#give me a black woman who gets splashed by a passing car right after getting her hair relaxed

[petewentzisblack1312]

we need more black women in the writers room because we need more cringefail terrible black women characters but they will not be well written if someone who isnt a black woman writes them

[nova2kss]

No chill

Plug!Connie x black reader

Ever since you and Connie first had sex, he’s had NO chill.Connie didn’t necessarily do anything for you to block him, he only gave you the best dick and aftercare of your life and damn near had you in love with him.

That’s why he absolutely HAD to be blocked otherwise you would’ve probably be impregnated with his seed right now! Per your request.

You knew Connie had been trying to get in contact with you from the various text now numbers that have swarmed your phone since the morning he woke up expecting to see you on his bed side, only for him to wake up to you long gone with no way of contacting you.

His first instinct that morning was to text your mutual friend Sasha and figure out what the fuck was going on, there was absolutely no way in hell you were about to give him some heavenly pussy and then block him on everything including TikTok.

Connie had to find a way to see you and if you weren’t going to face him like the grown woman you claim you are he would have to come up with a way to make you see him.

You sprayed your face with the urban decay all nighter setting spray, the night you were about to have with your friends Sasha and Mikasa you needed your makeup on all damn night!

Just finished flat ironing that all black 30 inch buss down, applying gloss, and blinking the FUCK out your mink eyelashes, you felt unstoppable right now.

The outfit you wore was basic, but the face made up for it, besides according to Sasha she was just throwing a small kickback with a few familiar friends EXCLUDING Connie.

You had to make sure the excluding Connie was very much mentioned when she pitched the idea, and she promised you that he wouldn’t be there even tho she had no idea why you don’t want him around you anyway.

You couldn’t tell her cause it would be far to embarrassing to say “I can’t be around him because the dick is toooo good and I’m gonna become an obsessed dickmatized slut if I keep talking to him”

Not that it was any of their business anyway.

As you were getting lost in your thoughts you got a text from your group chat

“Y/nnnnn we’re outsideeee”

Getting up so excitedly after not being out the house for so long, it felt nice to finally get out the house and even it was for just for a few moments.

Walking out of your apartment doors you spot Sasha’s blacked out kia k5, sash in the passenger since Mika didn’t drink she would’ve been the designated driver.

Hopping in the car happy as fuck! To see your girls after a long time, when you got in reaching up to the front to give them hugs you noticed the opened Don Julio and Hennessy bottles sitting under Sasha feet.

“Damn bitch you started without me?”laughing as she was already bending down to pass you one of the bottles

“I’m sorry pookie I couldn’t wait, you know I wasn’t gone leave you hanging tho” sash responded laughing obviously tipsy

Taking your sip twisting your face as the burning sensation hit the back of your throat, it was never a feeling you could get used to.

The effects you loved tho.

Mikasa driving while west district by party next door played had you zoned out and before you knew it you were outside of Sasha’s big ass house

Multiple cars parked around the block, and at this point you were confused cause it was supposed to be a small kick back??

“Umm Sasha this is a big ass party” you could literally even see people splashing around in the pool.

“It was supposed to fucking be” she said visibly upset

She seemed to have sobered up seeing all these people here, it was evident that she didn’t know all these people were gonna be here.

She immediately got up and stormed inside looking to see where would yall friend group be since somebody in there had to be the culprit that told one to many mofucking people, and of course you and Mika stormed right behind her cause who was running they mouth like that.

as soon as y’all spotted yall group you all stormed over there

Until you spotted a familiar face that had you stopping in your tracks.

Upon Sasha running up to the corner the resided in heads turned toward her, seeing Sasha Connie instantly turned his head past her looking for you.

And he seen you, frozen and confused, his eyes seemed to have darken looking at you, and you didn’t know what thoughts ran through his head you just know they weren’t good ones.

Slipping past an upset Sasha making his way towards you his brown eyes locked on yours.

You don’t know why you didn’t move, walk away, or just leave.

Part of you wanted to see him yes possibly for an apology maybe but the other part really didn’t, I mean there was a reason you blocked him right?

His hand touched yours bringing you out of your thoughts, you weren’t scared just confused because why is he not mad at you?

“Hi..?” The tone of confusion is very evident on your voice

Connie didn’t respond with words, instead he quickly wrapped his hand around your neck bringing you face to face.

“Why’d you block me y/n”

You were to stunned and turned on to speak, his grip tightened around your neck making you whimper and close your eyes

“You don’t wanna speak baby? Mhm k” he let go of your neck and grabbed your hand leading you to the steps of the home

The butterflies in your stomach were going crazy as You could only imagine what he was about to do to you.

“Mmph mmphhhhh”

The squelching as Connie fucking your throat was absolutely disgusting.

His hands resided on the sides of your face roughly thrusting into your mouth as you sat in front of him on your knees, spit dripping down his shaft and down your chin.

“Ouuu fuck ma” Connie hisses

“You don’t wanna tell me why? Ima just have to fuck it out of you baby”

He gripped your hair, pulling you away from his dick, gasping for air as you came up.

With one hand on your hair and the other resting below your chin he looked down at you

“Open your mouth” complying with no further complaints Connie spat directly on to your tongue not letting you swallow before sticking his fingers down your mouth.

Pushing you backward onto the bed he sat on his knees, grabbing your thighs before licking a long stripe up to your clit.

The moan you let out was audible, your skirt still on thong to the side as Connie constantly lapped up on your juices.

The fingers that were previously in your mouth began to rub ferociously at your clit while he tongue fucked you.

You Tried to push his head away, an unsuccessful attempt to get away from the brutal pleasure you were receiving

It was all to much

“Co-con pleaseee, oh myyy FUCKKK”

The orgasm washed over you quicker than you anticipated it to.

Your juices rushing out against his face as he desperately tried to suck up every last drop, while rubbing against your clit with his four fingers.

It was all to much and you felt like you seriously couldn’t take it, not when even after you squirted all on his face he still was licking your soaked slit.

“Mmphhh”, his long arms wrapped around your thighs as you tried to run as he kept his face nuzzled into your pussy.

“Stop trynna run from me mama” his arms had your legs on lock you couldn’t move

“He gave your sensitive bud one last lick before he came up gripping your neck pulling you in for the sloppiest kiss.

“Vas a decirme por qué me bloqueaste, incluso si tengo que joderte, bebé”

You had no idea what he just said, but to be honest you don’t really care with the way he had your ankles resting on his shoulders, just watching him stroke his thick veiny shaft.

His reddened tip had pre cum leaking out of it

He took his thumb and wiped some of it sticking his thumb in your mouth making you moan at the salty taste

“You so wet for me mama” he moaned sliding his tip up your slit

The gasp you both let out as he slipped inside of you was universal

He laid his head by yours as you wrapped your legs and arms around

Moaning at the feeling of his thick cock stretching out your warm walls

The feeling was so so good it had you moaning at the thought of just getting fucked by him.

“Connie m-move please baby”

He followed your command slowly pushing more in groaning slightly

“You want me to fuck you baby?”

“Mhm hmmm” you answered so quickly shaking your head

“No y/n I told you this last time” he said grabbing your chin lightly slapping your face “do you want me to fuck you?” The whine you let out was so desperate.

He was so sexy being this dominant

“Yes Connie please fuck me”

His thrust sped up immediately

Your neck was his hands resting place as he fucked into you

You felt so good right now his moans in sync with yours

In fact everything was in sync

The rhythm of everything matched together perfect like a puzzle piece

His hot heavy breathing in your air had you feral

“Oh my fu… Connie you’re so deeppp”

You swear you felt him in your brainnnnn, this is why you couldn’t keep talking to this man he was hitting it so right.

“Where you feel me at baby”

You couldn’t respond, not with the way he was fucking on you

“Y/n talk to me” he wanted you to speak cause he had a lot of things to question you about.

“Con I can’t” you cried out, eyes shut legs shaking, and your orgasm nearing

“Oh yes you can mama, if You can tell me you can’t you can tell me where you feel this dick y/n”

You moaned, he was talking to you so nasty and you loved it

“I feel it baby” you whined in response

“right here” your hand lightly rested on the bottom of your stomach

His hand reach down pressing onto your lower abdomen making your mouth form an O shape

“Oh shit connieee fuck”

“Mhmm I know mami, I know”

The pressure, combined with his slow sloppy strokes had you about to come.

“Connie I’m gonna cum, oh fuck I’m gonna cum”

The words were rushing out of your mouth quicker than you can think.

“Cum for me baby, cum on this dick baby”

And that you did with a long drawn out moan you were squirting and creaming all over his throbbing dick.

“Oh fuck ma” his thrust were slowing down trying not to nut with you

“Intentas volverme loco en este coño y dejarte embarazada, ¿eh?”

He pulled out slowly rubbing against your slit

“Turn around and get on all fours”

“Connie.” You puffed out of breath

“Nah turn around, you still gotta tell me why you blocked me mama.”

AHHHH I need him so bad

Did y’all like it? And as always not proof read

The first ep of influencer island is coming….once I start writing it 🙂‍↕️

[thatswhatthepoetssay]

Born in Flames |

Tate Langdon x Reader

Word Count: 1,012

synopsis: Can the devil himself find comfort in simple things? Or does he crave something more cynical..

We are born alone and we die alone, but what happens after?

The raindrops were flowing down the car window as houses passed me by in a frenzy of color. My parent’s car pulls at a stop next to the shiny black gates of the famous “Murder House.” The new residence of the Harmon family, the perfect home to start over.

“Alright girls, why don’t you head inside and pick out your bedrooms.” Says Vivian as she starts to gather her belongings.

The wooden floors creaked as Violet and I stepped through the threshold of the mansion. Walking up the grand staircase was like descending into the unknown yet familiar abyss. The smell of vinegar was overpowering to say the least, in an attempt to get away from it I stepped into the first room I could find.

It was a bedroom with cerulean colored walls, two windows next to each other and arcs decorating the ceiling. The room reminded me of my childhood, before my parent’s murder that is.

In 1994 both of my parents got invited to speak at a local high school. I was two years old when I received the news of my parents death. Turns out the day that they were visiting the school, some kid decided to play god. He shot and killed fifteen people that day, two of them being my parents.

Since Vivan knew my parents, she offered to adopt me. After a long plane ride from California to Massachusetts I finally met my step sister, Violet. During our childhood Vi and I got along quite well, but as high school came around we drifted apart.

Now because of Ben I was standing in a house a few blocks away from my family home. Finding out that you are moving to Los Angeles sounds like a dream right? Wrong, it felt more like a waking nightmare, but both Ben and Vivian were sure that this was the place to be.

——————————————————————————

“So, is this the room that you picked?” Questions Violet as she enters the azule bedroom.

“Um yeah I guess so.. it has a nice atmosphere.” I answer while giving the room one last look.

After our short exchange both Violet and I head back downstairs to help our parents with the boxes. The movers arrived shortly after to move in our furniture and the heavier items. Overall the day seemed to be going quite well, peaceful even. That is until one of our neighbors decided to pay us an unexpected visit.

Turns out that said neighbour was a middle aged woman who lived in the house next to ours. She spent most of her visit talking to Vivian, but of course after a while she came around to greet the entire family. After a quick “hello” in Ben’s direction and a brisk conversation with Violet, it was my turn to meet the blonde woman.

“Saving the best for last I see… you must be YN. I’m Constance, I live next door.” Said the blonde as she made her way to where I was standing.

“Yes ma’am that’s me, it’s lovely to meet you.” I tried my best to sound as genuine as possible, but it was hard to deny that Constance gave me the creeps. Something about her just didn’t sit right with me.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes… and so well mannered.” Said Constance as she studied me for a few more moments before moving on. By the time she said her goodbyes to Ben and Vivian, I was already heading up the grand staircase.

——————————————————————————

After a few more hours of unpacking, it was time to head off to bed. I grabbed my pajamas along with some hygiene products and headed off to the bathroom.

The cold water felt so refreshing against my flushed face, the LA heat was definitely no joke. As I continued splashing my face with the cooling liquid, I swear I felt a sudden gust of wind hit my bare legs.

Not bothering to wipe my face with the towel, I moved closer to the air conditioning duct. No matter how close my hand was to the vent, I couldn’t feel any of the frigid air from before. After a while I decided to forget about the incident and try to get some sleep.

My first night in the famous “Murder House” went by quickly and rather peacefully. For the first time in months I could truly say that I got a good night's rest. This was the first night in a long time that I didn’t have any nightmares, it felt as if someone scared them away.

——————————————————————————

The following morning went by in a blurry haze, and before I knew it the time on the clock read four pm. I decided to head downstairs and make myself some chamomile tea. As I was waiting for the tea kettle I heard a light knock on the front door. When I opened it I was expecting to see Constance or maybe the mailman, however both of those guesses were wrong.

It was a boy around my age, if not a bit older, he had blonde curly hair and wore a 90’s style outfit.

“Hello, I’m Tate. I uh live next door.”

“I’m YN, come on in.” I responded as I moved out of the way so that he could get in the house.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Tate commented on the decorations and furniture we put up the day prior.

“Oh um thanks, not to be rude but did you need something?” I questioned as the blonde looked at the picture frames hanging on the walls.

“Yeah actually here to see Ben Harmon.”

“You’re a patient of his?” I asked as my curiosity got the best of me.

Before Tate could answer, Ben came out of his office and introduced himself to the blonde. After a few minutes of small talk, Ben guided Tate towards the office and just like that both of them disappeared behind the closed doors.

——————————————————————————

PS. Im going to be taking a break soon but I will be back here in a few weeks. Requests are open so please feel free to send them! <3

[heynikkiyousofine]

Nov. 7th, 2022 InuPrompts: Direction

Good Directions and Sweet Tea

read me on ao3

Inuyasha bit into the pork rind, the crunch satisfying to his ears as the summer sun scorched his skin. I’m gonna need to invest in some sunscreen if this sunshine don’t go away anytime soon. Sitting in the back of his blue pick up truck, he stared out at his ranch, admiring the wild horses that had come to graze along his fenceline.

Flicking his ears, he caught the gentle purr of a sports car headed his way. Glancing down the road, he was shocked to see a cherry red convertible driving towards him with hollywood on the license plate, but what caught his attention was the beauty driving it. Who is that?

She had dark locks that blew about in the wind, the black blue shade unique to anyone around here. Her eyes were hidden behind large round sunglasses, but he could see the tiny freckles splashed across her nose as she pulled to a stop, just a few feet away from him.

He waited, watching her lick her lips before giving him a heart stopping smile and waving him over. Leaping down from the back of his truck, he hoped he didn’t appear too rough after a long morning doing chores around his place. She must think I’m redneck or somethin’ with the way I look.

“Howdy ma’am, what can I do ya for?” He asked politely, not wanting to scare the woman away.

“Hi! I’m so glad I found you!” She lifted her sunglasses, revealing a pair of chocolate eyes that he could spend the rest of his life swimming in. “I’m lost and looking for the interstate. Could you give me directions?” She sure is gorgeous.

“I’m the man for the job.” Inuyasha grinned, flexing his muscles as he leaned against her car. She blushed, her smile broadening and he wondered if he had died and gone to heaven. “Alright, so stay on this road and keep goin’ til ya get to a caution light. On the corner, there’s a lil’ country store with an old coke sign. Old Kaede runs it and she makes the best sweet tea in this region, so before ya head back to where ya goin’.”

She nodded enthusiastically, listening to his every word.

“Once ya do that, take a left and it’ll take straight back to the interstate. Ya can’t miss it.” He pointed with his thumb in the general direction. “If ya take a right, you’ll end up comin’ right back here to me.”

“Oh, thank you so much. You’ve been a big help!”

The woman quickly waved goodbye, turning her volume up, the pop music fading as she drove away. Pulling his ratted ball cap from his back pocket, Inuyasha growled. I should’ve asked her name at least. I doubt I’ll ever see her again, but it would’ve nice to know the woman I’d be dreamin’ about tonight. Fuck, I could’ve been in love. Maybe I could catch on up to her…

He knew well that his old Ford wouldn’t run her down, thinking she probably didn’t like him anyhow. She was just being polite to a complete stranger. Giving the road one last glance, he sighed as she disappeared into a cloud of dust. Deciding to eat his lunch, Inuyasha cracked open a beer as he settled back on the tailgate.

A half hour passed and before he knew it, the cherry red convertible was driving towards him once more. This heat must be playin’ tricks on me. There’s no way in hell the woman of my dreams is comin’ back to me.

He waited silently, his body tense as she turned off her engine and stepped out, revealing the perfect figure in jean cropped shorts and a simple tee shirt, the woman holding two large cups in her hands. Swallowing, he slowly rose to his feet, his amber eyes colliding with hers, his heart pounding in his chest.

“So, um, I stopped and asked Miss Kaede for her sweet tea.” She held one out for him, smiling softly. “I had this strange feeling, that something felt right and she sent me back here to you.”

“Thanks for the tea.” He laughed, knowing his neighbor probably had a plan up her sleeve. Kaede’s known for always tryin’ to set me up. “I’m Inuyasha, by the way.”

“I’m Kagome.”

“Would you like to come in?” He offered, unsure of what to say next. She nodded, biting her lip and he suddenly had the urge to kiss her. Deciding to walk her inside, figuring the kissing could later, he glanced up at the southern sky. Thank kami for good directions and sweet tea.

tag list

@blairex��� ; @mamabearcat​ ; @enchantedink-ag​​ ; @splendentgoddess​​ ; @mandirox89​​ ; @sailorlolo​​ ; @mustardyellowsunshine​​ ; @hny-moroha​​ ; @knittingknots​​ ; @yukinon-writes​​ ; @clearwillow​​ ; @keichanz​​ ; @serial-doubters-club​​ ; @malditamigs​​ ; @zelink-inukag​​ ; @shinidamachu​​ ; @bonny2323​​ ; @banksdelivers​​ ; @that-one-nerdy-gal​​ ; @sarahk21​​ ; @dchelyst​ ; @anisaanisa​​ ; @lavendertwilight89​​ ; @otaku-108​​ ; @sailorbabydoll92​​ ; @inukagbot​​ ; @queerkagome​​ ; @bluehawaiicat​​ ; @chit-a-to​​ ; @liz8080​​ ; @lightmidnight​​ ; @shikonstar​​ ; @soliska​​ ; @sometimes-icanstillhear-sitboy​​

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched this Week #88

Glorious summer on the Côte d'Azur: La Piscine (The Swimming Pool), a 1969 psychological thriller, starring Alain Delon, Romy Schneider, and a very young Jane Birkin. A throwback to Delon’s breakthrough role as Tom Ripley in ‘Purple Noon’ 10 years earlier, where he also kills his same best friend Maurice Ronet in the Riviera’s sexy waters. First watch.

I loved Luca Guadagnino’s 2016 remake of this ‘A Bigger Splash’, with Dakota Johnson in the Jane Birkin role, but I find this original even more wistful and ambiguous. 7/10. (Photo Above).

🍿 

The Burglars, a 1971 crime noir starring Jean-Paul Belmondo. The genial opening scene with score by Ennio Morricone, and the initial part of a meticulous jewellery heist were very promising, but the movie quickly turn ridiculous. 60′s aesthetics of long car chases in Athens were not enough to offset the unfortunate story. The American version, where all the French and Italian spoke in Engrish, was jarring.

🍿 

First watch: Carl Theodor Dreyer’s 1924 Michael, an early gay cinema classic. An unscrupulous young model exploits the love of his older benefactor, artist Benjamin Christensen. If it were to be remade today, Michael will surely be played by Timothée Chalamet.

🍿 

The Wild Pear Tree (2018) my 4th masterpiece by Turkish director Nuri Bilge Ceylan, by now one of my all time favorite authors. Stunningly beautiful story about a young aspiring novelist who returns to his impoverished village. Highly recommended - 8/10.

🍿

I haven’t seen too many ballet movies, and even fewer films about transsexuals, but the Cannes-winner Belgian film Girl (2018) is the best of the lot in my mind. It’s an incredible story of a 15-year-old trans girl who pushes herself too hard to become a professional ballerina, while at the same time undergoing gender reassignment. Brilliant on every level, with one truly-shocking scene at the end. There was some push back at the androgynous male actor who played the young girl, but it was a very difficult role, and he deserved all the accolades he received. 9/10

🍿

2 by (new to me) Derek Cianfrance (who later wrote ‘Sound of Metal’) - both starring Ryan Gosling:

🍿 Sins are passed down through the generations from fathers to sons in the tragic, gripping story The place beyond the pines. It starts when laconic bad boy Gosling, who works as a Wall of Death stunt rider carnie, discovers that he has a 1-year-old son with a former fling. The story goes from there in various unexpected directions, and I don’t want to give out any spoilers, as this movie should be seen ‘cold’.

Star-studded, emotionally-charged and challenging narrative - The surprise discovery of the week!

🍿 In his sad Blue Valentine, hopelessly romantic Ryan Gosling falls for Michelle Williams, and after a life together as a family, they drift apart. Subtle, beautiful and heartbreaking. It also had some innovative end credits.

(All I have left of his is the period piece ‘The Light Between Oceans’, which received generally bad reviews). 

🍿

What do you get when you combine Erik Satie and Japanese soft-core from the ‘Roman Porno’ period of the 1970′s? Aroused by Gymnopedies (2016), a strange meta-film about film-making a-la ‘Boogie Nights’. It tells of a has-been art director with insatiable sexual apatite (and a comatose wife) who reaches a dead end in his career, financial and personal life, and now has to resort to directing very cheap porn flicks. While at the same time many young women around him still desire him and are willing to do anything for him. A depressing black comedy. 4/10.

🍿

Another womanizing arthouse director struggling with his behavior toward his female fans is Right Now, Wrong Then, my 9th by Hong Sang-soo. It’s brilliantly divided into two equal halves. The first part is similar to his other films: A famous “Director” meets the pretty Kim Min-hee by chance in a temple, invites her for coffee, then to Soju, and in the course of a day and night tries to seduce her by getting them both drunk. It doesn’t go well, and truthfully, that regular Sang-soo story line is getting banal and tiring, like a standard Woody Allen plot. But then, the whole first hour repeats itself from the beginning, a-la-Groundhog Day, and this time, he's honest with her, and their feelings for each other turn genuine and bittersweet. 7/10. 

🍿

I was looking forward to see the original Marcel the Shell with Shoes On, but actually did not enjoy it as much as I should have. Yes, it was cutesy, and going for the heartwarming, clever touch, but the one-trick gimmick would have been better if it stayed a much shorter piece. It went self-referential 'meta’ too quickly. 🍿

Ingrid Bergman X 2: 

🍿 George Cukor’s 1944’s Gaslight, the film from which the phrase 'gaslighting’ was derived. A cruel and duplicitous husband isolates and psychologically tortures his young wife by manipulating her to question her reality. An unpleasant and ugly story of misogyny and domestic abuse. Part of the 1940′s cycle of 'Don't Trust Your Husband' films. Also, the film debut of 17-year-old Angela Lansbury.

🍿 Ingrid Bergman’s last role in Ingmar Bergman’s last film (not television productions), Autumn Sonata. The tortured relationship between self-centered world-famous pianist and her unloved, neglected daughter is hard to re-watch. The affected story was acted like a stage play and Ingrid Bergman looked as if she was still playing Golda Meir. The dubbing of the acting into English was a criminal act - This process should be illegal, and punishable by castration!

🍿

Two men emerge from the sea onto the beach carrying a large wooden wardrobe with a mirror on its front in Roman Polański’s 1958 short silent film Two Men and a Wardrobe. 25-year-young Polanski himself plays (again!) one of the thugs.

🍿 

“Money is like Christ. It blesses you if you share it. Money enlightens those who use it to open the flower of the world and damn those that glorify it.”

Because I found Jodorowsky's The Dance of Reality (2013) so extraordinary last week, I had to watch it again. It still scores 10/10 in my book. The element of ‘Heart’ appears in it again and again, but what does it mean? 

🍿 

Tim Robinson X 2:

🍿 Laughing again with the absurd sketch comedy I Think You Should Leave. The humor is different, embarrassingly weird, awkward and sophomore: People behave badly, like a person who farts in a crowded elevator, and then blame it on others. The only immature running theme is scatological, and even though he is obsessed with ‘shit’, he keep calling them instead ‘mud pies’ and farts.

🍿 So I checked out his previous Comedy Central series, Detroiters, which he created together with buddy Sam Richardson (whom I will always remember as the TSA agent in ‘We’re The Millers’). It’s a combination of stupid ‘Mad Men’ in Detroit with the bromance of ‘Dumb and Dumber’. Same cringe-worthy toilet-obsessed humor as his later show, but more structured and less polished. 4/10.

🍿

The only bad injuns... Don Siegel’s western Flaming Star, considered today as one of Elvis Presley 'better’ Hollywood movie. Elvis plays a biracial hero, half-white and half-Kiowa-Indian, in a tragic story about race and prejudices of 1950s America.

Wikipedia Fun Fact: The Andy Warhol silkscreens made of the Elvis publicity shots from the movie generated $380 million dollars (!) when they were sold.

🍿

...They say i'm crazy, just a little bit out of whack, cuz they always like to act like me, now they call me a maniac...

The 1980 comedy Stir Crazy starts with a lovely song, sung by the lovable Gene Wilder, but quickly turns into an outdated, unfunny prison break yarn with a paper-thin plot. At least, Sidney Poitier who directed it, became the first black actor to earn a million dollars for a single film for it. 2/10.

🍿

Know thy enemy: 2,000 Mules is an election-denial agitprop piece about the 2020 ‘ballot harvesting‘, made on the cheap by convicted felon and conspiracy theorist Dinesh D'Souza. As I remove myself more and more from following American politics, this was a little look back to see what I am missing: Grift masked as political discourse. Terrible on every level. 1/10.

Don’t kink-shame: I also watched Leni Riefenstahl’s propaganda spectacle ‘Triumph des Willens', to learn what the Nazis were seeing, when Hitler consolidated his power.

🍿

(My complete movie list is here)

[mercurysstars]

All That Glitters Is Not Gold (part 1)

Summary: Y/n gets hired to be the avengers chief physician and also happens to be an ex assassin.

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: Violence.

A/N: this is an old story that I wrote the first few chapters of so I figured why not finish it.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦

𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸,

𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥.

_

Y/n POV

_

"I'm pulling up Matt ill talk to you later," Y/n says while turning on to the gravel road that leads to the Avengers compound.

"Alright call me if you need anything." With that Matt hung up.

As Y/n was nearing the end of the road she looked up to see a tall black gate surrounding the compound. 5 feet in front of the gate there was a waist-length box where you could scan your badge or press a button to talk to the operator.

Y/n pressed on the button, and it began ringing. Three seconds after a muffled voice came through.

"Hello Avengers compound front desk, this is Teresa speaking. How may I help you?"

"Um hi, I'm Y/n Y/l/n. I'm the new Chief physician."

"Oh of course Dr.Y/l/n, when you hear a buzz pull right on in."

"Thank you!" Y/n exclaimed before she pulls in the gate.

Today was Y/n's first day as the Chief Physician for the Avengers. Everyone before her either quit because the job was too demanding or they were scared for their safety. Generally, doctors are 'nerds', and most time nerds aren't really Averger threat worthy of defending themselves. Tho you couldn't really say the same for Y/n.

_

Y/n pulled in the gate to see several buildings, she pulled in front of the biggest one with lots of windows and a huge A on the side. Y/n put her car in park and rested her head on the steering wheel giving herself a mini pep talk.

Who wouldn't be nervous the first day of their new job? Especially if you were working with superheroes. They'd have to rely on her in their most vulnerable moments. Y/n could only hope she could be what they needed.

A knock at the window caused Y/n to jump.

She grabbed her chest and took a deep breath while opening her car door.

"Hello, ma'am, would you like for us to valet your car?" The man said with a boyish smile.

"Oh, that would be great." Y/n squinted her eyes to get a good look at the boy's name tag "Torres thank you."

Torres gave a polite smile with a little nod and took the keys from Y/n.

_

The compound was crowded with SHIELD recruits, scientists, journalists, and other lower-level avenger employees.

Y/n began to weave between people to get to the front desk. She approached the desk to see a blonde petite woman with round glasses.

Y/n cleared her throat "Teresa right."

The stalled her typing and looked up from the computer screen. "Yes Ma'am and I'm assuming Dr.Y/l/n?"

"I am she, I was told I'd get my pass here," Y/n said

Teresa took a badge off her desk and swiped it on the side of the computer screen. "Here you go. You have a gold pass, so you can get into any room or floor you please. Happy is by the elevator to escort you up to your office."

Y/n looked over to her left to see a chubby man with short brown hair in a black suit with his arms crossed behind his back looking around standing exactly where the woman said.

Y/n quickly thanked Teresa, put the pass over her head, and walked over to the man.

_

As Y/n nears the man she could see the prominent scowl on his face which didn't change when she became within a few feet from him.

Happy gestured his head toward the elevator and Y/n followed. When they got in Happy swiped his badge and pressed the 2nd floor. She furrowed her brows in confusion her office was on the 11th floor.

"I thought we were going to my office," Y/n questioned as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

They stepped out "He wanted you to meet the Avengers, so you wouldn't have to meet them in more unfortunate circumstances." Happy replied dryly.

Y/n just nods in response. They walk down the long hallway the only noise between the two is Y/n's heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

They arrived at the door of the Avenger's conference room. "Thank you," Y/n says. Happy gave tight-lipped smile in response. What a dick she thinks.

_

Y/n paused, she wiped her sweaty hands against her skirt. Taking in deep breaths didn't seem to help calm her nerves. Adjusting her bag, plastering a fake smile on her face, and tilting her chin up just the slightest, Y/n manages to walk into the conference room.

"And there she is." Y/n heard as she entered. Her eyes darted around the room when she looked to the left her gazed finally found the man she was looking for.

"TONY!" She shrieked happily and ran into his arms. "Hey, Sunshine long time no see." Y/n scrunched her nose at the nickname as she squeezed Tony nearly to death.

Everyone that sat at the table watched them confusingly as they embraced each other. After an awkward silence, Clint spoke up.

"Not that I mind the beautiful face compared to these hags, but who's the new girl." Nat jabbed him in the ribs. "OW!"

They pulled away from each other and Tony cleared his throat "Oh yes, of course, guys meet our need chief physician Y/n Y/l/n or more specifically our new personal doctor."

"Y/n this is Wanda, Vision, Natasha, Clint, Steve, Sam, And Bucky. Peter is at school and Thor's in Asgard, so you'll meet them later " Tony added.

Saying that didn't ease their confusion. "No offense or anything Dr.Y/l/n but you look quite young to be a doctor and a liability in the field" Steve Rogers or better know as 'Captain American' says.

"Just Y/n please, Captain Rogers, and I assure you that I can very well take care of myself when push comes to shove. As for the age, well I'm only 26, so I'm quite young for a doctor."

That catches Bucky's attention 'I can very well take care of myself when push comes to shove'  what does that mean?

He looks up from the table and looks at Y/n, he was immediately drawn to her. There was a familiarity in her eyes.

She had y/c/h colored hair and y/h. She wore a confident demeanor. Y/n had a white blouse, a black pencil with black heels. She had a lanyard around her need with her ID and a couple of keys.

Bucky felt a poke in his side. He looked over to see Sam with a raised eyebrow giving him the 'I totally caught you staring' look. Bucky rolled his eyes and gave him the 'I don't know what you are talking about' look. He huffed annoyed with Sam and looked back at Y/n.

The hair on the back of Y/n's neck stuck up as she felt like someone was watching her. She looked around for the source to be met with deep blue eyes.

She felt her stomach flip. Bucky Barnes or more commonly known to her as 'The Winter Soldier' the world's best assassin. Bucky quickly looked away.

"We bumped into each other a few years ago, right Y/n?"

Y/n eyes snapped to Tony's and nodded at him. It isn't technically a lie she told herself.

_

Y/n 7 years ago

_

"Goddammit." Y/n cursed herself while scooping up her textbooks off the pavement. She crossed the street while holding her books to her chest.

Grunting and wrestling caused Y/n's eyes to snap toward the alley. Out of curiosity, she walked closer to the commotion. As she neared she heard muffled screaming. Her eyes went wide she dropped her books, heard a splash, and she darted closer to the sound.

When she approached she could see about 8 men dressed in black tactical gear surrounding a man in an expensive suit. She caught a glimpse of a hydra sign on the van behind them. "Oh, fucking hell" she whispered.

The man started to scream again. She pulled her hoodie over her head "here goes nothing." She huffed.

Y/n rushed toward the man closest to her. She pulled her backpack off, wrapped the straps around his neck, spun around, and flipped him over her back.

She rushed towards the next man. She used her momentum to bring herself around up his midsection and sat on his shoulder. Y/n grabbed the hydra agent's gun off his thigh holster and shot the two men that were trying to shove the man in the van.

She tried to shoot the third one, but the gun clicked as it was out of bullets. The Hydra agent's shoulder she sat on kept trying to throw her off. "Hold on you cocksucker you'll get your turn," Y/n grunted.

She cocked her shoulder back and chucked the gun at the other hydra agent she couldn't shoot before, it hit him in the head, and he hit the floor within seconds. She took her knife flipped it around and shoved it in the man's throat that she sat on. The hydra collapsed, she hit the floor and rolled up onto her feet.

The next agent seen her a rushed toward her, he swung his knife, and she ducked, she faked a punch and the man went to block it. She saw an opening and kicked him in the stomach, he fell back with a thud.

She snuck up on the second to last man, she wraps her arms around his throat and pressed a pressure point to get him to pass out. Y/n turned around to take out the last agent but the man in the suit head-butted him and jabbed him in the ribs and they both collapsed.

At that time Y/n got a chance to really look at him, and it finally clicked. Expansive suite plus hydra agents equal Tony Stark. She felt her heart drop, only her luck that she would save an Avenger.

She yanked her hood down, walked over to Tony, and stuck out her hand. "Well, mister Stark it's good to see your suit wasn't too badly ruined." She joked.

Tony grabbed her hand and grumbled, she pulled him up, and he straightened his jacket. "I had them on the ropes." He commented dryly.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you did." She rolled her eyes. They started to slowly walk back towards the street.

"Okay, what the hell was that? You pulled up all G.I Joe and took like 10 of them out."

Y/n figured after he saw that she couldn't lie and told Tony about how she grew up, and her training. They talked for a good 20 minutes. They neared the end of the alley and Tony turned to her. "You know we are always looking for more people on our team, we could definitely use you."

Y/n chuckled grabbing the books that she dropped earlier "I'm no hero Tony, and I'm a little busy going to school for my doctorate, which on that note I need new books because I dropped them in a puddle." She grimaced.

Tony paused to think for a second. "Here I'll make you a deal, I'll pay for your college, housing, and anything else you need if when you graduate if you consider joining our team."

Y/n's eyes went comically wide "Wait what? I can't ask you to do that, that's like 200,000 dollars of just school debt, let alone housing and all that."

Tony just smiled "Oh Sunshine you truly wound me, that's basically a trip to the Bahamas, c'mon think about it."

It was an offer she truly couldn't refuse, no one has ever been this kind to her sense well ever.   Y/n thought it over for a moment, She stuck out her hand "Well Tony Stark you have a deal, and don't call me Sunshine."

Tony gladly shook her hand.

_

"Funny enough, Tony wasn't paying attention to where he was going and ran right into me and spilled coffee all over me and him. But I don't blame him I know his eyesight is getting worse because of his old age, right Anthony?" Y/n put an arm around Tony mockingly.

Tony scowled and pushed her arm off with fake disgust. "What's with the insult's sunshine?" This time it was Y/n who grimaced.

"Any-who I've got another meeting to get to, so you're gonna have to have someone else show you around."

"Bucky will do it." Sam grinned.

Y/n looked over to see Bucky wide-eyed. "Well let's get to it, Sargent Barnes." She smiled.

_

Once everyone left the conference Bucky looked at Y/n with a pink tint to his cheeks. "Uh sorry, Sam can be a bit much sometimes." He rubs his neck sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it Sarge, I'm flattered that you'd show me around." She grinned.

Bucky looked torn for a split second, but his expression eases at Y/n's easy-going demeanor. "Well then, shall we get going." He Stuck out his arm.

She smirked back grabbing his arm "We shall."

He explained how the first floor is just mostly open to the public and where they hold press conferences. The second floor is where the SHIELD training room, a tiny med-bay, and the kitchen are. The whole third floor is for the Avengers to train which includes a weight room, sparring room, shooting range, pool, sauna, and locker rooms.

The fourth floor is where Bruce and Tony's lab is located. The 5th floor is where the Avengers common room and kitchen are. The 6th floor is where the debriefing room, weaponry, and where they get dressed to go on a mission. The next five floors are where their rooms were located.

"And here we have the 11th floor. Avengers med-bay and where your office is located also out the window you can see the Quinjet."

"It's awfully plain in here," Y/n murmured peeking into her new office.

"Our last doctor was a bit older in age and a little strict. No conversation, no joking around, and absolutely no color was her motto." Bucky crosses his arms while looking around the room.

"Thank the lord I won't ever have to meet her." She said with slight distaste.

"Actually Dr.Smith is the new SHIELD doctor, so don't thank god just yet."

Y/n playfully rolls her eyes and smiles back at Bucky. "Well thank you Sargent for the tour I appreciate it."

"I told you doll, call me Bucky." Her knees nearly buckled at the nickname.

"Alright then Bucky, thank you." Bucky put on his famous smirk

"Anytime doll, anytime."

Before Bucky walked out the door he turned to look at Y/n one last time. She gave him a mock salute and he chuckled.

Part 2

[kpop-stan23-writes]

old money seonghwa

another case of me reading this post by @warmau and being inspired! btw, if you enjoy brilliantly clever bullet aus you should definitely give skye a follow.

read san's part here and mingi’s part here

group: ateez member: seonghwa genre: fluff? rich boy au word count: 1.5k warnings: a few curse words. the note is a little suggestive pairing: seonghwa x gn!reader

note: the seonghwa i portray here definitely isn't the type of seonghwa who would hover over you while dressed in a three piece suit and you're wearing nothing but one of his vintage watches but i figure hey, maybe he can grow into that seonghwa

heir to a trust fund that has been getting richer by the decade

only knows other trust fund babies

appears cold and standoffish to the general public but that's really only because he doesn't know how to interact with people not in the top 1%

(secretly very awkward)

only wears high end luxury brands and old, vintage watches that have been in his family for generations

gets driven around in a limo with windows tinted black

perfect gentleman

has never once in his life forgotten his manners because they were practically beaten into him since he could walk

everybody in the upper class loves him because they think he's perfect: perfect manners, perfect looks, perfect bank account

and that's okay

it's the only life he's known, after all

until he meets you

it's your friend's birthday, and their rich other half has given you some money to pick out something

you're frugal, having grown up modestly, and knowing your friend's taste, found something they'll adore for a fraction of the money their s/o gave you

you're standing in front of a jewelry store when your friend surprises you and all but drags you into the store

you roll your eyes but follow, listening to them say that you should go ahead and spend the spare change *wink wink*

seonghwa is already inside, searching for a suitable gift for his mother's own birthday

he looks up when he hears a salesperson greet the newcomers

and immediately tells the saleswoman helping him to bag everything you look at

her eyes widen at the request but nods and hurries away to inform the others

you're none the wiser, eyeing the lovely jewelry and ignoring your friend as they try to convince you that their s/o wouldn't mind if you spent the money on yourself, since you've already gotten the birthday gift *wink wink*

your friend does find a little something as a birthday gift to themselves and you follow them to the cashier

three large bags are placed on the counter and you and your friend share a look

"i only purchased this," your friend says

"oh no these are yours," the cashier says, looking directly at you

"but i didn't--i can't--"

"oh they're on seonghwa's tab. he's just over there"

your head whips around just in time to see the retreating back of a tall figure

you look back at the three large bags filled to the brim each with neatly wrapped boxes

"how much..."

your friend nearly chokes when the cashier hands over the bill

you don't dare look yourself, just stare at the empty entry where this seonghwa disppeared

your friend fills you in about the park seonghwa as you walk to your car, arms heavy with the unexpected gifts

with every fact your friend tells you, you feel yourself grow more and more confused

this man has everything he could ever want, and you assume that includes his fill of attractive suitors of the same class

so who are you? just a random stranger who happened to stop by a high-end jewelry store way out of your price range

when your friend's s/o hears about what happened, they're just as shocked as you

because park seonghwa spending oodles on a perfect stranger? what has the world come to

you try going back to the jewelry store to return the jewels, but they tell you they can't process a refund without the original card

so you convince your friend's s/o to give you the address to seonghwa's penthouse apartment, because now you get a chance to demand an explanation as well

stepping out of the cab with your arms full of bags with the expensive name splashed across in big bold letters makes you feel sorely out of place

because wow what a building

the lobby, while small, has tall ceilings, and the marble floors make every step you take echo

the woman behind the counter is in a simple black dress that still looks like it costs more than several months of your salary put together and you fidget nervously in your ripped jeans and scuffed shoes

the woman looks down her nose at you even though you're standing over her and for a moment you're at a loss as to what to say

the longer you stand there, though, the more foolish you feel, and you hate feeling foolish, so quickly you're just mad you're in this situation to begin with

you drop the heavy bags on the smooth wood counter and say "let seonghwa know i'm here to return the jewelry"

"and what's your name?"

"he'll know who it is"

she looks like she's ready to argue, but you just turn your back to her, leaning against the counter and tapping your foot obnoxiously loudly in a way that makes it obvious you won't leave until she's given seonghwa your message

she huffs but picks up the phone

she relays your message in a tone that clearly says she doesn't believe a word you say and you have to fight a smirk when you notice her eyes widen in surprise at seonghwa's response

she clears her throat and passes you a key board and tells you to use it to get to the penthouse floor

you take the card and gather your bags and march toward the elevators

frustration is still coursing through your veins when the elevator doors open directly into seonghwa's living room, so you don't notice that wow the pictures you've found online of park seonghwa don't do him justice

instead you march fearlessly up to him, drop the bags on the large leather sofa, and cross your arms over your chest

"what exactly are these for?"

you are prepared for all sorts of reactions, ranging from disbelief to anger

what you weren't expecting was the ever-cool, every-confident park seonghwa to burn holes in his slippers, rub the back of his neck uncertainly, and say questioningly, "they're for you?"

you're so shocked at his response that you're rendered dumb

this is not the park seonghwa you were expecting

he's looking at you now, his dark eyes wide (you know the look he gets, the galaxy-filled boba-eyed look) and look as innocent as a calf

any anger you had at being put in this ridiculous situation leaves you immediately and now you're feeling as awkward and uncertain as he appears to be

you clear your throat and gesture to the bags and explain that no one could possibly wear that many jewels in one lifetime

he seems confused and you suddenly wonder if he's ever seen the women in his life wear a piece of jewelry more than once

"look it's a really sweet and kind gesture," you say quickly, "but it's simply too much. can you please return these?"

seonghwa just nods and you're left standing in front of each other awkwardly

you finally bow and scurry away, but are then left hanging out to dry because where the hell is that elevator and why didn't it just stay on the top floor when you got out??

your friend and their s/o pesters you about how it went but you just wave them off because you're guessing you've seen a side of park seonghwa no one has ever seen before and it feels strangely intimate and you feel strangely protective

you keep an eye out for him in the news, now, though, and can't get over how put-together and suave he looks on camera

it makes you almost wish you could get to know the seonghwa you saw

but you're from completely different worlds, shop at completely different stores, and after all he only spotted you out of chance

what you aren't expecting is to see him at your friend's birthday party just two weeks later

because their s/o is hosting the event, it's black tie required, and with your friend's help you clean up well

you're also there before the other guests, helping the s/o as a second host

so as you're making the rounds of the guests, you stop in your tracks when you spot park seonghwa

damn he looks really good in a suit

and for a moment you see the cool, distant park seonghwa in the flesh

but as soon as your eyes meet, his gaze warms and is that a hint of a blush on his cheeks?

you straighten your shoulders because dammit you will be a good second host and greet all the guests like you're supposed to

you finally make your way to seonghwa and thank him for attending your friend's birthday party

"i never caught your name," he says before you can run away

you stop in your tracks and just stare at him now because he really bought those things without even knowing your name? seeing him at your friend's party you thought maybe he recognized you through their s/o but he really couldn’t have picked you out of a lineup?

he shifts under your unblinking gaze and you quickly clear your throat and introduce yourself properly

he smiles a little and you swear you hear him say "pretty. it suits you" under his breath

but you heard wrong, right?

you finally manage to flee when you hear your name called and you quickly bow before scurrying away

seonghwa is left in a daze the rest of the evening, your pretty name going around and around in his head

the end?

[binniesthighs]

call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: ahhhhh wow WOW cuties LOL i was not expecting this fic idea to keep me up in my sleep and occupy all my waking thoughts BUT thank you so so  much for you words of support!! hehe well....here we goooo i hope that ya’ll are ready teehee--also tags will be added as they come! You can read part one here

Two 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan 

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut, angst 

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, skz side characters, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, jeongin in this fic is my bb and i will protect him, sexy and smart jeongin tho still hehe 

CWs: mentions of death, people dying/killing, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of getting drunk, hungover, and vomiting, a bombing. 

Word count: 5.2k 

Parts

ONE | TWO | THREE

The road was long and winding, pitch black, desolate, quiet and foreign. In the backseat of the car, Chan had slumped his head over on Jeongin’s shoulder and bobbed with the motions of the road. His nose would twitch in his sleep, and he would make little grunts of nonsense words. He had worked himself up after the banquet, and actually hadn’t stopped his “love confessions” until you told him to shut up or you would shut him up. 

Your partner’s glasses were illuminated from the screen of his laptop which he tapped quietly away at. You too felt drowsy, but sleep would be for later once you had properly arrived at the safe house, or safe hotel, or safe hole in the ground...whatever it was. 

“You hear anything from Carroll?” You slung your arm over the seat and lowered your voice. 

“Nothing yet.” His eyes flicked around the screen. “It’s almost like it’s too quiet. I’ve already told her that we have the prince and that he’s safe, but..nothing.” 

“You don’t think...they got targeted too?” 

Chan snored lightly on his bodyguard’s shoulder, and he didn’t dare to move an inch. 

“I sure as hell hope not. But...that would explain why things have been so quiet. If this was a larger scale attack...I don’t know what this could mean then.” 

From the darkness of the outside world in the car windows, you passed a forest of pines and oher types of stoic trees making up the mountainside. 

“Well, I think that we should be optimistic for the time being.” 

Jeongin nodded. He looked to be a mess: blood had splattered at his white shirt collar and in specks on his neck. His cracked lenses however, didn’t keep him from his work. He had pulled his tie loosely around his neck, and had also provided his jacket as a pseudo-blanket of sorts for the prince. The prince, had offered his own jacket to you seeing as you only had your dress, but you had been managing just fine. You accepted it, but only because it could soothe his chivalrous ego. He had a hard night already, so you saw it best. 

“Two, where are you taking us?” You called to the mysterious driver. 

Ever since meeting him at the hotel, he had been nearly silent the whole ride. 

The man cleared his throat, “As far away from here as I can. I don’t know of any safe houses so...I’m just trying to remove us.” 

“I can find one for us if Carroll doesn’t get back to me....which she should...” 

Jeongin was not one for speaking of his mother as anything other than his boss. Since he had been assigned to be your partner a few months ago, he had never referred to her as his mother, nor did he ever seem to harbor any emotion for the stern woman. Both of them had been a bit allusive to you, but that was simply how it was in this line of work. You didn’t know things about the people around you, and you didn’t need to ask. You had wondered if he had worried about her, or thought about her when you were on missions. The young man had trained rigorously, and had passed each exam from the academy with flying colors. After considering it for a while, you figured what immense pressure he must've been under: son of the woman in charge, a master at infiltration, espionage, manipulation, cybersecurity, and a million more things; he had to prove himself and more. 

You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, but you almost did wish that you had known more. 

Two fiddled with the radio, settling on a station that played some kind of country-western type music. 

“What’s your specialty Two? How’d you end up a part of this shitshow?” 

The driver laughed, then hummed along with the music for a moment. “This has been my gig for few years, but I’ve never been a part of this unit before. Carroll always saw it best for my services to be used in other places.” 

“You have a specialty?” Jeongin asked while still typing furiously. 

Two scratched the back of his head. “I do a little bit of everything. But...let’s just say that I’m good at making friends. That’s why Carroll likes me.” 

“--You know her personally?” Your partner quipped, but the edge to his voice didn’t sound like judgement, but rather caution. 

“We’ve had a few meetings.” 

“Hm.” 

You kicked off your heals to massage your aching toes. If only they had attacked at a time when you had the proper footwear. 

“You said we could also call you J?” You sprawled over the back seat in an attempt to make yourself more comfortable. Still, the plastic seatbelt buckles poked into your back. 

“Yes. You can call me J.” 

And that was that. No “What’s J stand for”, or “where are you from”, “where’s your home base,” “how did you rank at the academy?” You added questions to the list of things that weren’t allowed as well. 

Jeongin tore off his glasses with an exasperated sigh to rub at his tired eyes. Chan made a happy little noise, presumably because he had found a cozier spot on Jeongin’s shoulder. He had now gotten the chance to sleep off his drunken stupor that may or may not had contributed to his sudden confession, and the reason behind the two pitstops you had taken for him to retch on the side of the road. 

If he was a prince, he might’ve also been one mess of a prince. In all of his grace and confidence, the pleasures that he partook in would often get the best of him at times too. 

You gave up on trying to get some sleep, but rather sat up to watch that paradoxically handsome and misshapen prince. Just like this: sleeping, vulnerable, with some kind of lopsided smirk on his face, he was much less than the regal figure that you had painted him to be in your mind. For maintaining appearances the whole day long, you hadn’t ever really gotten the chance to see him like this before. His façade faded, and you surmised that maybe he really was different from the way that he let on. 

“I’m so fucking tired.” Jeongin yawned. 

“Get some sleep then. I’ll stay up to watch things.” 

“That’s just it. I can’t sleep even if I tried.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Can you pass me some hand sanitizer or something? There’s...blood on my hands.” 

Your partner’s voice cracked slightly. It was then when you realized that this had been the first time that he had fired at real people. 

“I’ve got a water bottle? Is that enough?” 

“Yeah. It’s fine.” 

He splashed the liquids around while wiping his hands away, then flicked the remnants of water away. 

“Something about this doesn’t sit right with me.” 

“How do you mean?” 

Chan’s coat draped over your shoulders, and you pulled it in closer around your arms. The night had been cool, and the AC blasting in the car didn’t make it much better. 

Jeongin licked his lips. “Nothing was supposed to happen tonight. We made sure of it. No one was suspicious, we ran background checks, we checked the whole area...” 

“Hey,” You attempted to turn your tone softer, “We couldn’t have seen it coming. They just rolled up out of nowhere, there was no way that we could’ve stopped it--” 

“--Innocent people died tonight. If they were out for the prince, or maybe they weren’t, why so much collateral damage?” 

“Obviously they don’t care.” 

“Bastards.” Jeongin took the last bits of water to slug. “We’re gonna fucking find out why they did all of this.” 

Two shifted in his seat, “Any word? Hate to mention it, but I’m getting kinda tired. It’s past three already.”  

“Fox?” 

He clicked around, then shook his head. “Still nothing.” 

Chan snorted a bit in his sleep: an action which woke him up. 

“Wha-what? Where are we? Are the there yet? What time is it? Fuck...my head feels like it’s splitting...” 

“We’re finding somewhere, your Highness. We’ll be there soon.” Your partner motioned for you to hand him another water to give to the disorientated prince. 

Chan nodded while he rubbed his temples. “Shit. Please tell me that I just made this all up. That it’s some kind of fucked up nightmare...” 

You threw Chan’s coat back to him. “Unfortunately, no. We’re trying to figure out everything that we can.” 

“Who the hell were those guys?” Water dripped down his neck in a way that you pretended not to notice. “They were wearing crests. I couldn’t tell, but weren’t they red?” 

“Very observant, your Highness. F?” 

The younger man bit his lip, “I’ve already tried finding where the crest is from, but I can’t find anything that resembles it within our database. I was able to see one up close. It looked like a heart or something like that, and a diamond. I’m guessing that it could’ve been maybe a spade? Like the kind that you see on playing cards? Still, since we’ve never seen it before, we can only assume that they must be a new group.” 

Chan nodded, but anyone could tell that the information had flown right over his head. He licked at his wet lips, then sighed. 

“Bee, You okay? Fox? I suppose that I should ask you both.” 

“I’m...fine.” His sudden concern came as a surprise, and your partner looked just as shocked. 

“I-I’m fine too. No holes in me or anything.” Jeongin suppressed a laugh. “But you’re not, your Highness. How much did you have to drink?” 

“Oh...enough. I guess that I lost track at some point. Those kind of things are boring anyway.” 

“Fox? You’ve got that locale?” Two clicked the turn signal. 

“Oh! Yeah, I’ve got one. Sorry, It’s about an hour from here.” 

“Locale?” Chan cocked his head. 

“A safe house. Or something like that. We need to lie low while we wait for instructions.” 

“No one has said anything...? Not even...my father?” 

Jeongin shook his head gravely. “No.” 

The young prince fell silent, and you watched as worry fell over his clouded eyes that were lined with bags. Normally his expression was anything but strained, but in this moment, you saw doubt sweep over him like the darkness on the road ahead. You leaned the farthest you could from your seat to grab at his hand behind you. 

“You’re safe with us. Nothing is going to happen to you.” 

His hand was warm, maybe a little clammy, but it was soft, like that of a prince, naturally. Still, it was strong and veined. Chan’s thumb rubbed soft little circles into your own skin, muttering, “Thank you.” For once, his eyes which would normally devour you like some kind of rare dish held you earnestly. I trust you, they said. 

“Two. Let’s switch.” Jeongin slammed his laptop closed. “I’ve got it from here.” 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The safe house was quiet. As most of them where. It was even a bit stereotypical: a little cottage in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods on nearly all sides. It had a little overgrown garden, and a shed that looked like it held either all kinds of gardening equipment, or the real thing that sheds were meant for in your business: ammo. It had a white painted porch with cracking paint, as well as porch swing with rusting chains. In the early morning the windows were are black, but still faintly reflected the massive array of sparking stars above your heads. The only thing less antique about the home was the touch keypad on the front door. It beeped with a little tune, then flashed the insignia of the agency: a ticking clock. 

“Two, can you find a generator or something? Get the electricity up and going?” 

“Can do,” He said, then disappeared. 

Two was mostly a quiet man, a feature that gave you both reasons to trust him and to be suspicious. Besides him being a bit smaller in stature with thin legs and characteristically round cheeks, there was something different about him that you couldn’t place; something unexpected. You wished once again that questions weren’t on the list of things that weren’t allowed. 

“There should be clothes around here somewhere.” Jeongin padded his way through the dark rooms. “You shower first your Highness.” 

Chan tripped over his feet as he spread out his arms to find his way. You giggled lightly at the action. A man really was stripped down of any and all sense of composure when his life had been threatened and he had to have his bodyguards pat his back while he had gotten sick after one too many royal drinks. 

The lights flashed on, flickering at first with the sound of the lightbulbs waking up after a long sleep. The interior design of the place was exactly as you had expected: it was a family home with a fireplace and several chairs and couches covered in dust. Bookshelves were full with the strangest assortment of reading material and board games there held a thin layer of grey dust too. The kitchen was small and cozy: it had all the necessities. A stained glass chandelier hung over the wooden table for eight, and was decorated with glass hummingbirds and pink flowers. In odd corners of the house, children’s toys had been sitting untouched. A family must’ve been living there, and you wondered what must’ve become of them. 

Two returned with spiderwebs caught on his dress coat. “Water should be hot in about thirty minutes or so I think.” 

Your partner crossed the room, raking a hand through his snowy white hair. “I’m gonna try and make the calls again. See if I get anything. If not, we’ll have to...begin Operation Cheshire.” 

It was the phrase that you had hoped neither you nor your partner would have to say. 

Chan slumped down in one of the upholstered chairs, throwing dust into the air as he did. Compared to the rest of the room, him and his designer clothes seemed comically out of place. “Wha-what’s that?” 

Two pinched between his eyes, and your chest shook with an unsure inhale. 

“It means that we assume the worst. HQ got taken over and we’re all at risk. Information about us could be accessible to anyone. Essentially, we go into sleeper mode until we can reconvene with other agents...if there are any more. We dissapear. Next, we work on getting you back home, no matter what it takes.” 

“HQ?” What are you talking about?” Chan toyed with his diamond set cufflinks. “HQ? Like whoever manages the bodyguards??” 

“Your Highness...” You and your partner exchanged knowing glances. “We’re more than bodyguards.” 

“What?!” 

“We’re operatives. Agents. We work for an intelligence agency that specializes in a bunch of different things...protecting royalty if needed.” 

“What the fuck?! Why didn’t anyone tell me? Chan slapped his leg. “Fuck! No one tells me anything!!! I get that I’m a fucking prince but I’m not fucking useless!” 

The memory of the confidential file reemerged in your memory: the promise that you had made to His Majesty The King after he had requested a “special hire” to watch over his son. The file itself had contained a several thousand words or so that you hadn’t bothered to read, but rather skimmed till you got to the signature part. Carroll had simply nodded before you put your pen to the paper. 

“It was for your saf--” 

“--My father did this, didn’t he? Didn’t he? Some kind of sick way to keep tabs on me? See what I’m doing?? God! The man never trusts me. If the thinks that I’m that much of a disappointment...this is just--” 

“Your Highness, it’s been a long day, you’ve been through a lot, just take a shower and get some rest. Alright? We’ll talk more about this in the morning.” Two stepped forward with his hands folded in front of him. His interjection was unlike his previously quiet presence. 

The prince sighed, tapping his tragically expensive shoe on the hardwood. 

“Fine. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” 

Chan’s eyes grew dark with an authoritative air that you had seen before. His façade had slipped over him like a cloak. He rose, buttoning his jacket, then tweaking his sliver brooches decorating his neck. 

“Fox. Bee. Two. Thank you. Good evening.” 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Chan knew that it was you at the door when you would knock two times, then pause, and knock twice more. In your hands, you held a cup of warm milk. For a prince, even he couldn’t reject the beverage to help him fall asleep at night. You had seen him order it at hotels on more than one occasion. Jeongin had found a nearby store to get food for the morning. The two of you had suddenly found yourselves as now both his bodyguards and his servants. While you waited, you hoped to God that Carroll would compensate you for the extra work. 

The door creaked open, revealing your prince modestly dressed in plaid flannel, hair dripping slightly in wet strands. You had never seen him as simple as this before: no princely persona or cold exterior to upkeep. He looked...normal. 

“What is it Bee?” 

“I thought you might like some...well, this.” You provided him with the cup. “I know that it’s nearly morning, but you should still try to sleep in. We’ll take care of things. 

He took the ceramic mug from your hands, fingers barely brushing against yours for mere moments. 

“Thank you.” He hushed with a thankful smile. “Would you like to come in? We could...just kind of...sit for a minute.” 

Behind him, sun peaked at the horizon, a splitting of red piercing the navy deep of the night. The colors muddled, blurred, a bit like the color of blood fading into the deep fabric of one’s formal wear. It was desolate, but still beautiful. 

“To be honest,” His eyes fell, “I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

You had saved the biggest room for him. It smelled of mothballs and other old things like sheets that had rested in a dark room for much too long. Still, there was a kind of familiarity to it all and the way that the matted rugs and brass vintage lamps lit the room with a soft yellow light. The full sized bed creaked once you had sat down. In his golden halo, Chan’s brown strands appeared to be softer, and not as prim and staged. 

“I’m sorry for snapping earlier. I realized that there are things that are out of my control. You know more than I do, and I accept that. I trust you...a-and Fox.” 

You rubbed your hands into the jeans you had found in the cupboard. They had dirt and grass stains from work in the garden you presumed. 

“It’s okay. I understand that you would be scared. It’s okay to be. I...get scared sometimes too. I know that it might look like it, but I fear...for my life too. So does Jeong--Fox.” 

Chan’s voice cracked. “Is someone out to kill me?” 

You sighed, sensing his hesitation. “I don’t know. But we will know soon.” 

The prince stared down at the white bubbles in his milk, then swirled around the liquid to watch the way that that it moved. 

“I don’t think I’d like to die. Would be pretty unfortunate, don’t you think? I feel like I’ve got so many other things to do. A kingdom to manage, people to govern, much more bottles of Scotch to drink, parties to attend...” 

His eyes met yours, and you could see the very fragility of the life that he spoke of right in them. He was right in that dumb speech of his. He really was just a person. 

“...I like to think that I’ll get married someday to someone that I love. I actually would really like to do that.” He chuckled. “Lame, right? Someone like me who always bounces around. Wouldn’t take me for one?” 

“Mm. No. I think that from what I’ve observed of you, and I’m trained to observe, I think that bouncing around...means you’re looking for the right thing. And, I guess that it’s fun too.” 

Chan chuckled, “You’re good at observing.” 

You paused, remembering Lee Minho from earlier. 

“Were you looking when you were talking to that man at the banquet? He was very handsome.” 

The prince placed the cup down. “He was. I don’t know. He just seemed kind of interesting. The kind of mystery that only a stranger has. I would’ve liked to have talked to him more now that I think about it. Maybe it would’ve been worth my time.” Chan twisted his back to crack it. “I don’t know if you saw but he had some really nice fucking thighs.” 

“Ahhh. Nice thighs. Didn’t know that you cared for that.” 

The two of you laughed together a bit like old friends. It felt nice. 

“...Bee. I should also probably apologize for how I acted back before we got in the car. I was...drunk, scared. I said some things--” 

“--That you were in love with me?” 

“Yeah...that. I realized that...I’ve been...unfair to you. You don’t deserve the ridicule. You’ve only ever been helpful to me and--” 

“--Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” You shrugged. You had met hundreds of guys like him before, at least you thought. 

Chan sighed as if he was gathering himself. “Bee. I did mean what I said.” 

“What? Ch-your Highness, you don’t mean that.” 

He laughed, “It’s alright. You can call me Chan. And...yes. I did. You’ve got a kind of mystery to you too. Frankly, I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

“This...this is inappropriate.” You shifted, the rising off the bed. Your cheeks warmed, but you couldn’t know why. Maybe he was just too damn charming. But, he was like that with everyone. 

He rose too, hastily following you on your way to the door. “Bee, wait.” 

“Chan, you can’t do this. It makes things...complicated.” 

He advanced, slowly, closing the space between you. “It’s only complicated if you feel the same.” 

“I-I don’t.” 

The prince’s hand carefully rose to cup your face, a gesture so gentle that you shied from the feeling. Even this close still he smelled of white roses. 

“Have you ever heard of conflict of interest?” Your breath hitched. 

Chan grinned, “There you go making this complicated again.” 

A wandering hand of yours acting on its own reached to tug hold of his shirt. 

The prince leaned in closer, nearly close enough to breech the gap between his plush lips and yours. 

“What if I don’t mind making things...” He whispered the word, grazing his mouth over yours, “...complicated?” 

“Ch--” 

He pressed his weight fully into you, a smashing of lips met with incessant heat and your back shoved into the door. His tongue easily twisted around yours, and his soft gasps filled up your mouth. It had taken you a couple seconds to realize what had happened, and to decide what to do with yourself. His mouth was blazing, it was as if he was weaving a spell, or perhaps you had made it up for yourself. He kissed you with vitality; like he had never tasted anything like you before and was starving for you. You realized, perhaps you had wondered what it would’ve felt like. One hand squeezed tighter to his shirt, and you kissed back, meeting his heat. 

Jeongin’s voice called down the hall, “Bee? Bee, are you there?” The sound of your bedroom door shut. 

You pushed Chan off you with flat hands on his chest and an amazed smile on his face. 

“This...this doesn’t mean anything.” You gasped, reaching for the knob after a moments pause. 

Chan snickered, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“Goodnight your Highness.” 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

For a man so young Jeongin liked his coffee black, and drank it like an old man too with his nose buried in a newspaper while it fogged up his glasses--or what was left of them. 

“I finally got correspondence from Carroll this morning. She said that HQ experienced some kind of blackout and all the systems went offline. It wasn’t safe for her to contact us on a regular line. They got everything back up and running and everything seems fine, or so they think.” 

Your partner had already made himself comfortable in a pair of sweatpants and a cotton tee with slippers. You never would’ve guessed that he was a trained assassin on the side. 

Two returned huffing in the door from his morning run. He was one of those people. 

“Any word?” He rubbed his face off with a dishtowel. 

“Disgusting.” You sneered at the crude action. 

“Well, we’ve got thousands of miles between us and the kingdom and what seems like a hell of a lot of guys on our tail, but, after I sent Carroll the info about the red crest, she wants us to do some digging. 

“With the prince in tow?” You lowered your voice lest the sleeping royal heard you. “I don’t think so.” 

“It sounds like she’s convinced that the person behind all of this could be someone who attended the charity ball. And, I don’t really disagree. They must be good at keeping secrets if they evaded us.” 

“Hm. You’re right. A high profile event like that, even though its for a good cause it’s always a competition with those snobs. I just don’t know who could order something so cruel...all those people in the same place...” 

“Since it’s a new group, they must still be underground. So, to see who lives underground, you’ve got to go there yourself to find out. Or, in our case, find someone who knows the rabbit hole.” 

Two grabbed a chair, ruffling his deep brown soaked hair. “What does that mean?” 

Jeongin flipped his laptop around. “This is the man that we need to go see. Codename White Rabbit. Or as he calls himself--” 

“--Bun.” You cut in. “Yeah, I know him.” 

Both of the men chimed, “You do?” 

“Yeah, he’s undercover ops for the agency. He’s sort of a jack of all trades. He owns some kind of front out in Egypt. It’s called The Tea Party. Bar up front, but in the back he provides all kinds of information--for both sides. His cut is that for any information he gives to the agency he gets cash compensation. If anyone would know about anything underground, it would be him. As I’m sure Carroll told you, he’s a stickler for meeting in person. He’s one of us. I think.” 

“You think?��� 

“He also does...other deviant things. I heard that these days he’s had a couple dealings in some...substances. Black market stuff. Carroll also provides safety for his business in return for his information.” 

“That...sounds illegal. Immoral even.” Jeongin’s eyes widened upon hearing the news about his mother. 

“You’ve got to pay to play you know.” 

“So Egypt then?” Two wiped off the back of his neck with the dishtowel, stretching out one of his toned arms. “I’ve always wanted to go there.” 

“Oh--one more thing.” Jeongin took a rather long sip from his cup. “The King’s counsel reached out to me too this morning. They asked me if the Prince was safe and where we were. I have them loose details of both. They seemed somewhat relieved.” 

Chan sauntered down the steps with a massive yawn, stretching up his arms and shirt to reveal an inkling of his abs. You also pretended not to notice it. 

“Gooood morning everyone. Fox. Two.” He dished out a wink. “Bee.” 

“Morning your Highness.” Jeongin nodded, and crossed his legs. “Feeling well?” 

“Ahhh much better.” He poured himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, staring out the little window over the sink, then took an indulgent sip. “It’s peaceful here. I kind of like that.” 

“Your Highness, we’ve received word--” 

Chan rose his hand to shush your partner, then languidly took another sip. “I’m still enjoying my drink F.” 

A light buzzing resonated somewhere in the house, a bit like the sound of a dryer, and the home started vibrating. Your water glass on the table rippled. 

“Two, did you notice if there was anything strange about the house?” 

The buzzing grew nearer. 

Two looked puzzled, “No, why?” 

The vibrating grew more violent, and your glass shuddered off the wooden table, shattering on the ground upon impact. 

Chan squinted out the window, “Is that a--” 

“CHAN GET DOWN!” You shrieked. 

Within milliseconds the whistling of a bomb screeched through the air, then crashed into the rickety ceiling, splintering wood everywhere and demolishing the furniture. 

You had seconds to act while the matte black bomb hissed with a steam releasing from some seam and ticked. You sprinted to grab Chan’s arm as hard as you possibly good, all in a blur, pummeling your bodies against one of the shattered windows, and hurling yourself out to the morning dew. You had no time to see if Jeongin or Two had made their exit, but looked out, towing the prince so hard you must’ve done some damage to his shoulder. You stumbled to your feet, tripping, and grunting until the bomb diffused, and exploded the cottage altogether. You covered Chan’s head and most of his body with your own as a shield and the shards of wood, metal, and brick came flying. 

“Ar-are you okay?” You patted the prince down in his shock, who stared blankly with empty eyes. 

The prince’s flannel had been torn to shreds with glass, and blood oozed onto the fabric on his arms. 

“Yeah...yeah...I’m...fine.” 

“BEE! Y/N!” Jeongin screamed over the flames to find you. 

“OVER HERE!” You bellowed back, and your partner came running with Two behind him with terrible cuts on his face. 

“They knew. They FUCKING knew.” He panted after reaching you. 

“We have to get out of here.” Two gasped, and blood ran down his face, nearly into his eye. “If they know where we are now, they’ll come to check to see if the damage is done. We have to move.”  

The sky filled with an angry smoke, and the once peaceful forest filled with the colors of orange and red. 

“The car?” 

“Broken windows from the blast but I should be able to get it going. There’s spare parts in the shed. And ammo. A fuck ton of it.” 

“We’ll need it.” 

You pulled the prince to his feet as he blinked wildly at you and your team. 

“Fuck.” Was all the could manage. 

In your complete surprise, Chan’s bloodied and cracked hands pulled your face into his, kissing you with lips that tasted of the salt of blood. 

“I fucking love you Bee. I’ve decided.” 

Jeongin’s jaw dropped in the corner of your eye, so you promptly slapped the prince upside the face. 

“You’re in shock. We need to get out of here.” 

A wrinkled smile danced on the royal’s face, and you might’ve thought that it was a bit charming. 

“Admit it. You love me too Bee.” 

~🌹~ 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @julesinthesoop

[aeonghaseyo]

Under the Streetlight - Alexandra Trese x Reader

Song fic based on the song “Mixtape: OH” by Stray Kids

A/N: It’s actually my first time writing a song fic, and one using the English translation of a K-pop song I love so much. Please stream Mixtape: OH in Youtube! Btw, I tried my best for the reader to be of any gender haha

T/W: imagery of blood

-----

You were just a college student in Manila, trying to get by this one year in your program that seemed as if it was out to kill you. Why not though, with all the shit ton of schoolwork you had to do as well as org work you willingly volunteered to do? 

As you waited by a jeepney stop by a streetlight that might as well have been like a spotlight hovering upon you, you pondered upon a lot of things in your head and stopped to make a note to yourself. 

‘Note to self: I should really work on saying no once in a while. If I say yes to so much work during this sem I might be dead faster than I think.’

Even making this note to yourself made you feel stressed all the more, with your body automatically fidgeting, and you, conscious enough of your own habits when faced with stress and anxiety, tried your best to fend it off either by forcing yourself to stay still or by letting your thoughts wander to more exciting scenarios.

One scenario in mind played: you on your knees under that same streetlight, with a woman clad in a black coat wielding a curved blade that seemed to gleam its own light even in the darkness. This undaunted, short-haired lady in a defensive stance, aiming to keep you from being kidnapped by the aswang in your area that would risk even the secrecy of their existence in the estero’s out of hunger they never bothered to control. Your entrails would have been their main course, and your soul their dessert, until the infamous Alexandra Trese came to your rescue within a split-second, not even giving you time to scream out loud for help.

As there were only two of the aswang who were going to salvage you to satisfy their hunger pangs, it only took mere moments for Alexandra to take them both down without a drop of blood on you. Even while she was splashed with blood, you looked upon her in awe and admiration. 

The mere thought of her figure post-rampage painted your cheeks red, as you also recalled the memory of her holding out a hand to you to help you up. The fear brought about by that near-death-by-aswang experience really made you literally weak on your knees, so at first you struggled to stand up right after you shakily gripped her hand.

When I get my hands on you

When I set my eyes on you

I get breathless and I’ve never felt this way before

I can’t explain this

It feels so different

So I want it more

No doubt, something coursed through you back then that made you gain just a little bit of strength to momentarily stand on your own two feet. You had that strength, alright, but you didn’t look it with the paleness of your face giving your state of weakness away to the woman in front of you.

“You’re safe now, you don’t have to be scared,” you heard Alexandra reassure you, and once again your knees were jelly.

So you stumbled. 

Blessed by her swift reflexes, your savior caught you effortlessly, and you couldn’t help but hold on to her arms and look into her unwavering black orbs. Another moment passed as she helped you back on your own two feet, her hands still on your shoulders as if to give you a sense of security amidst a relatively dangerous area.

You muttered an “I-i’m so sorry, ma’am,” to which the babaylan-mandirigma corrected you, “Call me Alex. You don’t look well enough to commute, and the streets are especially dangerous at this time of night. Let me take you home.”

I just want to whine

I’ll stop being calculative

I want you to notice how I am feeling

As if you would notice that I was lying

I don’t want to just be around you like the scent

She saved your ass from being a part of the aswang’s menu, and you thought that was just the bare minimum you deserved at that moment. You clearly didn’t expect her to help you up while you were definitely still weak on your knees, and you didn’t expect her to suddenly take you home.

So your mind momentarily went blank. 

Just like a PC that has been restarted, you began processing Alexandra’s offer to take you back home, and your feel yourself getting conflicted between letting her take you home for you to finally let another person help you from the ordeal you had sustained, or refusing her help just so you could prove you can still handle your own. 

But you were left with no choice as Alexandra said, “I insist. You’re much safer with me.”

With one speechless nod from you, she led you to the car where her two bodyguards were waiting and helped you settle at the back of the car, where she usually took her place.

I thought I knew

I was so confident that I knew everything

But I didn’t know, with you

As I get close to you, it gets more complicated

Even when I have something to say, my head goes blank

At the end of the day, I’m saying just meaningless words

“Another rampage, bossing?” one of the bodyguards, who was driving the black Sedan you were in, asked. “Those aswang sure are relentless.”

“At least you didn’t need to call us for help though,” remarked the other bodyguard, who looked like he was the twin of the man who spoke earlier. 

Right beside you, Alexandra let out a sigh for self-relief and responded, “Those aswang were easy prey. They were reckless enough to just corner a helpless passerby out in the night without any calculated plan of attack.”

The long-haired man at the wheel then replied, “Too hungry to even think, eh? ‘Yan tuloy.”

You paid no mind to the rest of the conversation between Alexandra and her bodyguards, instead finding yourself thinking about how secure you felt as the babaylan-mandirigma helped you up on your feet earlier under that streetlight. To you, her expression was nonchalantly serious, with a slight hint of concern that never escaped your perception. 

That concern never appeared for your eyes to see, but you felt it. It was there. Just for you, at that very moment after she saved you.

The train of thought halted to a stop in your head as Alexandra finally turned to you and said, “I never got your name. Do you want to tell me what it is?”

Turning to her with an expression akin to that of a child talking to their first crush, you stuttered, “I-it’s (Y/N). T-thanks again, for s-saving me back there, I t-thought I was gonna be a goner!”

Her eyes never leaving your form, she then replied, “It was a relief that I got to you before those monsters did.”

“Serves me right for waiting for a jeepney at an area without people, huh?” you remarked with a nervous chuckle, as a sign that you’ve finally found your keenness in freely attempting a conversation with Alexandra Trese, of all people. 

You thought she would reply to what you would refer to as a careless remark, but it seemed that you were wrong as one of the twin bodyguards replied to you instead.

“You were easy bait for those aswang, but no worries. Bossing got to you just in time.”

When I hold your hand

I feel like being a baby again

And I go whining and saying, “Don’t look at me like that”

I look you in the eye and take one step closer to you

No matter how much I plan and prepare

When I’m with you, I’m just a baby

Finally arriving at your place, Alexandra ordered her bodyguards to wait for her by the Sedan and turned to walk you to the front entrance. Out of gratitude, you finally mustered to thank your savior once again, which she answered with a nod and her replying, “Take care of yourself next time,” before she finally turned to where her vehicle was parked. 

You felt your heart sink then as she walked to the car by herself. What has gotten into you? She just saved you from an aswang attack, as is her duty as the mediator between humanity and the creatures of the underworld, and she probably doesn’t have the luxury of time to be the subject of anyone’s interest or courtship. So what was the matter? Why were you feeling as if you wanted, scratch that, needed to see her again?

Countless times before, you swore to yourself that you were the type of person not to fall for just anyone, regardless of how extraordinary they seem, regardless of whether they stood out in your eyes or not, out of fear of this weakness being exploited anyway and you being set up for disappointment in the long run. No, you would never let fragility get the best of you just because someone outright snagged you from a close call of an aswang attack.

Regardless of your distaste for showing weakness, that beating heart of yours nagged at you to call out her name and spend a few more seconds with her anyway.

Driven by your own resounding heartbeat, you called out to her while race-walking towards her, “Alex!”

Ey (I’m a)

Can I call you baby?

Ey (I’m a)

In front of love, I’m just a baby

Just like that, you got her phone number, along with a reminder from her to call her when you need help with anything out of the ordinary, which is pretty much another way of referring to supernatural occurrences or anything involving the supernatural realm. 

Under that same spotlight by the jeepney stop at night, still alone, you exited to your phone’s main menu and find your thumb almost grazing the contacts icon at the bottom of your screen. You pressed on that Contacts icon and found Alexandra Trese’s name right under the “A” list in your contacts, underneath a bunch of registered numbers without any proper names to them. With longing, you stared at that name along with her number.

‘I have your number, Alex. Can I call you anytime then, even when I’m not in trouble?’

I know I shouldn’t whine about it

I know it well that you’re everything in my mind

My heart wants you

I want your love

This feeling is so toxic

You’re the only antidote

“Fancy seeing you here again, (Y/N).”

The heart that was already fluttering in your chest skipped a beat upon hearing that familiar voice. Quickly, you turned to the owner of that special voice right beside you, belonging to none other than the person who has been plaguing your thoughts since that fateful night. As if by instinct, you smiled lightly and greeted her, “It’s good to see you again here, Alex. What brings you here tonight?”

I’m sure about my feelings but I can’t control them

The way I talk to you, treat you, and behave towards you

Is so immature

Mature person, Mature love

Mature man, I thought it would be easy

Everything is difficult in front of you

Alexandra filled you in on her agenda for tonight, “I was wondering if there was going to be something unusual happening tonight that concerned the aswang clans that have gone out of control. Strangely, nothing has been happening in this particular street, unlike the last time I saw you here.”

Your (e/c) orbs gone soft, you looked upon her as you replied with a chuckle, “And then you found me instead.”

Her own eyes slightly widened, the woman before you cleared her throat and answered, “Yes I did. And I’m relieved to know you’re safe tonight.”

Time passed, and the silence between you and Alexandra remained as she stayed vigilant and prepared for a possible aswang attack that could happen right where the two of you were standing right now. Worried, you checked the digital clock on your phone once again, which read, “11:43 PM.” Upon being aware that it was actually past your bedtime, your features manifested a look of both worry and frustration, and Alexandra seemed to have noticed it herself.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?”

“I am, it’s just,” you let out a tiny whimper as you continued, “it’s past my bedtime already, I had to stay behind in school to help out with an org activity the day after, and I haven’t even studied for my exam tomorrow. I hate it when I can’t ride a jeepney right away going home.”

Hold your horses. Did you just rant to Alexandra Trese about your current predicament?

What should I do?

Am I under the illusion?

Will this end easily?

(Oh na na na na what should I do)

Closer (Oh na na na na what should I do)

I want to come to you and get to you

Out of embarrassment from the complaint you just uttered to the person who once saved you from the aswang, the person who brought you home out of kindness, the person you have admired for a long time but never had the chance to tell out of fear of rejection and quite possibly your own consideration for her duties to both the human and otherworldly realms, warm blood rushed to your cheeks and you covered your face as you apologized, “Sorry Alex, I didn’t mean to bother you about my own personal troubles. I can handle it by myself, I promise.”

A hand on your shoulder finally prompted you to look right at her, your head finally unobscured by the hands which formerly shrouded the remains of your embarrassed demeanor.

“Want me to take you home again, (Y/N)?”

This was your one chance to be with this one hell of a woman yet again, like the last time you both were under that same streetlight by the jeepney stop.

What made the current circumstance different from before was that you were not afraid to accept her offer this time. You were hell-bent on getting Alexandra to remember you as much as you continued to remember her and savor that special memory with her.

(Baby)

(I want to come to you and get to you)

No matter how much I plan and prepare

When I’m with you, I’m just a

With an unexplained expression driven by a growing fondness for the babaylan-mandirigma before you, you finally replied to her, “Of course Alex. Thanks again, I appreciate it so much.”

Alexandra then took you by the hand and led her to where that same black Sedan was parked. Cherishing the warmth of her hand, you slightly tightened your hold as if to say, ‘I love holding your hand, and I don’t plan on letting it go anytime.’

I look you in the eye and take one step closer to you

No matter how much I plan and prepare

When I’m with you, I’m just a baby

Ey (I’m a)

Can I call you baby?

Ey (I’m a)

In front of love

I’m just a baby

[yeojaa]

finders keep hers, iii.

read parts one and two!  the long awaited conclusion!  i’m sorry it turned into a friggin’ novel.  i hope it does the first two parts justice, though.  these kids are...  idiots.  i love them and you (and also the best beta reader @hobi-gif​)!  💖

pairing.  jjk x named f!reader.  rating.  explicit, ofc.  tags.  this is...  really soft at certain parts.  and then really raunchy at others.  oops?  but fr - mainly fluff with some smut at the end.  you might need a filling.  wc.  5.4k.

You’re buzzed into the building without a moment’s hesitation, the kind concierge with the gummy smile and greying temples beaming at you as you enter.  “Nice to see you, Miss Lee.”

“You too, Mr. Choi.”  A grin of your own is offered, gym bag hiked higher over your shoulder as you pause to chat.  You’re in no rush.  “Is he home?”

“I don’t believe so.”  The sudden look of disapproval that colours the older gentleman’s features is almost comical, reminiscent of a disparaging parent.  It’s the same expression you’re greeted with nearly every time you visit.  “He left in a town car yesterday afternoon and I don’t think he’s been back since.  That boy’s going to get himself in trouble one day.”  As if Jungkook didn’t already - as if it didn’t follow him around, glued to the bottoms of his Italian leather shoes.

“Tell me about it.”

“You know…”  There’s that twinkle in Mr. Choi’s eyes again - the one that tells you he’s about to repeat the same words he always does when he catches you alone.  “A nice girl like you could get him to settle down.”

Your response is what it always is - a scoff and a laugh rolled into one.  It careens off your tongue, ringing in the spacious lobby.  “I don’t think anyone will ever get him to settle down.”

How true that is, you’re not sure.  For your sake, you try not to think about it too much. 

The old man is undeterred though, shrugging his narrow shoulders beneath the neat uniform he wears.  It’s a little loose in the chest but immaculate otherwise, tie knotted in a classic Windsor and collar ironed perfectly.  He levels you with that shrewd stare of his but says nothing further, simply engaging you in an unspoken staring contest. 

Sometimes, you wonder how much he sees.  How much he knows .

You break before he does, tearing your gaze away and blinking rapidly.  He laughs, full bellied and deep from the chest.  “Get on upstairs, Miss Lee.”  You aren’t offended by the dismissal.  “It’s always nice chatting with you.”

You remind yourself to bring him chocolates the next time you’re by.  The ones with hazelnuts, because those are his favourite. A fact you only know because you’ve helped your best friend pick up a box for him every Christmas, writing the card and having him sign it right before it gets left behind the desk.

Actually, you helped Jungkook with a lot of things.  Always had.  It was simply the nature of your friendship - passed down by your parents and forged stronger by childhood playdates, your fair share of teenage squabbling, and college hangovers so bad they’d created an unbreakable bond.  

Whenever he would need you, you’d be there - whether that meant picking him up at 4 AM from the airport because he wanted “some shitty fast food and to see you” or helping him pick gifts for Mother’s Day.  There was no task too small, no moment too inconsequential. 

Unconditional love, they called it. 

It’s why you have no problem swanning into his apartment with the extra key you’ve had since he moved in, kicking off your trainers and tucking them neatly alongside the rows of black leather and expensive sneakers.  

You do so much for him that you take where you can, indulging in all of the luxuries you’ve never been afforded.  Unparalleled view, stupidly expensive toiletries, a damn jacuzzi tub . 

You pull your sweater over your head - truthfully, one of Jungkook’s from college that you’d never felt inclined to give back - and toss it over the back of a barstool on your way into the guest suite.  Your bag follows shortly after, deposited at the foot of the bed that exists as a rotating welcome mat to your and Jungkook’s circle of friends.  

The rest of your clothes - sports bra, shorts, thong, socks - are stripped, folded, and tucked into the laundry bag you keep handy.  You know you could leave them here and Jungkook’s housekeeper would take care of it, but you’ve never been too comfortable with that.  Different upbringings.

The spray is like sweet relief the moment you step beneath the rainforest shower.  It’s the perfect temperature and pressure, melting the sweat and tension from your bones.  

But it isn't why you’re here, so you make quick work in the glass enclosure, scrubbing your body bare and lathering and conditioning your hair into a squeaky clean mess.  Any other time, you’d just spend a good half hour standing beneath the head but you’re feeling particularly indulgent today.  

Call it a spa day, courtesy of one Jeon Jungkook. 

You don’t bother to dry off, water splashing across the floor as you step from the shower and sink into the spacious tub that overlooks the heart of Seoul.  Diptyque bath oil encapsulates the room in a bubble of sweet almond, similarly branded candle burning on the ledge.  The jets release a steady stream against your tired back and legs, massaging your limbs into jelly. 

You can’t help the sigh of utter relaxation that rolls off your tongue, sinking into water in the same instance your shoulders do.    

This is what dreams are made of.  Anyone who says differently is an idiot and a liar. 

“When are you going to tell her?”

You’re not expecting the voice and it breaks the silence like a thousand pound weight, shattering the calm and nearly startling you enough for you to knock your head on the edge of the tub.  

There’s no reason for you to be surprised.  Not really.  This isn’t your home, after all.  You aren’t entitled to any sort of privacy.  

It doesn’t matter, though.  The discomfort in your chest is unfolding regardless, lodging rocks in your throat.  

Because it’s a female voice.  Lilting, soft, draped in familiarity.  Not someone brand new.  

Your heart stutters at the realisation.  The rush of blood against your eardrums is so loud you momentarily wonder whether they can hear it all the way in the living room.  They must be able to - it’s practically deafening.  You can’t even hear the rest of their conversation.

Their conversation .

Which seems to have ended, leaving only silence.

You suddenly remember your shoes, your sweater.  Traces of you littered throughout the apartment that isn’t yours.  God, you’re an idiot.  He was going to kill you - or she was.  You’re not sure which is worse.

You’re reaching for the fluffy white towel on the rack when you’re scared near half to death yet again.  This time, by your best friend who cuts an imposing figure in the doorway, broad form resting casually against the frame.  He looks surprisingly unbothered, curls pushed back from his forehead by a pair of sunglasses and arms folded over his chest.

“Jesus!”  The shriek comes four octaves higher than it normally would, pitching into the open so loudly you wince.  “You scared me!”

You can’t help the way you peek past his shoulder for a sign of the girl he’d brought home.

“Enjoying yourself?”  There’s something amused dancing in the darks of his eyes, his mouth curving around the same emotion as he steps into the bathroom.  You’d be bothered if he were anyone else, unnecessarily long legs carrying him to you in three strides.  

“I didn’t know you were home.”  You can’t quite meet his stare, still far too distracted by the mystery woman.  Had he left her on the couch?  Maybe his bedroom as he snuck you out?  What excuse could he come up with?

“Didn’t know you were home either.”  

He’s made himself comfortable right on the ledge of the tub, marked fingers dragging lazily through the still-scalding water.  He doesn’t seem terribly in a rush.  That puts you on edge.

Was he going to hide you in here? 

“I wanted to relax after my run.”  You don’t owe him an explanation - not really - but you offer it anyway.  You figure you need to, when you might’ve ruined his Sunday morning romp session.  You can’t bring yourself to address it, though.  The words just won’t come, sitting on the tip of your tongue like thorns.  It hurts to swallow. 

Jungkook doesn’t further the conversation - a first for him.  He’s normally a chatterbox.

The silence stretches on.  Suffocating.

You force yourself to speak, staring down at your hands that are slowly pruning beneath the water.  “Should I… go?”  The way it comes is feeble, soft, uncertain.  You hate it.

By the look of surprise on his face, he does, too.  He cackles suddenly, like a goddamn witch.  “Why?”

Heat floods across your cheeks.  You wish you could blame it on the bath or the steam that still collects on the mirrors.  It pulls high over your ears, colouring them tomato red and embarrassed.  Surely, he knows why.  

When he repeats himself, it’s harder, without any of the laughter from before.  

Rather than answer, you wave a hand through the air, fingers wiggling.  The universal sign for you know .  It should be enough - you hope it’s enough.  Your ego won’t let you verbalise it.  

“Suddenly mute, baby?”

It isn’t quite mocking - teasing, maybe - but it stokes the fire that burns in the pit of your stomach and licks uncomfortably at the organ in your chest.  You don’t even look at him as you nearly spit the words, petulant and far more bothered than you should be.  “You’ve got a girl here.”  

A laugh that isn’t quite a laugh comes, swathed in velvet and coloured blue.  The effort you make to not shoot him a glare is herculean.  

He’s still snickering when he speaks.  “You mean my sister?”

“Your sister?”  It’s more surprise at yourself that has you whipping to look at him, bewilderment tossing all other emotion out the window.  Because his sister was practically your sister.  How had you not recognised her voice?  You feel silly all at once, the embarrassment from earlier fading into reticence. 

“Yeah.  I spent the night babysitting the twins.”

You sometimes forget how much Jungkook loves children - especially his sisters’.  It’s hard to reconcile the family man he effortlessly transforms into when he spends most of his waking hours playing the perfect part of unaffected bachelor. 

“How are they?”  You ask because you care - you adore Minseo and Minhyuk - but also so you can move the conversation along.  The last thing you want to do is dwell on your mistake.

“They’re good.  Getting big.”  He’s got that smile on his face - the one that’s softer than any other, with deep lines at the corners of his eyes.  Reserved especially for the people he cares about most.  Your favourite sight.  “You can come with me next time.  Minnie asked about you, anyway.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest.

Being liked by peers?  Great.  Being respected by your superiors?  Rewarding.  But being loved by children?  It was in a league all its own - better than ice cream on a hot day.

“Sure.”  You can’t keep the grin away.

That is, until he speaks again, circling the conversation back.  “So, were you jealous?”  His ability to piss you off is uncanny.  It’s like it’s written into his genetic code, each molecule of his body tasked with ruining your day. 

“No.”  It’s meant to be a scoff.  It’s not very believable.

“You sure, princess?”  The fingers on your chin are wholly unnecessary - he’s got you caught in his stare, locked in place with nowhere to go.

“Yes, Bunny .”  You know how much he hates the nickname, only tolerating it because it’s you.  You can’t deny the pleasure that comes at the sight of his jaw tensing, muscle jumping in agitation.  Just as he’s your weakness, you’re his, too.  “Now let me finish—”

He cuts you off, sharp and unrelenting:  “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”  

“You heard me.  Get out of the tub or I’m pulling you out myself.”  Risen to his full height, he’s an imposing figure.  Even worse, there’s something you can’t read in his expression - something that has your nerves firing wildly.  Your heart rattles around in your chest, uncertain.  

He leaves you without another word.

You scramble out of the bath as quickly as your confused limbs allow you, knotting the towel beneath your arms.  You’re not quite sure what to do next, caught between pulling your clean clothes out of your workout bag and demanding an answer from your sphinx of a best friend.

What the hell was his problem? 

Your impatience wins out as you’re tugging a brush through your hair, fumbling uncharacteristically through knots until you’re too frustrated to continue.  You’re ready to tear into him when you storm out of the guestroom;  you’ve got a barrage of insults on your tongue, proverbial gun cocked and ready to unload.  

They melt away when you spy him on the couch, neatly wrapped bouquet laid across the coffee table.

“Come here.”  It’s not a request so much as a demand - commanding and soft all at once.  A small part of you wants to fire off a rebuttal;  that part dies when he repeats himself, louder this time. 

The seat you take beside him is begrudging, a good foot of space held between your bodies.  You fiddle with the hem of your towel, turning a loose thread over and over your index finger. 

“What?”  It’s snippy, discontent - kerosene on the fire that burns beneath Jungkook’s skin.

“Watch it,”  he retorts, though there’s no acid to his words.  Frankly, he sounds more frustrated than angry, more exasperated than pissed off.

That makes one of you.

Only he can bring out this side of you - brusque and biting.  “ You watch it, Bunny.”

Fingers find the bridge of his nose, a gesture you don’t see very often.  Guilt blooms behind your ribcage as he rubs at the tension between his eyes.  For someone who has it all, he looks like he’s a moment away from losing it. 

“You’re a brat, you know that?”  

“Takes one to know one,”  you retort, not unkindly.  

“You’re making this really hard,”  he snaps in the same instant he all but throws the overwhelming bunch of flowers at you.  

You nearly drop them you’re so surprised.

“What are these for?”

“You.”

“Me?”  

“Did I stutter?”

If you weren’t so busy studying the arrangement of florals, you’d have some witty comeback.  As it stands, you’re preoccupied by the pretty bunch of peonies and tulips.  You wonder what he’s done wrong - why he’s found it necessary to soften the blow with your favourite flowers. 

Your thoughts drift back to his sister’s words:  when are you going to tell her?

All at once, you want nothing more than to leave.  You don’t want whatever heartbreak is about to come.  You’re not ready for it.  

“Listen—”

He cuts you off, again.  “I love you.”

You’re not sure how your face looks.  You imagine you could look up flabbergasted in the dictionary and you’d find a photo of your expression right now.  “What?”

Jungkook won’t quite look at you, intently focused on an indiscernible point against the far wall.  When he speaks the words again, they’re full of uncertainty - but not in the way you expect.  The confession is as believable as any you’ve ever heard - he really does sound like he loves you - but somehow, it’s draped in dread and held aloft by hummingbird wings.  “I love you.”  

He’s nervous, you realise in amazement. 

“Come again?”  

He meets your stare then, brow knitting with unease.  He doesn’t say it again, though.

“Are you messing around with me?”  You don’t mean it how it comes - a little accusatory.

“I’m not an asshole.”  Except both of you know he certainly can be.  You don’t call him on it, though, opting instead to peer curiously at him, hands fisted around the bouquet in your lap.  “I talked to my sister.  She…”  He shrugs once, an almost helpless roll of his shoulders.  “She told me I was an idiot.”

You’re not surprised by that.  Lina had always been the one to give it to him straight.

“She said I would lose you if I didn’t get my shit together.”  There’s a bit of childish petulance that works its way into each syllable - he hates being told what to do.  “Said I needed to tell you or I’d regret it.  Which is stupid, because we’ve been best friends forever and she’s younger than me so what does she know—”  He must realise he’s rambling, something he never does.  “But—”

“But?”  Quiet, hopeful, coaxing. 

There’s a warmth in your chest - illuminating and golden and so bright it hurts to think about.  It grows with each moment that passes, spurred on by the look in his eyes and how they find yours.  

Hesitation pulls the silence a beat too long.  The light wanes.  You wonder if the moment has passed.  

And then he continues, a little more earnestly.  “Was she right?  Am I going to lose you?”

You’re not entirely sure what he’s asking.  You don’t think he even knows what he’s asking.  You try to answer anyway, as honest as you can without pinning your heart directly on your sleeve.  “You’ll never lose me.”

“You know what I mean.”  

Did you?  “You’ll never lose me.”  You’re the one repeating yourself this time, just that bit harder.  

“Then say it.”  Again, not a request.  A prayer, perhaps.  Ardent and needy - a world away from the Jeon Jungkook you know.

You don’t hesitate.  “I love you.”

He doesn’t either - upon you so quickly you don’t have time to blink or think.  

How he kisses you now feels different.  More .  It’s like being consumed entirely - changed from the inside out in ways you never thought possible.  Where he touches, sparks fly, filling you like stars in the night sky.  Lava rolls over every inch, dragging heat and want and need from the soles of your feet to the tip of your nose.  You’re gasping rather than breathing, clawing against the front of his shirt and twining your fingers into the strands that curl over his nape. 

“You never told me you could kiss like that.”  It’s lacking coherence, made by a partial inhale and wild, wondrous eyes.

His response is a laugh and another kiss, forceful and adoring and utterly devastating.  “Shut up,”  he mouths against your lips, tongue licking over your teeth and gums like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you.  Hands follow in the same amorous motions, tugging and pulling and aching for you closer;  the tips of his fingers sear white hot heat over your hips, the small of your waist, the delicate bones of your ribcage.

“I’m serious...”  You really are - far more than you should be.  You’d been missing out on this ?  It’s incomprehensible.

The sound he makes is more of a growl, playful and resounding in the cavern of his chest.  It rattles your own, sending your heart on a downward spiral into the pit of your stomach.  His nose traces the column of your throat, soft lips guiding him further until he’s mouthing hotly over the bare skin of your shoulder.  Tongue teases, delves ever so gently into the dip of your collarbone, and swipes back up, laving over the maroon that peeks around the edge of his teeth.  You can’t help but keen, holding him so closely you wonder if you’re suffocating him.

“So am I.”  Each syllable is punctuated by another nip, another nibble.  It seems like his goal is to bloom roses across your skin - a wreath to welcome him home, made by his own touch.

You don’t mind.  

“Say it again,”  he demands, hopeful and unashamed from his place against your neck.  

The admission comes easily, as if it’s always lived on the tip of your tongue.  “I love you.”  

“Again.”  You’re not ready for the way he stares at you - like he’s never done before.  Like he’s seeing you for the first time and he’s awestruck.  “Say it again.”

“I love you.”  Hands find the familiar contours of his face, thumbs brushing over the hollows of his eyes, over the beauty mark that sits front and centre beneath his lip.  Each graze follows a repetition of the confession, as if you might burn the three simple words beneath his skin - write it into his DNA like he’s written into yours.  “I love you.  I love you.  I love you, Bunny .”

He holds you close - so tightly it feels almost as if he’ll crush you - and captures your mouth again.  It’s more gentle but just as lovesick.  A thousand unspoken words spill from his tongue to yours, swallowed whole with greed you don’t bother to hide.

“I need you.”  It’s whiny, framed by a pout that could end wars and paired with doe eyes so wide and innocent you almost want to roll your own.  

“You have me.”

“Do I?”  There’s a very deliberate roll of his hips, denim of his jeans rough against the exposed softness of your inner thighs, hands manoeuvring over the partially covered swell of your hips.  The press of his fingers is purposeful, digging tension into every inch.  As if he might transfer some of the unadulterated need that thrums through his veins, turning his heart to jelly and brain to mush.

“Since when do you ask?”  You have a point.

“You’re right,”  his grin is almost lazy, drawing over his mouth in a measured crawl.  “Good girls just do what they’re told, right?”  His grips tightens almost imperceptibly, holding you to him almost effortlessly.  You’ve been in this position a hundred times before but it’s never been this easy - like breathing.

The gasp you offer is all mock affront, hand laid palm-down across your chest.  You don’t miss the way his gaze follows it before ticking lower, unabashed in its admiration.  “Are you saying I’m not?”

“Don’t know, baby.”  The war on your neck has resumed, teeth traded seamlessly for the softer promise of his tongue, the dry brush of his lips.  It’s almost sinful, garnering sighs of affection and need from somewhere low in your throat.  “Want to be a good girl for me?”

You’re not quite used to this version of him - playful and needy and not nearly as demanding as usual.  A part of you wants to draw out the side of him you know is there, hidden just beneath the surface;  the other wants to bask in this, all feather soft and cotton candy sweet.

“Always,”  you return, with a coquettish smile and fluttering lashes. 

“Always,”  he murmurs, tasting it for the first time.  He sounds almost giddy when he repeats it once, then twice, then a third time for good measure.  You think it’ll come again, laughter rolling off your tongue as you stare into the eyes of the boy you love.  Instead, he speaks in a voice full of gravel and grit, all traces of your sunshine boy suddenly swallowed whole by the darks of his pupils.  “Fuck - I can’t wait to have you.”

“Then what’re you waiting for?”  You don’t need to push him.  You like to do it anyway.  It feels right .

“You’re the worst.”  What Jungkook means is you’re the best and I love you and I’m going to fuck you six ways into next week .  What he means is this is the scariest thing he’s ever done but it’s all right because he has you.  What he means is thank you - and how he shows it is through worship.  

On the way to the bedroom, he crowds every inch of you, holding you so closely you wonder if he’s trying to carve himself into your bones.  He’s firm and unrelenting, balancing you against his chest as he smothers every available inch of your shoulders in sweet, sloppy kisses.  He revels in the way you cling to him like you’ve never needed anything else. 

In his bed, he lays you out and strips you bare.  He offers devotion with every pass of his fingers, every trail of his tongue.  He wants you so badly it’s hard to focus on giving you everything you deserve, but he tries anyway.  He sucks love into your neck and over your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers until you’re panting and he’s aching for the same treatment.  

On his knees, he prays at the altar of your body, taking his time to map the constellations on your skin, the memories written into each scar and dot.  His tongue follows the raised flesh that sits across your hip - an unfortunate mishap from a schoolyard dare.  You whine and he nearly cries, soothing over the sensitive spot with hands and lips and tenderness.  He lays kisses on each freckle, each irregular mark.  From your navel to your knee and everywhere in between, he caresses and comforts, turning those blemishes into stars.  

He also teases - subtly, quietly, with wandering hands and focused breaths.  You don’t realise it until it’s too late, your insides molten, your pulse a thunderclap in your ears.  

“Jungkook.”  It sounds more like begging than anything.  Exactly what he wants.

“What’s up, princess?”  Spoken so casually, as if he isn’t between your legs, long fingers tracing through the slick that coats your thighs.  He gazes up from behind too long strands, all wide-eyed and terribly sweet - until he pops a digit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around the taste of you.  “Something wrong?”

“Stop teasing.”  You hear yourself whine but it doesn’t quite sound like you, higher pitched and needier than you’ve ever been.  

“I thought you were going to be good for me,”  he returns with a tut and a push of that same finger deep into your cunt.  He flexes it experimentally, beaming up at you when you clench around the intrusion that’s too much and not even close to being enough all at once.  “You’re so wet, baby.  I just slide right in.”  

As if to drive his point home, he drives another finger in, scissoring them languidly to stretch you open.  It’s such a pretty sight, messy and inviting.  He can’t resist a taste, dragging the flat of his tongue over and around the fingers that continue to fuck into you at a faster pace.   

“ Jungkook! ”  You’re shrieking, bucking against the onslaught of sensations.  A shapely arm immediately cages you against the bed, palm splayed across your hips.  

“Stay still.”  It’s a growl, teeth bared against the sensitive pearl between your legs.  Words are punctuated with the softest pressure - a silent threat that goes no further.  You wonder what he’ll do if he has to repeat himself.  “Good girls listen, remember?”

You’re fumbling across his shoulders, nails digging crescents everywhere you can reach.  You need him so badly it hurts .  “Please.”  

“Please what?”  That patented, stupid smirk cradles his mouth, tongue peeking out as he stares at you expectantly.  “If you’re going to be so demanding, at least use your words.”  He watches the way your eyes roll back into your head when he slots another finger in with the others and curls them against that particular spot that has you seeing stars.  The bastard has the audacity to coo at you.  “What’s wrong, baby?  Can’t speak?”

You’re near wailing, gasping and whining around words that sound like his name.  Angry red lines sprout across his shoulders, his arms - demands carved into flesh. 

He makes a sound, wistful and resigned.  You think - try to think, beyond the pleasure that’s building steadily in the pit of your stomach - that he’s finally going to give you what you need.  You’re almost crying for it, moisture crowding your lashes and threatening to spill over.

Then he withdraws, all at once.

You could scream.  In fact, you do, red in the face and chest heaving.  “I hate you!”  

“No.”  He’s upon you in an instant, insistent and terribly smug.  There’s a playground in his smile, childish laughter spilling into the spaces between you.  “You actually love me.”  He noses at your neck, the heat of his palm searing against your side as he sighs almost dreamily.  “Say it again.”

You answer him with something more than love - frustration and annoyance and so much devotion you can’t keep it out no matter how hard you try.  “No.”

It’s a challenge more than anything.  He knows it;  you know it.

He accepts it readily, just as you expect him to.  

“Say it.”  Enamel presses steady, heavy, into the sensitive spot right beneath your ear.  He mouths over the skin that blows out red and inviting beneath his ministrations, the firm press of his fingers gripping you without hesitation.  You can feel the entire weight of him against you, length nestled comfortably against your core.  He repeats himself as he rocks against you, dragging the swollen, leaking head of his cock through your folds with an agonising slowness that has you clenching around nothing.  “Come on, baby.”

You’re keening, adjusting your hips and grinding against him.  You still won’t say it, hoping to find a rhythm in the quiet that’s punctuated by your laboured breaths and his occasional laughter.

“Just say it and I’ll give you what you want.  I’ll give you everything.  Promise, sweetheart.”  

Framed against the late morning sun, hair spilling across his forehead in curls of india ink, he’s so handsome your heart leaps into your throat.  “I love you.”  It’s a wet confession, carried by a wave of emotion you don’t expect.

“I love you,”  he echoes, sinking into you so gradually you feel like you’re caught in slow motion, all of your focus balanced on the tip of a needle.  

It’s never been like this before.  Each inch is a delicious stretch, filling you and claiming you.  The drag is incredible, your walls fluttering around the intrusion and aching for more.  You bite back a sob, digging into the wide expanse of his back with your nails as your mouth seeks purchase anywhere it can - over his jaw, up his neck, across his shoulders.  He soothes you as he presses deeper, reassurances whispered against your temple.  

“I’ve got you, baby.  Let me make you feel good.”  When he bottoms out, you demand more - somehow, somehow - locking your ankles against the small of his waist. He doesn’t miss the way you clench, so tight around him it almost hurts , when he says those three words once again.  “I love you.”

His lips find yours and he brushes them over and over - a salve for the burn he ignites beneath your skin.  It doesn’t matter that he’s both the calm and the chaos.  Jungkook’s always been everything to you.

The rhythm he sets is unhurried and perfect.  Each snap of his hips has his cock dragging against your walls, filling and stretching you so well;  everywhere his skin brushes yours, you’re alive.  There are a million nerve endings going haywire beneath your skin, flashing bright as holiday lights.  

That’s what it’s like - Christmas morning .  Picture perfect and filled with wonder.

He’s completely smitten when he draws back just enough to see the entirety of you - your fucked-out expression, the rose-wreath he’s wrought around your neck, the sweat that beads between your tits and tempts him to duck his head.  “I love you.”  It’s almost hypnotising - watching you take him, pussy dripping and needy around his cock. 

“I love you,”  you parrot back - or try to.  It’s not very coherent, driven to a point of nonsense when his hips begin to stutter and he makes up for the loss of rhythm by slipping his fingers over your clit in circle eights.  

You’re at your breaking point.  He knows - can read you like the back of his hand - and holds you there, back bowing to kiss you breathless, pressure unrelenting against the bundle of nerves.  

“That’s it, princess.  Right there.”   

The coil snaps at the third pass and there are hot tears streaming down your cheeks, his name spilling off your tongue in tandem with the erratic thudding of your heart.  White spots your vision, entire body electrified as you crash headlong into an abyss of bliss.  You hear him join you with a hoarse whine, a mix of your cum slipping out of you as he rides out his own high with shallow thrusts, mouth open and panting against your shoulder.  

The comedown is hazy, dusted in exhaustion and a thin sheen of sweat.  When he slips from you, he doesn’t go far, tugging you comfortably against his side like you’re not both a little gross.  It’s not the first time you’ve fucked but it feels different.  

“I love you, baby.”  

“I love you, Bunny.”

You realise - it feels exactly like that.  Making love.

[argylemnwrites]

Why Are We Still Waiting? - Chapter 3

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe)

Word Count: ~4900

Rating: PG-13 (brief language)

Summary: A trip to meet the newest Beaumont isn’t off to the greatest start.

Author’s Note: So, since it has been ages since I updated this story, I feel like a quick recap is in order. Drake and Riley are in Cordonia to meet Savannah and Bertrand’s new baby girl, Caroline. They just met Liam’s new girlfriend, Iris, and her innocent questions about their postponed wedding made it clear that Drake is very frustrated by the fact they aren’t married yet. To catch up/jog your memory fully on this series, you can check out the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment masterlist (link in bio).

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Drake groaned as Riley reached forward to start scanning across the radio stations.

“What?” she asked. He noticed her give a tiny shrug out of the corner of his eye as she leaned back after settling on a Greek Top 40 station.

“I knew it. I swear you pick this one just to annoy me, Liu.” Drake had made the mistake of complaining about this particular station on one of their first trips back to Cordonia, right before she’d gone back to university. It was all over-produced and sugary, and the DJs were just fucking obnoxious. Of course, that last point probably didn’t actually bother Riley, since she couldn’t understand a word they said.

“Maybe I just like this station.” 

Drake glanced over and took in the giant shit-eating grin plastered across her face and just rolled his eyes. “Uh huh, sure. Let’s ignore the fact that this station plays a ton of songs in Greek.”

“I’m just trying to broaden my cultural horizons.”

“Says the woman who refused to watch Parasite because it has subtitles.’”

“If I wanted to read something, I would pick up a book,” she said, but she did lean forward again to flip over to a different station. 

“Thank you,” Drake said, clicking on the turn signal as he switched into the right lane.

“You make it too easy sometimes,” she said, Drake noticing that she shrugged a little out of the corner of his eye. “If you didn’t act like that station was pure torture, I probably wouldn’t enjoy it so much.”

All Drake could do was shake his head. “You know, some people might not be so open about liking something out of spite.”

“No, it’s not spite.” Drake glanced over and raised his eyebrows at that, so Riley elaborated. “Spite is mean-spirited. I know you like my teasing too much for it to be spite.”

“Really.” Drake deadpanned, although he wasn’t able to hold back his grin and fully play along.

“Uh huh. What other explanation is there for you hanging around me after all these years?”

“I can’t think of a single one,” he said, earning him a flick of her fingers against his shoulder.

“Well I guess I will have to keep teasing you then. Otherwise I might have to settle for a guy who would have made me get up before six this morning.”

Drake looked over at her at that. Even after years together, her ability to jump from intensely sarcastic to gently sincere in an instant still amazed him. Last night, Maxwell had called and offered to pick them up from the palace after dropping off Mom and Aunt Leona at the airport, but they had a very early departure time. Drake had turned him down, feeling like it would be a shitty move to force Riley to wake up early on vacation, particularly since she never complained about using her limited vacation days to visit his family. Yet here she was, appreciative of his gesture that cost him nothing.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to spend two hours in the car with Maxwell.”

She let out a laugh at that. “Well, at least I rank as better company in your book.”

“Always, Liu. Always.”

“Seriously though, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Her left hand settled on his shoulder and gave him a little squeeze at that, but she didn’t say anything else, just glanced out the window as Drake turned off the main road and onto the smaller one that led to the Beaumont’s estate. Within a few minutes, they were pulling onto the driveway. As they climbed out of the car, they heard an excited little voice calling from the direction of the estate’s entrance. 

“Uncle Drake!”

Drake closed the driver’s door and pivoted around quickly, crouching down and extending his arms. Bartie ran across the drive and threw his little arms around Drake’s neck, laughing as Drake scooped him up and hugged him tightly. 

“We saw your car diving! I wanted to go out. Say ‘hi’ like Mommy or Daddy. Uncle Maxwell said I had to stay inside. Had to stand still ‘til you stopped,” Bartie rambled off, barely taking time to take a breath. 

“Thought that a little toddler darting in front of the car might not be the best start to your visit,” added Maxwell, strolling over to their car. “Hey, little blossom,” he added as he hugged Riley.

“Oh, you don’t get to just ‘little blossom’ me after you convinced Liam to keep me away!” she chuckled as she gave him a playful shove. “What happened to me being a Beaumont and always welcome here?”

“He told you guys?” Maxwell asked, turning to glance at Drake.

“Of course he did!” Riley said, drawing Maxwell’s attention back to her. She laughed a bit and shook her head before walking around the car to Drake and Bartie. “Hey, Bartie! Wow, you’ve gotten so big!” Drake passed Bartie over to her, watching as she gave him a squeeze, but Bartie started squirming in her arms, clearly wanting to be released from the obligatory hugs.

Riley placed him down, and he turned right back to Drake, grabbing his hand and tugging on it. “Uncle Drake, come see my new playhouse!” he said, attempting to drag Drake along after him as he started moving back towards the estate.

“Hey, my favorite dude, do you remember why Aunt Riley and Uncle Drake are here?” Maxwell said, crouching in front of Bartie. 

Bartie kicked his foot against the driveway before he answered. “Everyone wants to see Caroline. But she’s boring. She doesn’t do anything!”

Drake was trying to figure out the best way to deal with his nephew’s clear jealousy, but Riley stepped forward and bent down next to Maxwell. “I would love to see your playhouse, Bartie.”

“What do you say?” added Maxwell. “Why don’t we show Aunt Riley while Uncle Drake goes to see your mom and dad and sister?”

Bartie was silent for a few moments, but then nodded, grabbing Riley and Maxwell’s hands and heading inside without a glance back. Maxwell chuckled, twisted around, and called out to Drake, “You remember where the nursery is, right?”

Drake nodded and raised a hand in acknowledgment, taking the time to pop the trunk and grab their luggage before venturing inside himself. He went straight upstairs, pausing only to place their bags in their usual room, before heading down the hall, turning to the left and entering the private quarters, making his way to the small room located all the way towards the end of the hallway, the last door on the right.

It seemed like just yesterday he was building a crib in there for Bartie when Savannah was moving in. The room looked much the same, the walls still a pale grey, the furniture all pure white. The layout hadn’t changed much, with the crib placed against the far wall beneath a painting of stars shining over a lake with a squid waving a tentacle in the air, the changing table right next to it, and the dresser next to the rocking chair in the corner. The only thing that looked different, as far as Drake could remember, was the sheet tucked around the crib mattress. Back when this had been Bartie’s room, the sheets were covered in a variety of zoo animals, the only splash of color in the otherwise greyscale nursery. Now, they were a black and white check, much more subdued.

Laying in the center of the crib, wrapped tightly in a light pink blanket, was a sleeping baby. Drake didn’t have a lot of experience with infants, but even he had heard you never wake a sleeping baby, so he stepped further into the room carefully, trying not to make a sound. When he reached the crib, he couldn’t help but stare. This was Caroline. His niece.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, just taking her in, but eventually Savannah’s voice caught his attention.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s a bit creepy to just sneak into someone’s home and watch their child sleep?”

Drake turned his head to look over his shoulder. His sister was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, an eyebrow cocked. “Hey, Sav. Maxwell sent me up here.”

“I should have known,” she said, walking over to join him by the crib, wrapping an arm around his waist as she gave him a half-hug. “I see you’ve met Caroline.”

“She’s beautiful,” Drake said, looking down again at the little baby in the crib, a few fine brown hairs covering her head. His niece. She was so tiny. It was kind of overwhelming, seeing her like this. When he’d met Bartie, it had been such a total shock that he even existed. Plus, he had been so much older than this. “Congratulations.”

“You can pick her up, you know.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to disturb her.”

Savannah let out a few little chuckles. “She is the one who disturbs everyone most of the time. Besides, she’s just about due for a feeding.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, Drake. Just go wash your hands, and then you can hold her.”

And so a minute later, Drake found himself being handed his niece, so small and fragile-seeming. “Is this okay?” he asked, trying to make sure he walked the fine line between being gentle and holding her firmly as he tucked her against his chest.

“You aren’t going to hurt her!” Savannah laughed out.

“I just… I’ve never held a baby this little before. I don’t want to mess this up,” Drake said. Caroline felt so light in his arms. She was blinking, slowly becoming more alert after being shifted from her crib. Her bluish-grey eyes finally seemed to lock on his. “Hey, Caroline,” he said, “I’m your Uncle Drake.” But before he could think of anything else to say, she opened her mouth and let out a piercing wail.

Drake glanced over at Savannah. “What do I do?”

She laughed again. “God, what is Riley going to do with you when it’s your kid? She’s a baby, not an alien. She’s either hungry, sleepy, or has a dirty diaper.” But before she could poke fun at him any further, she reached over and shifted Caroline into her arms. “And since she’s hungry, I’m really the only one who can handle that.”

“Oh, do you want privacy or should I…”

Savannah shrugged. “I use a nursing blanket since Barthelemy walked in on me and made things real awkward.” And with that she settled onto the rocking chair, adjusting her top, positioning Caroline, then tugging a little cover over herself.

“What did Barthelemy do?” Drake asked as he moved to the side wall, leaning against it.

“Just acted real weird about the whole thing, talked to Bert about reminding me how a duchess should comport herself.”

“What a jackass.”

Savannah let out a sigh. “Bertrand was very apologetic when he relayed the message. But using a nursing blanket is not a big deal, and if it makes things easier for Bert with his dad…” She trailed off, staring down at Caroline, reaching under the nursing blanket to adjust something before she spoke again. “Having him around here has not exactly been some big happy family. I don’t know if his illness changed him, or if my memories of him were just fuzzy, but he’s an odd duck.”

Drake glanced over to the doorway. “Uhh, Sav. Not that I care, but the door is wide open and-”

She laughed and shook her head. “He’s at his rehab and physical therapy appointment this morning.”

“Ahh, gotcha. Any more talk of him trying to regain the title of duke?” Back when Barthelemy had returned to the estate, Sav had confided that it seemed like he was hinting that Bertrand should renounce his title and return it to his father. But since their wedding, it had seemed like most of that talk had died.

“No, he and Godfrey laid on the pressure after the honeymoon, but as soon as we announced the pregnancy, he backed off. His new mission seems to be to convince Liam that either Bartie or Caroline should be appointed as heir to the throne, which is crazy to think about, but it keeps him busy, so…” Savannah tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows, letting the thought just hang there in the room. 

Drake was bothered by the implications of that statement, but he knew that pressing Savannah on it would not really get him anywhere. As inappropriate and concerning as he found the implication that Savannah and Bertrand weren’t shutting Barthelemy down completely with that shit, he knew voicing his objections now would not solve anything. Discussing this all with Liam would make much more sense. So he just filed the statement away and moved to change the subject.

“Is it easier this time around, knowing what you are doing?”

Savannah smiled before glancing down at Caroline. “I think it’s more that I have a support system. And yes, I know it was my choice to not have one before,” she added before Drake could interject. “I guess in some ways at least I know what to expect, but Caroline is way more cranky than Bartie was at this age. Besides, I don’t think any parent ever really feels like they know what they are doing.”

“Nah, you seem to have it down.”

“It’s just a lot of trial and error. You’ll see when you guys have a baby.”

Drake ran his hand across his jaw, glancing down and watching his toes nudge into the baseboard. “I have a feeling that’s gonna be a while for us.”

“Oh come on! Don’t you want your kids to grow up with their cousins?”

Drake swallowed before taking a breath. “Of course I do.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“Well, getting married to start.” Shit. “Not that I think people have to be married to raise a kid or-”

“Relax, Drake,” Savannah said, cutting off his apologetic ramble. “It’s not like Bartie was a planned pregnancy.”

“Neither was Caroline,” he thought, but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to risk offending his sister or make her feel like he was judging her and her family. 

“I know you have an old-fashioned streak-”

“Hey!” Drake interjected, but Savannah just kept on going.

“-but I think you guys should think about having kids soon. You were going to be married by now anyway! And isn’t that the modern, New York thing to do?”

Drake didn’t know where all this was coming from. Why she was so insistent about something that didn’t involve her. But man, he wished she would move on to any other topic of conversation. Because what could he say? That he was ready to be married with kids? That he would have no problem starting a family with Riley tomorrow? He couldn’t share that with his sister, at least not without sharing things about Riley he was pretty confident she would never want Savannah to know.

The fact that she had decided on a birth control option that would last for three years made it pretty clear where her head was at with the whole kid thing. She wasn’t really ready, not by a long shot. And until she was ready, there was really nothing he could do about it. Drake was just going to have to wait until she felt like the time was right, whenever that might be.

Maybe it was just that he was four years older than her. Maybe that’s why he felt so ready to take those next steps when she seemed so unbothered, so willing to just roll along. And to be fair, it’s not like they were ever going to be a couple like Hana and Catherine, who had timelines and life plans and five year goals. But deep down, Drake couldn’t help but wonder why Riley seemed so ambivalent about them getting married and starting a family. Was she unsure about something in their relationship, unsure about something with him?

It’s not that she didn’t want kids ever, as far as he knew. She’d mentioned wanting kids before. And they’d planned that first wedding without issue. But now it seemed like she was stuck. No rush to get married. Not thinking about having kids for years. And Drake didn’t know how to approach the whole topic without seeming like he was demanding things. Putting pressure on her. He was happy. They were happy. It was something his younger self would have never thought possible, and it should definitely be enough. But maybe he was selfish, because there were times where it just didn’t feel like enough.

Maybe it would be helpful to talk to someone about this, but that would feel like violating Riley’s trust. He knew Riley had her therapist she talked to, and he was sure their relationship was a topic of conversation there, but that was different. The therapist wasn’t someone who knew Drake, who was his friend or family. Anyone Drake would feel comfortable talking about this with knew Riley. Knew her well, quite frankly. 

So for now, he was just going to have to keep moving forward. Keep hoping that Riley would start to feel ready soon. And at the moment, that meant sidestepping his sister’s questions and prodding.

“Geez, Sav! We haven’t even been here for an hour, and you are laying it on really thick.”

“Sorry, sorry! I know it’s not my business! If it makes you feel better, it’s not just with you. Kiara also told me I needed to back off when I started asking her about when she and Oliver were going to have kids right after their wedding.”

“Wait, when did Kiara get married?”

“Oh, Drake! At least you have an excuse for not knowing all the news now that you live abroad.” she said, shaking her head. “They eloped maybe… four months ago?”

And then Savannah was off, filling Drake in on tons of gossip he didn’t give two shits about. But it made her happy, and it was a safe topic of conversation, so who was he to complain?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Riley sat crossed legged on the floor in Bartie’s room at a little table, Maxwell seated across from her. Meanwhile, Bartie was hard at work at his toy kitchen set, organizing pieces of plastic food on plates. He wanted to show off and make “lunch” for them. Riley supposed that this was probably a common way for a three and a half year old to want to play, not that she had any such memories from her own childhood. What wasn’t common, she was sure, was the formal table setting Bartie had carefully placed in front of each of them, the perfectly pressed white apron he’d asked Maxwell to help him tie on, or the fact that he was arranging his plastic lettuce, eggs, and meat on actual china.

“Looks excellent, my favorite dude,” said Maxwell as Bartie carefully carried over several plates to the table. “What’s on the menu?”

“Steak tartare with a fresh greens salad,” he said before turning and heading back towards his little kitchen.

“Wait, aren’t you going to join us?” asked Riley, trying to keep from bursting out in laughter at the thought of a preschooler preparing such a meal.

“Aunt Riley, no aprons at the table!” he said his eyes wide as he turned back to face her.

“Yeah, come on Aunt Riley, where are your manners?” Maxwell winked before twisting to look over at Bartie. “You need any help untying your apron there?”

“No, I can do it,” Bartie ground out, tugging on the ties without much luck.

“Okay, well I’m right here if you do need help,” Maxwell responded. Within five seconds, Bartie was back, standing right next to him.

“Thanks, Uncle Maxwell!” he said, happily pulling the apron off and jogging over to hang it up nicely once Maxwell had it untied.

“You’re working hard to maintain your title as best uncle.” Riley said.

“Every time you guys come to visit, he suddenly wants to go fishing and camping instead of having dance parties with me.”

Riley laughed at that. “We’re new and exciting, what can I say.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re the favorite aunt by default.”

“What does default mean?” asked Bartie, plopping down on the floor next to them.

“It means no other choices, dude.”

“Oh,” Bartie said, nodding before picking up his silverware, pretending to cut into the plastic in front of him with surprising coordination.

“So has Uncle Maxwell been hanging out with you a lot since your sister came home?”

Bartie shrugged. “I guess.”

“We’ve definitely been seeing some jealousy,” Maxwell said with a nod. “I kind of thought this might happen, so I made sure to clear my schedule for a handful of weeks around the due date.”

“That was thoughtful of you.”

Maxwell tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Hey, I’m favorite uncle for a reason.”

“Uncle Drake is my favorite,” said Bartie, causing Riley to burst out laughing.

“Dude, that wasn’t the deal! You’re gonna pay for this,” Maxwell said, leaning over and wiggling his fingers. “The squid’s about to attack.” With that, Maxwell started tickling Bartie, triggering wild giggles and Bartie rolling backwards on the floor.

“Bartie!” Bertrand’s voice cut across the room. Riley twisted over to find him standing in the hallway, his eyes scanning over the scene in front of him. “We don’t make our guests sit on the floor, do we?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Bertrand, it’s fine-” Riley started, but he held up a hand, cutting her off.

“What do we say, Bartie?”

“Sorry, Aunt Riley.”

All Riley could do was nod, accepting an apology from a toddler that felt entirely unnecessary.

“Good,” said Bertrand, “Now go wash your hands and get cleaned up for lunch.”

Bartie scampered out of the room, turning to his left in the hallway.

“I offered to play with him, Bertrand.”

“Well, he was told that you were coming to visit Caroline. He should have known better than to monopolize your time.”

Riley opened her mouth, ready to respond, but Maxwell grabbed her wrist and shook his head. 

“How are you, by the way? I apologize for not being there to greet you and Drake.”

“I’m good, Bertrand,” she said as she pushed herself up on her feet, walking over and giving him a loose hug. “Congrats, by the way.”

“Yes, thank you. Drake and Savannah have Caroline in the private lounge if you want to go meet her. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check and make sure Bartie isn’t making a complete mess in the bathroom.”

And with that, Bertrand was off, following the path down the hallway that his son had just taken.

“Yikes,” said Riley as soon as he was out of earshot.

“Yeah, I know,” replied Maxwell, looping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her in the opposite direction. “That is another reason I made sure I didn’t have any need to be on set or in LA for any writers meetings for a few months.”

“He’s more of a tight ass than ever.”

“I think he’s very anxious because he missed this part of Bartie’s life. The amount of research he did and the number of parenting books he read is insane. But any time any little thing isn’t what he expects, he flips out.”

“What does Savannah think about that?” Riley asked, following Maxwell down the stairs.

“Either she’s too sleep deprived to notice, or she’s just pretending not to see it. I decided to give him two months to settle into things. If he’s still snapping at everyone then, well… I guess I’ll have to stage an intervention or something.”

“Wow. Well at least you’re here to look out for the kid.”

“Yup, figure I can keep things normal-ish for him. Though I will say between watching Bertrand spiral and hearing Caroline’s shrieks, any faint consideration I might have given to parenthood has gone straight out the window.”

Riley laughed, prompting Maxwell to keep going. “I’m serious! I know I told you I was pretty sure I was good being the fun uncle, but these past few weeks have really locked in that decision. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Bartie is right - Caroline is boring. And loud. And I am so glad she is not my responsibility.”

All Riley could do was laugh more. “Do you need me to make up an excuse for you so you don’t need to be in the same room with her?”

Maxwell nudged her with his shoulder. “Oh, laugh it up! I don’t have any issues with her. She just confirmed that fatherhood is not for me, no matter how cute she is when she isn’t screaming her head off.”

At that point, they entered the lounge, so Riley dropped any further teasing she had for Maxwell. “Hey, Savannah. Congrats!” she said, walking across the room and giving her a hug.

“Thank you, Riley. It’s so good to see you!” Savannah replied as they pulled apart. Riley moved to sit down next to Drake on the couch, who was cradling a baby against his shoulder.

“This must be Caroline,” she said, watching as Drake tapped his hand against her back lightly.

“Either that or I have a lot of explaining to do,” Drake said, glancing over at her. Riley just smiled and nudged him lightly with her elbow.

“Drake, why don’t you let Riley hold her?” Savannah asked. “She should get to meet her aunt, too.”

“Do you want to?” Drake asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Of course,” said Riley, reaching over and helping him peel the tiny little girl off his chest, nestling her into her own arms.

Caroline was awake, her eyes roving around as Riley shifted back onto the couch more fully to try and get comfortable. After a few seconds, they seemed to settle on Riley’s face. All she could really do was stare back, taking in this child, this baby girl who might not have been planned, but would certainly be loved by so many.

“Yeah, I know I’m a stranger right now. But in a couple of decades, I’ll be the one you come to when you want nightclub recommendations in New York City.”

“Hey, I want in on that invite,” said Maxwell as Savannah let out a few chuckles. Riley glanced over at Drake, expecting him to be rolling his eyes or shaking his head, but instead was caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. He was staring at her holding Caroline with such passion, such longing, she felt almost exposed. All she could think to do was drop her eyes back to the baby, not wanting to dwell on what that meant at that moment.

Unfortunately, Savannah must have noticed Drake as well, because she said, “Oh, I see that look. ‘A while’ my ass. I bet you’ll be pregnant by the end of the year.”

Drake let out a sort of sputtering cough at his sister’s comment, but before he could say anything, could so much as get a word out, Riley felt her own mouth opening. Her own response spilled out so glibly, without a second of thought. It was almost like she heard someone else saying the words, even as she knew she was the one speaking.

“Don’t give him any ideas.”

She felt Drake stiffen beside her, saw Maxwell shifting in his seat, and heard Savannah mutter out a little apology, but all of that was just background noise as her brain screamed at her. How could she have been so fucking stupid? What possessed her to say that? Or at least to phrase it like that? There were ways to shut down Savannah’s prying without implying that Drake had baby fever and she wanted no part of it.

The uncomfortable silence in the room was broken as Bertrand and Bartie entered. “Lunch is ready in the dining room,” said Bertrand, gesturing to the door behind him. Bertrand then stepped over to Riley. “I can go put her down,” he said, gesturing at his daughter still in Riley’s arms.

“Oh, sure thing,” said Riley, passing him Caroline before standing up. Savannah, Maxwell, and Bartie had already left the room, but Drake was still seated, his eyes locked on his knee that was bouncing up and down.

“Drake, I-” she started as soon as Bertrand had stepped out, extending her hand to help him to his feet. But Drake ignored the gesture, pushing his hands into the cushions of the couch instead.

“I’m hungry. Let’s just go eat, Riley.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-.”

“It’s fine, Riley, Really. We can talk later” He nodded at her and started walking towards the door, leaving Riley to follow after him. And more than the brush off, more than his refusal to hold her hand, the fact that he’d not called her ‘Liu’ let her know that she had made a huge fucking mess.

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

TRR/TRH: @twinkleallnight @iaminlovewithtrr @mskaneko @axwalker @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @debramcg1106 @masterofbluff  

Drake/MC: @no-one-u-know  @iplaydrake

ICWAM: @thequeenofpixels @sunnyxdazed @sammie0220​

[silkenstarlight]

come back, haunt me (prologue)

Summary: reader faces an unexpected foe on her way home.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warning/s: mention of alcoholism, stalking, violence, kidnapping

Word count: 1.3k

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Author's note: this is a bit different from the one-shots i normally write! it's place-based and has more of a novel-like tone, but i wanted to give a voice to the daydream that's been consuming my waking hours. let me know what you think!

San Francisco

January 19, 1952

Mama’s always telling me to come straight home.

Here’s 30 bucks. Go on down to the liquor store and get me another bottle of Jack. And don’t you dilly-dally-- you’re living under my roof, you live by my rules.

I really should listen to her, one of these days.

It’s a strange sensation, being followed. You want to disappear, to melt into the shadows and evade your pursuer’s unrelenting gaze, but at the same time, you want to scream so loud that the sheer volume could pierce glass. You want to run and run and run, never slowing, never stopping, until your feet carry you to some distant, unknowable safety that even the searchlights can’t uncover. You want to be home, even if it means being around Mama after she’s started drinking.

I couldn’t decide which was the safest bet as I walked home, clutching the crumpled paper bag that concealed my mother’s chosen vice. I supposed that I could use the bottle as a weapon, could bludgeon the shadowy man who had followed me for several blocks now on my return home, but the thought of the sound it would make-- the sickening crack, the thud of his limp body, the splat of muddied crimson-- it was enough to make me gag. And, Mama would be angry if I wasted her 30 dollars. So, I continued my hurried pace, passing beneath the buzzing, amber halos of streetlights, brisk steps matching the quickened, thumping rhythm of my heartbeat.

My breath puffed out in little clouds and I crossed my arms against the sudden, biting breeze, gritting my teeth and tucking the bottle closer to my body. It’s the fucking dead of winter, how long did he wait on that street corner until he chose some poor girl to follow home? I turned my head slightly, trying to catch him in my periphery, but all I could see was the brown of his long overcoat. I huffed a breath and willed my legs to move faster.

I tried scanning my memories of the liquor store for his face. Dirty linoleum tiles, barred windows and humming refrigerators with sticky doors. Aisles striped rainbow, full of potato chips and room temp Coca-cola, black taffy and hot tamales. A quiet, mousy man with glasses too big for his face, buying a crumpled newspaper and a packet of sunflower seeds. A woman with scraggly hair and gray pit stains languidly browsing through the magazines. A store clerk, bored, half-lidded gaze flickering lazily between customers and his crossword. But no man in a long overcoat-- he was nowhere inside. I had only noticed him once I started walking.

I looked back again, less and less worried that he was some innocent pedestrian who would be offended by my vigilant stare. No, he was definitely closer, his long, loping gait slowly but surely swallowing up the distance between us, his gaze piercing through the darkness, tracking my every movement. Shit. Mama’s always warning me about strange men. Thoughts of quick gunshots and fluttering yellow police tape, of my name splashed on the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle, filled my mind.

No.

I couldn’t meet my end, not like that, dead eyes plastered across the city like a warning. My heart thudded in my ribcage so hard it almost hurt, but I was walking as fast as I could. I couldn’t run. He would surely catch me. And, I couldn’t go to the nearest police station. I would have to make a sweeping turn, allowing the man the chance to assuredly catch up to me and drag me into an alley to do whatever it was that he wanted to do to me. My eyes darted from left to right, searching for safety. I couldn’t go home, and I couldn’t go to the police.

The cathedral.

Of course.

Ahead, the hulking, gothic spires of Grace Cathedral rose into the sky, out of place amidst the violet, steel-and-glass canyon of the city street. But, it offered a tantalizingly sweet sense of safety, its complex arches and buttresses offering plenty of dark corners and crevices to hide in until the man in the overcoat lost interest and realized that stalking me was more effort than it was worth. It was worth a shot. I crossed the street, hardly taking the time to look left and right for any oncoming cars, and jogged up the steps. I could hear the sound of footfalls against asphalt, the flutter of his coat in the barren street, as he followed.

I approached the front door, partially because it was the obvious choice, exactly where he expected me to go first. But the shadows also hung heaviest over the cathedral’s entrance, allowing me to make my next move virtually undetected, so long as I made a decision before he got too close. Either dive to the right into the bushes, where I could wait him out, or shuffle along the wall to the right, where two high-rises stood, offering a short alleyway as a mode of escape. I turned right, then turned left, shifting my weight from foot to foot, second-guessing myself at each movement. Just fucking breathe. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was probably close. So, I turned left, treading lightly on the balls of my feet to avoid making noise. Twenty feet, ten feet, five until the alley. So close. I stepped away from the safety of the cathedral’s wall to make the final leap to safety when I felt a gloved hand wrap around my arm and yank.

“No!” My voice grated with panic, harsh and high, as he pulled me back into the shadows surrounding the cathedral. He gripped my shoulders so tight that I knew they would be covered in little purple bruises, and he pushed me against the wall with a grunt. Feeling daring, I looked up, locking eyes with him. If he was going to hurt me, kidnap me, kill me, I wanted to know what he looked like. Buzzed blond hair, brown eyes so dark they were almost black. His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken once or twice, and his lips were thin, bared over crooked teeth.

My breath stilled when I realized that he, too, was searching my face for something, his eyes darting up and down as if searching for some identificatory feature. When his gaze settled on the thin scar above my eyebrow, earned in a bicycling accident, he chuckled, his breath fanning towards me in a sour huff. He smiled, his eyes crinkled and dark, glittering in the shadows.

“Zola will be pleased.” He had a throaty, slavic accent, his voice gruff. My heart was pounding in my chest, my legs trembling beneath me, but I cocked my head.

“Who is that? Zola, who is that?” I breathed, trying to will some sense of bravery into my voice.

He simply chuckled again in response, grabbing me roughly by the elbows to lead me into the exact alleyway I had chosen for safety. Ahead, a black car waited, its driver wearing an equally severe expression to that of my captor.

He opened the door for me, ever the gentleman, and shoved me inside, barely taking care to make sure that my head didn’t hit the top of the car. Before shutting the door, he bent down, grabbing my chin and jerking my face towards his. I stared into his eyes and gritted my teeth.

He smirked, reaching into his pocket with his other hand to pull out a black hood. Before pulling it down over my face and blinding me to where they were taking me, he let my last memory of home be of his face.

“Heil Hydra,” he uttered thickly, relishing each syllable.

Confusion rose in my chest, brows knotting together. But, before I could question him further, he pulled the hood down over my face and everything went dark.

[xhanisai]

Bite off more than you can chew and you’ll choke.

(AO3) (FFN)

Summary -  "But Lila cared more about the middle finger that Adrien shot at her when no one else was looking." To summarise, if you hurt the Ladybug, you can count on the Black Cat to absolutely annihilate you without mercy. A.K.A. A wonderful crackfic where Lila gets karma shoved up her ass by Adrien every time she tries to hurt Marinette.

A/N: I'm having an affair with dumb bitch juice. Shhh. Don't tell angst. ~(x)~ . . . "Heh, looking good~" The Italian teen winked to herself one last time at the mirror and then striked a pose that radiated pure confidence and clearly, a drop dead gorgeous Goddess that has ever descended this miserable planet. Luck was on her side today, lil ol' Rossi could feel it in her bones. 'Today is a wonderful day to knock down Dupain-Cheng a peg or two...' Lila hummed perversely, olive irises twinkling with mischief and sadism. She applied another coating of her favourite orange lip gloss and spritzed her body with some more pumpkin spice flavoured perfume (that was apparently a one of a kind DKNY product that the company themselves have gifted her, that's right Juleka). Digging out one of the hundreds of pictures she has of Adrien Agreste in her drawer, she planted a sloppy kiss on the face (lil hoe thinks she's being seductive smh smh), whispered something absolutely filthy and then made her way out of the house with a green apple in hand. As she walked, numerous plans and ideas were concocted up in her head whilst she happily chewed through the sour, bitter fruit that could compete with her own acidic heart. Certainly, her plans weren't going as smoothly as she'd like, given that not only has Marinette stood strong, Alya and Nino still stuck to the raven haired girl like glue and the model boy actually dared to threaten her to withdraw Mari's expulsion. Of all people, he threatened her! Who the hell did he think he is? He should be nothing but a spineless pretty face, a decoration to her growing fame. Ugh! Shaking her head and refocusing her thoughts, Lila took one last, harsh bite from the fruit and then tossed it away without a second glance, hitting an unsuspecting rat with wings- pigeon, an unsuspecting poor pigeon. Looks like M. Ramier will be akumatised later on if he ever sees the splat of feathers on the pavement. She didn't give a damn. Instead, a sinister, almost feral like smile stretched on the brunette's lips as she spotted her prey up ahead, sitting on the front steps that led to the collège. Quite a few passerbyers and students gave Marinette either a disappointed look or a disgusted grimace. Most pretty much ignored her, leaving the Asian bowing her head down in embarrassment, making herself look as small as possible. 'Like the useless mouse she is.' Lila barely held off the urge to giggle. After making Cheng look like such an evil cretin and even managing to get her expelled, her reputation has almost been tarnished! Marinette went from one of the most popular, prettiest, kindest girl in school to the most conniving, horrible, wench in a matter of a day. She would have been gone forever had it not been for Adrien's stupid- SPLASH!!!!! No way. No. Fucking. Way. Lila gaped like a dead fish, unable to comprehend what had just happened as her once dry, stylish clothes dripped with dirty puddle water and the stench of dirt clung to her hair and skin. The now filthy looking teen snapped out of her stupor and glowered at the offending car that DARED to zoom through the ginormous puddle only to gawk again when she registered the vehicle's familiarity. Lila wasn't able to do more than budge an inch as a certain model stepped out of the car in front of the collège and lifted Marinette to her feet with his hand. He gave the petite girl a warm smile that only sickened the Italian girl to the core even further and when he interlaced his hand with Marinette's, leading her inside the building, Lila couldn't stop the ferocious growl from escaping her throat. This was meant to be HER day today. A fresh splatter on her head from up above proved otherwise. Her hand shot to her head, face twisted in a witch like grimace as slick, gooey slime coated her fingers and hair. Lila mustered up as much venom as she possibly could in her eyes, tilting her head up, only to see the very same pigeon that got hit by the apple, glare back. Neither of the two noticed the wry smile that Adrien let out as he shielded a flustered Marinette inside the building... ~(x)~ Full classroom? Check. Mme. Bustier temporarily out of the room? Check. Dupain-Cheng opening her backpack whilst oblivious? Check. Lila wiggled in her seat like a cat waiting to pounce on the mouse (not like those in cute youtube videos), eyes narrowing at the back of Marinette's head, awaiting for the right moment to act. You see, earlier on, Lila planted one of Chloe's prized earrings (dumb barbie never learnt her lesson when it came to bringing family heirlooms to school) in Marinette's bag, planning on calling her out of stealing it to further crush her reputation into smithereens. Knowing Chloe and her illogical grudge against the girl, the consequences would be so much more worse for Marinette considering she's the mayor's daughter and all- . . . Wait... What? Lila blinked twice, thrice, then rubbed her eyes and blinked again. 'What in the world???' "O-ooooh! Who put this pretty flower in my bag?" Marinette twirled the lavender rose between her fingers in awe, admiring the beautiful plant with a cute blush on her cheeks. She gave the rose a sniff, cheeks glowing further as she hummed pleasantly. "It smells so nice!" Her smile was so disgustingly sweet, Lila could have sworn that the girl was radiating diabetes. Maybe she should pretend to faint and blame it on Marinette somehow? "Looks like you have a secret admirer, girl~ Did you know that lavender roses mean love at first sight?" Alya playfully poked Marinette's cheek, waggling her eyebrows whilst the rest of the girls in the class- sans Chloe, Sabrina and of course Lila herself, gathered around their class president's table. Their coos and questions were deaf on the seething Italian's ears as she was hyper focused on Adrien's face. The way his eyes lowered knowingly and his lips upturned into a secret but smug smile. The way his head tilted towards the side ever so slightly as he watched the French-Asian with so much...love. Lila was close to throwing up in her mouth. 'So that little Prince was the one who replaced Chloe's earrings with that stupid flower...huh...has he caught on...?' Just as that thought passed through Lila's head, the sound of Chloe bragging about her new earrings filled up the room with the addition of Sabrina's praises. The brunette cocked an eyebrow, dissatisfied of her plan failing in ruining Marinette's life further and getting Adrien wrapped around her pinky, where he belongs. With a string of Italian curses muttered, Lila opened her bag and- "CHE CAZZO È!?" Lila launched the provocative bag away with another scream and when it landed on Kim's desk, dozens of spiders pooled out like a tidal wave, causing the athletic Vietnamese to jump up ten feet in the air with a high pitched yowl and that in turn created a mass panic in the classroom. "Ah- đéođéođéo- KEEP THEM AWAY FROM ME!" Kim let out another screech, forcing himself into a baffled Alix's arms as the spiders scattered whilst everyone else stood on their desks to avoid the wonderfully adorable critters. "LILA! WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE THOSE MONSTERS IN YOUR BAG!?" Kim cried out as soon as a shocked Mme. Bustier returned to the classroom. The red headed woman gawked at the floor and then grimaced before sending a stern look towards Lila, hands on her hips. Everyone in the class froze at her stance. "Lila, we know that you've just returned from a campaign to save a species of highly venomous spiders from going extinct but that does not permit you in bringing them to school. You'll be on rubbish duty for the rest of this week and M. Damocles shall discuss with you later on for a more suitable punishment after that. Everyone else, please remain calm and carefully step out of the room." The olive eyed brunette didn't get a chance to defend herself as everyone comically sped outside at a speed that would make even Sonic The Hedgehog jealous. Nino and Ivan were held piggy back style by their respective girlfriends whilst it took Alix, Max, Nathanael and Juleka to tear a petrified Kim off the wall (In turn, Rose held him bridal style as if he didn't weigh more than a feather). When she saw Marinette shyly grasp Adrien's hand to lead him out, Lila saw red and looked away before she did something she would regret. In amidst her internal monologue, she missed Adrien's dangerous smirk as his eyes glinted devilishly. The boy tightened his grip on Marinette's hand, much to the girl's surprise and delight whilst his kwami snickered in his blazer's inner pocket. ~(x)~ "Whoa!" Marinette let out a yelp, numerous files slipping out of her hands as she flailed her arms to regain balance. Unfortunately, she ended up tipping backwards towards the edge of the stairs much to Lila's entertainment. If she couldn't break Marinette's godforsaken will and reputation completely, a few bones or so should satisfy her ruthless heart- "Marinette! Be careful!" With amazing speed, Adrien caught the girl from behind, interlocking his arms around her body in an iron grip without even wincing at the weight of her mass colliding with his chest. A few passerbyers, including Rossi herself observed the scene with incredulous expressions. The latter pissed at the stupid prince charming's bloody timing! She didn't know what annoyed her more. The fact that her plan failed for the umpteenth time or the useless anime like tropes that seemed to play when it came to blonde boy and noir girl. "Ack! Thanks Adrien..."  Marinette expected a simple 'No problem Mari,' from the boy but was taken aback by his malicious glare that was directed at the tanned girl before them. She couldn't help the squeak that escaped her when his grip tightened as he lead them up the stairs, standing a mere feet away from Lila. His hold on Cheng wavered between protective and possessive. Marinette found it kinda hot. "You know, we have bins for a reason Rossi. Be sure to chuck your litter away or else someone could get hurt." His voice was gravelly and alarmingly low, indicating who would really get harmed in the situation. Lila hated the way her blood chilled to ice and the unpleasant shivers that shook her spine before mustering the energy to plaster an innocent smile instead of running away. "Oops. Silly me," She bent down to pick up the can she conveniently dropped earlier on, causing Marinette to trip in the first place. "My arthritis has been acting up all day-" "And I painted the Mona Lisa, yeah, whatever." Marinette and Lila, both only close enough to hear, widened their eyes at Adrien's passive aggressive tone. Without wasting another second, the boy tugged Marinette along, heading away from the scowling Italian. The sickening duo seemed to get closer and closer every second, causing Lila's blood to burn with rage. "He's definitely caught on...that boy is more slippery and sneaky than I thought...as expected of the son of Gabriel Agreste." Lila growled severely, crushing the can in her grip- SPEW! Oh. The can was never empty from the start. Steam figuratively shot out of her ears as the fizzy drink dripped down her hair, face and clothes, smearing her layers upon layers of caked makeup that took her hours to do this morning- after she went back home to shower and changed into fresh clothes when she was soaked by that dirty puddle, courtesy of Adrien's fucking car! 'GAME ON AGRESTE.' ~(x)~ Lila planted that wretched goose- pigeon, that wretched pigeon in Marinette's locker, anticipating a commotion or SOMETHING. However, when the unsuspecting girl, accompanied by her trio of friends, opened said locker, there was no pigeon. Instead, out popped out a ridiculously cute, handmade Chat Noir doll. According to Marinette's and Alya's babbles, it's a doll that the former has made ever since the pathetic heroes of Paris made their debut. "But how did it get here? I don't recall bringing it in with me today," Yes, Lila also wanted to know how the FUCK that cursed plush appeared out of thin air. It certainly wasn't there when she shoved the feathered pterodactyl in. "Maybe you brought it with you by accident?" Nino quipped. "Didn't you have that phase back in école where you'd always bring a teddy that you slept with for company?" "WEDONOTTALKABOUTTHAT." Marinette retorted back with gritted teeth, slamming her locker door for emphasis but the way she hugged the Chat Noir doll protectively afterwards did little to intimidate the bespeckled boy. In fact, much to Lila's disgust, the trio melted at Marinette's obviously fake cuteness. Unbelievable! Where did that pigeon go anyways!? Never peeling her eyes away from the nauseating quad, Lila snatched the door of her locker open, grinding her teeth- "COO!!!" ...only to be attacked by a flurry of feathers and a sharp beak. This time, whilst she, along with a 'helpful' Alya and Nino managed to rip the bedeviled thing off her face, Lila caught a shit-eating grin on Adrien's lips as he watched her suffer without a word. 'That little BASTARD! He did this to me!' Rolling his eyes as if Lila was nothing but a three year old throwing a tantrum, he threw an arm around Marinette's shoulder who looked more confused than anything. "What is Jacques doing here?" Lila almost scoffed at the Asian's question. That failure of a bird has a name? And familiarised with Marinette no less? No wonder he was currently a bitch and half in her ass! No one answered Mari's question regardless. Though surely, that sinister cat of a model held the answer. "I'm more curious of whether you sleep with that little Chat doll or not, Marinette~" He teased, much to Lila's dismay and Marinette's embarrassment. Alya and Nino momentarily forgot about the clearly traumatised Lila, simply to join in with the jesting. "N-N-NO! HAHA- what a silly question Adrien!" Marinette slapped the teen's shoulder with a bit more oomph than the usual friendly slaps, cheeks reddening and eyes flickering to the side. "She can't go to sleep without it~" Alya confessed on her best friend's behalf, glasses twinkling impishly at Mari's cry of "Traitor!". "One time when she was at mine for a sleepover, she forgot to bring Petit Noir along and stayed awake all night without his presence. She's so pure, isn't she?" Marinette was left as a blushy, squealing mess as the rest of her friends chuckled fondly. If it wasn't frowned upon in this country, Rossi would have gladly kicked them all out the window one by one till their sorry necks snapped but even she had some sort of control. "Adorable, absolutely adorable." This time, Lila did throw up in her mouth as Adrien swept Marinette up into a bone crushing hug with the most disgusting look of 'love' tattooed on his face. The hazel eyed brunette stormed out of the locker room with a growl, deaf to Alya's questioning shouts of her name. She was going to TEAR that boy apart from limb to limb! Adrien's grin only grew at her departure, daring the idiotic girl to try and pull another stunt again. ~(x)~ During a photoshoot that Lila was assigned to model at, every time she attempted to inappropriately run her hands down Adrien's torso or shoulders, she ended up getting bitten by god knows what. The more she tried, the harder the bites were and towards the end, the shoot was cancelled as her skin was covered in tiny little bite marks that resembled wasp stings or even a terrible allergic reaction. The horrid girl never noticed the tiny God of Destruction that lingered nearby his chosen who in turn delivered a little fistbump to his precious friend with a smile far too saccharine to be innocent. ~(x)~ Just before their French lesson began, Lila staged a scene by crying out in pain when shoving her hand in her bag and 'finding' multitudes of sewing needles in them. Surely the class would turn their heads towards Dupain-Cheng with animosity as she claimed that Marinette must have sabotaged her bag that day. Instead, much to her surprise, the majority of the class defended her with an alibi. "But M. Dupain and Mme. Cheng hid away all her sewing stuff for the rest of the month so that Marinette could concentrate for the upcoming exams!" Gee thanks Rose. "Marinette was at mine's yesterday night to study and sleepover so there's no way that she did that," Godammit Alya. "I'm pretty sure 'Nette's needles are silver in colour, not bronze." Shut up Lahiffe. "She would panic if she steps on an ant, how could she hurt a person?" Really Alix? Really? "Marinette and I were stuck in the closet all break so there's no way she's managed to sabotage your bag, Lila." Agreste- do you even know what you're implying here? To summarise, the case was neutralised with a theory that one of the textile upperclassmen students must have accidently put a container of needles in her bag, thinking it belonged to the department. But Lila cared more about the middle finger that Adrien shot at her when no one else was looking. ~(x)~ Lila tried tripping Marinette again but this time, she was caught by the Japanese fencer girl who 'politely' thwacked Lila's knees with her foil and told her to get out of her class. That ice queen never left Marinette's side for the rest of the day. When Marinette arrived to the morning classes with a disturbingly gorgeous, sheer white sundress in hand, babbling about how she was going to alter it after the exams to her friends, of course Lila gave into temptation by altering it herself. By altering, she meant smothering the skirt of the dress with non washable red paint. Marinette returned to the afternoon classes wearing the dress but with the red stains magically transformed into a flawless gradient and decorated with faux red rose petals on the edge of the skirt and the tip of the bust. The poor Italian was rewarded with the grand scene of Adrien claiming out loud how 'beautiful' his 'Princess' looked without shame and twirling her around in the air. Next, Lila somehow snuck a snake out from the zoo (getting bitten a million times and even throttled at one point by said creature) and secretly let it loose at the Dupain-Cheng bakery when she was only 'looking around'. The snake ended up getting its own tank and promoted the bakery, increasing the numbers of customers because surprise surprise, it's the year of the snake according to the Lunar calendar and everyone saw that slimy creature as a symbol of good luck! M. Césaire let the family keep the snake. Marinette named him Aspik much to Adrien's ambiguous delight but then changed it to Viperion when the boy accidentally tore apart her favourite ball of yarn. ("Little bug how could you do this to me!?") Lila even tried to start a rumour going where she apparently witnessed Marinette kissing a strange, delinquent after hours in creepy alleyways and got a little frisky with him. Adrien turned that around on her by asking why she was spying on him and Marinette, both wearing scarves that poorly concealed their ravaged necks. The rest of the day was spent with students gossiping about the new developments of 'Project Adrienette' and suddenly the despicable duo were dating. The rest of the students and teachers decided to switch to Lila as a target to send their scrutinising eyes at. It took Lila twenty-four hours of staring at a blank wall to digest the fact that she unintentionally nudged those two together in her pursuit of destroying them both. Twenty four hours of gaping with dead eyes and not moving a muscle whilst her phone buzzed with the latest gossip on Adrien and Marinette. An immediate news report on Ladybug grabbing Chat Noir into a heated kiss after an akuma battle that almost sent them running for their money, confirming their relationship broke Lila out of her daze and left her screaming inside her house. ~(x)~ The classroom door slammed open, revealing a dishevelled, crude looking Lila Rossi, heaving for air like she's just ran around the world in twelve days. Her hair was dirty, greasy and stuck in ways that defied physics. Her clothes were torn, stained and slick with unnamed substances. Her face was covered in stings, scratches and red marks that ruined her usually flawless make up. Clearly, a drop dead gorgeous Goddess that has ever descended this miserable planet. The students paused whatever they were doing, curious and slightly concerned at the state of the Italian's exterior. Lila let out an animalistic growl, pointing a finger at Adrien Agreste who paid no mind to her and carried on reading his book whilst Marinette Dupain-Cheng slumbered away peacefully in his lap. "I don't know how you did it or what dark magic you played on me or what voodoo dolls you have been using, but you'll never get away with humiliating me! Both of you!" Everyone's eyes widened at Lila's desperate and frustrated tone, now facing the boy bearing the brunt of her bite. Much to Rossi's screaming irritation, Adrien only flipped a page of his book with a hum like someone has just asked him whether he'd like some sugar with his tea. "STOP ACTING DUMB AGRESTE! I KNOW IT'S YOU WHO TRIED TO RUIN MY LIFE!" This time, she received eye contact from the boy. Instead of retaliating back, he put a finger on his lips and- ...shushed her. She was going to fucking KILL HIM. "My Marinette has pulled two all nighters in a row for the exam we just had this morning- which you missed by the way. So, she's sleeping right now. If you have some respect, keep it down." His tone was polite, sophisticated and angelic and his face was softened into the most sweetest smile. A front for the devilish cackle and demonic smirk that was threatening to burst out the seams of his fake exterior and Lila was able to sense it with ease. She didn't get a chance to yell back as Chloe suddenly interrupted. "And what has my Adrikins done to you? Other than get brainwashed by that ridiculous rat and start dating her of course," The blonde pursed her pastel lips, ignoring Adrien's comments on 'I'm not your Adrikins,' and 'Stop being mean to my sweet girlfriend,' and whatever nonsense he was spouting. "Oh wow...hahah...where do I start?" The hysteric girl began, blind to everyone else's distressed gaze at her behaviour. "The spiders? The pins? The ghost bites? That damn ugly bird that can't seem to find another place other than my head to SHIT ON!?" The object of her hate only raised a brow in confusion. "YOU'RE BEHIND IT ALL! I KNOW IT'S YOU!" "...Lila, were you bitten by those spiders that you were protecting during your campaign like a week ago? I think you need to see a doctor." Was the reply she got from Adrien before he went back to his book. "Also, this book mentions that being pooped on by a bird is a sign of good luck! Maybe you'll have a good fortune coming your way after you get better, Lila~" The baffled girl stared back grotesquely, jaw dropped and eye twitching, unable to comprehend the Adrien Agreste before her right now. She didn't even protest as Rose and Juleka hauled her flat ass out of the class, to the nurse's room, debating whether or not to call the ambulance for the mad girl. 'What...The...Actual...FUCK!?' ~(x)~ After the classroom door was closed, leaving behind a questioning class, a cat hero fighting the urge to burst out laughing and a bug heroine stirring awake. "Hmm...what happened Chaton?" Marinette hummed out, still half asleep and she nuzzled against the hand that cupped her cheek. Adrien replied with a genuine, soft smile full of love and a bit of his feline mischievousness. "I'll tell you later, Bug. Get some sleep, okay?" He pressed a chaste kiss on her lips, gaining a brilliant smile in return as Marinette settled back to sleep, relishing the way his fingers combed through her bobbleless hair. 'Mission accomplished, Plagg,' Adrien mused to himself, winking at his kwami who peered out of his bag whilst Tikki shook her head at her counterpart; albeit with more love than anger. The boy dived back into his book, tuning out the discussions that the rest of his friends were sharing regarding the impertinent wench that was just gotten rid of. Hopefully, they won't be seeing her for a very long time. Jacques the pigeon would be delighted in making sure of that. After all: If you hurt the Ladybug, you can count on the Black Cat to absolutely annihilate you without mercy... . . . ~(x)~

Dictionary 

'đéo' - Vietnamese for 'fuck no!' 

'che cazzo è' - Italian for 'What the fuck is this?'

[rosyfingereddawnn]

only the black rose (chapter 2)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: mature language (a given), fluff, and a (possibly) pretentious description of the rain song

words: 4k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: not beta’d. this story does follow a playlist of mine, because i put too much thought into things. i hope you enjoy :)

masterlist

playlist

chapter one

----------

Tearing down the hallway, cheeks still flaming red from the encounter with Jimmy just minutes ago, Layla nearly runs into Peter, with one John Paul Jones trailing behind him. She rushes past quickly, head down, darting into the washroom that Robert, thankfully, had the mind to point out during the tour of the facility, ignoring their worried glances and aborted questions all the while. The young woman bolts the door shut and rushes to the sink, splashing her face with the frigid water flowing from the tap.

“Shit! This can’t be happening!” She whispers, concern etched on her face at the thought of all that has happened that day. Her jumbled thoughts are soon interrupted by a knock at the door. From behind it, a familiar voice sounds.

“Layla, it’s Peter! Jonesy is here too. Can we come in?”

Silently, Layla unlocks the door, and returns to her vigil at the sink. The two men enter, giving her worried looks that go unseen. Unexpectedly, it’s Jonesy that breaks the silence that has cultivated between the trio.

“Layla, are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“...”

“Well, I think what Jonesy means is that... You’ve had a stressful day, dear, and you looked anxious when you ran in here. Also, Robert walked by just a few minutes ago, smiling ear-to-ear. Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Peter, he didn’t do anything wrong…” Layla sighs, debating whether she should tell them the whole truth. Remembering the key she had discovered earlier, she pulls it out, and reads the address carved onto the bronze surface. “I’m fine, it’s just… Everything that happened today, it just sunk in? I don’t want to bother you all more than I have already, but I don’t exactly have a car, and I should really be getting home.”

“Of course. I’m sorry we kept you this long, Layla. Though, before you go,” Peter says, fishing a notepad and a ballpoint pen out of his pocket, scribbling a number down onto the paper and ripping it out of the small book. “Here. This is my personal number. I’d like it if you called every so often. As much as they would hate to admit it, these boys have taken a bit of a shining to you.”

“Actually, Peter, could I drive Layla?” Jonesy cut in, smiling lightly at the woman. “There’s something I’d like to talk to her about. Only if you’re okay with that, Layla.”

“Of course, Jonesy. I’d like that.” Layla smiles at Jonesy, and the three of them exit the washroom, Jonesy leading Layla to his car parked out back. Once inside, Jonesy starts up the radio, an Elvis song crackling through on low volume. The man pulls the car out onto the street, and starts the drive over to Layla’s house. Lost in her thoughts regarding what she might find once she gets to her destination, Layla almost doesn't register Jonesy’s deep voice calling her name.

“Sorry, Jonesy, what were you going to say?”

“I know you’re not from here.”

“God, again with the accent? Fine! I’m Canadian, and after high school I moved to—”

“No,” Jonesy sighs, steeling himself for the conversation. “I mean… I know you’re not from this time. You aren’t supposed to be here. In 1975.”

“John… How…”

The man in question, sensing that this wasn’t a conversation to be had while driving, pulls over, and turns to the dazed woman beside him. Her mouth is hanging wide open, lips moving as though she was trying to form words, though nothing comes out.

“Look…”

“What the fuck?”

“I know you’re shocked, Layla. I was too, the first time I witnessed it,” Jonesy puts a gentle hand on Layla’s arm, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. “I know you’re not from now, for lack of a better term, because I have seen this kind of thing before.”

“Jonesy, I don’t…”

“When I was a session man, working with plenty of different bands, I saw a lot of weird things. The weirdest, however, was when, right in the middle of a session, the band’s guitarist disappeared.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Never halting his comforting ministrations, Jonesy continues, sympathy dripping from his voice. “He was in the producer’s booth, listening to a playback while we were fooling around with our instruments. We heard a huge crash, and saw sparks, so we all rushed over to check on him.”

“Then what happened?”

“We couldn’t find him,” Jonesy sighed, eyebrows furrowing. “He was gone for about a day or two, but we were all incredibly worried, so when we heard that he was found, we rushed over to see him. The only thing he said about what had happened to him, was that he ‘figured it out’.”

“That’s all he said?”

“He did say later that he wanted to write a song about time travel,” Jonesy laughs softly, Layla joining in. “Not sure if it ever came to fruition though.”

Layla sobers up now, glancing at her companion helplessly. What if she can’t go home, to her own time? What if she can’t ‘figure it out’? Almost as though he could see the cogs turning in Layla’s brain, Jonesy moves his hand from her arm to rest on her knee, a grounding weight for the anxious woman.

“Layla, I’ll help you figure it out. We’ll get you back home. We can figure it out, just like he did. It will be okay.”

The woman in question can only nod wordlessly, struck by the devotion of her new friend. Jonesy, deeming her to be okay, starts up the car again. A couple minutes pass as Elvis is traded in for Buddy Holly, until Jonesy finally breaks the relative silence.

“So… You and Jimmy?”

“Nothing’s going on with Jimmy.”

“Right,” Jonesy laughs, shaking his head, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Because you didn’t look at him like he hung the stars the first time you saw him, and he certainly didn’t rush past me in the hallway earlier, face the colour of a tomato, Robert’s laugh echoing off the walls behind him.”

“How did you…What?”

“Layla, I’m very observant. Just… Be careful with him, okay? You have to go back sometime, and I know him. He’ll take it hard, and… Things happen, I know they do, but please… Just try and be careful.”

“... John Paul Jones… Are you giving me the shovel talk?”

Laughter fills the small car as they drive through streets that become increasingly familiar. The pair finally pull up to their destination, and Layla is shocked to find that she’s staring back at what looks to be her flat, from her own time. With a hug and sincere words of gratitude, Layla climbs the stairs to the front door, and pushes the key into the lock. Holding her breath, she pushes the door open. Everything is exactly the way it was the day before. The empty coffee mug by the sink remained, and the mail on the dining table hadn’t moved an inch. She rushes upstairs, to find that the turntable was still there, open, though there was no record inside. There were scorch marks on the carpet. Layla throws out a hand, pressing it to the turntable, expecting sparks once more.

Nothing happens.

----------

“Hello?”

“Is… Is this Peter Grant?”

“Layla! I was beginning to think you’d never call,” A chuckle sounds from the other end of the line, tinny through the aged receiver. “How have you been, dear? The boys have been asking about you.”

“Oh? What are they saying?”

“My Goodness, it never stops. I’m surprised they’re not right up against me listening in. It’s always ‘Peter, when is Layla coming back? Peter, Layla could get a job here, as a roadie! Peter, we need our little dove, she’s our good luck charm!’”

“Well… I can guess who the last one came from. Peter, would it be okay if I came down again today? I really did have a good time, despite the circumstances.”

“Of course, of course! You’re welcome anytime, my dear. Here, I’ll send one of the boys out to fetch you. Lord knows they need it, they’re bouncing off the walls with energy.”

Another bout of laughter crackles across the line, and Layla pictures the kind, comforting smile almost permanently etched onto Peter’s face. “Wonderful! Thanks again, Peter. I’ll see you soon!”

“Goodbye, Layla. See you soon.”

“Oh! Peter, before you hang up! I gave the clothes you lent me a wash, and I’ll return them right away!”

Silence, only for a second, seeps into the conversation, until a scoff from the older man cuts it like a knife. “My dear, keep them. Jimmy won’t miss them. In fact, I remember hearing him say to Bonzo earlier, that they ‘look better on Layla anyways.’ Well, I should let you go. We’ll see you soon.”

The line goes dead, and it is not hard to imagine the grin on the man’s face before he hung up. Regardless of if he was telling the truth about what Jimmy had said, the young woman couldn’t help but swoon a little, shades of red dancing across her cheeks. She looks at the neatly folded pile of clothes beside her, and, pressing her nose to the fresh fabric of the sweater, she puts it on. Even with the magic of the washing machine, it still held a foreign scent; one of cigarette smoke, pine and citrus, which harmonized with the subtle smell of the detergent she had used. It was a scent that, on paper, sounded like an odd combination, yet Layla could hardly get enough of it. She had smelled it just the other day, in the studio, when Jimmy was above her, jade eyes boring into hers, curls a midnight halo framing his porcelain face.

The honking of a car horn shatters her concentration, and as she looks out to the street for the source of the disturbance, she sees the grinning face of John Bonham, who is hanging halfway out of the open window, waving frantically.

“Layla! Get in, you slowpoke!”

“God, Bonzo, you’re gonna wake up the whole country if you keep that up!”

“As if that wasn’t the goal, birdie.”

“Birdie? Seriously? My God, you guys are just asking to get hit.”

“By you? Birdie, you couldn’t even reach my face if I was sitting down.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d go for the face first,” A smile of feigned innocence, blooms on Layla’s face. “Question, Bonzo. How much do you value your kneecaps?”

“Ah!” Bonzo exclaims, laughing loud, carefree. “Smart girl, smart girl. Maybe we’ll call you whenever we have arguments.”

“Jonesy’s short enough, just call him. I reckon he could do some damage from down there.”

Peals of laughter ring through the car, just audible under the din of the music that Bonzo insisted on blaring as the newfound friends cruise to the studio. Finally arriving at their destination, the drummer sends a glance over to his companion, taking into account the sweater she is wearing. He lets out a sudden snort, and hides his laughter in his hand. Layla, noticing this odd display shoots him a concerned look.

“You okay, Bonham?”

“You know, birdie, there are other ways to become Ms. Page...”

“...Get out.”

“Layla, you realize this is my car, right?” Layla gives him a heated glare, and as though he could physically see the daggers she was aiming at him, Bonzo exits the car in a huff, mumbling about how “it was just a joke…”

Allowing herself a private smirk, Layla exits the car, hurrying to catch up with her friend, short legs working a mile a minute. Reaching the man, she slings a companionable arm around his waist, and immediately feels an arm wrap around her shoulders in response. The two friends enter the building, giggling anew.

“Layla!” A chorus of voices echoed off the marble floors of the lobby, accompanied by a stampede of approaching footsteps, and the woman in question was swiftly bombarded with a chorus of arms around her, squeezing tightly.

“Really feeling the love here, guys, but I can’t breathe…” The arms relinquish their hold immediately, and Layla is met with the ecstatic faces of her new friends.

“Nice sweater, love.” Jimmy pipes up, sharing a subtle smile with the woman.

“Jim, don’t be surprised if you never get that sweater back. She’s attached now!”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I think she looks stunning in it.” Gone is the bumbling, shy man from before, replaced by confidence and charm. Layla smiles, enjoying this new side of the raven-haired guitarist.

“...Anyways… Little dove, we were just about to rehearse, would you like to sit in?” Robert hooks his arm through hers, an innocent wink tossed haphazardly over his shoulder at the guitarist, who only smirks and shakes his head.

“I would love to, blondie, but enlighten me real fast,” Layla says, giggling at the golden-haired man. “What exactly are you rehearsing for?”  

“I’m glad you asked, Layla,” Jimmy says, swiftly taking her other arm, uncharacteristically playful. “We have a very important tour of North America coming up, and it would be a shame if we came in unprepared, wouldn't it?”

“That’s really cool!” Layla exclaims, exhilaration clear on her face.

“We’ve got some practice shows in Belgium and the Netherlands, and then we’ll be off to the Promised Land.”

“‘The Promised Land’? You guys really need to get out more.”

This is met by raucous laughter by the band, much to the confusion of the woman.

“Oh, sweet, sweet, naive Layla…”

“Remember what I said in the car, Bonzo? About the hitting?” This is accompanied by a friendly smirk, typical of the woman.

“You have so much to learn…” Jimmy continues mischievously, green eyes glinting, earning a strong glare.

“Little dove has such attitude, she’s basically one of us,” Robert sighs dreamily, no doubt playing it up for Layla, earning a chuckle from her in response.

“Okay, now that that’s all over and done with,” Jonesy’s steely blue-gray eyes survey the group, stern as they lock onto the eyes of the band. “Let’s actually play for her. Once in a lifetime opportunity here, Layla.”

“Glad stardom hasn't gone to your head, guys. Truly the most humble group I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.” Laughter accompanies the group as they make their way to the studio, intent on blowing Layla’s mind.

----------

“How about a little Rain Song, boys?” Jimmy says, tuning up the acoustic guitar in his hands, as though it was delicate and precious.

“You just wanna impress Layla, don’t you, Pagey?” Jonesy smirks, teasing the guitarist. Jimmy flushes, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, the shy man from before making his brief return.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Jonesy,” Jimmy shoots back, trying for nonchalance, the slight waver in his dulcet voice giving him away. “Does ‘Rain Song’ work for everyone, or are we picking something different?”

A smattering of “works for me,” sounds throughout the studio, and the boys launch right in. Soft sounds of falling rain pour out of the guitar, and Robert’s golden voice floats out like streams of sunlight. Jonesy’s piano trickles through, a mist amongst the downfall, Bonzo’s soft drum beats claps of thunder. The music picks up, becomes harder, like wind in the face of a torrential storm, and then all is still, Robert crooning all the while. Layla is mesmerized, unable to look away at the boys, seemingly glowing with the influence of the music they play. A fragile silence follows the last tinkling of raindrops, one that the occupants of the room are afraid to break.

“... So? How was it?” Bonzo is the first to speak, an apprehensive grin gracing his face.

“It was… You just…”

“Never thought we’d make you speechless, little dove.”

“Ignoring that. It was truly incredible, guys.” Layla’s face lights up in an excited smile, chestnut eyes sparkling as though reflected in a clear pool. The young woman locks eyes with Jimmy then, who sends her a shy smile her way, arresting her where she stands. Layla looks away quickly, cheeks warm.

“Jonesy, your keyboard playing was incredible! It sounded like tiny raindrops! Bonzo, your drumming was just… It was so good! It sounded like thunder, and broke through the rest of the instruments perfectly. Robert, as much as I truly hate to say this…”

“Hey!”

“You were beyond words. You owned those lyrics, and made them almost come alive. I truly felt them. Jimmy… Your guitar. It drove the whole storm, and paired with Jonesy’s little droplets... It was great.  I can’t say enough about this whole performance.”

“I knew we kept her around for a reason.” Bonzo snorts, closing the distance first to hug the young woman, Jonesy following with a smile painted on his aristocratic features.

“Little dove, has anyone ever told you that you should be a music critic?”

“A few times. Now get over here, blondie. You too, Page.”

The embrace is interrupted by the click of the studio door being opened, revealing the hulking figure of the usually soft-natured Peter Grant. Taking in the scene before him, he chuckles heartily, his smile never slipping. Walking over to the group, he claps his hands together in delight.

“I’m glad you’re all getting on. Boys, that was another wonderful performance. If you perform like that on Saturday? God, we’ll rule the world!”

“We’ll need our good luck charm, though.” Jimmy gestures towards Layla, winking at her conspiratorially.

“Peter, is there any way we can bring Layla over?”

“I’m sure we can work something out, Percy. Layla, would you like to join us?”

“Well… I’m sorry, but I’m not sure if I could manage, with the finances of it all. I don’t exactly have a job at the moment...” Layla says sheepishly, eyes cast downwards in embarrassment. Peter scoffs and shakes his head in response, placing his large hand on the young woman’s shoulder.

“My dear, you wouldn’t have to pay even one pence,” Pete explains, kind eyes reassuring as they gaze at the woman in front of him. “Though, if you are worried about something like that, we do always need help in the wings, if you’re interested?”

“Peter, are you sure? I couldn’t just—”

“Layla, for the love of God, just say yes?” Jonesy mutters, huffing out a laugh at the display of stubbornness in front of him.

“I mean, if you’re sure… I’d love to.”

“Wonderful! Now, we leave on Friday. We’ll pick you up at your flat, just make sure you’re packed, dear. We’re happy to have you on board.”

----------

As the calendar pinned to the wall is steadily painted in royal blue ink, Layla’s excitement grows. One more day, and she’ll be on the road, living it up. January 10th couldn't come any faster, it seemed to Layla.

The shrill ringing of the phone interrupts her musings, and as Layla hurries to answer, a smile grows on her face at the thought of the days ahead. As much as she tries to deny it, Layla felt quite fond of the boys already.

“Hey, little dove, I’m leaving right away to pick you up. I’ll explain what’s going on in the car. You don’t need to bring anything. See you in 15.”

“Robert? What—”

“Oh, and Layla?” Smugness dripping from his voice, Layla can already see the cheshire grin the man is sporting, “Wear something nice.”

“Robert—”

Click.

Shock freezing her in place, Layla shakes her head, a featherlight smile gracing her lips. Flying up the stairs to her bedroom, Layla picks out a pair of merlot bell bottoms, paired with a cropped bell-sleeved shirt, a snowy white in colour. Rings scattered across her hands, Layla looks in the mirror, applying some light makeup. Seeing a car pull up to her house, a sleek, rich red against the stormy gray of the curb, she rushed downstairs, waving at the driver. Stepping into the vehicle, she turns to her friend, who smirks, looking her up and down.

“I said to dress nice… This is gonna kill the man.” Robert scoffs, mutters under his breath, tugging playfully on a perfect brown ringlet of Layla’s hair.

“Robert, what’s going on? Why couldn't you explain over the phone?”

“Well, I couldn’t let a certain someone overhear my master plan, could I?” This is met with a blank look from the passenger of the vehicle, and, glancing over quickly, Robert cackles.

“Listen up, little dove,” Robert says, whispering mischievously, starting up the car and pulling away from the flat, “It’s Jimmy’s birthday, and the lot of us were planning something. It would be a shame if we didn’t get his favourite girl in on the secret too!”

“Favourite girl?”

“Oh come on, Layla. Don’t tell me you’re that oblivious!” Robert scoffs, lazily throwing his head to the side to look at his companion, golden locks flying every which way, “The man can’t take his eyes off of you. It’s a whole subject of conversation when you’re not around. I can tell by the colour of your cheeks that you might feel the same…”

“If I say yes, will you drop it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Should have known… Anyways, what’s the plan here?” Robert winks at her in response, ocean eyes glinting in the warm afternoon sun.

“So, you know quite a bit about guitars, hey?”

“A fair amount? I used to play. What does that have to do with Jimmy’s birthday, though?”

“Well,” Robert starts, grin growing at the confusion of his friend, “We’re gonna throw a little get-together at the studio, but I was thinking, his favourite acoustic keeps breaking, and he hasn’t had much time to fix it yet. This is where you come in, little dove.”

“Don’t leave me in suspense here, blondie.”

“You’re gonna pick out a new acoustic for him.”

“Robert, I don’t know…”

“Don’t worry about the costs,” Robert exclaims, shaking his head vehemently, “I got it all covered. Perks of being in a famous band, I guess. Jim’s not the best at words, you’ve experienced this firsthand. He speaks with his music, and by doing this, you’re speaking his language.”

“I get that, but what… What if he doesn’t like the guitar I pick out?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Robert laughs out, stealing a glance at his fidgeting companion. “Little dove, you could give him a trash bag and he’d still cherish it. He’ll love whatever you pick out for him.”

Robert parks the car, and turns towards his friend, taking a small hand in his, a comforting smile on his tan face. Giving the hand a squeeze, Layla steps out of the car, and, arm in arm with Robert, they walk into the store.

Strolling through the aisles, Layla was struck at the sheer beauty of the instruments in front of her. Shades of sepia and seafoam green blend into starry blues as she walks on. A body of rich mahogany catches Layla’s eye then, and she knows immediately. This is the one. The pickguard is a deep maroon with swirls of midnight black, thin rings of pristine white surrounding the sound hole. It’s perfect. Layla can’t help but stare, until she feels a tap on her shoulder, accompanied by a light peal of laughter.

“I take it, that's the one, Layla?”

Turning around, caught, Layla’s cheeks warm, and, smiling ever-so-slightly, she nods. Turning to the guitar once more, she trails her fingers across the smooth polished wood of the guitar.

“It’s perfect…”

“He’s gonna love it, just you wait.”

Layla plucks it from it’s resting spot on the wall, and, cradling it with the care of a new mother, she walks with Robert to the front of the store to pay. After a couple of autographs, and a few weird looks, the pair return to the car, finally setting their sights on the studio. Guitar case resting safely in her lap, Layla allows herself a private smile, picturing the face of the guitarist, emerald eyes filled with elation, upon seeing the gift.

“Why are your cheeks so red, little dove? Are you feeling okay?”

----------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis (let me know if you want to be added!)

[tenthgrove]

L’inizio- A La Squadra Backstory Collection

Chapter 1: La Serenità (Risotto Nero)

Word count: ~6000

Warnings: Like most La Squadra backstories, this fic is going to get quite dark in places so I’m going to include content warnings chapter by chapter. For this chapter, warnings are in place for grief, self-harm (implicit), violence, murder and general mental ill-health

Needles of rain batter the old road as the taxi pulls into a quiet town. The driver, who eyes his unfamiliar passenger quickly and often as he slumps broodingly in the back seat, prays his headlights don’t give up on him now.

“I know my way from here,” the passenger speaks. Though doubtful of his judgement, the driver takes his cue to pull to a stop on the unlevel curb. The passenger undoes his seatbelt and slings his heavy bag over-shoulder. He spares the taxi driver a rare moment of eye contact. “If you try and find the church yourself in this weather we’ll be here all night,” he huffs.

“Are you sure?” the driver asks waveringly, “the downpour is quite severe after all.”

“I’ve had worse. Now here, your money,” the strange man maintains, shoving a fist of cash towards him. The driver counts it eagerly.

“130,000 lire? That’s far more-”

“The first half is for the journey, the rest says you never saw me,” he elaborates impatiently. Reaching for the door, he steps out detachedly into the rain and begins his long strides forward. After a moment he stops, and looks back. For the first time all journey, his bitter face is lit up by the glare of the headlights. For all he has said and done, the driver cannot bring himself to feel shock at the sight of the black and red eyes the stranger looks at him with.

“And really,” the young man repeats. “Ensure you speak nothing of me. If you do, I have contacts who will ensure you regret it,” he snarls, turning his back ardently on the car and pacing away down the street. The driver wastes no time in leaving him be.

Risotto Nero wipes rain from his brow as he climbs the hill towards his destination. Somewhere, deep within his mind he acknowledges the unjust callousness with which he regards his childhood town around him. Perhaps, it is easier on his soul not to do otherwise.

Even as the darkness affords him no aid, Risotto guides himself by muscle memory towards the old tower of the village church. He knows by memory too, the way through the ancient graveyard to the place he came to visit. Reaching the far corner, he stumbles on the dirt and feels his hands for the stone. Icy hands trace its name, pangs of both relief and guilt when the familiar lettering is felt by him.

“Domenico,” Risotto half-gasps. He lets his knees give way as he sinks down onto the dirt of the grave. “I came back, as I promised you. I have to go again soon but…” he reaches into the pockets of his coat and pulls out a metal box the size of his palm. It’s starting to reek, a miracle the driver of the taxi didn’t notice, but it’s here now. “I did it Domenico. I killed him. For you,” Risotto speaks. He wrenches off the lid and the foul stench of rotting blood ebbs out. He hold it shakily over the grave, and tips it onto the dirt.

“I wanted to make him suffer more. Show him just what he did to Nonna and I by taking you. I couldn’t do that, there wasn’t enough time. But… I hope this is enough for you, Amico. I hope you can be at peace now.”

Risotto kisses his palm and presses it to the gravestone.

“Goodbye, Domenico.”

Risotto stand to his feet and turns away from the grave. A clap of lightning brings a brief moment of light to the rugged graveyard. There at the other end, Risotto sees a figure familiar to him, looking out over the sea of graves.

Damn it, Risotto thinks to himself. How in God’s name did she find him here?

Risotto crosses his palms and stands sheepishly as the figure of his grandmother approaches him. Vittoria stops when she’s close enough for the faint light of the night to force them to see eye to eye. Risotto knows he could not look away from her if he tried.

“I saw a vehicle coming into town,” Vittoria speaks. “Somehow, I knew in my heart it would be you.” The aging woman reaches a hand for her grandson’s arm. He flinches, but does not shake her off. “What have you done, Risotto?”

Risotto breathes deeply. He gives her the firmest look he dares.

“Exactly what I said I would.”

“It’s all over the news,” Vittoria laments. “The theories are ceaseless. I can only thank god you haven’t been named as a suspect yet, but with all that’s happened it’s only a matter of time.”

“They aren’t going to name me,” he promises. “I sought protection as I said I would. No police force in Italy will dare put blame on me, and they will not harass you either.” Risotto assures her. Vittoria’s eyes go wide as panic flashes across her face. She opens her mouth fearfully.

“Who?”

“Passione,” Risotto answers.

“Then you really have doomed yourself Risotto.”

Risotto takes a step back.

“I’ve sworn to report to Naples by 4pm tomorrow. I have to go, Nonna,” he excuses himself.

“Stay, just a few hours, I beg of you,” Vittoria pleads. As he marches to the edge of the graveyard, she follows him desperately. “If you must go, I can take you myself in the morning. Don’t you want to bring more of your things? At very least- give a passing goodbye to your home?” she vies. Risotto shakes his head without looking back at her. “Risotto, please,” Vittoria begs, grabbing him by the wrist. “You’re all I’ve got left. You don’t have to go to them. I can hide you. I can take care of you.”

“I’m not going to be so dishonourable as to break an oath. Even if you could find a place for me out of Passione’s reach, my conscience would not allow it,” Risotto insists. “Surely you can understand that.”

Vittoria nods shakily.

“Unfortunately, I can. Very well, Risotto, I see your mind is made up. But won’t you at least come home for tonight?”

“No. It’s easier if I just go,” Risotto denies her. “Thank you for everything, Nonna.”

::::::::::::

A car horn sounds outside and Risotto snaps his eyes open. Sweat clings the sheets to his skin in spite of the cold weather. His head hurts and the light of his desk lamp stings his eyes as he switches it on.  He doesn’t want to leave the bed. He wants to curl up and throw the sheets over his face but he knows he can’t do that.

It’s 11pm. No doubt his superiors will have tasks for him overnight and glancing over at the other bed, his roommate is already up. Risotto forces himself from bed. He notices the wrinkled photograph of his Nonna and cousin out on the nightstand- he must have left it there before he fell asleep. He tucks it quickly into the drawer. The idea of his roommates seeing it always leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Dressing in the first thing he can find, Risotto stumbles into the squalid little bathroom. Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s only 20, a gaunt, ghoulish figure whose eyes never focus and mouth never smiles. He used to think himself lonely as a child. Now he longs for a life that loved.

Risotto turns the tap and splashes his face with a little water. It hardly helps him look much better but it helps a little with the headache. He dries his face with a wipe and casts it into the bin. Often, he wonders whether his roommates haven’t noticed all the bloody tissues that keep piling up in there or if they’re just keeping quiet, but either way he’s glad for their silence. Wiping his hands on the towel, Risotto leaves for the kitchen.

“You look like shit,” Marco remarks. By the time Risotto looks at him back he’s already lost interest, eyes focused on the book he rests against the edge of the kitchen table.

“Thanks,” Risotto responds. He turns the dial on the light a little brighter. “Where are the others?”

“Fucked if I know. Nowhere good, I reckon,” Marco answers him. He pushes his glasses back into place, before scooting back in his chair to look up at Risotto. “But it works well for us. We’ve got an errand ‘needs doing. Whole massive sack of cash needs running to the warehouse. You know I can’t trust the others with that sort of thing, so I’m giving it to you. Fair?”

“Fair. I could use the walk,” Risotto shrugs. He reaches for his coat.

“Woah woah woah,” Marco stops him. “Please tell me you’re at least going to eat something before you head out. You look like you legitimately might fall over.”

“I’ll be fine, Marco, I just- don’t feel up to it,” Risotto excuses himself, slinging his arms into the coat sleeves.

“I am not letting you do such an important job for me in a state like that. Sit. I’ll get you something. As captain of this house, I’m ordering you,” Marco insists.

“If you’re so powerful how about you get Niccolo to stop barging in drunk every morning at 4am?” Risotto grumbles. He sits down anyway.

“I’m house captain, not a damn miracle worker,” Marco half-chuckles. Risotto gives a tut and forces his tense body to relax.

He heads out right after he’s eaten, not particularly wanting to converse with his roommate much longer. Risotto likes walking, especially at night. The cool air helps with the constant feeling of sickness and the quiet clears his head. He knows the place he’s going- an old warehouse a few blocks away where a lot of the money and drugs Passione seizes are taken as a first port of call. It’s not far, but Risotto thinks he’ll take the long route back. He’s enjoying this.

Risotto spies the run-down silhouette of the warehouse towering over the end of the street. The front entrance is right ahead, but Risotto knows he’s not supposed to use it for this sort of work. He heads left, down into the brick alleyway that takes him to the back door. A man is leaning against the wall. His face, scarred and stubbled, is made visible by the lighter he uses to light his bent cigarette. He spares a glance to Risotto, and Risotto feels the sudden urge to give him a wide birth.

“You got a watch on you?” the stranger asks.

Risotto isn’t falling for that one. He looks dead ahead and keeps walking, clutching the bag between himself and the wall. Pain assails the back of his shin and he falls, string-tied money falling out on the floor.

“We’ve been expecting you,” says the stranger. Face against the mud, Risotto hears the click of a gun and his instincts take over. He flings to the right, just as the deafening sound of a gunshot fires right by his ear. He rolls onto his back and grabs the stranger by his wrist, twisting the gun away before it can fire again. There’s a noise in the alleyway and Risotto wonders if it’s help. Two silhouettes come around the corner and point their guns, but it isn’t at the stranger. It’s at him.

Risotto twists his attacker’s wrist further until he hears something pop. The man yelps in pain and lets go of the gun. Grabbing it, Risotto aims at the two newcomers and fires rapidly. The angle is hardly idle but Risotto is fervent. There’s a scream and one of them falls, distracting their companion long enough for Risotto to take care of his other problem. Gripping his arms with both hands and summoning all his strength, Risotto flips the first attacker over his head, the injured man landing with a thud behind him.

Risotto scrambles to his feet. The man tries to do the same but he isn’t fast enough. Risotto straddles him and draws his knife. He stabs him again and again, blood spurting from his neck and chest as his struggling slowly stops. He stills. Risotto pulls the knife from the dead flesh and sighs.

A blinding brightness shoots down from above and Risotto reels in pain. Falling to the ground beside the body, he tries to blink his eyes open only to be met with more agony. It’s like a million needles of light are stabbing him from the sky.

The stars. Something is up with the stars.

“Bet they didn’t even give you a stand, did they? Worthless nobody.”

Steps approach Risotto from behind and the third attacker stops beside him. “Obviously not, otherwise you would have noticed it earlier,” the man scowls. Risotto tries to look up and catches a brief, blurry image of his face with no detail. It’s isn’t good to confirm much other than the man is there.

“What have you done to me?” Risotto demands. He tries to press his hands to his eyes but it still hurts. The light gets brighter still.

“I’ve used my stand on you. It’s only your perception of the stars that has been changed and not the whole planet, so don’t feel too mind blown. Believe me, if I could do that, I wouldn’t be stealing from Passione to subsidise what they pay me.”

Risotto’s eyes blink open again and in their brief moment of vision Risotto sees something that stills his blood. The stranger holds Risotto’s own knife, raised high above his head. Risotto lashes out.

Relying on instinct alone he lurches up to tackle his assailant to the ground. The stranger chuckles and throws him off of him. Risotto may be strong, but he isn’t used to fighting without his sight. It puts him at a severe disadvantage.

Risotto feels a harsh punch to his spine. He stumbles back to the ground, stopped from landing face first only by his scratched hands. He knows he would have heard it if another individual had approached it. That can only mean one thing- his attacker’s stand.

Risotto despairs. He knows stands are immune from all damage by things of this world, so without a stand of his own Risotto is defenceless against it. He has only one hope: kill the user first. Risotto lunges forwards, grabbing onto his attacker and pushing him to the ground through sheer force. He sinks his hands around the man’s neck and pushes down with all his force. The man brings up the knife and stabs it into Risotto’s chest. The pain is blinding, but Risotto knows it’s nowhere fatal. He is not deterred. The knife is brought up again and strikes him again between the ribs, but it is not deep enough to make Risotto give up his grip.

The stranger’s arm falls and the knife clatters out of reach, but Risotto is not safe yet. The unseeable stand unleashes a barrage of blows to his body, but Risotto forces himself not to give up. He stays there for what feels like an eternity, eyes clamped shut and body in agony, until the light starts to get weaker. The stand’s punches lose their strength.

Risotto can see clearly again, though the pain isn’t entirely gone. He looks down unfeelingly at the dying man below him, retching, wheezing for air as he grips Risotto’s wrist pleadingly. Risotto feels nothing as the man’s eyes glaze over and his body goes still. He holds his grip for another minute, making absolute certain the assailant is dead and not unconscious. Then he collapses.

Risotto stares up at the sky. Blood clings to his chest and oozes around his clothes. He notices how acutely aware he is of his heart, beating erratically as it pumps the blood out his skin. His limbs are heavy, the feeling in his hands already gone. He can feel himself fading second-by-second. He comes to realise just how long he’s wanted this.

Risotto thinks of Domenico and his Nonna, and patiently waits for the beating in his heart to stop.

::::::::::::

The next thing that Risotto is aware of is the heart monitor, beeping rhythmically as the white of the hospital surrounds him. He moves about in the sheets, noting the feeling of his chest constrained by bandages. A nurse rushes over to him and his awareness dissociates. It doesn’t come back until she’s leaving.

“There was a man here to see you earlier,” she mentions.

“Not some twerp with glasses, was it?” Risotto asks. He hates how weak and strained his voice sounds.

“No, some classy guy. His name was… Prosciutto Crepuscolo? I’ll have to check the book, but it’s something like that anyway. He seemed pretty ardent about seeing you so I’ll expect he’ll be back soon.”

“Alright,” Risotto sighs. “Thanks for the warning.”

Great. This is probably some stuck-up management asshole here to interrogate him about what happened. Risotto can only hope they know what the attackers were up to and don’t think he just decided to murder three soldatos on the fly. Otherwise, Risotto’s troubles may be just be beginning.

Risotto waits. The clock strikes 6am, but there’s no way to know how many times it’s done that since they took him here. He’s half-tempted to get up and find out but then he remembers the tube in his arm. He can’t really be bothered, anyway. At very least, they gave him a private room. It’s clear they know who he is, so it must have either been his roommates or the operatives of the warehouse who took him here. Someone who knows where the doctors on Passione’s payroll work.

The clock strikes 9. That nurse came back to check on him at some point but Risotto barely even noticed. He wants to go back to sleep but the pain is too bad for that. He can’t do anything but think, and even that is hard for him in so much pain.

The door clicks and an unfamiliar man enters. He appears disdained by the rain on his fine jacket as he takes it off quickly, brushing strands of blond hair from his eyes. He is a young man, though seemingly a fair bit older than Risotto if the way he carries himself is anything to go by.

“Nero?” the man asks. He regards Risotto critically as he steps forward.

“Yes, you’re Crepuscolo, correct?” Risotto replies.

“Call me Prosciutto. I can’t stand when people use that surname,” the man answers. He places his blazer on the back of the visitor’s chair and sits down, folding his hands.

“You’re from Passione, aren’t you?”

“That obvious? I suppose it must be,” Prosciutto shrugs. “I’m less special than you probably think. I handle logistics, usually more to do with murder than drugs and gambling, but I report to Polpo just like you do,” he explains.

“Are you currently sorting the logistics of having me shot, Prosciutto?” Risotto asks dryly. Prosciutto rolls his eyes.

“No, no. The operatives at the warehouse recognised one of your attackers as having tried to rob them before, and your team was quick to vouch for your character. Everyone accepts you acted in self-defence and there’s no suspicion otherwise,” Prosciutto reassures him. “In fact, I’m here on a personal whim.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been tasked with the elimination of an important politician residing in Naples. I don’t usually carry out such orders myself, but when the stakes are high it’s usually best that I, as a stand user, step in personally. Even still, it’s best to have backup and frankly, all my usual contacts are either out of town or hapless fools I wouldn’t trust to water a houseplant,” Prosciutto explains.

“And you’re looking for new options, I presume,” Risotto deduces.

“Precisely,” Prosciutto nods. “Winning a three-on-one fight with one stand user is certainly an impressive feat. I was hoping to find you in better shape than this but I can afford to wait a month or two, so I won’t strike you off my options yet. I must say, Risotto, you look like you belong in this place even without the multitude of chest wounds, but I haven’t figured out if that makes me more or less appealed to you.”

“Charmed,” Risotto sighs. “What’s in it for me?”

“Well, they’re giving me 30 million lire for the job and it would only be fair for me to give you a cut. How does 5% sound?”

“10, at least,” Risotto contends. Prosciutto smirks and makes a little huff.

“You’re an eager bastard aren’t you. Done,” he concedes.

“What do you need from me?”

“I live across from the promenade. Number 23. If you’re in shape by the 3rd of December, come to me in the afternoon. I do my hits at night but there’ll be plenty to discuss, so make sure you’re there by 4 at the latest. I can give you the pay there and then but you’ll have to keep it on you until we’re done so you don’t try to leg it.”

“And is there anything in particular I should train myself for?” Risotto asks.

“Nothing in particular. You’re only there for backup so you might not even need to lift a finger. Really I’m giving you money for nothing,” Prosciutto remarks, standing up dignifiedly from his chair. “But making new connections can only help us both, don’t you agree?”

With a small parting smile, Prosciutto departs without awaiting his answer. Risotto is left alone with the beat of his heart monitor. He doesn’t know what to think of his new acquaintance yet, but an allegiance with a stand user could change everything. If Risotto were to gain status within Passione, would it finally fill the hole in his heart left by Domenico? He honestly doesn’t know.

::::::::::::

It’s the third of December, 1992, and Risotto is in good spirits. He worked hard to restore his health after his injuries, making a point of taking better care of himself and spending many hours working on his mobility. What Prosciutto has given him is a goal, and that’s something he hasn’t had since hunting Domenico’s killer. Now, when Risotto looks in the mirror, he sees resolution. He’s going to impress his new acquaintance if it kills him.

Risotto walks along the promenade counting the houses for number 23. It’s a fancy looking place, as he expected, made of sandstone with a twisted copper fence surrounding the upstairs balcony. He passes a grove of palm trees and knocks on the door. The answer is immediate.

“One moment, one moment,” Prosciutto calls impatiently. The smaller man opens the door and Risotto is struck by the smell of expensive cigarettes. “Sorry, do you mind?” Prosciutto asks, gesturing to the cigarette in his hand.

“Not at all,” Risotto assures him. “May I come in?”

Prosciutto walks wordlessly into the living room and Risotto gets the hint to follow. The pair sit down on a lavish settee. Risotto finds himself anxious in such an alien place to him.

“You live on Firenze street, close to the cinema, yes?” Prosciutto enquires.

“Yes. Piece of shit dump.”

“Tell me about it. I used to live just on the next road when I started out with my first squad,” Prosciutto reminisces. Risotto leans forward in surprise.

“You’re self-made?”

“More like… earned back,” Prosciutto clarifies. “Though for the record you’ll find most of my possessions here are cheaper than they look. I’m not nearly as rich as I was as a young man. Perhaps someday,” he hopes.

“When did you join Passione?” Risotto asks curiously.

“Three years ago. If you’d started just a few months earlier, we would have been neighbours,” he muses.

“And your stand?”

“Now that’s newer. I’ve had it for the best part of a year.”

Risotto taps his leg nervously.

“How did you do it? Move up the ranks so quickly?”

Prosciutto tuts.

“Wondering how you’re still stuck as Polpo’s postboy at the same point in your career I was lined up for a stand?” he asks cuttingly. Risotto chokes out a half-formed rebuttal, then looks down in shame. “A bit of luck, a bit of knowing the right people, and a lot of speaking bullshit,” Prosciutto answers. “It also doesn’t help that… you know…”

“You can say it. Everyone knows I’m an utter state and sometimes I legitimately impress people by waking up alive in the morning,” Risotto grumbles.

“Well, that’s one way to put it. If it’s any consolation you’re no worse than most at your level of the organisation. The problem comes when you want to move up,” Prosciutto takes another drag of the cigarette and leans back into the cushions. “You’re hardly a rare case. You thought Passione would be something it wasn’t for you and now you aren’t sure what you’re living for.”

“Did you… look into me?” Risotto asks defensively. Prosciutto shakes his head.

“Like I said, it’s a common story. I don’t really need to look into you to know.”

“It’s not entirely true,” Risotto protests. “I never really expected anything out of Passione. I just didn’t think I’d care what happened to me anymore. Sometimes I don’t, but it still hurts.”

“Shit parents?”

“No! Well, yes. But they weren’t the ones who raised me so it doesn’t matter. Someone… died, someone very close to me, and in avenging him I asked Passione to protect me. I had to join them of course, in exchange, but I didn’t mind. I thought I’d be at peace once I had my vengeance. I was wrong,” he says quietly. Prosciutto is quiet for a moment.

“Come on, let’s get ready to go.”

::::::::::::

It’s a cold night. Risotto is starting to regret volunteering to wait outside. His task is simple, watch the front door and shoot if the target tries to leave. He lives alone and the two guards have already been disposed of, so the job couldn’t be simpler. Risotto hopes the target really does try to run. It will make him feel like he had an actual purpose being here.

Even out here, Risotto can hear the scuffle inside. It’s a good thing they’re far from the city and there aren’t any neighbours nearby, but then again, does anyone living in Passione’s territory really still trust the police enough to call them?

After what feels like ages, the door falls open. Risotto aims his gun and prepares to seize his moment, only to find the stumbling target looks half-dead already as he collapses onto the porch. He fires a couple of shots anyway, just for good measure.

Prosciutto steps out. He kicks the body. Risotto starts to walk forward.

“No!” Prosciutto shouts. Risotto stops in his tracks. “Alright, you can come now,” Prosciutto permits him. Risotto steps forward uncertainly. “Apologies, my stand is indiscriminate so I can’t have you going near it. It’s gone now, so you’re safe. Come, come over here,” Prosciutto urges.

Risotto eyes the dead body in front of him. He is struck immediately by how old and shrivelled it seems- he could have sworn the politician was only in his early 60s.

“Is your stand… aging?” he asks.

“Well-guessed. It’s morbid, I know, but it does the job,” Prosciutto confirms. “You’re welcome to leave now. Cleaning up is a delicate process and it’s best I do it myself.”

“So this is it, I just go now?” Risotto says, a little disappointed.

“You have your money, don’t you? Now go, before someone drives by!” Prosciutto urges him. Risotto sulks away down the front path. “And Risotto?” he calls back. Risotto turns to listen to him. “I’ll be sure to give you a call if I ever need you again. You’ve impressed me, Risotto.”

The young man smiles. He nods in acknowledgement.

“Thank you, Prosciutto. I hope we can work again together soon.”

::::::::::::

It’s May, and Risotto is freshly 21. He finishes sweeping the floor of the kitchen and sits at the table, taking a sip of his coffee as he watches out the window. There’s a knock on the door.

“Hello?” Risotto says, opening it. The sight that greets him is a surprise- the familiar figure of Prosciutto Crepuscolo standing at his doorway.

“Apologies for the delay, I finally had an excuse to meet with you,” Prosciutto greets him. “May I come in?”

“By all means,” Risotto smiles. The two enter the apartment.

“You’re looking… better, Risotto,” Prosciutto notices. Risotto brushes his fingers through his hair.

“I wouldn’t say I’m doing well, but it’s a start,” he agrees. “So, what finally dragged you out here?”

“It’s possible I might have a position for you,” Prosciutto announces. Risotto perks up eagerly.

“Under you?”

“Over me,” Prosciutto corrects him.

“Now I’m intrigued.”

Prosciutto steeples his fingers and starts to explain.

“Passione is forming a new squad. Assassination, at long last. No more running around Naples for volunteers last minute. I’ve been chosen, no surprise, but I’ve made it very clear I refuse to be team leader. I have personal commitments. It wouldn’t be ideal. I’ve already got two others on the team with me, good men I’ve known for a while, but I’ve been told in no uncertain terms not to let either of them anywhere near positions of power. You on the other hand, my superiors are willing to consider.”

“I’m hardly qualified.”

“You’d be surprised how good an option you are. Being able to kill without a second thought is rare enough in itself, and on each of the few occasions your combat prowess has come into play, you’ve performed exceptionally. While it’s true you don’t have much experience as a leader, you’ve got all the hallmarks of someone who could be taught to be one. And you will be taught. I’ll be there to teach you.” Prosciutto assures him. He leans back in his seat. “There’s only one issue. We need to get you a stand.”

“I see. Can you get me put through for one?” Risotto asks.

“With your consent I can get you put through tomorrow. But I need you to be certain, Risotto, I need you to agree to lead us.”

Risotto takes a moment to think. He breathes deeply.

“I agree Prosciutto. I’ll do it.”

“Excellent. It’s time we got you out of this dump.”

Risotto wakes the next morning to knocking on the door of his new bedroom. He sits up and takes a moment to regard the room around him, his mind planning already how he’s going to make it look once it’s concretely his. Really though, he’s just glad to have a space to himself now.

“Risotto it’s time to get up,” Prosciutto calls impatiently.

“I’m awake,” Risotto answers him. “Give me one minute and I’ll be dressed.”

Risotto hurries into his clothes and exits the room. Prosciutto is waiting for him, leaned against the wall. He regards Risotto with a nod.

“We aren’t expected at any particular time, but I’d rather we go sooner than later. Best to get it out of the way.”

“I’d prefer that too,” Risotto agrees. “Let me finish getting ready and we’ll head out.”

Prosciutto follows Risotto downstairs into the large front room. Risotto can tell Passione intends to grow this team beyond its current meagre size, else they wouldn’t get a house this big. At least he can enjoy the privacy while it lasts.

Down in the sitting room, two men look up from their sofa. They are entangled in each other, arms splayed lovingly over each other’s shoulders with little care who sees them. The smaller blond shuffles from his partner’s lap. He crosses his legs and looks at Risotto with wicked eyes.

“And who might this be, Pros? Our first victim?” he asks. The dark-haired man beside him presses his knuckles to his lips in a poor attempt to hide his malicious smile.

“This is Risotto Nero,” Prosciutto corrects him. “Should all go to plan, our leader.”

“What a young face,” the dark-haired man remarks.

“And so… uniquely dressed,” his partner adds. They pass a wicked glint between them.

“Risotto, this is Sorbet, and his husband Gelato,” Prosciutto introduces them, pointing to each. “The two recruits I mentioned earlier.”

“Recruits?” Sorbet asks, a hint of offense in his voice.

“We’ve been in the game far longer than you have, Prosci,” Gelato agrees.

“You both know what I mean,” Prosciutto sighs. He leads Risotto to the door and the pair get up after them. “Where on earth are you going?” he asks.

“We thought we might go with you, to… see our new friend off,” Sorbet explains.

“Very well, but no dawdling,” Prosciutto agrees.

The four pile into Prosciutto’s spotless Ford, the man himself taken the driver’s seat as Risotto sits behind him. Sorbet and Gelato jump eagerly into the back, gripping the seats in front of them and holding their faces way too close to Risotto for comfort.

“Now, you remember what to do?” Prosciutto checks.

“Yes,” Risotto assures him.

“My advice would be to find a street with no wind and stay there. Occupy yourself mentally, but don’t walk around or you’ll be asking for trouble,” Prosciutto advises.

“Thank you, Prosciutto, I’ll remember that. Any hope of you telling me how I’ll actually get the stand?” Risotto vies.

“Sorry, no chance. Just believe me when I say I have faith in you.”

“Very well,” Risotto accepts. He chuckles quietly.

Prosciutto drives just a few more minutes before stopping at the gates of a prison. He regards Risotto’s surprise with a reassuring pat to the shoulder.

“The guards will let you in, don’t worry. Go now, we have faith.”

Risotto thanks him with a smile and steps from the vehicle. A hand tugs his wrist. He turns to see Gelato holding onto him.

“Prosciutto’s going to tell me off for saying this, but drop the lighter. It’s what you’re actually meant to do.”

Unsure of what to say, Risotto shakes him off and carries on towards the gates. He hears the conversation behind him.

“Gelato, what on earth are you doing?!” Prosciutto chides.

“Giving him a faster death.”

::::::::::::

Risotto pushes against the arrow with all his might as it digs into his chest. He lets out a grunt of exasperation as he battles for his life, adamant in the resolution that he refuses to die today. He begins to hear screaming, passive at first and then steadily louder. It isn’t him, but it’s coming from within him. The iron grate by his side begins to twist and contort.

::::::::::::

“So, do you think he’s dead yet?” Sorbet says humourlessly. He checks his nails while caressing Gelato’s head in his lap.

“He’s going to be fine. I really don’t know why you have so little faith in him,” Prosciutto admonishes him. The pair chuckle.

“He’s just another dumb fuck dragged in from the gutter. There’s no way he could possibly survive obtaining a stand,” Gelato maintains.

“I’d like to see you say that to his face when he gets home alive,” Prosciutto tuts.

The front door clicks, the lock giving way on its own accord. The door swings open and Risotto Nero steps through, a cascading wave of metal swirling around his torso at his command. He reaches his hand into the iron dust and a shining blade is molded from the air. He presents it to Prosciutto proudly.

“Will this be adequate, Prosciutto?”

The older man stifles a laugh and looks over to the stunned lovers on the opposite sofa.

“My friends, I think it’s time you gave your new leader the greeting he deserves.”

[astraljedi]

Coffee Crush (Evan Buckley)

A/N: first of all, I’m buck trash. I’ve been watching 911 with my roommate since season two aired, and I’ve been trying to fight it. But here I am, posting an Evan Buckley imagine. Secondly, I wrote this in a day? Who am I? Thirdly, we need more buck imagines.

Summary: Evan might be obsessed with a coffee shop, or a certain employee.

Warnings: none? Probably some bad writing.

Pairing: reader, she/her

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Coffee never failed to bring people together, whether it was decaf or not. People enjoyed a hot cup of coffee or an iced cold-brewed coffee with their loved ones at any time of the day.

That's why Y/N had decided to open up Mamá Linda’s Coffee shop. Of course, Los Angeles had hundreds of know coffee chains around de City. But it didn’t stop her from owning her place, she fought hard for it and gave it her all until she finally made it.

It always packed all day, and she was on her feet since early in the morning until late at night. There wasn't a day where she wasn’t helping her staff on the bar and behind the kitchen. She was an all-hands in kind of woman.

Week 1

The job was exhausting, but a day never passed by that wasn't full of some entertainment—especially this week in particular.

“Y/N, we have a 10 in uniform,” Selena whispered to her while calling the shots for the current drink she had. They all spoke in codes, and a ten means someone attractive was in the shop. “Those piercing blue eyes could make me forget that I’m a married woman.”

Selena always made her day with her commentary during shifts and even of them during text or calls. She was a woman full of surprises.

“He’s lost looking at the menu.” Y/N chuckled, watching him wrinkle his nose in confusion. He was wearing a black firefighter uniform like he just came off his shift or was heading there. “He looks cute.”

She found it adorable, and without notice, she had a small smile splattered on her face. The cute firefighter turned his attention back to the line and caught Y/N’s eyes staring back at him. He must have felt someone was staring at him.

Blushing uncontrollably, he smirked at her playfully. He loved flirting, and he walked around, knowing he could get any girl.

Not knowing what to do with herself, she lowered her head embarrassed and ended up spilling the steaming hot milk from her pitcher on the counter and on to her apron. Y/N’s hands were now shaking as her team watched her with wide eyes, surprised with her clumsiness. She wasn’t like this at all.

The metal pitcher fell to the floor, hushing the packed shop with the remaining milk spilling on the ground as clients looked around for the source of the accident. It made it worse for her when all her usual clients were staring at her, they were worried, but she thought they were judging her.

“Y/N, get yourself cleaned up. We can handle it here.” Selena rubbed her Y/N’s shoulders while she nodded her head in agreement quietly. Darian was already cleaning up the counter while she walked away quietly towards the back. After all that, Y/N didn’t even dare to look back at the firefighter. She felt embarrassed at how nervous and shaky she got over just one smirk.

And if it couldn’t go worse, he became a regular after that.

Week 2

The second week was torture; now she knew his name after Selena had told her a few days ago when she finally caught his name for his order. Now, Harry, one of her other employees, had found him on social media during a late stalking session. He had a crush too.

“Evan hasn’t come in today, and maybe he couldn’t come by before work or after his gym session.” Harry frowned, leaning against the marble countertop after he finished with his last customer on the line. It was around 10 am, which meant a little breathing room for the team to relax from the morning rush hour.

“Did you get his social security number while you were stalking the poor guy?” Y/N chuckled, working on the pastry case. She had made the perfect Tres Leches in the morning that she thought it deserved a spot on the pastry case for others to see the newest treat on the menu.

“I only found about his family, his ex-girlfriend, and where he works. It wasn’t a full-on stalk since I know you called dibs first.” Y/N turned around, glaring at him after she closed the pantry door.

“I did not call dibs on him.”

“Well, you did spill your pitcher full of steaming milk after the poor guy tried to flirt with you. Which you never spill your pitcher, you can do this in your sleep cupcake.” Harry added as Selena had joined them in the bar.

“I’m with Harry on this, and you did say he looked cute that day,” Selena added, drying the white plated she brought from the back.

“I did not spill because of him. I just had too much caffeine that day that I was bouncing all over the place.” Y/N tried to get her self out of it; she didn’t even want to be in the topic from the first place. “Just because I find a guy attractive doesn’t mean I want to date him.”

“You’re saying that I’m not datable?” And if her nightmare couldn't have become worst. Evan was standing behind the pastry case, gym bag over his shoulders, and a tank that left his muscular biceps the main lead of the show.

It was like deja vu. Y/N’s blushing cheeks were hard to cover as he smiled back at her. He knew she was avoiding him since the milk incident, and he finally caught her. And even better, she was talking about him with her friends.

“I see you have become a regular now.” Was that the first thing she said to him? Yeah, rude.

“What can I say? I love coffee and scenery.” Evan flirted again, knowing he made her nervous.

“Well, I think Harry knows your usual so that he will make it for you.” And as expected, Harry was already finishing his order at the end of the bar. “As a thank you for your support, it's on the house.”

Harry smiled widely at Evan as he handed the coffee cup to Evan over the counter. “Won’t your boss get mad for giving away free coffee?” Evan added before taking a sip of his drink.

“The good thing is that I’m the owner.” Y/N smirked back at him before turning around and walking towards the backroom. She looked over her shoulder, thinking she pulled off the last move, but he didn’t fail to wink back at her before Evan left the shop.

Week 3

After her last conversation with Evan, she did see him a couple of times after. And she finally learned his usual order. It was a black coffee with a splash of unsweetened almond milk topped with some cinnamon.

She did get used to seeing his face around. He did seem to enjoy the coffee. “Hey, sweet face, you’re early today.” Y/N leaned against the counter, already having his order ready for him in front of her.

“Now, you’re giving me nicknames?” He did enjoy the coffee, but he loved it the most when she greeted him with her sweet smile. He had gotten her to open up to him these couple of days, and he was happy about it. She brightened up his day.

“You just always have a sweet smile, like a toddler. Always so full of life, energy, and happiness.” And she wasn’t shy anymore on holding back the compliments.

“Then, I will call you freckles.” Evan reached towards Harry to finish paying and looked at her one last time. “You should show your freckles more. They go perfectly with your beautiful smile.” He winked at her and left the store in a hurry for work.

“If you don’t date him, I will.” Selena pushed a blushing Y/N playfully while she still stared at the door even though he was nowhere in sight anymore.

Week 4

“Good Morning Harry, did you watch the game yesterday?” Evan chatted with Harry, his eyes scanning the shop for a particular face.

“I did, and after that game, I’m embarrassed to even be from here. What a disaster it was.” Harry shrugged his shoulders, giving Evan his change. “She’s not here, she came down with the horrible flu and couldn’t risk getting all of us sick.”

“Oh, I was looking forward to seeing that smile today.” Evan frowned, placing a tip in the jar on the counter. “It was nice seeing you. Take care.”

“He looked sad when he walked in today,” Selena said, while Harry agreed.

Week 5

After spending some time in bed and being miserable at home with the flu, Y/N was finally on her feet and feeling better. The first day back and she was excited to head back to her second home, and especially to see that special someone.

But that morning, he didn’t show up at all. It was like the universe didn’t want her to see him today.

“He did come yesterday, right?” Y/N asked Selena, tapping her fingers on the counter, worrying about him. She had a feeling something was wrong, especially after Selena has told her that morning that he had been looking rough the couple of times he had come in.

“He did, he still had the sad puppy eyes, but he did order your tres leches again,” Selena confirmed, handing Y/N a warm cup of tea. Y/N felt terrible, he did leave his number for her with Harry, but she just didn’t have the courage to text first.

Maybe she was crazy, but she missed his smile and his contagious laughter while she was gone. She was looking forward to seeing him again, but she might have sent the wrong signal by not texting or even calling him after he left his number.

“I’m going for a drive, think you can stay in charge until I get back?” Y/N placed the cup on the counter and folded up one of the to-go boxes.

“If you’re going to do what I think you're going to do, then I can.” Selena chuckled, helping Y/N place the whole Tres Leches in the box.

She had driven past the station a few times before she even knew him, so thankfully, she knew the way and didn’t need to waste more time by searching it on her GPS. It was a 10-minute ride, and with her luck, traffic was lighter than usual.

“Should I call him and tell him that I’m here?” She thought, looking at the intimidating station. With her shaking hands, she built up the courage and stepped out of her car with her other hand holding on to the box.

“I bet I look pathetic.” And again, the little voice in her head returned. Her eyes wandered the area, and she only spotted a pair of legs working behind the ambulance. Hesitant, she made her way towards the figure as she held tightly on to the box in her hands. “Hi, excuse me.” She felt so small and intimidated her voice cracked a bit at the end.

“How can I help you, ma'am.” She felt so bad about interrupting him while he was just trying to do his job.

“Sorry to bother you, is Evan here? I don’t know if this is the right station-“

“Oh yeah, he’s here.” He smiled a little too friendly and immediately started shouting Evan’s name until an annoyed Evan came marching from what looked like a locker room.

“Han, why in the world are you screaming?” Buck groaned, but it took him a second to realized what was happening.

“This kind woman was asking for you.” Han smiled at Y/N kindly. Buck’s eyes widened, and his cheeks we're madly blushing when he spotted her standing right behind Han. And of course, Y/N had been blushing since he had walked out of the lockers.

“This is for all of you; I made it this morning.” Y/N held out the box, and Han didn’t hesitate to grab it from her hands.

“She brings us treats. She’s a keeper, Buck.” Han said a little too loud as he climbs up the stairs towards the small kitchen.

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping. I got worried when you didn’t come in, and I just had a bad feeling. I needed to make sure you were alright.” Y/N rambled, her hands moving around like crazy as she tried to explain her actions. “I don’t know if you’re just nice, but I’m pretty sure we were flirting all of this time, and I just needed to see you.” With her rambling all over the place, she didn’t even notice how Buck was walking towards her slowly.

“I wanted to see you too.” Evan chuckled, grabbing her by the waist, finally pulling her closer to his body for the first time. The heat radiating between the two met as Buck lowered down to her height to catch her lips with his.

In complete shock, Y/N’s widened at first but slowly shut them as she kissed him back. It was slow and sweet, how he imagined it to be. One of Y/N’s hands found its way towards his bicep, resting on the muscle even after he had pulled away to look at her glistening eyes. “Just as good as your coffee,” Evan mumbled, pecking her lips a few times.

They were in their little bubble until wolf whistles and cheers coming from the balcony above them. “You can come to visit us at any time if you bring more goodies as good as this dessert,” Han said with a mouth full of food. A woman standing right next to him slapped him in the shoulder, rolling his eyes at him. “Excuse my partner. He gets a little too happy over food.”

“I’ll bring more next time.” Y/N giggled as Buck held her between his arms.