, she gestured resignedly to her squad car parked by the sidewalk.

“Do you want a ride?” she asked. She sounded tired, like she already knew the answer.

Aeduan didn’t reply. He didn’t say goodbye. He just turned away from Lizl and left her standing on the sidewalk. There was nothing left to say. Not to her, at least.

* . * . * . * .

The new Fiona Apple album thrumming through Iseult's earbuds was doing nothing to cover up the lively debate going on in her head.

For what felt like the first time in forever, Iseult wasn’t working in the Children’s Room, but rather shelving books upstairs as she once used to. She should have been relieved. She could finally have a quiet evening without the stress of worrying about patrons coming up to her with questions or children unexpectedly popping up between bookshelves.

But she wasn’t relaxed. She couldn’t relax, in fact. No, instead, she was torturing herself over whether or not to call Aeduan.

Leave it to her to let a complete stranger ruin her evening of peace. She still carried his phone number from their encounter at Jitters yesterday in the safety of her pocket, and even though the first thing she'd done when she got to work was find his book, she had yet to get in touch with him.

She’d said she would, so she should. But with each hour that passed, it was growing more and more late, and the window of opportunity to call was getting smaller by the second. Surely Aeduan would still be up. But as the clock approached 9, she found herself wishing she had mustered the courage to call him during the day when it was still light outside.

For Iseult, nighttime meant winding down. Eating leftover Arithuanian takeout right out of the carton in her monkey slippers and fuzzy bathrobe. Curling up with a book and falling asleep mid-paragraph with the light on.

But this was Veñaza City and she was some weird anomaly. While she was nose-deep in Joan Didion, some twenty-something year old was taking their third shot of the evening before heading out to a party. While she was setting her phone alarm for 6 a.m., someone was texting their hook-up. While her and Safi fought over who got to take a shower first in the morning, someone was getting thrown out of a bar.

Veñaza was a college town and it was no secret to Iseult that she was living a much less thrilling life than her former peers. While normally that wouldn’t bother her (why submit herself to the experience of doing jello shots when the option to eat a jello cup and not throw up was right there?), wondering if Aeduan shared her nightime habits made her feel self-conscious. He may have had a kid, but that didn’t make him a monk.

She thought about what it would be like dialing his number and him picking up, his voice deep and rough sounding on the other end of the phone. A shiver ran through her. Then nausea.

She couldn’t do it.

Late night phone calls were reserved for hook-ups or emergencies. Not librarians.

She sighed. She was left with two choices:

She could call first thing in the morning. While she had just spent the last hour wondering what Aeduan did at night, this option brought with it another dilemma: how Aeduan spent his mornings. Iseult didn’t know why, but he seemed like the type of guy to start his day early. Down a glass of orange juice, go for a jog around the neighborhood, and be showered and dressed by 7:30 kind of guy.

Iseult shook her head. She really didn’t need to be fantasizing about his morning routine. And she definitely didn’t need to think about him showering. Nope. She definitely wasn’t thinking about him naked and dripping with water.

Stasis, Iseult. Stasis.

Then there was the more tempting and pathetic option: she could scrap calling him altogether. And what great loss would that be really? she thought to herself. It wasn’t like he was sitting by the phone waiting for her call. He probably didn’t even remember asking for the book or giving her his number in the first place. Her stomach dropped at the thought.

She was overthinking this. Big time.

She rolled back to their conversation yesterday and how Cam had interrupted them. She was sure that Aeduan had been about to ask her something just as Cam burst through the door. She didn't hold it against the kid, but she was dying to know what Aeduan was going to say. And then, of course, there was the mystery of the cop. She'd seen them talking outside. By the looks of it, it wasn't a friendly chat. It had ended with Aeduan storming off and the woman cop looking troubled.

Iseult slipped a hand into her pocket and dug out the napkin with Aeduan’s phone number. She unfolded it and looked it over, just as she had the dozen or so times since he’d given it to her. By now she’d memorized the 12 neat letters strung together in broken cursive underneath the number. Aeduan Amalej.

A pulled in a shaky breath and retrieved her phone next. For a paralyzing moment, she held them out in front of her, the number in one hand and her phone in the other. Thinking. Stalling.

“Moon Mother, you are such an idiot,” she muttered to herself before unlocking her phone - her hand shaking with nerves - and punched in Aeduan’s number.

Right into a new text message.

Ok, so she’d told him he’d call him. But this way she didn’t need to find out just how devastating her stutter be over the phone. With her sanity hanging in the balance, copping out of calling was of little consequence. There were way more pathetic things she’d done in her 21 years of living. This wouldn’t be a highlight in her memoirs.

With that in mind, she got to it and prayed that she typed faster than her determination could devolve into an entirely new spiral about whether or not a text was too casual.

* . * . * . * .

Aeduan knew he was in trouble the moment he opened the book.

Chapter One

My Father Meets the Cat

Owl’s eyes had widened as Adeuan read the words and she’d peered up at him from her place under his arm nestled into his side.

It had taken every bit of restraint he had to keep his expression neutral. The librarian just had to pick a book that featured a stray cat.

Iseult had been right though: Owl loved the book. Every night for the last week, Owl would crawl into his bed, make her nest, and sit there, impatiently waiting for him to finish meditating and running through his nightly stretches. He made sure to take his time; he wasn’t about to teach Owl that she could get anything she wanted just by giving him those sad puppy eyes of hers. He'd had plenty of practice resisting those eyes with Cora, who as a little more needy than Lisbet; Owl was powerless over him. Most of the time.

Meditation was an important, albeit unexpected, part of Aeduan’s life. It was the one lesson from Evrane that actually stuck. Sometimes he wondered why, out of everything, this one practice never wavered. Over the years, it had become more than a ritual in calming the body and quieting the mind. It had become his anchor. Something he depended on. Somewhere along the way, he’d learned that how he started and ended his day was the one thing he had true control over. He'd been taught early in life that there was no prelude to change. If he could hold on to this one thing, he would.

Luckily for Owl, he was done with meditating for tonight. Even with his years of practice, he hadn’t found much solace in it. He couldn’t get what Lizl told him yesterday out of his head.

He had told himself to forget about it the moment he’d walked away. That the police department wasn’t his problem anymore. He’d left for a reason, and even if he tried to convince himself that it was all because of Owl, he knew deep down that that wasn’t true.

Storming away from Lizl had felt good. Right. But now…

Doubt plagued his every thought. He couldn’t shake it off. This feeling that Lizl was telling the truth. They’d never liked each other, but he knew that - just like him - she respected him enough to trust him on the job. He saw it in the moments that mattered most. She was one of the good ones.

And the fact remained that Lizl wasn’t a manipulator. It wasn’t in her nature. Why bother with mind games when honesty landed harder? There really wasn’t any reason for her to lie to him. So that meant what she’d told him was the truth.

But why? Why would his father give Natan the job? He was an unmitigated piece of shit and Ragnor had always shown very little tolerance for unmitigated pieces of shit. If his father had promoted Natan to the top spot, then he had a reason. A good one.

He should just forget it, he told himself for the hundredth time.

For the next half hour, Aeduan found his mind wandering, even as he read aloud, and it was some time before he realized that Owl had drifted off to sleep.

He sighed, letting his head drop against the headboard, and the book propped up in his hand fell closed against the comforter with a soft thwump. He stared at the opposite wall, knowing he should transfer Owl to her own bed before it got any later, but he couldn’t find the motivation to move.

Lizl. Ragnor. Natan. Their names were an endless chant in his head. A chant that rang of doubt and the promise of another sleepless night for Aeduan.

There was only one way to put an end to the madness. He’d need to go directly to the source: his father.

The thought alone was enough to make Aeduan want to slide down his mattress and pull the covers over his head. He didn’t, of course. But the impulse was there, as embarrassing as that was.

It’d been 3 long months since he’d last seen his father. 3 months since he’d marched into his office, left his gun and badge on his desk, and walked out of his life. Ragnor hadn’t even tried to get in touch with him since. Aeduan hadn’t expected him to.

He didn’t know how he felt about that. Hurt, probably. His father’s silence was louder than most. But Aeduan was the last bit of Dysi left on this earth. Had it been easy for his father to let go of his only son? He’d done that with everything else that reminded him of Dysi after she’d passed, so why not him too?

Pressure pounded behind Aeduan’s eyes. His head ached. Not getting more than an hour or two of sleep the night before must have been catching up to him. Maybe he’d just let Owl stay in his bed. If he were being honest with himself, he didn’t want to be alone right now.

A soft chime broke the silence in the bedroom. Curious, Aeduan turned to his nightstand where the sound had come from. His phone softly glowed with activity and he could see the animated little envelope on the screen that meant he had a new text message. Careful not to disturb Owl, he reached for the phone and grabbed it from the stand. He settled back against his pillows, expecting to see something from Lisbet, the only person he had the patience to text with - even if she did bombard him with memes he didn’t understand. Before even opening the message, he was all ready to tell her to get off her phone and go to bed.

But it wasn’t Lis.

It was an unknown number. He frowned. But then he read the message, and he realized who it was. His heart stopped.

Unknown Number – 9:07 PM

>> I found the book you wanted. I put it on hold for you. You can come pick it up anytime.

>> (Hi. This is Iseult from the library.)

Without even realizing it, the noise in Aeduan’s head faded to nothing. Iseult had said she’d let him know about the book, but he was still surprised to hear from her. And - he thought, checking the time - so late.

He reread the message a couple more times before clicking the screen off. He was about to return his phone to the nightstand when he paused.

He should probably respond with… something.

Aeduan pulled his hand back, easing back on to his pillows, and opened the message. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, trying to think of something to say. His eyes flicked to Owl, dead asleep next to him, then he began typing.

Aeduan - 9:18 PM

>> Ok.

Well. Ok then. Obligation fulfilled.

Aeduan took off his reading glasses and stowed them along with his phone on his nightstand before he switched off the lamp, plunging the room in darkness. He settled beneath his covers and rested his head on his pillow. He felt the ball of warmth that was Owl curled up beside him. Moonlight streamed in from the windows, and for a few quiet minutes, he watched the snow falling outside.

An hour later, Aeduan rolled over and reached for the phone on his nightstand.

Aeduan - 10:16 PM

>> I’ll come by tomorrow and pick it up.

#the witchlands #witchlands #baeseult #iseult det midenzi #aeduan #lizl #iseult x aeduan #truthwitch #bookends #my fic #mine

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bearholdingashark · 4 years

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Music Shuffle Ficlets (Cablanca Edition)

I’ve been struggling with writing motivation lately, but wanted to write something so I put my music on shuffle and wrote ten ficlets one song for each. I’ve put the actual stories under the cut for length (they’re about 1300 words in total), but the songs were:

On The Street Where You Live -- My Fair Lady

Poison & Wine -- The Civil Wars

Come Fly With Me -- Michael Buble

Secrets -- OneRepublic

Gone In The Morning -- Newton Faulkner

Fix You -- Coldplay

Love Makes The World Brand New -- Galavant

Taking Chances -- Celine Dion

Sober -- James Arthur (As an FYI, this one is a little steamy, but not crossing that smut line. :D)

Do I Wanna Know? -- Arctic Monkeys

On The Street Where You Live -- My Fair Lady

Benoit drove up the driveway to Marta’s house and it was amazing how different it felt from when he was investigating Harlan’s death. She hadn’t changed much on the outside of the house, but somehow knowing that Marta lived here now, that it was not a Thrombey household any longer, seemed to make all the difference.

As soon as he got out of his car and began walking toward the house, the front door opened and a smiling Marta greeted him.

“Benoit,” she said, moving to hug him when he reached her.

He held her close, but not too long, reveling in the feel of her soft warmth against him.

She pulled back, her smile still wide and easy, and yes it had everything to do with this beautiful woman that made the house feel so much more welcoming.

Poison & Wine -- The Civil Wars

Benoit glanced at Marta out of the corner of his eye as he looked around the study. For not being able to lie, she was very good at pretending she had nothing to do with Harlan’s death. He wasn’t sure what her involvement had been yet, but he wanted to keep her close until he did.

It had to do with the case, and nothing to do with the strange draw he felt toward her. There was something about Marta Cabrera, something that made him want to find out more, to solve her like one of his puzzles.

She was beautiful to be sure, but there was something more to her. He didn’t think her kindness was entirely put on. She was complicated, as all people were, but her complexities drew him to her, made him want her close.

Come Fly With Me -- Michael Buble

Marta grinned as she and Benoit walked down the crowded street. It was their first real vacation together, all their other travel had been for cases. When the idea of a vacation had come up, she’d known she wanted to take him to Cuba, introduce him to her relatives, and show him more about the places that made her who she was. She wanted him to know everything about her, and know everything about him in turn. They had a tour to Benoit’s old Southern haunts already planned.

She gave his hand a squeeze.

“What is it?” he asked with a curious smile.

“I’m just happy you’re here with me,” she said, with a shrug, her smile feeling like it would never leave her face.

“I would not want to be anywhere else, darling.”

Secrets -- OneRepublic

Marta looked up into Blanc’s impossibly blue eyes. She had been trailing after him all day, trying to hide the truth at every turn, her nausea almost unbearable at times. She was just so tired of the running and the hiding.

She needed to tell him the truth and she needed to tell him now. With a deep breath, and hoping like crazy she wasn’t making a mistake, she opened her mouth. “I need to tell you the truth.”

He looked at her with those piercing eyes and she had the feeling that what she was about to tell him wasn’t going to be a surprise.

“I think that would be a good idea, Watson,” he said, his voice level.

With a nod and the thought that this would have been different with any other detective, she began her tale.

Gone In The Morning -- Newton Faulkner

Benoit settled into bed, the room dark as he wondered if she would be in his dreams again tonight. Marta Cabrera had been featuring in his dreams the past few nights and he’d found himself looking forward to their nightly adventures.

The dreams themselves were innocent, although he still felt a slight sense of shame. He dreamed of them solving cases together, spending time at his place and hers, domestic scenes that his heart ached for.

But when he woke, she was gone and he was alone again. He had seen her in person only last week, and they kept in touch, but he found himself wishing for the reality of his dreams.

Fix You -- Coldplay

Benoit reached out his arms as tears began to fall down Marta’s cheeks, and without a word, she fell into his embrace. He held her tightly as he rubbed his hands across her back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. He didn’t know yet what exactly had caused her tears, but as it was only a month after Harlan’s death and everything that had come with that, he could make a few educated guesses.

He didn’t want her to feel the pain, but knew there was nothing he could do to take it away. All he could do was be there and hold her when she let him, all her to rest in his arms as she knit her heart back together.

He would be there to do it. Until she told him to leave, he would gladly be a safe harbor for her to weather her storms in. After several minutes, she pulled back, wiping at her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding embarrassed.

“Don’t be,” he said simply. “Whenever you need comforting, you can call on me.”

Love Makes The World Brand New -- Galavant

Marta couldn’t help her wide smile as she walked out of her house. It was an overcast day, but it looked beautiful and she couldn’t keep her mood down.

She knew it had mostly to do with the fact that Benoit had told her loved her the night before, and she had been so happy to know her feelings were reciprocated.

Alice had already teased her about her mood that morning, but Marta hadn’t been able to find it in herself to be annoyed. Benoit loved her, what did a little teasing matter?

Taking Chances -- Celine Dion

Marta bit her lip as Benoit gathered his coat and shoes. He had been over to check on her see how she was faring with everything that had happened.

She still didn’t know him very well, but she felt like she could call him a friend and she trusted him. And she didn’t want him to go.

“What if you stayed tonight?” she asked, it all coming out in a rush as he turned to look at her. “You could stay in one of the guest rooms. There are so many and it’s late. I don’t like the idea of you driving back at this hour.”

She could barely look at him, sure he would see everything she wasn’t saying. She wasn’t quite ready to move to more than their fledgling friendship, but she also knew she didn’t want him to leave.

A soft smile curved across his lips. “I would like that.”

Sober -- James Arthur

Benoit held Marta close as they swayed around the living room, the lit fireplace the only light. It felt sacred here with her at this late hour and even though they hadn’t had anything to drink, he felt intoxicated, filled with the fel and smell of her.

She looked up at him and they moved towards each other at the same moment, their lips meeting in the middle. She opened her mouth to him and he moaned. He was dressed more simply than he usually was and she slipped her hand under his shirt, the feel of her hand against his bare skin heavenly.

Soon, all pretense of the dance had stopped as they slowly removed each other’s clothing. Her mouth against him, her bare skin under his hands felt like worship.

Do I Wanna Know? -- Arctic Monkeys

Marta woke slowly, reality replacing the sweetness of her dreams. She frowned as she realized that’s all it had been. She and Benoit had been over at her house, cuddling on the family room couch. It had been so vivid, she could still feel how his body had feit against hers.

She blew out a breath as she looked up at the ceiling. They had been moving towards something, but neither of them had been brave enough to make the first move. She wanted to be with him. This was ridiculous.

She didn’t know for sure if he returned her feelings, but she knew now that she wanted the answer, no matter what it was. Reaching out for her phone on the nightstand, she opened up her messages. Maybe he was free tonight?

#knives out #cablanca #my fic #it was nice to write them #without having to really worry about it actually going anywhere

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melodizes · 5 years

Text

~ Devil May Care ~ @maildt

Some memories are forgotten.

“Александр, ты можешь держать ребенка?” (Alexander, can you hold the baby?)

Some fade over time.

“6 DEAD AND 4 HOSPITALIZED DUE TO ACCIDENTAL RADIATION EXPOSURE IN RUSSIA.”

But some are remembered vividly.

“He’s dead?! But—But how?!”

It really just depends on what you concern yourself with, or at least that’s what we tell ourselves.

“But Mello!”

“Don’t waste your breath!”

Roger didn’t. No one did, not even as one of their own walked out the doors for the final time and disappeared into darkness. Um, hello? Child protective services much? Since when was fourteen years old an acceptable time to start “living my own life?”

Wammy’s House: the orphanage, the institution, the asylum. It cranked out little monsters, but perhaps if one of those monsters could escape early, he would be okay. Alternate tried. He wasn’t. But Mello wasn’t Alternate. Mello was, well, Mello.

So clearly, he wouldn’t be okay either.

The first month was the hardest. He had nothing. Not a home, nor family, nor money. The boy had never truly felt like an orphan until then. Countless times he found himself locked in public bathrooms in tears, wanting out. Eventually, the gaps between breakdowns grew wider and wider, and Mello found himself gradually building a wall, day by day, brick by brick. Each individual brick was made of pride, and the mortar used to hold them together was purpose. His construct would have been seamless, if he hadn’t built it in sand. Rage is not a stable foundation.

Still, his castle hadn’t fallen yet, and he was a king.

Blood, sweat, and tears were all it took to put himself at the front of the Mafia—well, those amongst other things. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was afraid the first time he held a gun. Afraid the first time he shot someone. Afraid the first time he was in a room with a bunch of men older and bigger than him. He was afraid the first time he had sex, and maybe a little afraid the next few times after that too. He tried some drugs and those scared him. He didn’t like to get drunk, and whenever he was the focus of a shootout, he felt a bit of a rush. That was a good thing.

Mello liked the rush. He loved it, really. It turned his fear into his strength. With a hit of adrenaline and coke, there was nothing he couldn’t do. Although the details of what lead up to his encounter with Rod Ross are insignificant, know that the boy-to-man-grown-up-too-fast had to accomplish a great deal of despicable deeds to earn the mountain of a man’s respect. As a certain God of Mischief would say, his ledger is gushing red.

His passport says twenty-four, but little did anyone know that an eighteen year old was at the head of the Mafia. It was the natural choice. Other than the good guys (if you can really call L, Near, and his group of blind monkeys that), who else wanted Kira dead? Together with the bad guys, Mello had an army.

Did that make him the bad guy?

Duh.

He coughed. He has a bloody nose and sinus infection from all the dust in this place. “Damn,” his voice rasped, pulling a tissue out of his pocket to wipe up the blood and throw it on the ground like a world-class champion. The sooner they can get out of here, the better.

These days, it’s weapons deal after weapons deal, and it always ends with someone else’s blood dried up under his fingernails. Disgusting. Taking another wet tissue, our blond princess wiped his hands clean and gently shoved his gloves back on each perfectly-manicured hand, one by one. His ego was inflated now.

He looked up from behind his men and grinned as he observed his plan approaching fruition. Whatever gold mine of a trade agreement they had just struck with a subset of the Syrian Military Council was enough to get his men the power they wanted, in addition to the support of an old enemy. It was a ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ type of situation. Look at that, Kira. Criminals all over the world working together because they want you dead. How touching.

That goal, however, disguised his real reasons for coming here. Unfortunately and in case the following information is somehow unbeknownst to you, though it is albeit the most obvious information in possibility the entire universe, Mello is a little bitch.

Meaning that he is a liar, and the one thing he does not yet have is insurance. Though he may have his own army, pissing off people all over the world and some even in his own vicinity casts a bit of a death warrant on his head, and that isn’t even including the man, the myth, the legend: Kira. He couldn’t even begin to keep track of all the people that would love to have his sexy-ass head on a stick in their living room. Although, maybe those people should just stick to the normal ways of assassination and stop binge-watching Game of Thrones.

Nonetheless, he needs insurance. Mello talks a lot of shit about wanting to be the best and not letting anyone get in his way, but none of his Mafia associates are actually aware of what that entails. Surely, if they were to see how truly childish his desires were, and what’s more, the predicted outcome of what he is trying to achieve, his own army might even turn around and strike him down. Not to mention, he knows they will try to strike him down when Mello finally betrays every single one of them once he’s gotten everything he wanted. That is something that will not do, but let them try.

Mello makes perfect plans. They’re flawless, and he won’t account for things spinning out of turn, which is a problem. No good detective needs a back-up plan, do they? Near certainly doesn’t have one. L didn’t, but that is why Mello and Near were dragged into this situation in the first place. L was supposed to find Kira and execute him, but he got killed, and L didn’t prepare for that. The one fucking job that so-called genius detective had was to pick a successor and he couldn’t even fucking do that. Just how competent was he then? That institution had kids literally killing themselves over the push to be the next L. Mello might as well have done the same fucking thing. God, it infuriated him just thinking about it, but he couldn’t have that, because it shook his castle.

So then, L, is this enough? Have I proved myself yet? By seeking help and having a backup plan in case things go wrong, am I capable yet?!

Mello grit his teeth, staring out the darkened window of the car that was taking his team to their hotel. He noticed that one of the other guys was staring at him before quickly looking away when Mello met eye contact. Damn, he needed to swallow down his anger.

When the car stopped and everyone departed, Mello collected himself and retired to his room. It wasn’t until late that night that he made a run for it, fully disguised in a completely inconspicuous (cue the eyeroll) feathery black coat in the heat of Syrian summer. He was sweating. It was hot as balls. But he needs someone to trust. Someone who knows the depth of his will and will aid him in the fight, at least, to take down Kira. No one saw him though. He knew they wouldn’t because he knew these men all too well and what they would be doing right about now. Alcohol, drugs, and orgies. Fun, fun, fun in the Syrian sun!

His nose was starting to bleed again. He was high on coke, but hell, he needed the energy for what he was about to do. Swearing to himself, he took a rolled up cotton swab and stuck it in his nose like the little kid in Wammy’s school that always has a nose bleed. Super attractive male right there. Wet with sweat and what looks like a tampon hanging out of his nose. And he probably smells great too.

But he supposed Matt was that kid. He used to get nosebleeds a lot from what Mello could remember. The two were never very close but Mello considered him tolerable. Maybe Matt felt stronger about him though, because Mello was a pretty self-centered child. He didn’t tell anyone other than Roger and Near that he was leaving before he vanished. He supposed that Matt was the closest thing he had to a friend back then, but then again, he didn’t really consider anyone to be his friend. Though perhaps he was just playing the role of the victim. The child arrived at Wammy’s when he was very young, and he was always a tantrum-y child, excelling at playing up the “poor me I’m second” card.

Good memories were sparse, but he did have some with Matt. The other made him laugh a few times. They shared a few classes, especially the high-level ones, because Matt was supposed to be a successor too. It was clear he didn’t want it though. Mello never understood how Matt could be so carefree in that environment. The kid would rant about the government and anarchy, and Mello thought it was all bullshit. How could the world run peacefully without government? Impossible, he thought, but Mello was all black and white. It was like Matt was

Grey.

There was always a part of Mello that was wary of Matt. He was thankful the other never applied himself as much as Mello did, but he knew that if he had, then there was a good chance that Mello wouldn’t have been in the running to be L in the first place. But then again, maybe not. How smart could he really be if he believed all the shit he would spew in their political science classes? To Mello, he seemed backwards.

That was alright though. If he was still the same person as he remembered, then the Mafioso was sure that he would be down to pursue Kira—or in other words, be his backup plan. And even if he wasn’t, Mello was ready to persuade him by any means necessary. Surely the boy could live with a missing finger or toe. Who knows! Whatever it may be, he surely wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. Also, he didn’t really have any other choices.

As disgusting as ever, the pile of sweat and clogged nostrils carried on through the night. He managed hail down a taxi that would take him to his hopefully-correct destination, his Arabic wasn’t perfect though so it was a bit of a hassle. If his sources were correct, and they always were, then Matt was exactly where he always said he’d be. Now, it was just a matter of tracking him down and getting him alone to reveal his grand-ole plan like a stereotypical villain in a superhero movie. Would that make Matt the hero?

After about a two hour ride, the car slowed down as it pulled up to a nightclub. It was hidden, behind what appeared to be a store selling ceramics and other craft-work. Mello had conned someone earlier that week into giving him the proper knock and password so that when he was questioned, he could spit some Kurdish sentence out with ease. It was quite funny actually. He sold off one of his own men’s oxycodone for the intelligence, and then accused the same man of deceitful drug trade in exchange for the exact same information. Both men involved are dead.

The best way to tie your loose ends is to just cut them off.

Blue and pink lights welcomed him, but the bass is what really sent him on edge. Damn, he forgot how well a good buzz mixed with music. He did his best to keep his toothy grin down and moved further into the room, making note of all that was around. Taking the tissue out of his nose and tossing it to the ground (2 for 2), he pulled his hood up more. The real threat here was that someone other than Matt would recognize him. Fortunately, he hadn’t been to this part of the country yet, and so the threat was not as intense. As always, he remained cautious, sinking into the shadows. Now, the real game can begin.

#maildt #starter #rp

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