#knives standing in the doorway: CHIPPED????

[crimson-nail]

we talked abt this earlier but its probably a good thing knives apple’d himself at the end of trimax, because if he’d found out from chronica that they started chipping independents he would’ve had The Conniption Fit To End All Conniption Fits

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Error 404 Brain Not Found: Bonus Scene - Part 2

Geralt 'hmm'ed distractedly as he watched the tv. He was vaguely aware that Jaskier was talking, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. Jaskier was always talking, or singing, or making some kind of noise.

Geralt blinked as something Jaskier had said brought itself to his attention. It had been something about his mouth, and balls.

"Hm?"

"I said 'How many cheeseballs do you think I could fit in my mouth?'"

Geralt shrugged, "I don't know, one? They are pretty big."

"That's what she said!" Jaskier said almost automatically, then contiued, "Not the actual ball of cheese ones, I mean the little crunchy snack ones that come in the barrel."

"I don't know, three? Four?"

"How many do you think you could fit in your mouth?"

Geralt shrugged. They looked at each other for a moment, then Geralt said, "I'll get the keys."

One quick trip to the grocery store later, and they were sitting on the couch, shoving cheeseballs into their mouths and grunting muffled numbers at each other

"What the f**k?" Yennefer asked, having walked in to see them covered in orange cheese dust, and looking like chipmunks getting ready for winter. They made grunting and mumbling noises at her, excitedly trying to sign numbers at her.

"Never mind, I don't want to know."

From then, it became a sort of competition. Geralt and Jaskier would see a small food item and try to see how many they could fit in their mouths.

Yennefer walked by the kitchen one morning to see Geralt and Jaskier standing at the table, a variety of small food items arranged before them. She didn't even try to entertain the idea that they were being considerate enough to make lunch.

Neither of them could cook a decent meal to begin with. They regularly sent Yennefer photos of their failed endeavors. Broken dishes, melted kitchenware, shattered knives, food on the ceiling, food on fire... She's seen it all.

No, this was not an attempt at a meal. The foods laid out on the table were too small, and while they had the odd vegetable and fruit sprinkled in, they were mostly junk foods like chips, candies and other sweets.

It was some kind of stupid game, Yennefer knew. She could tell by the score card and how Geralt was carefully counting out loud as Jaskier stuffed blueberries into his mouth, which didn't look like it had room for much more.

Yennefer poked her head in the doorway, said "Dookie!" then walked away as Jaskier spat his mouthful of blueberries all over the floor and wailed in dismay.

They had to try to either play the game while Yennefer was out, or play in secret. It was exceedingly difficult to play if Yennefer was around because she would sneak up on them and yell random things that would make one of them spit their food out.

"Bumhole!"

"When his pickle tickles the back of your throat!"

"Mud cupboard!"

"Starting out small with the ball gargling training?"

"Butt nuggets!"

"Stink wrinkle!"

"Beef hula hoop!""

"Titties!"

"Bum fluff!"

"Hershey squirts!"

P*ss flaps!"

"You going to spit or swallow?

"Peepity poo!"

"Dirt star!"

It was almost always Jaskier who ended up spitting everyting out and almost choking.

So now they were out on the back porch, trying to be really quiet, which wasn't at all suspicious, while they tried to see how many twinkies each of them could fit in their mouth

Yennefer happened to walk by and see them. Jaskier and Geralt both had their mouths stuffed to where they almost couldn't close them. It was equal parts disgusing and humorus.

Jaskier was right in the middle of using both hands to cram one more twinkie into his mouth. Yennefer could not stop herself.

She paused at the door and asked, "Did Geralt fill that twinkie for you?"

Jaskier immediately started giggling, and fumbled, trying to catch the bits of mushy twinkie that fell out of his mouth. Then he tried to stuff them back in while making incoherent noises, which, judging by the tone, were strings of cuss words.

The sight made Geralt laugh, and with his mouth full of snack cake, he'd sounded like a barking seal.

Jaskier lost it. He gagged his twinkies onto the porch and laughed so hard he wheezed.

Geralt laughed even harder, which made Jaskier laugh more.

The bard went to grab the edge of the small table to support himself, and slipped in the twinkie mush, landing right in it. Geralt just gave up and dropped on the ground, barking around his mouthful of sponge cakes.

Geralt: *seal noises*

"A-a seeeeaal! A f***ing...sEAl!" Jaskier guffawed.

They laughed until their sides ached and Geralt finally got smart and spat the massive hunk of twinkies out.

It was hours later before either of them remembered that Yennefer had f**ked up their count, and even after they did remember, all they could think about was Geralt's stupid Seal Laugh.

[haakaan00502]

Ghost's Ten Steps to Survival

Longer post than usual, also posting in no particular order. Halfway writing this I realized it wasn't really that much of a Ghost x Soap post and just ended up being the two of them in a recon mission. Basically its not romantic as I thought it would be.

Already wrote it, be a waste if I don't use it. Thanks for reading, enjoy : D

And yes, it says ten steps so expect nine more.

Approximately 2k words.

TW: Gun Violence

Masterlist

Step 3: Self Defense

One… two… five… seven… twelve, In his boot, three in his belt line, some in his sleeve, one on the side of his knee. Ghost was decorated with knives.

Being over prepared will always be better ten times and over than being not, Ghost faces a battle with something constantly changing, with new variables popping up in the least expected times and places.

He’s prepared for something unpreparable, life.

This wasn’t the first time he was overgeared, he had plenty of MOLLEs, and he’d make sure each and everyone of them are used. He has rules, plans in his mind for very specific scenarios, even back ups for events he wouldn’t know what’s going to happen.

His eyes instinctively scanning the nearest exit, his hands always near the most probable environment weapon, he stands no further than six feet away from the door. His age is enough credibility for his experience, he lives in a job that works for death.

It had always been like that, or he now, will always be like that. 

Life wanted him dead, now he lives knowing he’ll die. 

…

The faint sounds of an engine dying gives brief life in the empty urban streets. Ghost shifted slightly, the dust on the floor flying into the air, the sun shining on them, making it look like winter’s first snow. 

“We’ve been compromised Johnny,” Ghost says rather calmly, gathering his belongings he could carry on his body. Doing a quick inventory before looking at Soap who’s slightly hurrying in collecting his own.

“This operation’s been nothin’ but a bust,” Soap sighs as he stands next to Ghost, rifle equipped.

“We confirmed hostile movement in the area, half the job is done.” 

A sound of glass breaking from the distance didn’t startle the two. Soap checks the area outside by the window, as Ghost contemplates their next move. The floorboards he stands on make the slightest squeak with the tiniest movement, he looks around and weighs his choices. 

 “It’ll take them two minutes to reach our floor,” Ghost says to Soap as they both walk towards the door.

Succumbing to old habits, beforehand he memorized the layout of the building. One he found annoying due to its quirkiness. Six floors with two entrances on either side. With there only being a set of stairs on the east side going up to the fifth floor, then the next flight would be on the far west, going up to the sixth. 

He nods at Soap to which he nods back. Ghost opens the door abruptly, they run towards the stairs, jumping off the rails and skipping half the flight.

Not wasting a single second, they start to run again. Going through dust stained floors with chipped paint walls, their boots creating a loud thump with each step. They near the next staircase, stopping when they hear heavy footsteps going up at an alarming pace. 

Quickly they run back, going inside one of the rooms, leaving the doorway wide open. Ghost hid behind the door while Soap is at the side of a cabinet.

Ghost slows his breathing down in an attempt to mask the sound, his rifle pointed directly at the door. The smell of damp wood flooding his nose, his heart rate rising by the drop of a leaky plumbing. 

Trained footsteps walk past their room, hitching Ghost and Soap’s breath. They hear the door adjacent to them open, causing Ghost to tighten his grip on the rifle.

Everything went silent aside from the mental swears he is having. 

Drip.

Drip.

The sound of a squeaking floorboard alerted Ghost, using the door’s eyehole as a guide, he shot through it. The sound of a body dropping.

Swiftly, he grabbed the dead man’s arm and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut. Soap takes the queue and starts pushing the cabinet, blocking the entrance. 

“Insane bastard,” Soap says between breaths as they both listen to more footsteps and chatters outside the door, barely audible.

The two look around for possible reinforcements to give them ample time to think of a plan. Ghost starts looting the body, checking for I.D.s or any sort of identification for evidence. He found only ammo and standard knives. He takes the enemy’s rifle, disassembling it. 

The thumping on the doors gives Ghost and Soap a sense of urgency, they start to speed up their search. Ghost goes through the cabinets and lockers installed through the walls. Soap inspects the walls, checking if there’s parts made out of hollow material and seeing if breaching is possible. 

He checks the desk, going through the drawers to find anything useful. He tries pushing it to provide an extra barricade only to realize it's drilled to the floor. 

Another sound of glass breaking alerts the two, they both look towards the door and see smoke coming out of its gaps. Slowly, the wooden cabinets they used turn against them as they start to catch on fire.

“Can’t this day get any worse,” Soap grunts, unlocking windows to prevent the smoke from filling the entire room. 

“It’s your lucky day Johnny,” Ghost says, pulling out a rope out of one of the lockers.

…

“It’s ye lucky day Johnny,” Soap mumbles to himself annoyed.

“Shite,” Soap says fifty feet above the ground.

Barely half his foot on the ledge, he treads carefully looking for an angle to safely jump down from. He looks down at the ground littered with broken debris and overgrown grass, not necessarily afraid of heights but still enough to break a sweat.

With the rope passing through his legs and over his head, Soap carefully rappels down the building, the rope offering just enough length for a single floor. 

Soon as he secures his footing over the fourth floor’s ledge, he surveys the room. Seeing if anyone is inside before attempting to open it. 

“Ghost!”

“Soap?” Ghost yells from over the fire, looking down from the edge.

“You better get down and fast, I’m breaking the window.” Soap says, holding onto the rope tighter before grabbing his rifle and pointing its buttstock on the window edge.

Ghost makes sure the rope is tied tightly on the desk, tugging it multiple times to check its sturdiness. He grunts as he braces himself before wrapping the rope over his body. Groaning after imagining the rope burns he’ll be getting. 

Soap looks up, making sure Ghost is ready before he smashes the window. Quickly he jumped inside, putting the rifle up to his sights as he began clearing the room. 

Ghost slides down the rope until he is by the fourth level, he reaches by the edge with his foot, jumping over the window sill and firmly lands, crunching the broken pieces of glass. He cuts the rope as high as he could reach and throws it at the corner of the room. 

Soap nears the door, back hunched, each step calculated. He leans back on a nearby wall, placing the back of his hand on the door. Next he touches the doorknob, checking if it is warm. 

He signals Ghost before he starts walking backwards, eyes never leaving the door. They meet halfway through the room.

“Fire hasn’t reached this level yet.” Soap informs over his shoulder. 

Ghost looks at the door, making multiple decisions in a split second before deciding on the obvious two.

“Up or down.” He turns to Soap.

“Up?” 

“Want a party down there? Be my guest Johnny,” Ghost says, starting his move.

“Shot alive, or burned alive, great,” Soap sighs, following.

Ghost goes towards the door, opening it before taking a step back, looking through each angle he could see outside. He steps out, his gun pointed opposite to the door, checking for anyone down the halls. Soap follows, doing exactly the same in a delayed manner, constantly sticking behind Ghost. 

They move down the hall, towards the end while minding their footsteps, avoiding loose boards. Ghost treads forward as Soap walks backwards.

They reach the staircase, hesitating for a moment. 

Ghost takes a breath as if he is about to dive, he slowly creeps towards the staircase, his gun pointed. He sticks to the wall, his eyes directly in front, looking for anything that stands out. Listening for any movement, even checking for the slightest hint of someone else’s smell.

He takes the first step up, pointing his gun up to the middle, turning his body to check the upper floor’s railings. Clear. He takes another step, checks, clear, and another, and yet another, repeating the same movements. Most silent footsteps, the faintest breathing, and a heart so calm so he won’t hear it beating. The only positive thing in this scenario was having someone to cover his six, Soap’s a bonus too, Ghost thinks. 

They reached the floor they were in before, the sound of fire cackling dampening one of their senses. Every second they move and every second they stay is a constant risk, something the both of them cannot wait to get out of.

The two move moderately fast but in a constant manner, keeping momentum. They walk past the room they locked themselves in, the fire seemingly walking on the walls. Soap wraps ripped clothing around his mouth to help with the smoke, but still occasionally coughs.

Ghost shoots the broken bottle a quick glance, seeing the shatter-patterns point toward the direction they are heading towards, confirming that he made the right decision. 

He starts a small sprint, signaling Soap to do the same as the ceilings of this abandoned office building, finally serving its time and starts to give out. Ghost starts running towards the window at the end of the hall, smashing it before jumping out.

He lands at the fire escape, shooting down, quickly killing one enemy camping by the fourth floor fire emergency exit.

Ghost starts going down the stairs, looking behind briefly only to see a fierce looking sergeant on high alert. Giving him a warm and proud feeling in his chest with a strange comfort of safety.

The shots from earlier and clanging of metal surely alerted everyone in the building, they descended as fast as they could without tripping. 

They hear foreign shouts from the windows as they receive gun shots. Hiding below the fire escape, they have to get out as soon as they can before more hostiles show up. He signs Soap to make a run for it, which Soap follows.

Soon as Soap sprints, the gunner from the window follows suit with shots. Ghost aims up, using Soap as a distraction to give him enough time to zero in directly at the enemy’s head before shooting, killing the man instantly.

“Perfect shot L.T.”

“You called it Sergeant-“ Ghost hears gravel move just right behind him, his hand quickly moving to the gun strapped on his chest like it was a magnet.

But before he could even look behind him, he hears a loud thud fall to the ground. 

“Though I think mine’s better.”

Ghost turns his entire body around, seeing a dead man on the ground with a bullet between its eyes. He releases the breath he hitched earlier, releasing some tension from his back. 

“Doubt it,” Ghost said, a smirk concealed by his balaclava, though Soap already knew that look in Ghost’s eyes.

The two jog towards their armored truck parked behind the trees hastily, Soap reaching by the driver’s door first than Ghost. 

“No way, I’m driving this time,” he says as he hopped on the seat before Ghost could protest.

Ghost was about to speak until rounds of fire hit the truck’s rear, making dents on the bullet proof glass, some ricochet to barks of wood. 

“Get in!” Soap yells as he covers fire as Ghost enter the passenger’s seat, grunting.

“Good ol’ boy.” Soap smirks, stepping on the gas as Ghost groans.

[practically-an-x-man]

Please Corinthian and Prometheus with: wrapping arms around the other's neck when standing behind them

Ooooh I haven't written for the two of them in a while! (I really do need to write Ruin... but we'll get to that eventually). This should be fun :D

____ All Night

Word Count: 896 Content Warnings: None!

A rhythmic and strangely musical scraping rang through the old house from the moment he walked in. It had been a quieter night - rare, for the state of the dreamscape, but he supposed that was the holiday season working its magic - though the harsh sound set his nerves on edge almost as soon as he pushed open the door.

"Prometheus? I'm home, baby," he called out, one hand ghosting across his ribs and finding the cold hilt of a knife. Nothing seemed to be in disarray, but... better to be prepared. It wouldn't be the first time a vengeful nightmare had followed them home.

The more dangerous side of his mind, the part of him accustomed to creeping through darkened alleys and silent corridors, winced at the way his voice rang through the house. If this were to end in a fight, he'd just lost any whisper of surprise.

But just as it wouldn't be the first time a nightmare had followed them back here, it also wouldn't be the first that Prometheus had startled at his entry and he'd nearly caught a spearhead across the gut. Even now, they were all too used to being attacked without warning. And even now, he still moved like a howl in the night. So he'd learned to announce his entrances.

The scraping cut off at the sound of his voice, and he recognized too late what the noise had been. A whetstone on a blade. He used the same on his knives every two weeks.

"In the back," Prometheus' voice floated back to him, and the Corinthian allowed himself to relax. They sounded fine, comfortable even, and there was a fire blazing warmly in the hearth. Their torch was propped up on the mantle, still flickering. He trailed his hands over the rough wood as he passed.

"Everything alright today, hon?" he asked as he continued to move through the house. He stripped off his jacket and draped it over the back of the nearest chair, then did the same for his weapons. It was about the only time he let himself go without his knives... but he didn't mind that. This was home.

"Hm. Yeah. I'm not hurt." Prometheus responded from the other room, their voice faintly distracted. The whetstone-scraping started up again a moment later, returning to the same even rhythm. "Chipped my blade, though."

He ducked through the doorway to find them propped up on the end of the bed, one leg crossed over the other. Their spear rested across their lap, and he watched for a moment as Prometheus ran a whetstone down the blade in long, even strokes.

"Do you even need to sharpen it?" the Corinthian wondered as he crossed the room, "I mean, it's all made out of shadows, isn't it?"

"Still the same spear," Prometheus muttered, halfway focused on their task, "It'll still be chipped when I pull it together the next time."

"Hm. Weird." he agreed, even as he slid onto the bed behind them and draped his arms around their neck. He pulled them gently back, feeling the contours of their body press into his chest. Prometheus hummed almost in amusement, even as they opened their hands and let their spear dissolve back into the shadows.

"Are you feeling ignored?" they teased, tilting their head back to look up at him. Their eyes glimmered with laughter and firelight. The Corinthian ducked his head to steal a kiss and felt them smile against his lips.

"Maybe a little," he admitted with the same low glimmer of humor in his tone. Prometheus' hand caught his forearm and gave it a comforting squeeze, fingertips trailing along his skin.

The Corinthian leaned back in to press a line of kisses down their throat, and he felt their chest swell as they let out a deep, contented sigh. He could feel the tension in their posture trickle away, little by little. Good. It was so rare that they ever let themself relax. He'd have bet money that they'd gone straight for the whetstone the instant they stepped into the house. Aside from maybe a moment to light the hearth, it was all duty and obligation, prepping for the next night's work.

"I still need to..."

"Ssh," he murmured, not unkindly, "We've got all night, honey. All night."

But after about the fourth kiss, they pulled back. The Corinthian lifted his eyebrows at them.

"How long's that sharpening gonna take, huh? Twenty minutes?" he challenged, still not releasing his grip on them. And Prometheus didn't try to break away, though they stretched one hand out to snag the little whetstone. They turned it over in their hands.

"You're a bad influence."

"An' don't I know it." he agreed without missing a beat, a faint smile crossing his face, "C'mon, hon, we've got all night. You're allowed to take a break every once in a while, you know."

As if for emphasis, he kissed their temple and let himself linger an extra moment. His thumb traced the sharp line of their collarbone, exposed under the hem of their chiton. Prometheus let out a low hum, melting against his body like it was unconscious.

"I guess it could wait a bit..." they agreed, and he felt a swell of victory as they set the little whetstone aside, "But take those damn glasses off. You're poking me."

[chudleycanonficfest]

I can't imagine my life without you

Day 13, Story #1 is by @cheesyficwriter

Title: I can’t imagine my life without you 

Author: cheesyficwriter

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

Prompt: Song fic (lyric prompt), “Imagine” by Ben Platt

Rating: T

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of postpartum depression

I can’t imagine my life without you

It’s a day like no other, leaving Hermione wishing it could be over. 

The transition back to work at the Ministry full-time after giving birth to little Rosie presents more challenges than anticipated. Each day, she chips a fraction away at her massive to-do list, endless amounts of paperwork and research for upcoming trials, leaving her only mildly satisfied with what she’s accomplished. 

In reality, Hermione is aware that it’s in her nature to obsess over all aspects of her work that could go wrong. She always prides herself on her professionalism and now struggles with maintaining the work-life balance necessary for a new mum. 

Most days, she arrives at the Ministry too tired to think straight. The hours are long, and as someone running on frequent nights with minimal sleep, it’s difficult for Hermione to be as productive as she used to be in the department. 

Rosie is a fussy baby, and the hours not spent at work are spent fighting for ways to keep her calm — holding her, rocking, changing her nappy, feeding, entertaining. It’s unnatural for Hermione to feel like she has no clue what she’s doing, and that realization is frightening for a first-time parent.  

Ron is a doting father, who seems to be having a much simpler time adjusting to the new addition to the family. He approaches parenting with natural ease. As soon as Ron picks Rosie up, she stops crying. If Ron walks into the room, a smile lights up their daughter’s face. He brings joy into her world, leaving Hermione with an overwhelming feeling of uncertainty if she is cut out for her new role as a mother. 

Although Hermione tries to throw herself back into work to escape her struggles in her home life, the exhaustion takes a toll on her, resulting in far more emotional outbursts than deemed appropriate at work. 

It isn’t easy to remain patient when challenges seem insurmountable, goals unattainable, and negative thoughts creep in to seep the joy out of her day. 

As Hermione walks through the floo network to head home for the evening, she mentally prepares herself for the madness that she is certain she will walk into, if every other evening that same week is any indication. 

For the first time in weeks, Hermione doesn’t arrive home to a crying baby. In fact, the stunning silence brings a wave of panic, prompting Hermione to withdraw her wand and call out,

“Ron?“ 

Soft, melodic music floats through the room, and Hermione begins walking towards the source as she listens for the lyrics. 

Your eyes give life a new meaning

It’s like I found the North Lights

I never knew what I needed

Until I felt your hand holding mine

The sight Hermione uncovers has her at a standstill in the doorway of the kitchen. 

There is a self-stirring saucepan on the stove and several knives chopping potatoes. The sink overflows with bubbles, piles of dirty dishes sticking out from underneath the suds. 

Ron is there in the center of the room, cradling Rosie in his arms. He has a flannel thrown over his shoulder and a dummy in his hand as he bounces their cooing daughter.

A flat disc spirals on the gramophone in the corner of the room, the sound coming from it reverberating off the walls. 

Yeah, you say I’m your hero

But you are the one that saved me

If I ever lost you

I’d fall to my knees

Hermione leans against the door frame, her heart swelling with great love for her little family. She watches as Ron twirls around the room with a squealing Rose, and he’s dancing with a rhythm that she didn’t know he possessed. 

Covering her mouth with one hand, Hermione stifles a giggle, thinking back to a younger Ron and his clunky two left feet when they danced together at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. He was so nervous then — they both were — and she marvels at how far they’ve come. 

Dancing is about letting go and being free. When nothing else works — as Hermione suspects is the case with Rosie, who has quite the set of lungs on her — turning on music seems to do the trick. 

I can’t imagine my life without you

I can’t imagine one night without you

Seeing her family in the kitchen does wonders to lift Hermione’s mood, and it’s as if all of the stress and negativity just melt away. All she can see is her husband and daughter, and Hermione becomes conscious of the heart beating inside her chest in time with the steady rhythm of the music. 

She’s torn between laughing, and crying, and bouncing along, and crying some more. Sometimes the best surprises can change the entire tone of a single day from the simplest of tasks. 

In the Granger-Weasley household, dancing is their reset button. 

If something happened, don’t know what I’d do

I can’t imagine, I can’t imagine my life without you

Ron has his back towards Hermione, slowly rocking Rosie from side to side with one hand while flourishing his wand towards the plates to start setting the supper table for three. 

“What d'ya say, Rosie?” Ron murmurs before plopping a kiss on his daughter’s cheek. “Shall we tell your mum to stop gawking at us and come join us?”

Your eyes give life a new meaning

It’s like I found the North Lights

Oh, I never knew what I needed

Until I felt your hand holding mine

Hermione gasps as Ron pivots around, meeting her gaze with a lazy grin and a wink. 

Rosie squirms in Ron’s arms, and she’s reaching towards her mother with glee. 

With a shaky breath, Hermione walks forward to take hold of her daughter, who rests her little head on Hermione’s shoulder. 

“She’s missed her mummy today,” Ron comments as he leans over Rose’s head of ginger hair to press a soft kiss to Hermione’s temple. 

“Mmm.” Hermione’s eyelids droop to a close. “Is she the only one?“ 

“Not a chance, Granger.” Ron brushes a hand down her cheek, making her eyelids flutter open. He’s studying her like he has a window into her soul, and it’s as if all of the emotions she’s felt throughout the day are now on full display for him to see. 

Ron always does have the impeccable ability to get her, particularly when she’s stressed beyond belief. 

“Bad day, love?" 

"Better now,” Hermione replies, burying her nose into the small patch of curls on Rose’s head, inhaling the sweet scent of fresh strawberries and warm milk. A smell that is so wonderfully baby. 

Her baby. 

Yeah, you say I’m your hero

But you are the one that saved me

If I ever lost you

I’d fall to my knees

When Hermione first arrived back at their cottage for the evening, all she wanted to do was fall underneath the covers and wallow. It could’ve been easy for her to fall into a looping pattern of self-pity.  

Seeing her family provides a sense of calm in the natural ebb and flow of life. However big or small, bad days are only temporary. 

Now, standing with the two most important people in her life, she’s filled with a sense of gratitude for their constant presence. Thanks to them, she knows what it means to be happy and to see the beauty in tough moments. 

I can’t imagine my life without you

I can’t imagine one night without you

If something happened, don’t know what I’d do

I can’t imagine, I can’t imagine my life without you

“It’s okay, love.” Ron cradles her cheek with one hand, a gesture that he knows always calms her. “It’s okay to let it all go.”

He rests his forehead to hers, and they slowly start to sway together along to the gentle rhythm of the song playing in the background. Rose squeals from the space between her parents’ bodies, reminding them of her presence. Both Ron and Hermione chuckle, planting matching kisses on both sides of their daughter’s cheeks. 

A wide grin spreads across Hermione’s face, and a familiar set of words filter into her thoughts: Happiness can be found in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light. Fond memories flashing through her mind of Professor Dumbledore — long white beard, spectacles, and all. 

It’s easy to lose sight of what’s most important when drowning in negativity. Dancing provides an opportunity for her to slow her thoughts down and root herself in the present. 

Her family is the source of light in her darkest times. 

I can’t imagine my life without you

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.7k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm

Masterlist here 

AO3 Link here

Atsumu didn’t get his name on the National team roster, let alone the Olympic team because of his genius setting skills (unlike dear Tobio-kun),  but because of the stubbornness and determination that he has in spades and figures he might as well deploy these same qualities to win this particular match. Osamu is of zero help here, muttering insults under his breath but fortunately, he has an unwitting accomplice in Shino, who happily babbles about how ‘mama is going to bring her to the park on Sunday’ . 

So armed with onigiris pilfered from Osamu and a box of mochi from her favourite dessert shop, he goes a-hunting for his wife and child at the park on Sunday afternoon and finds them lying on a picnic mat in an open field framed with trees.

‘Oto-san! ’ Shino squeals and dashes into his arms. He lifts her up, spinning her in the air, pressing kisses to her chubby cheeks. 

‘What are you doing here, Atsumu?’ she demands as she sits up. ‘How did you even know we’d be here?’ 

He winks and gives her his most dashing smile. It doesn’t seem to work though - the frown on her face deepens, but he tries not to let her look of distrust slice through the smile on his face. 

‘A little princess gave me a hint that her mama still has a habit of going to the park to watch the birds and clouds in the sky. Right, Shino?’

Shino cheers and waves her arms in reply. 

‘Good girl!’ he laughs encouragingly. 

She folds her arms and is about to retort when Shino demands that ‘Oto-san and Oka-san’ try to catch her - and takes off, barefoot on the grass. Atsumu catches her easily with one hand - because of course he does, a three year old is hardly a match against a national athlete, even with an injury, but Shino pouts when she sees the cross look on her mother’s face, and she has to hastily rearrange her expression into something more acceptable to her daughter. 

He counts it as a point won when they share the onigiris and mochi in silence and watch their little girl chase butterflies in the grass. 

‘What on earth are you doing here?!’ she says, feeling as if she’s woken up from a bad dream to find it actually is her reality. 

Atsumu stands in the foyer of her office building, in the middle of a conversation with Yuna-san, the resident office gossip, who shoots daggers at her when he bounds over to greet her with a peck on her cheek. 

‘I thought I’d surprise my dear wife with lunch,’ he drawls, with an emphasis on the word ‘wife’, passing her a bento box that smells amazing and makes her mouth water despite herself.

‘What are you playing at?!’ she hisses while pretending to tuck his hair behind his ear.   

‘Nothing!’ he answers her, a too-innocent look on his face. ‘And you’re welcome. Enjoy your lunch, sweetheart!’ 

He counts another point won when she’s left gaping at him incredulously as he prances off. 

He pats himself on the back for the stroke of genius that prompted him to pass Shino the three tickets to the Osaka Aquarium. Before she could utter even a word, Shino shrieked in excitement at the thought of being able to see her favourite penguins again, so with gritted teeth, she agreed to bring Shino to meet him at the aquarium on a Saturday afternoon. 

‘Did you know seahorses mate for life?’ he remarks to her as Shino gathers with the other children in front to watch the penguins being fed. 

‘And male seahorses are the responsible ones who bear their young - what’s your point anyway?’ she responds, contempt dripping from her voice. ‘Anyway, never mind that -’ she continues, brushing him off. ‘Have you signed the divorce papers?’

‘I forgot,’ he tells her lamely. 

‘See that you remember to pass it to me next time’, she says, walking ahead to scoop Shino up in her arms. 

Point lost. Time to recalibrate. 

‘Atsumu! What the hell am I supposed to do with FIFTY rolls of toilet paper?’ she shrieks over the phone. 

‘I may have bought a little too much…but there was a great discount!’ he responds sheepishly. 

He’d overheard a conversation between her and Osamu yesterday that she needed to make a grocery run but hadn’t had the time to do so in between endless meetings with her boss. He concedes he may have gone a little...overboard.

‘And how many cans of milk powder did you buy?!’ he continues to hear her scrabble through the cardboard crate outside her home. ‘Atsumu!’ 

‘Gotta go, bye darlin’ - talk to you soon!’, he says, hastily ending the call as she screeches at him. 

Shit. Another point lost.  

He brings out the big guns by buying season passes to the museum of natural history, gambling that a blatant appeal to nostalgia might win him some points. But he knows she recognises his gambit when she corners him while Shino is playing with toy fossils in the sandbox. 

‘Atsumu. When are you going to sign the divorce papers?’ she demands, her grip tight on his elbow. 

Defend. Counterattack. 

‘I’ll sign them after my collarbone heals and my arm is out of the sling, alright? I can’t even hold anything in my right hand, let alone sign anything now’, he says with a false smile.

Hold your opponent off until they start to tire. 

‘Fine’, she mutters, shooting him a hard stare. ‘Make sure you do. I’ll be waiting once that sling comes off’. 

Fuck. He’s backed himself into a corner. This might be a harder match than he imagined. 

He offers to look after Shino on a Friday evening when she mentions to Osamu her boss organised a client dinner that she can’t miss. She’d nodded reluctantly after a moment’s hesitation, and they agreed that he’d drop the little girl off at home around ten p.m. 

He fumbles with the keys pilfered from Osamu, pizza box balancing precariously on top of Shino’s pram and after an undignified struggle, manages to squeeze in through the doorway, finding the apartment completely still. With his one good arm, he lifts Shino from the pram, careful not to disturb her slumber and treads softly to her bedroom, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead as he tucks her in. 

As he returns back to the entryway to fold the pram away, a glint of gold catches his eye, and he forgets to breathe when he realises what it is – the wedding ring he'd deliberately left behind, an act calculated to inflict maximum pain. Wow, he really wishes he could go back in time and punch that stupid prick of his past self - he thinks, holding the ring up to the light, failing to spot any flecks of dust or dullness to the sheen of the ring. She's kept it meticulously clean, sitting in the exact same spot he left it, the sole artefact of their marriage that's been preserved against the passage of time. 

After all, he notices that she’s wiped the place clean of him, that much is obvious when he turns to survey the home he left almost a year ago. There are signs of Shino in the toys scattered all over the worn carpet in the living room, colourful scribbles on the walls that probably makes her fret, and there are little touches that remind him of her - the chipped teacup she insists on using, the set of handmade knives displayed in the kitchen that was always intended by her family as a threat. 

But there are no traces of him - no stray pieces of clothes or volleyballs that he always forgets to put away (that she’d always get on his case for), no picture frames of them, not even the ones from their wedding day that he’d loved because he thought she looked like a snow maiden from a fairytale in her white kimono. 

He’d promised her father that day he’d always take care of her. He wonders when he’d forgotten that. 

‘Tsumu?’ he hears her murmur, and he jumps a little in shock because he hadn’t noticed her curled up on the couch. ‘Have you come home?’ 

Yes – he aches to answer, but does not. 

(Because he knows he chose to turn his back on this little apartment, filled to the brim with happy, golden memories. It’s his fault he can’t call this place home, not anymore.)

‘I brought pizza in case you’re hungry’, he does say loudly – carefully keeping his distance as she sits up and shakes the sleep from her eyes. 

‘Oh. It’s you’, she says, and he can hear cold steel return to her voice. ‘Why are you still here?’ 

‘I brought pizza to share. It’s Friday night, remember?’ he answers, plastering a grin on to his face, gesturing at the pizza box on the kitchen table. ‘I even got pepperoni, your favourite’. 

‘You can’t keep playing this game, Atsumu’, she says, walking over to the switches to flick on the lights. It brings her into clearer focus, allowing him to notice the pink scars stretched across the back of her hand and the front of her knees -  were they always there before? 

His eyes sweep over her form - and oh -  his heartbeat thunders, roaring in his chest because she’s wrapped herself in his old jacket - the same one he’d stolen from Osamu and threw over her trembling shoulders that fateful night when he stole a kiss from her for the first time.     

‘I miss you’. He blurts out, startling himself. ‘I want us to be a family again’. 

‘I don’t’, she answers so forcefully it makes him take a step back. ‘I want a divorce, Atsumu’. 

‘But why?’ he persists, ignoring the spike of panic coursing through his blood. ‘If you give me a chance, we could try to start over again.’

‘How many chances do you think you deserve, because you’ve already left me  twice, damn you!’ she shouts, pulling the jacket tighter around herself, as if to keep herself from unravelling apart. ‘The first time you left me when I was pregnant with our child was enough of a blow – but the second time I fell to  pieces and if it weren’t for Shino and ‘Samu, I would’ve never been able to weld myself back together again. And now after all this time, you want me to take you back?’

‘It’s only been a few months’, he pleads, hating how stupid his excuses sound, even in his head. ‘I should've managed it better, I should’ve talked things out with you instead of just leaving, and if I could rewind time and change what I did, I would, but I can’t, and I regretted it so goddamn much when I got to Milan. I’m back now, I’m begging you - please give me another chance.’ 

‘Why would you even think you deserve another chance’, she laughs, the sound fraying at its seams, sending shivers down his spine. ‘You’ve spent our entire marriage putting your dreams first, Shino a distant second, and me - your fucking wife - dead last. This past year has taught me that I don’t need you, ‘Tsumu, I don’t need your lying, cheating ass in my life when I can manage perfectly fine by myself’. 

‘I didn’t cheat on ya’, he defends himself heatedly, but she levels him a hard glare that makes his gaze slide to the ground. ‘I mean - I thought about it, but I couldn’t go through with it’, he admits, guilt flooding his belly. 

‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ she says dryly, rolling her eyes. 

‘Yes - no - I don’t know.’, he answers. ‘Look doll - I know I’ve been an asshole, I know I’ve hurt ya badly, but I know you still love me - you know your face gives ya away when you lie’, he adds, when she opens her mouth to contradict him, and she closes it in defeat. ‘Otherwise you won't be wearing my jacket when you sleep, neither would you keep my ring clean. And if ya love me, don’t ya think you should give me another chance?’

Her face twists in anguish, and there’s a rush of shame in his chest that he tells himself to ignore, reaching forward instead to cup her cold face with his hands. She winces at first, almost as if his touch is scalding, white hot with heat, but soon surrenders when she realises his grip on her is unwavering, lifting her gaze to meet his. 

‘You can’t do this to me, ‘Tsumu’, she says, her voice brittle, echoing with an aching sadness that tears a hole into his already gaping heart. 'You can’t leave as and when you feel like it and return when it suits you – that’s not how marriage or fatherhood works. And it’s not fair for you to try to guilt me into taking you back. Why should I give you another chance only to end up being hurt again? I'm only human, and there’s only so much my heart can take'.

It’s only then that it hits him that while she may have transformed herself in his absence into a woman of iron and steel, her heart is still made of glass, and a single careless touch might shatter her into fragments across the floor. And he knows he shouldn’t strike her any further with his words, but he’s a selfish fool of a man - always has been, always will be - so he pretends he does not see her pain  (looks deliberately away from the fissures in her heart that might cause her to fall apart) and continues to press hard. 

‘Please - just trust me enough not to hurt ya, I just need one more chance. Tell me ya still love me - even now.’ 

‘I do, oh gods, I do, ‘Tsumu-  ’ she gasps, almost as if she’s drowning in a whirlpool of his selfishness, her breath tipping over into a broken sob - ‘I love you, but our marriage is over - it was over the minute you put yourself before Shino and I, and left us behind to fend for ourselves.’

He shakes his head, desperately flailing against the death knell in her words - because it can’t be over, he refuses to accept it’s over, what does she mean it’s over - but he stills when she chokes back her tears to smile, lifting her hand to meet his. 

‘I’ve already paid you with my heart, ‘Tsumu - don’t you think I deserve to be free?’

Her words swirl in his mind as he makes his way back to Osamu’s flat. 

‘Things didn’t go so well, I take it?’ Osamu asks as he lurches through the door with overcast eyes. 

He inhales slowly through his nose. ‘Nope’, he admits, exhaling in defeat. ‘She isn’t prepared to take me back.’ 

Osamu pulls out a chair at the kitchen table and waves him to take a seat, sliding a plate of reheated curry rice under his nose when he does. ‘Eat up’, he says, not unkindly, and Atsumu does, even though the smell makes his head spin and every swallow of food lodges itself painfully in his stomach. 

‘Go on, say what’s on yer mind’, Atsumu says, knowing his brother too well to see through his posture of nonchalance. ‘I know you’re gonna tell me ‘ I told you so ’ and mock me with some insult intended to make me feel worse than I already am’. 

‘I’m not going to gloat, if that’s what you mean’, Osamu says mildly. ‘All I can say is that the heart is a funny, fickle thing, and sometimes it hungers for things it knows will only bring pain. But I think ya know you’ve reached a point where you need to consider whether you can live with yourself for constantly causing her pain.’ 

Atsumu stays silent, fingers tracing absently over the outline of the wedding ring in his pocket. He wonders if he’s imagining the coolness from the metal seeping into his skin.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Omertà👄1

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (sexual intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: Yes, I’ve decided to do a mafia!au. Yes, I have no idea what I’m doing. Yes, I’m avoiding actually working on other WIPs, but yes I want y’all to have a good time! Be safe.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The antique shop was unimposing along the New York street front. No different than any other aged and wilting business. The sign was painted with curling calligraphy that read ‘The Attic’ and the windows displayed French chairs and stained glass lamps from over a century ago. The show room smelled of old paper and welcomed few patrons. A mask for what was hidden behind that black door right along the rear.

Loki Laufeyson inherited the old shop from his father just as you were bequeathed your father’s business in turn. But Odin had been more than a mere antique seller. He was a businessman, a swindler, a criminal. The antiques were only a distraction from his real dealings. Powder hidden in African statues and guns hidden in back of creaky old wardrobes. The perfect front. Timeless.

And what were you but an accomplice to this life of crime? Well, you just kept the sums but you weren’t so sneaky as your father. His time at the tracks had taught him much, except for common sense. He could run odds for days but those odds had finally caught up to him. And you. 

He had taught you his skill. The art of numbers. Easy, simple. Numbers don’t lie. But you didn’t want to be a bookie and given the mistakes of your youth in the charge of a criminal, life as an accountant in some city office was a pipe dream. So you accepted the job at The Attic, tallied the debts, and went about your life, only slightly tinged by the city’s underbelly.

The sound of the bills quickly flipping into the tray filled the back office. Lopez was in the storeroom as he always was, his rotund figure balanced on the tall stool just behind the counter. You could hear his off-key humming through the door.

Loki’s tall figure stood before the machine better suited to a bank. He was quiet, as he often was, never one to mince words. That morning had seen a large influx as overdue debts were finally fulfilled; with paper as much as blood. You hovered your pencil along the margins of your ledger.

“Twenty percent to Barnes,” He dropped in another stack. “How much is that?”

You bent over the pages and punched in the numbers to your old calculator. You preferred the clacking of the keys. 

“One sixty,” You said. “Borderline?”

“Mmhmm,” He turned and began to count the bills by hand. “If I have any say, we won’t be splitting pennies much longer.”

“I’m sure he feels the same,” You said as you tapped your eraser on the desk.

He raised a brow at you. He didn’t tolerate much impertinence but you were so minuscule, he allowed you the odd jibe, though he was rarely amused. You straightened the buttoned collar of your blouse and smoothed the lapel of your tweed blazer. It was stuffy in the back room as the sun slatted in through the blinds.

He was quiet again. He neared and set a stack of bills before you. You took it and started to count it. He sat at his own desk; bigger than your own and predominant to the space. You were a side note. His little book keeper on her perch. He had counted right.

You tapped the stack so that it was even and stood to lay it down before him. You stretched your legs before you sat again and flipped listlessly through your ledger.

You were waiting. Loki wasn’t a man who often worked with others. ‘Partner’ was not a word to be found in his vocabulary. However, given a recent string of raids and retaliation, he had swallowed his pride for a cut. A healthy one. A true lose-lose for all involved. A pit of resent and greed which was sure to fester once more but for now, he would pay the piper.

Lopez quit his humming suddenly as the front door clattered shut. Loki’s eyes flashed but his body did not betray his expectation. He remained as he was, one leg draped over the other as he leaned back in the leather chair. You shifted and stilled the flutter of pages. You pushed your glasses up and re-examined the figures.

A knock at the door. Lopez pushed it open and huffed just inside, a mustard stain on his shirt.

“Mr. Barnes is here,” He gasped.

Lopez didn’t look it, but he was a formidable man. He’d shown that, several times. His deceptive appearance made him Loki’s favourite. And they both had a thing for knives.

Loki nodded and Lopez stepped back and his round stomach brushed against the man who waited behind him. Two others flanked the new arrival but did not enter alongside him, merely hovered by the doorway.

You had seen Barnes before; his men called him ‘Bucky’, Loki called him worse. His dark hair was kept short and his sharp jaw bore a constant five o’clock shadow. He wore a striped suit, flamboyant in contrast to Loki’s deep green attire. He entered and strode into the middle of the room. He grinned as he stopped across from the adversary turned cohort.

“I did try to be early,” He said. “I don’t come to Manhattan often.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Loki slithered. “If I were a real prick, I’d take a late fee.”

“And you’re not?” Bucky challenged and chuckled. He looked around the room and barely seemed to notice you among the bookshelves.

“I like this place. Fancy,” He mused. “I could use a little something to dress up my own place.”

“Your cut,” Loki pushed the stack of money forward. “How you spend it is no concern to me.”

Bucky slowly reached for the bills and licked his thumb before he flicked through them. His lips moved slightly as he counted. When he finished he looked up at Loki.

“That’s it?” He asked.

“Would you like to consult with my accountant?” Loki shrugged and gestured to you. “She is a mouse but efficient… Or better yet, you may return with your own, if you wish.”

“I keep my own numbers,” Bucky placed the money back down. “I’ll have a look.”

You made to stand and he waved you back down as he neared. You lowered yourself stiffly and flipped the page to the properties along the border of their territories. He stood just beside you and you ran your finger along the proper column. As he read, he bent closer, his finger fell just next to yours as he went down the numbers.

You glanced up at Loki who was entirely disinterested. He sighed and tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. Bucky’s hand gripped the chair behind you and he leaned in even closer. You looked back to the page and felt the soft brush of his breath, the subtle inhale of your jasmine perfume. You turned slightly and his eyes met yours before he pushed himself straight.

“That’s quite the decline,” His hand dragged over your ledger and you moved yours before he could brush it. 

“Yes, well, we did lose a certain op to the fire,” Loki said sharply. 

Though it hadn’t been proven, all were certain it had been set by Bucky’s men. The man even snickered at the mention.

“Checks out,” Bucky grabbed the stack and tucked it into his jacket. “I’d hate to find cracks in this new association so early.”

“Surely not,” Loki replied. “Is that all then or should I offer you a drink?”

“A bit early,” Bucky countered. “But I would like a closer look at that statue out there. Can I have some help that isn’t coughing up a ham sandwich?”

“This is a small business, Mr. Barnes,” Loki leaned forward and tented his fingers. “And I haven’t worked the showroom since my adolescence.”

Bucky nodded and glanced at you. Loki followed his gaze and tilted his head. He looked between you and the other man.

“Go on,” He motioned you with two fingers. 

You blinked and frowned. You barely knew anything about antiques; sure you admired them but you really couldn’t place a date or a style. You set your pencil down and rose. You peeked over at Loki and he shrugged. He just wanted the man gone. To be fair, you felt little different.

Bucky stepped back and sidestepped the door. He waited for you to leave first. You did so reluctantly. You entered the showroom, passing between his two henchman as he followed. You sensed him close behind.

“This one,” He said and you stopped short. 

You turned as he strutted over to a statue of a naked woman barely sheathed by a swath of silk. You neared and his eyes roved the full figure of the statue. His finger brushed her hip and he smiled.

“You like it?” He asked.

You drew your brows together and looked at him. You were rarely asked what you thought, merely for a sum.

“I suppose…” You offered. “Though it is chipped along the shoulder.”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“You aren’t much of a salesman,” He remarked. “But you’re right. I think… I’d prefer a different decoration in my home.” He grinned and turned to you. “Something more… lifelike.”

You were uncertain of his meaning and his tone. 

“Something with more colour?” You suggested.

“Perhaps,” He said as he checked his watch. “I'll have to come back and have another look around.”

“Okay,” You said dumbly.

“Miss,” He gave a curt nod and spun on his heel.

You watched him go as his men followed. The door groaned loudly in his stead and you were left with Lopez’s thick breaths. You looked at him as he bent over a newspaper and squinted at the funnies page. You turned back to the office and picked at your sleeve.

‘Don’t trust men like me,’ Your father’s words whispered in your head. ‘Their wants are simple but their methods are tricky.’

You rubbed your neck and headed back to the office. If Loki had taught you anything, it was that your father, for once, hadn’t lied.

“Did he buy it?” Loki asked as you entered the office.

“No,” You answered quietly as you sat back down.

“Hmmm,” He hummed as you felt his eyes on you. 

You lifted your head and found him staring. He was watching you, weighing you like he did a sac of money or a crate of guns. You picked up your pencil and twirled it.

“Do the numbers again,” He said. “I want to make certain they’re correct.”

👄

Several days passed and you soon forgot about the awkward meeting of kingpins. The days blurred together as they always did, like the numbers in your ledger. You closed up the book as the shutters grew grim with the impending rain clouds. You went to the safe and spun the dial. You shoved the ledger inside and closed it up.

Loki’s chair swiveled and his toe tapped. You glanced over as you watched his lithe legs stretch out. He leaned an arm on his desk and tapped his fingers.

“I wonder…” He began softly. “Why do you do this?”

“Pardon,” You grabbed the top of the safe and pulled yourself up. You closed the wooden door of the chest that hid it.

“Well, more aptly I wonder, do you dress like that to throw off the scent or are you truly that displaced?”

“I don’t--”

“You looked like a librarian.” He interrupted. “Like you should be sat in a cubicle with a mug that reads ‘TGIF’.”

“I… this is how I dress,” You looked down at your pressed wool pants and your starched blouse with the little red flowers. “Professionally.”

“Your father was a bookie and your mother… well, I do not speak ill of the dead if I can help it.” He said.

You swallowed the insult. You knew this man too well to be upset. It was his favourite pastime riling others up. Seeing how far he could push them.

“I’m not my mother and I’m not some dancer or moll,” You said. “So I don’t see how a blazer should bother you.”

“I am not so concerned by your clothes,” He laughed. “I ponder on your commitment to your work. You see, you come in here, like it’s a nine to five, and then you’re on your way and I frankly do not know, nor can I even imagine, what it is you do outside of here.”

“I didn’t realise you needed to know.” You said coolly.

“I don’t need to know the intricacies of your personal life, I only need to be assured of your loyalty.”

“I’ve worked here for seven years. Name a time I have ever shown anything other than diligence.” You argued.

He grinned and licked his bottom lip.

“I am not worried about your past, I am worried about the present and your future which if you wish to continue on here is intertwined with my own.” He insisted. “So, after seven long years, I need more than your little scribbles.”

“What is it you want?” You asked. “A blood sacrifice?”

“I want you at Diablo’s. Tonight.” He said evenly.

“Diablo’s?”

“Yes, he is having one of his little meetings. Truly, I can’t even think of an appropriate term for the occasion. It is mostly drinking and gaudy suits on our part but you can’t truly think you’ll be my bookkeeper forever.” He said. “You don’t want to be your father, do you? Your whole life spent in the weeds.”

“Don’t talk about him like you knew him,” You warned. “If you did, you’d know I’m nothing like him and you would thank all the odds that I am not.”

“You cannot be a background player in this scene and let me warn you, there are not a lot of opportunities for girls like you.”

“Girls like me?” You scoffed.

“A woman in a skirt can lift it and secure herself a pretty little set-up,” He purred. “But you, you can’t dress like some matron and expect to watch the blood spill with clean hands.”

You sighed and clenched your jaw.

“So, you find a dress, buy one if need be, and you will see me at Diablo’s tonight.” He declared. “Without those awful wiry glasses, too.”

You shook your head and turned away from him. You checked your purse before shutting the flap and he cleared his throat.

“I expect an answer.” He said.

“And if I refuse, you will find a new book keeper?”

“I could. Easily.” He affirmed. “But I daresay, you won’t have as easy a time selling your numbers to others. You’d likely end up selling something else.”

You sneered but resisted rolling your eyes. You missed his former apathy. His quiet derision.

“What time, boss?” You asked.

[loopy777]

RE: WIPs game: Actress Mai. what is she acting in? besides her ongoing starring role as Repressed Perfect Child?

Ah, "Actress Mai." This is a headcanon I keep chipping away at in the hopes that I'll eventually have something I want to publish. I have a whole host of little ideas and scene concepts, but only one actual WIP.

It started with the idea that Zuko and Ursa are theater snobs. Sure, Ursa apparently attended Ember Island Player performances, which Zuko disdained, but my thought is that she took what she could get in terms of live theater with her family even if she agreed with his criticisms. However, I like to headcanon that Mai loves the Ember Island Players, hates classical theater, and generally is the type of person who thinks that Michael Bay movies are great and more people should just turn off their brains and allow themselves to be entertained.

Why?

Well, because character conflict is what makes stories interesting. Zuko gritting his teeth through Mai's praise of how the EIPs finally made "Love Amongst the Dragons" interesting? Gold! Ursa and Mai getting into heated drunken arguments about theater styles? Gold! Mai convincing Kiyi of the good points of the controversial 'Love Amongst the Dragons II: Love Harder' (which is canon to at least two of my Maiko fics) while Zuko and Ursa grit their teeth? Solid gold!

This fun little conflict turned into something more, though. If Ursa and Mai are dark mirrors of each other in terms of theater tastes, then it felt like Mai needed a little acting history to parallel Ursa's own. But Ursa could be a publicly known actress because she was a peasant; such a profession was okay for her. Mai is a noble, though, and an acting job would be seen as beneath her, especially as a woman, as Polite Fire Society knows (or thinks it knows) that 'actress' is really just a polite term for prostitute. This is a takeoff from some real-life history stuff that I first learned of through Sherlock Holmes stories. Apparently, Irene Adler being an 'opera singer' was a thing British readers would recognize as being of a sordid nature.

So I decided that Mai did some secret, illicit acting anonymously during her childhood and teenage years. She stumbled across an opportunity, gave it a try, and found it fulfilling despite the social stigma. She liked being able to project emotions of all kinds in public, while at the same time shielded by masks or makeup or costumes or whatever. She liked being other people, people who find love with their heroes or die tragically to teach everyone a point or villainously ruin everything around them as a force of vengeful nature. It was the only opportunity for expression that she had, as well as a quiet form of rebellion. So for years she snuck out of the capital, down to Harbor City, and acted in all kinds of plays for a troupe that accepted not paying her as a fair trade for keeping her anonymous.

Naturally, moving to Omashu put a crimp on that, and so it ended.

So the idea is that Ursa eventually learns this about Mai after years of their butting heads over theater opinions, sees the parallels and perpendiculars in their lives, and grudgingly comes to respect Mai's completely wrong opinions about theater as at least being informed. And Mai, who is good at acting and does know the classics and would be wasted in the Ember Island Players, helps Ursa out with some plays she writes (still anonymous, although Zuko and Ursa know) even though Mai privately thinks the dialogue is too stilted and the stories kind of cliched.

But I have had trouble beating all of this into a proper story. I want to do flashbacks to Mai on stage, I want to show her conflict with Ursa, I want to reveal how Ty Lee found out and used that to get Mai to accept running away to the circus, I want Zuko's reaction to finding that his wife can recite soliloquies from all the major classics, I want Kiyi becoming an Ember Island Players groupie, etc. It's just missing a plot to hang it all on.

So here's a snippet of one of my attempts to construct something:

Noren grimaced. "Honestly, I was impressed we got enough people to fill out all the parts, never mind understudies. This play-"

"-is important," Ursa finished for him.

He hesitated just a moment before nodding. "And it's important for the same reasons that it was tough to get actors. I'm sure once Zuko sees it and can give it his official approval-"

"But he can't see anything without a Rinzen." Ursa thought about her son out there in the audience, anonymous amidst the 'peasants' of Hira'a. Zuko didn't mind mixing with his people, despite being their Lord, but the only reason he was here, tonight, was because Ursa herself had written the play, and he was a good son who would always support his mother.

Zuko had even brought his friends, including the Avatar. Aang was a delightful young man, and always very nice to Ursa, but she couldn't help but feel trepidation at his presence. After all, Avatar Roku, Ursa's grandfather and Aang's previous life, was a major character in this play, and while the story was based on real events, it was Ursa's hand that had shaped his dialogue and actions. She was putting her thoughts and philosophies, her very heart, out on the stage for public assessment, and this was tricky material. Would it do right by history?

Plus the lead actress was sick, and going by her complaints and the smell of the privy, perhaps dying.

Ursa had to tell herself that her audience, her friends and family and neighbors, wouldn't enjoy this play becoming a disaster. None of them were that bad. This wasn't the Capital. And she wasn't a princess. Not anymore.

So why had she taken it on herself to write this play, to positively dramatize a story of an ancestor who a few years ago was considered a heretic and traitor, to will into being a performance right here in the Fire Nation of a play that featured a heroic Air Nomad character whose actress was currently trapped in the privy?

Because her nation had hurt the world, and she wouldn't leave it to her son alone to do all the work of helping to fix that. That's why.

"Maybe," she ventured, "I could play the part."

Noren frowned. "You? But you're playing the Lady of Glass, and the characters share several scenes."

But Ursa was already analyzing the copy of the script that existed in her mind. "Rinzen has a lot more lines than the glass spirit, and I'm the only one who knows them. And playing a spirit is a lot easier than playing an Air Nomad. A spirit is just a voice, a costume, and some special effects. An Air Nomad character is a performance, and we're fresh out of actresses."

Noren's head tilted from side to side. "We could ask Kiyi. She knows the play by heart. She's a bit young for the part, yes, but-"

"No," Ursa cut him off. "She'd say yes if we asked her, but she hates being on stage. I'm not going to do that to her. I'd rather call off the play and see if our Rinzen is feeling better tomorrow."

Noren blanched at the very thought and made a gesture of good luck. "Well, maybe we can find a new Lady of Glass. And adjust the Rinzen costume. So are you thinking we'll just go on stage and ask the crowd who wants to join the cast, or maybe-"

And then there was a shift behind Noren, the red curtain over the office's doorway being pulled aside to reveal a living shadow. It seemed to Ursa that a chill had entered the room.

Lady Mai, Intended to Fire Lord Zuko, had arrived.

Ursa stiffened as Mai stepped into the office and let the curtain fall back into place. Time and familiarity had not made it any easier to be in a room with her son's lover. She had no real doubts about Mai, no resentment over the early difficulties Zuko that had apparently been overcome, but it was hard to reconcile Azula's shy and dour childhood companion with what existed now. Mai walked around covered with knives, watching everything; she never spoke unless there was an explicit need, but her gaze was always focused and her eyes missed nothing.

And it was in Mai's kind of silent, watchful abyss that Judgement grew. Ursa did not have a good feeling about how Mai likely judged her. How could a child of the Fire Nation's capital, someone who had become strong alongside Azula, a world-class warrior whose last stand for the life of her lover was already the subject of at least one popular poem, have any empathy for Ursa's life or the mistakes she had made?

Mai looked at her with dull eyes. "Is everything okay? The crowd is getting restless, and Zuko was worried. I told him I'd check on things so that he wouldn't miss the beginning of the play."

Ursa hesitated against that flat, low voice, and Noren stepped in to answer, "Our lead actress is sick. Ursa and I were just discussing options. There- uh, there aren't a lot of them."

Mai might as well have been told that dinner was planned to include green sprouts, but they were all out and so the yellow ones would be substituted. "Which part?"

Ursa swallowed. "The Air Nomad girl, Rinzen."

Mai quirked an eyebrow. "The heroine." She was still and silent for a long moment, and then sighed. "Zuko's really been looking forward to this. I guess I can help out. All right, I'll be your Rinzen."

Ursa wasn't quite sure she had heard that right. "You- you want to take the part? But-" Her voice faltered, as all the possible objections swirled through her mind. Mai was, to put it simply, completely lacking in charisma and non-threatening presence. She spoke without emotion. She moved so efficiently that no one in the back of the audience would even notice her. And she was so disinterested in everything that she'd probably nod off in the middle of the performance.

Noren offered a troubled smile. "Thank you for the offer, but acting is harder than it looks. It's not just about going on stage and reciting lines. An actress needs-"

"It's Nomad part, right?" Mai shrugged. "So we want a high, bright voice. Circular gestures. A bounce in all the movements. Here, like this." She stretched out her arms, shook her head, and then-

-and then-

-and then Mai was no longer there. The woman in red and black looked like her, but there was a wide mischievous smile on her face, and her eyes were big and bright. She stepped towards Ursa- no, they weren't mere steps. She kicked her heels high with each one, and the way she shifted her weight flirted with almost being a dance. She held her arms up at her side as she moved, and then when she reached Ursa, swung them dramatically to bring her hands together into a sign of respect.

She bowed, and in a voice that positively rang and filled the room, said, "Are you not the Firebender Avatar, Roku? What a fortunate wind blows to lay my path upon your own!" She rose again, and trotted in a circle around Ursa. "I say, you are taller than I expected, and must be quite heavy. Are you sure you're keeping up with your Airbending, young Avatar?" She raised a hand and held it out to the side.

Noren recovered before Ursa did, realizing what was going on, and quickly found a rag and placed in the waiting hand.

Mai's eyes never left Ursa the whole time, and as soon as the rag was in her grip, she moved again, taking a stance that had clearly been modeled on Avatar Aang's own style, and held the rag out in front of her, dangling it from her fingers and bouncing it in the air.

Mai gave a laugh that was echoed through the little room. "Your beard flutters in my breeze! Come, young Avatar, let's have a spar!"

There was a beat, and Ursa was tempted to deliver Roku's next line in response, but then all at once the younger woman slumped, letting the grandness leak out of her limbs. When she straightened, Mai was back, standing like a blade made of shadow, her face blank and her eyes dull.

Ursa blinked. What had she just witnessed? So many questions swirled in her mind, and she decided to ask the most important of them: "You know all the lines?"

[linoshan]

DISTRICT 8

series

warnings: suggestive, violent themes, blood

“no entry other than the person concerned, this is the back door”

-

CHAN

tier 1

leader, royalty born, one of the twins

district 6 calling...

“chan! the council is calling, it seems urgent”, changbin yells, pointing at the tv monitor.

chan rolls his eyes, not even glancing his way. “tell them i’m busy” he deadpans, shaking his head as he refocuses back on his game of 8ball with felix.

“you should probably talk to them, you know how mad that wonpil guy gets when you ignore his orders”, felix states as he takes his shot, missing completely. 

chan chuckles.

he takes his cue and walks around the table, finding an angle. he leans down, focusing as he aims for the 8ball.

“..yes sir i understand, but he’s busy and-”

“seo, i see him right behind you”. changbin freezes, then sighs in defeat, moving out of the monitors frame to reveal a not-very-busy chan.

“MR BANG! WE NEED TO TALK! what you did last week was completely out of hand. the districts are a secrecy, it’s risky to act withou-”

clink!

the sound of the cue hitting the ball fills the room.

the 8ball goes in and chan smirks, finally looking up.

“you see. i completely understand that. but quite frankly.. i don’t care.”

-

FELIX

tier 2

the twins’ childhood family friend.

“what in the world happened here?” felix questions with disgust, walking around the half dozen people who are either unconscious or dead.

chan and ryujin laugh, both wiping the blood off of their favorite knives.

felix shivers at the sight. although he grew up with them, he still couldn’t bring himself to get used to the odd behavior of those two.

“what are you doing here lix”, ryujin smiles. “need something?”

“no,” felix says, still feeling disturbed. “i uh, brought cookies. i made them today because i had extra time and i-”

“chocolate chip?” chan interrupts.

“well duh what els-”

“YES!” chan exclaims, jumping up and walking right on the bodies as if they weren’t there.

felixs mouth drops. “oh my god dude.. really?!” he says in horror.

chan shrugs. “what?” he asks as felix shakes his head vigorously. chan reaches for the tin. “give me the cooki-”

“no!” felix says as he retracts it and holds it tightly to his chest. “you don’t deserve it, you.. you- ugh!”

ryujin bursts out laughing.

“what the fuck? you offered me cookies 10 seconds ago and now you’re not. i don’t get it” chan says, completely unaware of his actions.

felix stares at him with his lips parted, slowly shaking his head from side to side.

“i seriously don’t know how we’ve been friends for this long”. 

-

CHANGBIN

tier 2

chans lead man, family friends with royal family.

“the all mighty bang chan. the one they all fear. the son of the failure of a mafia leader,” the man tsked, “-right here, in front of me, wincing in pain” he laughs, turning around as if he’s going to walk away, but instead returns and lands another blow on chans jawline.

“like cmon! what is everyone so afraid of with you?” the man raises his arms in exaggerated disbelief. “what? should i bow?..” he stops to get on one knee “oh king i bow bef-”.

the sound of screaming behind him cuts him off. he turns his head to be met with a leather boot, completely knocking him out.

“took you long enough” chan said, immediately untying himself from the chair. “you know if you weren’t so hard headed, i wouldn’t have to go this far to get you out of the mansion” he says, rubbing his wrists from how previously tight the rope was.

changbin rolls his eyes. “when are you going to stop bothering me on saturday nights? we do violence shit all week. the least you could do is give me ONE night to relax”.

-

MINHO

tier 2

recruited assassin.

“stay away from her, this is your final warning” chan says, poking minhos chest before walking away.

“no”

chan halts his movements, turning around slowly.

“what did you say?” he says through his teeth, cocking his head to the side in disbelief. no one says no to chan, let alone look in his eyes without shivering in fear.

“i said no,” minho shrugs, unfolding his crossed arms and walking over to where chan stood. “your sister is her own person, she decides who she wants to be with for herself,” he says, smirking before continuing, “and by the way, she told me to tell you something if you tried to pull something like this”.

chan furrows his eyebrows, feeling his blood boil.

“she said,” he chuckles. “either you fuck off, or i fuck him”

“who do you think you ar-”

“however!” he cuts in, grinning.

“it’s a little too late for that proposition though, ain’t it?”.

-

HYUNJIN

tier 2

goodfella

( n; a gangster, member of a Mafia family.)

“hyunjin, you have 4 dead bodies around you right now and what you’re concerned about is the blood stain on your coat?”

“its about to be 5 if you don’t shut up. now hand over the stain remover stick.”

-

SEUNGMIN

tier 3 (by choice)

royalty born, cousin to the twins.

“cmon seungmin. we need your help for this one”, changbin says as he stands in the doorway of seungmins room.

“im sure chan can handle it” he says, not looking up from his book.

changbin rolls his eyes, moving to sit on his bed. seungmin furrows his eyebrows at the action.

“your cousin is stubborn. he just wants to act on it but we don’t even know the exact location, how much men are gonna be there, if they’re armed-”

“ok? why are you telling me this. i don’t care. i already told everyone im not about this kind of life”. seungmin says, taking off his round glasses in frustration.

“i know you aren’t. but we really need you for this one. we’re bringing the rookies for this job and i wouldn’t want them to go in blind like this”, changbin sighs.

he hands an ipad over to seungmin. “heres all the info we have about this gang. help us out. please”.

seungmins face softens at the sound of his plead.

great. now he feels guilty.

“fuck”. he groans, taking the ipad from the mans hand as he reaches back for his glasses. he puts them on and quickly swipes through the leads and notes taken by watchmen.

after a minute, changbin slowly stands up.

“thank you. i appreciate this a lot, we all do, especially the twins.. even if they don’t show it”. he looks up to see seungmin not listening, eyes glued to the screen. he sighs with a nod at the sight. “ok, just call me when your done, i’ll be in the-”

“monday, bayside harbor. at exactly 9:34pm. when you get there, there will be 6 guards at the east gate and 4 men by the pier. a shipment is coming in. lethal weapons. make sure they don’t leave with them, it’s most likely going to be used against us”. seungmin says, handing the ipad back over. “now leave. close the door behind you”.

-

JEONGIN

tier 3

just discovered as part of the royal family. clueless to his importance.

*at shipment dock

“yeah. its settled, the tier 3′s and rookies are transferring the weapons to our carrier now”, changbin says to chan on the phone as he looks around the area.

jeongin sighs, turning to jisung. “i can’t wait till i tier up. im getting tired of just transferring heavy boxes from one truck to another” he huffs.

“dude id rather be here then out with 2′s killing people everyday” jisung says, scrunching up his face. “plus.. usually ryujin comes and brings the district 5 girls to transfer locations to overlook everything. thats a win-win to me” jisung grins.

“district 5 girls?” jeongin asks.

jisung mouth drops open. “you’ve never met the district 5 girls? they’re so hot bro”.

jeongin shakes his head, continuing doing his job. “no i haven’t. but i know it’s in the rules that we shouldn’t-”

“hey boys”, yuna interrupts, a smirk evident in her voice.

jeongin turns to where the sound came from, dropping his box at the sight.

-

JISUNG

rookie

unexperienced, mysteriously recruited by chan himself

“why the fuck are there so much rules anyway? fuck the rules! aren’t we like the rebellious criminals of society?? what kind of cool badass criminal follows rules. rules are stupid. rules are pointle-”

“you do understand the serious circumstances you’re under to be here? all these rules are here to protect our circle. if you don’t want to follow the rules then fine. but that’s your fate, not mine or my families.” chan says with all seriousness.

jisung sighs.

“can you stop speaking so medieval? this is a MAFIA not ancient rome”.

“

[elisela]

touch buck x eddie, 1k, emotional hurt/comfort

for @tylerhunklin: “the feel of fingertips trailing over a bare shoulder blade”

--

Buck is tactile. It’s something Eddie’s known since the beginning, since Buck got right up in his space while looking for confrontation; he walks so close their shoulders brush, he reaches out and pushes at Eddie’s arms, knocks his knuckles against Eddie’s thigh when they’re talking on the couch. In response, Eddie leans across Buck to point things out, pressing his shoulder into Buck’s body, he spreads out on the couch so that his knee presses into Buck’s, he stands next to him and nudges him with an elbow to get his attention.

On good days—most days—Eddie’s comforted by Buck’s touch. He disentangles their limbs in the morning in order to roll into Buck’s space and lay against him, chest to chest and face to face, kisses him awake and only pulls away far enough to see the beginnings of a sleepy, soft smile before he’s leaning back in again. Buck’s fingers brush against his as he hands Eddie his toothbrush, hip to hip in the small bathroom, a domestic image in the mirror that Eddie hadn’t realized he could have for the longest time, the weight of Buck’s lips against his a balm to his war-torn heart.

But on Eddie’s worst days, Buck’s touch is a weight against his chest that suffocates him, the press of a thousand knives into his skin that leaves him bloody and damaged. Those days start with him flinching away in the morning when Buck’s arm settles around his waist like a chain threatening to drag him underwater, when the whisper of his lips against Eddie’s skin is like sandpaper.

He knows it hurts Buck, he sees the sadness in his face, the aborted motion of Buck’s hand to come up and cradle his cheek. But today, Buck just pulls his arm back and looks at him, rests his hand halfway between them on the mattress and says, simply, “Morning, Eddie.”

“Hey,” he manages. His voice is sleep-roughed, his throat feels like he’s been screaming for hours. Maybe, in his dreams, he has.

“I’ll get Chris to school.” It’s not a question, and Buck doesn’t wait long enough for Eddie to respond before he’s moving off the bed. “You do what you need to do today, okay? Don’t worry about him.”

Eddie buries his face in the pillow, and falls back asleep.

He knows he’s alone when he wakes up hours later, the house silent in a way it never is with either of his boys around. It takes a weight off him; freed from the expectation of normalcy, he’s at liberty to sit with his heaviness, to take it apart with the exercises Frank recommended. He takes a long shower, scrolls through pictures of Chris on his phone, feels marginally better after eating something. He’s idle, listless around the house, wandering from room to room aimlessly but finding no comfort no matter where he goes, so he changes his clothes and heads out to Topanga, because if he can’t work himself out of this mood with playlists or gratitude journals like Frank suggests, maybe he can run himself out of it.

He switches on his location and drops a pin to Buck; they’ve had too many calls for body retrievals out on trails for him to be foolish enough to not let anyone know where he was going, and he starts to run. He doesn’t let himself think about anything but the sound of his feet on the dirt, the way his breath gets harsher as he pushes uphill. He tries another one of Frank’s exercises and imagines his mood as a black aura around him that breaks off and is left scattered on the trail behind him as he goes, pieces blowing in the wind and landing far enough away that they can’t make their way back to him.

He runs the trail again and again until he’s out of water and limping, sweat rolling down his skin as he makes his way back to the car, too exhausted to do anything but sit with the air conditioning turned on full-force until he’s shivering. He’s not sure if it was the running that helped or just the idea that he had the time and space to work this feeling out of his body, but he feels lighter as he drives away and leaves his emotions behind him on the trail, glittering black in the sunlight.

The house is still empty when he gets home, but when he gets out of the shower and sits on the edge of the bed, he can hear music in the kitchen and a moment later, Buck’s shadow falls across the floor as the door opens. “Hey,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “Chris swears he can get his homework done in half an hour, so we’re going to go see a movie soon. I threatened him with egg salad sandwiches but I’m pretty sure he knows we’re going out to that fish and chips place by the theater.”

Eddie looks up, body still too tired to move. “Can I come?”

Buck’s expression softens, and he pushes himself off the doorway and crosses to the bed in three steps, standing in between Eddie’s knees, carefully not touching him. “Of course you can,” he says. “I didn’t want to pressure you by asking.”

Something inside him cracks at that, at the thought that Buck puts into their interactions when he has days like this, and he leans forward to rest his forehead on Buck’s stomach. A moment later, he feels fingertips trailing across his bare shoulder blade and he breaks, wrapping his arms around Buck’s hips and pulling him forward, pressing against him more fully. “Thank you,” he says into Buck’s shirt, his palms finding skin underneath Buck’s thin shirt.

Buck’s hands settle more firmly on his shoulders, squeezing softly. “I’m here for whatever you need,” he says quietly. “Always.”

[cordytriestowrite]

Excuses and Uses

Bucky Barnes x Reader

One Shot

Summary: Excuses were all you got from Bucky. Uses were all he wanted from you. (Aka I need a world where F&WS exists and until then I make up my own plots thanks)

"Bucky, what a surprise."

Your greeting was laced heavily with sarcasm. It was in fact not a surprise to have Bucky Barnes knocking on your door long after it was appropriate to receive visitors. You were in your sushi pajamas for Pete's sake! Despite those comically cute pieces of sashimi littering your clothing Bucky looked at least a little guilty to be standing in front if you, even if he had a not so cute arsenal of guns and knives littering his body you weren't intimidated. 

"I need your help."

Rolling your eyes you turned around and left Bucky in the doorway of your studio apartment. You picked up a few pieces of scattered clothing so you wouldn't attempt to wrap your hands around his thick neck and squeeze the annoying life right out of him. 

"You never come over to hang out you know. Not even to see your son!"

Bucky closed the door behind him and almost immediately Alpine was winding between his legs, rubbing and purring, happy to see his true owner. Alpine, in his snooty cat way, made sure you knew where you ranked on the totem pole despite filling his food bowl every day. 

Bucky picked up the feline and buried his face into his fluffy white fur. When he spoke again his words were muffled.

"He knows I still love him. Even if I can't see him all the time."

You honestly weren't sure if he was telling you or the cat but you felt like arguing anyway.

"I have Mario Kart. It's like, your favorite game and you don't ever come over to play."

Alpine jumped from Bucky's arms as he moved further into what was designated as the living room, even if there were no walls separating the couch from your bed, refrigerator, or washing machine. 

"I don't have time to play." 

"Bullshit." You muttered under your breath, tossing a misplaced fork into the sink, letting the loud clang of metal on metal hide the curse. Excuses and uses were all you got from Bucky and all he wanted from you. You took a few seconds to settle down before turning to face him.

"What can I do for you Bucky?"

He was in his usual spot. Not quite in the living space, not close enough to the door to be heard by a nosey neighbor, not quite close enough to you. 

"I have a lead I need you to look into."

You just didn't have the strength to keep doing this. It was late, you were tired, and honestly if Bucky wasn't going to treat you like anything more than a human search engine then you weren't interested in moving forward with this conversation.

"Go ask Sharon." You said dismissively, walking around the couch and putting more distance between you and Bucky.

"Sharon can't know about this. Sam either. You're the only one. I need you."

You ignored him. At first you there was a thrill in being Bucky's confidant, in having a secret mission just you and him, but all you ended up feeling now was lonely and more than a bit bitter. You pulled back your blankets, slid out of your slippers, and crawled into bed. 

"Agent-"

Your back was turned to Bucky. You spoke loud and clear so it would get through his thick skull, because obviously your physical dismissal of him was a bit too subtle. 

"I'm no longer an agent, Soldier. I quit remember? For you."

You turned over, the comforter pulled up to your chin so the parts of you that were exposed were cold and hard; your eyes and mouth set with stubborn lines of tension. 

"And I have a name. Do I need to remind you of it? Goodnight."

You turned your back to him again, hitting the light switch near your head and plunging the studio into darkness. You could feel Alpine's paws gently press against your toes as he joined you.

What should have come next was a few footsteps leading away from you then the opening and closing of your front door, but instead you felt the mattress dip near your hip, then a matching weight on the other side as Bucky briefly straddled you before wedging his large, fully armed and armored body between you and the wall. You could barely see him in the dark, but you could hear him clearly utter your name. You let out a hollow laugh and hoped it hid how nervous Bucky's proximity was making you.

"So you do know it. Could've fooled me."

Bucky was quiet for a long time. That combined with his uncanny ability to keep entirely still meant you drifted off and only realized it when he spoke.

"I'm sorry. I'd love to play Mario Kart."

You smiled, blinking slow as sleep made your eyelids heavy. 

"Too sleepy. In the morning." You muttered, lips barely moving to form the words. 

Gentle fingers brushed through the hair at your temple, lulling you further into an unconscious state. You resurfaced at the feeling of Bucky moving over you. Your body followed him as he made his exit

"Buck, the lead."

If the cold metal palm against your cheek wasn't enough to wake you up the press of lips to your forehead would have raised you from the dead.

"It can wait."

A few footsteps, then the opening and closing of your front door and he was gone. Your thoughts stayed on him long after he left and until the thinnest strip of sunlight colored the dark sky a dusky blue-grey. 

You woke up late the next day, much to Alpine's displeasure. He made sure to dig his claws deep enough to scratch your feet as he stretched and sauntered toward the corner kitchen. 

"Not even my cat." You grumbled, pulling back the covers and following the small white ball of attitude. He waited impatiently for his breakfast, meowing and batting at your hand when he deemed the task was taking too long by his standards. He didn't even wait for his bowl to be moved to the floor, digging in the second you finished scraping the lumpy, wet chunks of fish and carrot out of the can. 

You watched Alpine chow down without really seeing him. Your mind was back to last night and the way Bucky said your name, the way his fingers carded through your hair, the way he pressed his lips to your forehead. It all seemed so unreal, unlikely to be something that could ever happen, so you assumed your mind had made it all up. It was the only way it made sense to you.

Bucky wasn't the guy from last night, he was a super soldier with a super chip on his shoulder who happened to like Mario Kart but refused to play because God forbid he experience any joy in life. You were his pet sitter, his informant, the woman who went rogue from the new and improved S.H.I.E.L.D. the moment those big blue eyes sparkled in your general direction and just happened to steal a high tech laptop on her way out. You and Bucky Barnes weren't friends. You were just the idiot who allowed yourself to be used. You understood that now.

A knock on your door pulled you out of that head space. You shook your head and rubbed the sleep and bit of teariness from your eye before you opened the door.

It was Bucky, no longer decked out in leather and weaponry. His hair fluffy and productless, and his black and gold arm covered by a slightly baggy navy hoodie. He looked normal and that made it so odd.

"Didn't know you took days off Barnes." You greeted sarcastically, arms crossing over your sleep wrinkled sushi pajama top. 

Bucky started to smile, bit his lip to hide it, then relented to a playful smirk.

"I didn't either."

You eye him skeptically before turning around and walking into your living room, bending over to pull your stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. laptop out of its hiding place between the couch and the wall. You sat down and powered it on.

"What's the name?" You asked plainly, knowing your tone was clipped with anger despite your best efforts toseem unaffected.

Bucky closed the front door behind him before bypassing his usual spot just beyond reach to sit next to you on the couch. He was close, granted it was a loveseat and the man was thick in all the best ways, but he was closer than necessary. Knee to shoulder you were connected and in the light of day at this proximity you could see flecks of grey growing at his temple. Of course he would be a silver fox, you thought.

"Mario."

You accessed the database and typed in the name.

"Got a last name?" You asked, desperately glaring at the screen as to not give in to the desire to keep looking at Bucky up close.

"Kart."

You typed in the word and hit search and Bucky was already deep in laughter before it hit you. Slamming your laptop closed you leapt up from the couch and pulled the joycons off the dock.

Alpine, finished licking his bowl clean, finally noticed Bucky and had bounded over to claim his attention. You passed Bucky a controller and plopped back down next to him, purposely tucking yourself surely into his side. You looked at him excitedly, no longer attempting to hide behind a mask of cool indifference. He was looking back with something in his eyes that made your whole body flush with a sudden warmth. 

"So the lead can wait then?"

He nodded, happy expression turning a tad too serious as he searched your face.

"Thank you for always taking care of Alpine. And helping me with missions even though its dangerous. And introducing me to Mario Kart. And-"

You would have let him continue if your heart could handle it. It was pounding so hard against your sternum. And your mouth, it hurt with the intensity of your smile. Your eyes were misty again and before could think it through you planted a solid kiss to Bucky's stubbled cheek, silencing him instantly. It was as you pulled away, an apology already waiting on your tongue, that Bucky turned his head so his lips met yours.

Your lips tingled, numb from elation and nerves. It was a firm and warm and chaste and, while totally unexpected, perfect kiss. So maybe Bucky was the guy laying in your bed last night, maybe he was also kind of an ass who forgot that life wasn't always about the mission. People can be multidimensional!

Alpine, realizing he wasn't the center of Bucky's world at the moment, stretched up on his hind legs to swat a tiny paw against your joined lips. You separated with laughter, giving Alpine scratches behind the ears while he purred in contentment. You couldn't be upset when Bucky picked up his controller instead of kissing you again, seeing his easy smile and bright eyes was enough.

"So, Rainbow Road?"

"Oh, I'll kick your ass Barnes!"

Alpine was a great ally in distracting Bucky from beating you to the finish line and kissing was a great weapon both of you wielded excessively to the point the game was long forgotten in favor of making out on the couch. 

Before Bucky departed later that evening, after an entire afternoon with no talk about a mission or a lead and without any brooding or far away gazes, you wondered if it was too good to be true. He had to feel the change in your posture when he asked between open mouth kisses against your neck.

"Take a look into that lead for me?"

You pulled away, your glare intense.

"Just tell me if you're just using me. With Alpine, intel, or now being your fuck buddy, whatever. I don't want excuses, Bucky. I don't want to be lied to."

Bucky didn't have to have to open his mouth to say anything, his eyes so expressive in initial surprise, then anger so great it tightened the muscle in his jaw, his expression settled into a somber determination and when he opened his mouth you wished you had never said anything and just enjoyed the attention.

"No excuses. I'm not good at...I spent so long being used I don't think I know…"

You wrapped your arms around Bucky. It was awkward with your position on the couch and how broad his shoulders were but it seemed important to just hold him. He held you back in strong and solid arms  you weren't sure you would ever be held by again. You had your cheek pressed against his shoulder and eyes steadfast on the coffee table as you took a deep breath and tried not to cry. If this was a hug of comfort you weren't sure who was supposed to be feeling comforted. To you it felt like a hug goodbye, because no way could you keep doing this. 

"Figure it out, okay."

Bucky left not long after, untangling from you while keeping his head down, scooping up Alpine on his way out. 

You thought that was going to be it from him. You didn't expect Bucky to recover from decades of abuse anytime soon so you went on with your life. Sharon stopped by to collect the stolen laptop, promising no one would know where it snuck off to in the last few months. You stayed home a lot, willfully ignoring the reason you stayed home every night was in case Bucky stopped by. You bought new pajamas with little white kittens on them, then promptly shipped them back after opening the box.

You finally got off your ass and got a new job. Private and slightly sketchy, but confirmed by Sharon it wasn't the world dominating kind of sketchy, the job was right in your comfort zone. Bright and early you were dressed and ready to head out for your first day of work and when you opened the door you almost ran into the wall of metal and muscle that is Bucky Barnes. 

"Bucky? And Alpine!"

A small white head poked sleepily out of Bucky's worn leather jacket. Alpine yawned before meowing up at Bucky who instinctively stroked a few fingers between his ears.

"Sharon said you were starting your new job today and I-we, me and Alpine, wanted to come wish you luck."

You tried not to frown, not wanting to give the wrong impression, so you turned around and locked your door at a deliberately slow pace. Had he been keeping tabs on you or was it just some small talk with Sharon? By the time you turned back around you couldn't help but smile at the sight before you.

Bucky, short hair combed neatly, leather riding jacket zipped up to hold his kitten securely to his chest, hands gloved, jeans dark. He looked cool and confident until you looked into his eyes and saw how out of his depth he really was. 

"Walk me to work?"

Bucky nodded, shoulders sagging in what seemed to be relief. You spent the walk catching up and laughing. It felt like Bucky and you had finally reached a friendship that wasn't based on how you could be benefit to him. 

Until Bucky moved in for a goodbye hug while you leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then it was more like a two idiots fiercely making out in front of one of those idiots new place of employment until the receptionist asked you to move the show somewhere else. But the two idiots agreed to talk later over a game of Mario Kart.

Permanent tag list

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[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumpmas in July: Love

Just a wee thing for the @whumpmasinjuly day 2 prompt, Love! 

CW: Referenced noncon and torture, fucky headspace, referenced dissoci@tion, 

Tagging Danny’s crew: @slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @spiffythespook, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @whale-whumps, @swordkallya, @astrobly,

He and his brother barely speak, in the farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, but they barely have to. They say everything there is to say in between the words they are allowed, the hints of conversation they can manage only when the demons are out of the house.

Chained in the puppy room with his neck a constant burning itch and his voice increasingly hoarse and painful, Ryan speaks in quick sentences, in half-whispers. He says almost nothing important.

It’s what he doesn’t say - and what Danny can’t - that speaks loudest.

It’s in the moments when Danny steps in front of Abraham, stands between them, tilts his head just the right way or drops to his knees or shifts forward, blue eyes eager-to-please and nervous and emptied of all the light and life that he’d spent a year clawing back.

It’s in the seconds that Ryan puts himself in the doorway to the demon’s room at night and tells him that Red is too tired, too hurt, too bloody, too anything he can think of.

It’s in how Ryan steps inside instead.

It’s in the brush of arms as Danny washes the dishes and Ryan dries them, toweling off each chipped bit of ceramic plate or bowl or the silver spoons and forks and knives, and they look at each other sometimes, even when they don’t dare speak.

It’s in the way they kneel together, and Danny leans just slightly against him for strength.

It’s in the gentle wind of a bandage over the splint of a broken arm, the press of a soothing cream against the iron-burns that seem to sink further beneath Ryan’s skin with every passing day.

It’s in the way Ryan knows he is the only thing holding Danny here at all - that if he weren’t in the farmhouse now, Danny would be gone, slipping beneath Red permanently, becoming the puppy for good in a desperate push to survive hell.

Because of Ryan, Danny holds on.

There’s guilt in that, but there is something much better, too.

What they can’t say to each other out loud, they have to say in what they do.

When Ryan was three years old, his mother brought home a little boy, older than him but hardly any taller, with a backpack weighed down with everything he owned in the world. They were inseparable in days, have always been. They’ve always been brothers, first, no matter what.

When they couldn’t fight their mother’s way of throwing Danny to the wolves and holding Ryan close, they had to say what they meant in other ways, holding tightly to each other by covering up for each other’s transgressions, lying about late curfews, doing whatever it took.

Now they do whatever it takes all over again.

Now, when a blade slips beneath skin, Danny’s hand holds his so tightly his fingers creak, but he doesn’t try to pull away. He holds on tight, catches the teary blue eyes with his own, and feels his anger pull and shift under his skin. The rage held in check by the iron he can’t remove, the teeth that whisper in his mind to save him.

He can’t say it. Not out loud. Not here and not now.

But he can hold on tight to Danny’s hands as he bleeds and rest his forehead against his brother’s and think, as hard as he can, I love you.

He can see in Danny’s eyes, as he holds with gritted teeth and desperation to his own mind, that he knows.

He can hear the unspoken I love you, too. I’ll hold on here, for you.

Ryan prays he can hold on long enough.

[omnivorousshipper]

What if the Shaws got shovel talks from Toretto's crew... and they are not impressed, I mean, they practically invented shovel talks

Lol!! You would think the Toretto crew would be threatening, and you'd be right. But compared to the Shaws? Absolutely no chance

Deckard

Looking up from sharpening his knives, Deckard raised an eyebrow at the people standing in the doorway. Both Dom and Brian were trying to give him serious looks, while Letty looked bored and Tej uncertain

"What?" Deckard asked, keeping his voice neutral. He knew they wouldn't try anything, but he hated being cornered. They were on thin ice

"We wanted to talk to you about Luke." Dom started

"What about him?" Deckard let a hint of threat drip into his voice as he brought the knife into eyesight

"We just want to make sure you're not going to try and play the man." Tej spoke up, but took a small step behind Dom when Deckard glared at him

"Are you lot seriously trying to threatening me right now?" Deckard asked, if a bit incredulously. These people really do have some balls

"Not really threaten." Letty said smoothly. "We just want to know that you two are serious for each other. We don't want any nasty break ups on our hands."

"Yeah. I'm sure that's it." Deckard sneered and stood up, gripping his knife tightly. "Let me tell you lot something. Luke and I are not going to split any time soon. So, you can kindly fuck the hell off."

"Alright, man. We got." Brian said, not backing down even as Deckard got closer

Deckard met each other their eyes and could see that they all knew they were in danger. Deckard wouldn't actually kill them, but he knew damn well how to maim and they all knew that perfectly well

Without another word, Deckard turned around and went back to sharpening his knives and didn't bother to watch the crew leave

Owen

Owen was leaning back in a chair, eating chips and watching a movie on his phone when he heard footsteps coming closer to him

Looking up, Owen had hoped it would be Roman, but instead, Brian and Tej were standing in front of him.

"What do you want?" Owen asked them in a bored tone

"Look, we know you and Roman are going out." Tej started, arms crossed as he stared down at Owen

"And?"

"We want to make sure you know what'll happen if you hurt him." Brian grunted at him

Owen's eyebrows rose

"Are you serious?" He asked

Brian and Tej looked at each other before nodding

Owen threw his head back and laughed, shocking both of his onlookers

"What the hell is so funny, asshole?" Brian hissed

Cutting off his laughte, Owen sneered at them. Pocketing his phone, he stood up and got into Brian's space

"Do you really want to a rematch, mate?" Owen asked sweetly and watched with glee as Brian's eyes widened with shock. "Because last I remember, I beat your arse six different ways."

Owen smirked at the anger in Brian's eyes, but he didn't say anything

Smirking, Owen glanced over at Tej

"And if you want to try your hand, well. I'm free anytime you want."

Without glancing back, Owen left the two shell-shocked

Hattie

Leaning over the desk to stare at the computer in front of her, Hattie was focused on the firewall she was trying to hack. She ignored the footsteps coming closer

"Hey."

Looking up, Hattie raised an eyebrow at Letty, who was standing next to her with her arms crossed

"You got a minute to talk?" She asked

Hattie nodded and straighten up to look at Letty

"Look, the team wanted me to talk to you about Ramsey."

"Is she alight?" Hattie asked, her heart speeding up at the thought of Ramsey being injured

"She's fine." Letty smiled at her. "The guys are just worried that you'll do something to hurt her."

"What?" Hattie hissed, and balled her hands.

"Whoa! I know you wouldn't, but even you have to agree that you two didn't get along when you first met." Letty told her firmly

Hattie fumed, but had go agree

"She and I have sorted our differences a long time ago." She said, staring Letty in the eye

"Glad to hear it." Letty nodded in understanding. "We just want to make sure you treat her well."

"And if I dont?" Hattie's eyes narrowed

Letty just shrugged

"We'll figure something out." Letty said, but she had taken a step back at Hattie's anger

"You lot can try, but you won't get far." Hattie hissed and turned away from Letty, anger still obvious in her stiff posture

"Good talk." Letty sneered and walked away

Hoped you enjoyed friend!

[pixiegrl]

to complete the Luke trifecta: "and then everything just disappears" with cake! 💜

Cake!! Soft baby boys and I decided to give a part 3 to the coffee shop Cake verse so please enjoy. Kitchen’s are for lovers.

Shaking and Waiting for Something More and I could dance to this beat, beat forevermore found at these links for context:

on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728950

“Did you hear the good news?” Calum says, coming through the door to Luke’s apartment. Luke looks up from where he’s sitting cross legged on the couch, playing his guitar. He grins, taking in Calum as he comes in, grocery bags in hand, curls flat from his day spent at the cafe. Luke abandons his guitar on the couch, gently shoving Petunia to the side as he stands up, popping his hip and knees before crossing over to help Calum. He takes a bag, leaning in to press a kiss to Calum’s lips. Calum returns the kiss, smiling into Luke’s lips. He pulls back, letting Luke reach a hand up and fluff up Calum’s curls with a smile.

“What’s the good news?” Luke asks, voice teasing. Calum puts his bags down, toeing off his shoes and leaving them and his backpack by the door. He scoops up the bags and turns to Luke.

“We’re gonna make quesadillas and nachos tonight because I’ve decided that it’s a carbs and cheese kinda day,” Calum says, moving through the apartment. Luke laughs, following behind Calum as he heads towards the kitchen. 

“Oh really? Bad day?” Luke asks

“Not bad, just long. Too many people wanting too many things. Nonstop line,” Calum calls over his shoulder when Luke stops in the doorway. He’s unpacking the bags, humming quietly as he pulls out tortillas, cheese, beans, red pepper, and chicken from the grocery bag. Luke rummages around in the other bag, pulls out the tortilla chips and bottles of black cherry soda Calum’s bought too. Luke watches him closely, Calum humming as he moves easily around Luke’s kitchen. He takes out the pan and the cooking spray, grabbing plates from the cabinets and knives from the drawer.  

“Oh you poor thing,” Luke teases. Calum laughs, leaning over to press a kiss to Luke’s cheek. He rips open the chicken package, setting the chicken onto a plate, and slicing it into thin strips. He seasons them with some of the bottles he’s pulled from Luke’s cabinets. Luke leans against the counter, watching him.

“No sympathy for me? Worst boyfriend ever,” Calum says. Luke sighs dramatically, spraying the pan and getting it ready. Calum dumps the strips in, humming slightly. He reaches over to the drawer next to the stove, grabs the spatula and starts pushing the chicken around, trying to heat it all up. 

“Well, you didn’t have to listen to terrible speeches about composers all day from freshmen that don’t care,” Luke says. Calum giggles, shaking his head. 

“Cut the peppers will you?” Calum asks. Luke grabs the knife and a plate, taking the pepper out of the bag. 

“Did you remember-”

“Yes I remembered to not get onions because you don’t like them. I do know some of your food habits, even if they’re weird.” 

“I just don’t like biting into bits of onion,” Luke says pouting. He keeps dicing the peppers, listening to the chicken sizzle, Calum humming. Satisfied with the pepper, Luke turns his attention to the rest of the ingredients. He takes out some tortillas from the bag, deciding that two each should be enough. He opens the can of beans, setting them out with a spoon to get them ready. Impatient, Luke opens the bag of chips, taking one out and munching on it. 

“Really Luke?”

“I’m hungry. Cook the chicken faster,” Luke says, crunching on a chip. Calum huffs and rolls his eyes. Luke crunches harder, just to annoy Calum. Calum flips Luke off, pushing the chicken around for a few more minutes.

“Alright you menace. Chicken’s done. Let me put it on a plate and you can put the tortilla on the pan,” Calum says. Luke nods, watches Calum shove the chicken off onto the plate. He puts down a shell, layer of cheese, spoons out the beans, and tosses some peppers on. He lets Calum add the chicken, before putting on another layer of cheese, closing the tortilla. Calum watches it, waits for it to cook on the one side before flipping it over. They continue like that until all the quesadillas have been made. Calum brings them over to the table, while Luke dumps the chips out onto a plate, covering everything in the last of the cheese and microwaving it to make nachos. Luke takes them when they’re done, bringing them over to the table as they set everything up. 

Luke tears into the quesadilla, letting the cheese string out as he tries to tear it away. He looks up at Calum, finds him gazing fondly in Luke’s direction.

“What?” Luke asks, muffled around his mouthful of too hot chicken and cheese.

“Nothing...just...I’m really happy is all,” Calum says. Luke blushes, trying to cover his mouth as he chews. Calum beams, eyes crinkling and cheeks squishing. Luke ducks his head, taking another bite, trying to control the blush on his cheeks.

“Luke?” Calum asks, after a few moments. Luke glances up at him, finds Calum looking at him pensively.

“Hm?” Luke answers, head cocked to the side.

“Will you move in with me?” Calum asks. Luke chokes a little on his next swallow, coughing as he takes a sip of his soda.

“What?”

“Move in with me. I don’t know if it’s too soon or whatever, but I want to move in with you,” Calum says. He reaches across the table, taking Luke’s hand in his and squeezing lightly. Luke’s too stunned to do anything except blink at Calum in surprise. 

“What?” Luke asks again, at a loss for what else to say. Calum laughs again, happy and bright. 

“I was having a shitty day at work and I was miserable the whole day and then I just...I thought about you. I thought about coming home to you and making dinner and getting to sit on the couch with you and watch a terrible movie while you laugh and talk through the whole thing. I thought about eating ice cream out of the carton with you and making nachos and I went to the grocery store and all I could think about was spending time with you. About coming here and getting to just be with you. Sleeping over and waking up in the morning and getting to make breakfast with you because you’re off and it’s my late start day. I just think about coming here and getting to be with you and then everything just disappears. All my shitty day is gone and I just have something to look forward to. It makes me happy to think about that. And I want to have that permanently. I want to come home to you everyday and I want to sleep with you and cuddle with you and Petunia and make you coffee in the morning and I just want to be with you. So, Luke, will you move in with me?” Calum asks. 

Luke is dumbstruck. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about this. Everytime Calum leaves, having to go back to his own apartment, Luke is sad about it. He loves Ashton and he loves living with Ashton, but Luke wants to cuddle with Calum. He wants to come home and not have law students in his living room. He wants to come home and stand in the kitchen with Calum and get in his way while they try to cook dinner. He wants to see Calum’s face in the morning, not just a good morning text. He wants to know that even if they’re too busy in the daytime, he can still see Calum when he gets home. Luke wants all of that, the domestic nature that comes with a relationship, the love of it all. He knew he was there, but he didn’t expect Calum to be there as well. 

“Yeah, I would love that Calum. I would love to move in with you,” Luke says, nodding. Calum grins even wider, leans over the table to take Luke’s face in his hands and kiss him. Luke giggles into the kiss, dropping his food onto his plate to kiss Calum back. There’s too many moving parts in all of this, things to consider that come with moving in together, but for right now, Luke doesn’t want to think about it. He just wants to kiss Calum and hold his hand and get to cuddle with him on the couch. Luke just wants to exist with Calum and that’s enough.

[franboos]

I don’t want to be your friend i want to kiss you neck

a vds college roommate fic

written by @gucciboner and me <3

word count: 2014

chapter two, part 2

previous chapter

Jens has been laying on his bed for the past hour, watching the shadows of the tree branches outside his window dance on the wall. He is extremely bored and totally ignoring all the assignments he has to do for school. He texted Lucas earlier, asking if he wanted to hang out but he wanted to stay at school to work in one of the art rooms. He rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face into his pillow. He supposes he could ask Robbe or Ely if they want to go to the skate park, but if he’s being honest with himself the only person he wants to hang out with at the moment is Lucas.

He hears the front door open downstairs, followed by a loud clang and someone yelling a string of curse words.

He gets up from his bed and opens his bedroom door. “Everything okay?” He shouts into the hallway

“No, can you help me?” Isa calls back.

He walks out of his room and down the stairs. Isa is standing in the open doorway, a grocery bag in her arms that’s ripped in the bottom. He can’t help but snicker at the pile of items laying on the floor.

“I really hope you didn’t break my pickle jar,” he says as he crouches down to pick up some of the things.

Isa follows his movement, “Shit,” she says. “I forgot you pickles.”

Jens pouts while getting back up, arms filled with groceries. “I’ll ask Luc if he can pick some up for me on his way home.”

They walk into the kitchen and start putting the groceries away. Jens examines some of the snacks Isa bought, she definitely made some interesting choices, like cheese out of a tube and peanut butter puffs.

“you can leave the veggies out,” Isa says while half climbing on the kitchen counter to put a bag of Lucas’ shrimp chips on a high shelf. “I’m making lasagna”

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I can’t” she shrugs “But I’m using my friend Liv her recipe.” She grabs a cutting board out of a drawer and shoves it into Jens’ chest. “And you’re going to help me”

He wants to protest, but then he remembers that he has nothing better to do, and that this is a great reason not to do his schoolwork, so he puts the board on the counter and grabs a knife. “Tell me where to begin.”

She tells him to “just cut up some veggies” so he starts by cutting the carrots into tiny pieces. He gets the idea that Isa doesn’t really know what she’s doing by the way she staring at the back of the pasta sheet packaging. She looks up at him and shrugs, “How hard can it be?”

Harder than they both expected. Isa almost burns the ground beef, Jens is pretty sure he added too much pepper into the ricotta mixture by accident, and he’s pretty sure they overcooked the lasagna noodles. But they make it work, they mix the ground beef with the vegetables and Jens just adds some extra parmesan to the mixture.

“So how long have you and Lucas been friends?” Jens asks Isa while putting the first layer of vegetables mixed with ground beef into the oven dish. He can see her smirking at him out of the corner of his eyes, he really wishes she wouldn’t do that every time he brought Lucas up, he’s just curious.

“A really long time.”

He watches her scoop a layer of the creamy sauce on top of the first layer and he wonders what Lucas was like in high school.

“He’s one of the best people I know,” she says while picking up a pasta sheet and carefully placing it in the dish. “He’s been through a lot you know,” she shakes her head immediately after the words leave her mouth, as if she immediately regrets saying it. “The point is, he’s a great friend.”  

Jens smiles while scooping in another layer of the vegetable meat mixture, it’s not like she needed to convince him that Lucas is great, he already figured that out on his own.

He wants to ask her more questions, the curiosity is crawling under is his skin, but before he can do so Ely enters the kitchen.

“You’re cooking?” He asks

“Lasagna,” Isa smiles at him over her shoulder, her chipper expression quickly turning stern when she notices a joint sticking out of the corner of his mouth. “Please don’t smoke that thing in here, you’re going to stink up the whole kitchen.”

He takes it out of his mouth, and pouts at her, putting on his best puppy face.

Isa sighs and rolls her eyes. “Okay fine, just this once.”

He skips towards her and places a big kiss on her cheek, making her nose crinkle in disgust and she quickly wipes her cheek off with the back of her hand.

Jens snorts at the two of them, they have become very comfortable with each other in a short time, in fact, they all have.

“Okay Jens,” Isa turns to him and claps her hand together. “You finish off the last layer and put it in the oven, I’ll go set the table.”

He tips her head at her. “Yes Ma’am”

She takes some plates out of the cupboard and almost drops one while stacking them together in her arms, which earns a loud laugh from Ely, and she glares at him before walking out of the kitchen.

“She’s kind of cute,” Ely says as he hops onto the kitchen counter and takes a long drag from his joint. “Especially when she’s bossing you around like that.” he sheepishly smiles to himself.

Jens frowns at him, looking up from where he was sprinkling grated cheese over the lasagna. “Ely please don’t do anything with one of our roommates.”

“You’re no fun,” Ely huffs at him.

Jens crouches down to open the oven with one hand, the other holding the oven dish and he slides the lasagna in. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“What isn’t a good idea?”  Isa asks who walks back into the kitchen to grab some forks and knives out of a drawer.

“Uh” Jens looks at Ely, who simply shrugs and holds his hands up like he doesn’t know, and then at Isa who points a knife at him and says, “fine don’t tell me.”

They hear the front door open and shut and the footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Jens I bought your pickles,” Lucas says, appearing in the kitchen doorway with a big jar of pickles in his hands.

Jens feels the corners of his mouth turn up, not only because of the pickles that he has been craving all day, but because Lucas looks really cute in his too-big jeans that are torn at the knees and covered in splashes of paint. He’s wearing the red flannel he only wears when he’s paining and his, usually perfectly styled hair hangs messily on his forehead, Jens thinks he might like it better that way.

Lucas stops dead in his tracks, mouth slightly hanging open as he scans the kitchen. “What the fuck happened here?”

Jens looks around, only now noticing how big of a mess they made of the small kitchen. There were red splashes of tomato sauce all over the white tiles of the wall, bell pepper seeds and cheese covering the ground as well as all the dishes and ingredients scattered across the kitchen counter.

Isa closes the cutlery drawer with her hip, “Jens and I made lasagna,” she sticks her tongue out at him while moving past him.

“You couldn’t have done that without making a mess?”

Jens steps towards him and takes the pickle jar out of his hands. “Don’t be ungrateful Luc,” he twists the jar open, making it pop. “I cooked dinner for you and all you do is scold at me?” He’s teasing Lucas but the look on Lucas’face tells him that he doesn’t quite understand that Jens is doing so.

“I’m teasing you Luc,” He tells him, to which Lucas shakes his head, making the curls bounce off his forehead.

Jens shakes the juice off a pickle and entirely stuffs it in his mouth, barely chewing before swallowing it. “Besides,” He gestures to Ely who is still sitting on the kitchen counter, completely zoned out. “we’ll just make him clean the kitchen.”

“Yeah right,” Lucas laughs.

This time Jens picks two pickles out of the jar and puts them in his mouth at the same time. “Hmmm,” he points to the jar and swallows. “These are so good.”

Lucas stares at him, his nose wrinkled up and he clearly mouths the word “ew.”

“What?” Jens puts his hand on his chest, acting like he’s offended, “do you have anything against pickles?”  

“Well,” Lucas sighs, just a tad overdramatic. “Yeah”

Jens shakes his head and takes another pickle out of the jar, only this time he doesn’t pop it into his mouth, he waves it right in front of Lucas’ face. “You’re going to eat one.” He says and Lucas ducks his head back when Jens tries to push the pickle into his mouth.

“Jens stop” He laughs as he grabs ahold of Jens’ arm with both his hands.

Jens puts the jar on the counter next to him and uses his free hand to hold onto Lucas shoulder as he tries to squirm his arm out of Lucas’ hold.

“Just try one”

“Okay fine,” Lucas drops his arm and Jens almost misses the firm grasp around his arm.

Lucas opens his mouth and Jens feeds him the pickle. He can’t stop the smile from spreading on his face as he watches Lucas slowly chew with a questionable look on his face.

“And?” he asks once Lucas swallows.

Lucas nods his head slowly with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve never tasted such a good pickle, Jens.”

He’s mocking him, Jens knows he is, but he doesn’t really care.

After that, they have to wait a while for the lasagna to cook. Lucas cleans himself up first, although he doesn’t entirely get the red paint off his hands, before joining Jens, Isa and Ely on the couches in the living room.  Ely is laying with his feet in Isa’s lap and keeps telling her how her hair reminds him of his favourite cheese to which she just quietly nods along while patting his shin. Lucas tells Jens about the painting he’s working on, a big portrait of his mother with bright yellow, orange and red tones. He tells him about this new technique his trying, something with a palette knife, Jens doesn’t entirely understand it but Lucas beams while talking about it so Jens listens and makes small comments here and there to let him know that he listens.

After about twenty minutes or so Isa takes the lasagna out of the oven and Jens calls Friso and Annabell into the living room to join them. They all sit down at the dining table together, except Friso who’s grabbing some glasses that Isa forgot to put on the table.

“Hold up,” Isa says, stopping Ely from taking a bite. “You guys better like it, because Jens and I put our heart and soul into this fucking lasagna.”

“That explains why you two totally neglected the state of our kitchen,” Friso huffs while handing everyone a glass.

Lucas hums while gulping down a bite, “Yeah don’t expect any of us to clean that up.”

“I’m definitely not doing any dishes do you know how gross that is?” Annabell chimes in.

“Fine,” Jens grumbles. “I’ll do it.”

He doesn’t complain though, when Lucas joins him in the kitchen after they’re finished eating and slips on a pair of cleaning gloves.

“You’re helping me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Lucas smiles softly. “You cooked me dinner after all.”

When Jens’ stomach only flutters slightly, he doesn’t think much of it.

[stardancerluv]

Loss and Gain

Summary: You are Roman’s girl Friday and his baby girl. Normally, that makes you the happiest girl in Gotham. Tonight, you have to remind him of his, you hope it doesn’t land you at the docks. Enjoy @theblackmaskclub (requested by)

Warning: Touch of knife play, You tie up Roman, Orgasm denial, Touch of oral on male.

Tonight was one of those nights, where you had to deal with alot of different personalities. You had a lot to juggle, being Roman Sionis’s girl Friday. Handling him came with the territory.

The larger part of the night, he questioned everything. The final straw come when a good friend of yours swung by with furniture that needed to be delivered. Her assistant brought it over. Roman, practically exploded with jealousy.

After, a terribly long night, you retired to the bedroom the two of you shared. You shed the heels, the cute black dress, the stockings and with a huge sigh of relief the bra. You managed to pull on one his t-shirts but kept on your cute panties.

When sleep did not come for you despite being exhausted, an idea blossomed in your head. It would be perfect. You just could not waver. You had to follow through.

Within the hour, he came to bed. Laying there you could smell his cologne and the few glasses of scotch he had enjoyed over the course of the night.

He knelt on the bed behind you, “Baby, daddy is home.” He said softly. He brushed some of your hair aside and breathed a kiss on your cheek. When you didn’t respond, “That’s my good baby,” He whispered. “You were such a good girl for daddy. Sleep and we will talk in the morning.”

Oh, you wanted to launch yourself at him. You loved being his good baby but tonight you would show him. So you continued to pretend to be asleep.

You heard as he did his nightly tasks which brought a smile to your lips. He washed his face, brushed his teeth and then slipped on some pajamas. Sometimes, they were formals ones. As you peeked you noticed that he had just kept on his t-shirt and boxers.

*****

It took some time, but eventually Roman’s breathing deepened. He was fast asleep. Getting up, as quietly as possible you made you way to your scarves. You grabbed some that you didn’t mind getting stretched.

You pulled aside the blankets and made quick work of his feet. Couldn’t let him thrash about. As you affixed his last hand he began to wake up. You let him, as you went and grabbed one of his knives. He was already screaming before you reached his office.

“Victor....Y/N....where are you?”

“Help! Whoever did this, you are gonna fucking die!”

You found the perfect knife, grabbing it and you quickly headed back. “Hello, Roman.” You said softly bracing yourself in the doorway.

“What the fuck happened? How did you free yourself?”

You couldn’t smile. You found it amusing that he had thought you had been tied up too.

“Roman,” Seeing him like this, you had not realized would do things to you. You swallowed it down, you had to talk to him first.

“What?” His blue eyes were fierce and he worked himself up, breathing heavily.

“We needed to talk.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

You tossed one of his knives onto your side of the bed.

“What was that?”

“You’ll see.” You climbed up and straddled his waist. He shook, and you squeezed your knees, hard enough to hold onto him. “Roman, please calm down.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He barked.

You sighed. “Roman, I love you but you bark orders at me.”

“This is all because I get angry?” You could tell that he was seething but at least he listening.

“Well, you treat me like a common employee.”

He rolled his eyes, he finally calmed. “You know you’re not.”

“Sometimes, when you are always questioning me.”

“Fuck, I am not used this. You know that.” He sighed. “I’ll attempt to do better despite you doing this.”

With, no warning he bucked his hips, you had no idea just how strong he could be. You almost fell off him. He chuckled but you remained. “Roman, you are not playing fair.”

“Playing fair?” He scoffed.

“Well..ok...You know what I mean.”

He grimaced.

“And there is something else, I wanted to discuss.”

“Oh?” He paused. “You know? I would not have thought, I’d enjoy seeing you like this. But,” he smirked. “I kind of like it.”

“You’re not going to sweet talk me.”

“What, baby come on. I already promised to not scream as much.”

His words, pulled on you. “Good but there is something else.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Roman, have I ever cheated on you?

“You wouldn’t dare?” His voice became dark.

And, to be honest...” You, rocked against him, he been semi hard but now you felt as he was growing harder. “Why would I need to with a cock like this?”

“Damn, straight.”

Leaning over, you grabbed his knife. “Now, its time for this.” You opened his knife.

“What are you going to use that for? Cutting me free baby?”

You shook your head. “I want you to watch me.”

He smirked. “I can do that.”

Holding, his t-shirt you wore just so you cut it off your body. “There you are.” He purred.

“Yes. Now I want to see you.” You leaned in close, as you leaned in close you, sliced up the middle of his shirt. Sitting up, you grinned against him.

“Don’t be a tease.”

You stoped and tilted your head to one side. “You are in no position to ask me to not do something.” As you the words came from you, his eyes ignited it made you wetter. “It’s my time to tease.”

“But baby,” He tried to charm. “I make you feel so good.”

“You do. That’s why I am going to show you how much I enjoy you. Why no one, could ever please me like you do.” You shimmied and then dropped the remains of the shirt on the floor.

You placed his knife on the night stand and smoothed his shirt away. “I can’t wait to kiss you again.” You said barely grazing his lips.

“Then fucking kiss me.”

You shook your head. “Not yet.”

You kissed his jaw, then his throat. A soft sound came from him as you moved to his torso. You kissed and licked along his waistband. You reached up, laying a hand on his growing cock. It was straining against the fabric. You moaned as you placed a kiss on his hip. Closing your eyes you grabbed the boxers and pulled them down.

The smirk that curled his lips, sent waves through you. You practically could have cum right then.

“Look what you have done to daddy, baby...he is aching for you.”

You took a hold of him, your fingers wrapping around his hardness. “‘Mm daddy,” you mewed. Meeting his eyes, you moved your hand up and down his hardness. His breathing shallowed. You slowed then stopped your hand, then you dragged your tongue up from is base twirled your tongue around his tip before sucking on it.

He moaned then you saw as he tugged at his restraints. “Y/N...stop playing games.” He began incoherent.

You took him further into your mouth, till he felt the back of your throat. Leisurely, you dragged your lips up and off him.

You gently let him go. He was panting. “How are you feeling daddy?” He just stared at you.

Rolling off him you removed your panties. “Be nice daddy.” He nodded, then you untied his legs.

You climbed back up and just as you hovered over him, you let his tip glide in your wetness. “Feel how wet you get me daddy.”

He still just looked at you, a mown poured from his lips.

You came over to him, his knuckles were white.

“Should I untie you?”

“Please, baby.” His voice was tight.

You gently, went to work and untied his hands and feet. In some short moves, he managed to get out of what remained of his t-shirt.

You were on your back and he opened your legs. “Daddy.” You breathed, easily becoming melting to his desires.

He reached between you and entered you. A moan erupting, from you. You almost came from him entering you. With one hand he held your hands above your head. He smirked down at you as you tugged at his hold.

“I want them right there.”

He began moving in and out of you. You shook uncontrollably. “Daddy, please...please.”

“You think I’m gonna let you cum after that?”

His lips grazing yours.

“Please daddy.” You whimpered.

He smirked. “Only because you were able to drive me to the brink.”

Be let go of your hands, you wrapped your arms around him. Moving as one, it was not long before you shuddered and came hard, practically screaming his name.

A look of satisfaction and smugness filled his. “You will always need my cock, baby.” Then shaking, he came hard.” Y/N.” He called out, straining above you before melting upon you.

“Never, do that to me again.” His eyes became ice chips but then softened. “Damn, I fucking love you.”